Chapter 13
Two months ago, if someone had told her that she would be the center of a Briarwood’s entire world, Hester would have laughed them all the way to a lunatic asylum.
But she was entirely the center of Calchas Briarwood’s life. He had made her the epicenter of it all, and heavens, she would never forget the way that he had nearly skewered both of her parents with his gaze on their wedding day.
They had not come back round to the house, but they did write letters. They had also invited her to several balls, and they were in close conversation with the dowager duchess, attempting to finagle invitations and influence.
They were apparently determined to keep the relationship, even if she was somewhat wary.
She felt that perhaps her mother and father had changed slightly over the years.
They had grown worse.
Now that she had matured and faced incredible hardship, it was clear to her and inarguable. They only cared about position and power and what could be gotten from her now that she was married to the Duke of Westleigh’s son.
It only showed her that she had been quite right all those years ago in escaping from her family, and that Ellen had also made the right choice to leave with her.
The tea shop continued to be wonderful and a haven for her. Heron House was a haven too, of course. But there was something special about having a small but delightful place, that gave happiness to so many, to call her own.
She and Ellen went to the shop every day without fail.
It might seem quite odd to some that she continued in a job when she certainly did not need one, but the truth was she needed purpose.
Life felt rather strange without having anything in particular to do. She supposed she could have gotten up, eaten breakfast, gone for a walk, and whiled away the hours in all sorts of pursuits, as several of the ton did.
But the truth was the Briarwoods were not idle.
Most of them had a cause that they supported and were gone most of the day, and then they were out in the evenings making merry.
If they did not go out at night, they were just as pleased, sometimes more so, to cherish each other’s company.
They enjoyed life for what it was: short, fleeting, burning, bright, beautiful, and sometimes terrible.
They all seemed to understand life well, and over the last weeks with them, Hester had come to understand it too, and so she refused to let any of her life pass by without giving it her full effort.
She got up in the morning, made love to her husband, bathed, and then ate a quick breakfast of toast and cheese and tea with Ellen.
Then she went off to the shop to prepare for the day because it always did take quite a great deal of work, even with all the other young women in the shop, to be ready for their customers.
They had hired two other older widows to help in the kitchens, making the scones and delicate treats.
She had trained them extensively in the last weeks.
They needed more training before she could ever leave them alone, but it was now quite possible for her to be in the front of the tea shop more than just in the back baking away, though she adored it beyond all things.
Baking really did give her a sense of peace when her world was falling apart, but it wasn’t falling apart now.
Her life made perfect sense, and as she wandered around the back of the tea shop, studying and carefully checking each scone, each slice of cake, each little fancy that would eventually adorn a plate and give someone a huge amount of pleasure, she let out a happy sigh of contentment.
This was life.
This was everything that she had longed for and more. How could life get any better than this?
It had already been a long day, and the shop had not even opened yet!
Her back was aching ever so slightly, and Calchas would come by later, as he always did, but he had gone off to do a few errands with his father, the duke.
He was now quite deep in a project building houses for widows and orphans of soldiers.
She had inspired him, and she was very glad that she had.
More people needed to be so inspired. And if she was honest, as soon as the tea shop was closed late this afternoon, she would go to work with a few other ladies in the back.
She would bake several loaves of bread to take to widows and orphans who were struggling to purchase food.
It was one of the greatest pleasures she had. Once the tea shop was largely done for the day, she would then go with baskets of food in her arms and distribute them.
She did not go alone. She would not let her ladies go alone either. No, she had learned that lesson all too well. She would go with strapping young footmen, and sometimes the young men of the Briarwood family.
Perseus, Laertes, and Deimos were all excellent young men who did not just gad about town. She was quite surprised to find that rakes though they might be, they were not supercilious fellows. They did not just dance, gamble, and spend time with wine, women, and song.
No, they were much like the rest of their family and had causes, liked to work, preferred to be outdoors, and were eager to be helpful. It was completely wild to her.
Whatever the dowager duchess had done with her family needed to be bottled and put into the water and given to every human alive, because if it was, the world would be an indescribably better place.
She tried to think of another ton family like the Briarwoods and could not.
Most of the ton families that she was aware of had brutally miserable children, who became brutally miserable adults, who then raised brutally miserable children.
All decked in gold and silk and surrounded by a privilege that did not pierce that unhappiness.
Yes, the ton often had children who would have brutally miserable marriages and children who might end up in the asylum, or deep in the cups of wine, or in the grip of money wasted on cards.
Everyone was so hollow inside that they were trying to fill that hollowness with things that would only deepen the hole. It wasn’t fair, but she had at last found something that made her life worthwhile.
Oh, Ellen had always been her strong friend and given her a purpose, but now she was helping more people than she ever could have hoped. It was all because she had managed to get up the courage to ask for something, to be bold, as Calchas had said.
She took off her flour-touched apron and headed out to the front of the shop. Soon the customers would arrive, and she wanted to personally ensure that the tables were decorated as beautifully as she liked.
The bell dinged and the young lady, Gillian, manning the front, stood stock still as if she was seeing a ghost. It was no ghost, but the sight still might induce terror.
Hester’s mother strode into the shop, looking about with distaste upon her features.
Her heart leapt into her mouth, and for an instant, she felt like a little girl being called into her mother’s salon to be disciplined. A chill slid through her, and she brushed her hands along her arms to try to drive the sensation away.
She was not a helpless little girl any longer. She observed her mama carefully.
Her mother really was a beautiful woman, with high arched brows, pale skin, and wide eyes.
She was magnificent. Her hair, much darker than Hester’s, was swept up in an elaborate coiffure.
Her bonnet was perched upon her head, bedecked with gold-touched bows and feathers.
Her walking costume was rich and lavish.
But none of that could take away from the fact that it looked as if she was smelling something slightly bad all of the time, and that stole all her beauty, which caused her to think of what Phoebe had said to Ellen the morning of her wedding.
Kindness was eternal and beauty could be cold.
In her opinion, Phoebe was right. Kindness was the true beauty, and her mother did not know that at all.
“Can I help you, Mama?” she asked.
Her mother whipped around, looked at her, and peered at her up and down. “My God, what are you wearing?”
It was tempting to tense and take offense. She did not. This sort of comment was quite common from her mother, and she should expect nothing less.
“It is the best costume for baking,” she said honestly.
“Baking,” her mother echoed, her lip curling. “You bake?” she asked, judgment swelling the last word.
“Yes, I’m quite good at it. Would you like something from my kitchen? I’d be happy to—”
“No. No, I would not.” Her mother did not eat baked goods. At least had not when Hester was a child because her mother was desperately afraid of not fitting into her extremely expensive gowns.
Her mother’s distaste for the whole circumstance was evident as she pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and waved it towards the kitchen. “However did you learn?”
Hester’s lips twitched and she folded her hands before her, bouncing ever so slightly on her boots, amused. “Your chef taught me how to bake. Though I think they have since moved on.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. She had been notorious for going through all sorts of servants and chefs. No one ever quite pleased her.
Her mother’s eyes glinted. “I’m not surprised you weaseled off to the kitchens rather than doing your work.”
Hester drew in a breath, forcing herself to remain calm. “What an interesting turn of phrase, Mama. But it did give me skills that are useful.”
“Well, you must stop using them,” her mother gritted.
Frowning, Hester wished she could be surprised, but she abhorred that her mother still thought she could be controlled. Even after all this time and all that had occurred.
“Why?”
Her mother let out a dry laugh. “Don’t be absurd. You were never dimwitted. Just defiant. You are causing a scandal.”
“Am I?” she asked, deliberately keeping her voice light. Hester’s calm only seemed to infuriate her mother.