An Unreasonable Match

“Well…”

“I’m sure he’ll look after me, Mama. Won’t you, Lowell?”

“Of course! If you’re sure you want to…”

“I want to. May I, Mama?”

A few moments later Hester was accompanying Lowell to Half Moon Street. After a silence she said, “You haven’t told me yet how you discovered it.”

Lowell had had time to reflect on Hester’s reaction. He had genuinely thought that it was a wonderful jest to have her book published, but now he was no longer so sure. It was a long time since he had seen Hester in such a rage.

“I…I was waiting for you in the attic. This was some time ago, Hes. You were a long time coming. So…so I explored. The key was on top of the cupboard, and…and…”

“You opened it. And stole the manuscript.”

“Don’t say that! I read it on the spot. It isn’t very long, as you know. If you had come in then I daresay I shouldn’t have done anything with it. But you were held up in the village or something, so I had plenty of time to finish it. I couldn’t stop laughing. It was brilliant!”

“Laughing!” Hester exclaimed bitterly.

“Well, I daresay you didn’t feel like laughing when you wrote it. But your caricatures were hilarious to an outsider. And one or two of them hit the nail right on the head. That’s why it’s such a wild success. All London is laughing. I don’t know why you’re taking it so badly, Hester!”

“Lowell! If it ever comes out that I wrote the thing then I am dished—completely. For ever! London won’t laugh then. They’ll hunt me out of town.”

“They won’t find out. I told you, I altered it to disguise your part. And…and…”

“Continue, little brother,” said Hester ominously when Lowell hesitated.

“Well, I put things in it that a respectable girl couldn’t possibly know about. You’d mentioned some of Sywell’s escapades—you remember that party no one would talk about, until I got old Silas to tell? And the business with Abel Bardon’s daughters? You didn’t know the details—no one would tell you, of course, so you’d used your imagination. Well, I just added a few of the real facts. No one could possibly believe you knew anything about those.”

Hester stopped and put her hands over her face. “Lowell, this is the worst thing you have ever done to me. I can’t bear it!” she said.

Lowell took her arm, aware of the curious glances directed at them both. He said in a low voice, “The situation isn’t nearly as bad as you think, Hester. Look! We’re nearly at my place—come in and I’ll give you something—a glass of wine, perhaps? Gaines has some first-class burgundy.”

Hester allowed herself to be shepherded into the small house in Half Moon Street where Lowell had his rooms. “I’d like to drown you in it. But I’ll have some water, or possibly some tea. Not wine.”

“I say, Hester! That’s not fair! I did it for a lark!”

“That’s what you always say, Lowell! But this is no lark!” Her brother’s air of injured innocence, rather like that of a hurt puppy, was having its usual effect. Hester was never able to stay angry with Lowell for long. But when she looked at the book which Lowell put into her hands a few minutes later she exploded again.

“This is disgusting!”

“Well, yes. They did spread themselves on the cover. The Marquis is being really astonishingly wicked.” As Lowell looked at it he started to grin appreciatively. “I don’t know how the devil he managed that position, though.”

“Lowell!! You shouldn’t be showing me this…this filth! You shouldn’t even be mentioning such things to me! Oh Lord! I can’t believe this is happening to me. Not another disaster, not again!” Hester was distraught. She walked up and down the room in agitation.

“Oh come, Hester! I may have spiced the novel up a little—”

“A little! If this is anything to go by…”

“A lot, then. But you can’t go all prunes and prisms on me. After all, you thought it all up. I only embellished it.”

“Oh no!”

“And the cover is the worst thing about it. It’s really not so lurid inside. Read it and see for yourself. I promise you, it will make you laugh.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort!” She stopped short. Then she wailed, “I shall have to read the confounded thing! Tonight, if possible. I must see what you’ve done to it. Lowell, I shall never forgive you for this, never! Here, take the book and wrap it up—properly, mind! I don’t want it to come undone before I can hide it in my room.”

Lowell was now so anxious to please that he wrapped the offending book into a small parcel and handed it over. “I’ll escort you back,” he said contritely.

“No! I don’t want your company! I’m used to walking alone, and it’s only a step.”

“But I must—”

“Lowell,” said Hester with awful calm. “Don’t argue with me. I shall scream if I have to say another word to you! I need to walk back to Bruton Street alone! I just might be able to speak to you tomorrow, but don’t count on it.” She turned and left him standing on the door step. He waited irresolutely, then shrugged his shoulders and went in.

Hester walked swiftly back up towards Berkeley Square. She was seething with an explosive mixture of anger and apprehension. How dare Lowell do such an outrageous thing! What would become of her—and her family—if London ever found her out? The parcel in her hand seemed to burn through to her fingers; she wanted to drop it, but dared not let it go. She reached the top of Half Moon Street and turned in the direction of Berkeley Square, head down, still clutching her parcel—and collided with a tall gentleman who was coming towards her. She dropped her parcel and with a gasp of dismay bent down to pick it up. A hand came out to prevent her.

“You must allow me,” said a deep, drawling voice.

Hester groaned inwardly. Fate was always against her on such occasions. It was inevitable that out of all the gentlemen in society she should meet this one, just when she least wanted to. She summoned up her courage. “Lord Dungarran!” she exclaimed. “How…how…pleasant to meet you again!”

Chapter Four

Surprise, a fleeting expression of resignation, and then a faint hint of reproof—Hester saw all of these cross Dungarran’s face before he resumed his normal calm.

“Miss Perceval. What an unexpected pleasure!”

The words were conventional, and were not supported by any warmth in his voice. Hester’s eyes dropped. He must not be allowed to see the panic into which Lowell’s revelations had thrown her. Not this man.

“Thank you for coming once again to my rescue, sir,” she said stiffly and held out her hand for the parcel.

He smiled briefly, but did not hand it over. “At least it isn’t wet.” His eyes surveyed the street. “But…are you once again in need of an escort, Miss Perceval?”

“Not in the slightest. I am making for Berkeley Square. It isn’t far.”

“All the same,” he said decidedly, “I will accompany you.” He offered her his arm.

“It really isn’t necessary, Lord Dungarran. If you will give me my parcel I am perfectly able to walk the few yards to the square.”

He frowned. “Miss Perceval, I have no wish to force my company on you, believe me. But you may be assured that if your parents or Hugo knew that you were walking the streets of London without a maid or footman they would be as…surprised as I am. It is bad enough in Northampton. In London it is unheard of. Come!” He presented his arm again.

The colour rose in Hester’s cheeks. There was so much she wanted to say, none of it polite. So she remained silent, her eyes fixed anxiously on the parcel which he still carried in his other hand. She was faintly surprised not to see signs of scorching on its wrappings. As they walked along Curzon Street he held it out and said, “What is it this time, Miss Perceval? Not muslin or satin—it is too hard for that. Or should I not ask? It feels like a book.”

Hester swallowed and tried to smile. “It…it is a book. Lowell has lent me a book of…of…poetry. B—ballads.”

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