Hester flipped over the printed card, running her fingers across an expensively embossed crest. Too absorbed by the invitation, she almost walked headlong into Nathaniel coming the opposite way through the hall, his own attention likewise captured by what had arrived for him on the post tray that morning.
‘Oh!’ She pulled up short, catching a similar startled look from Nathaniel at her unexpected presence. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.’
‘Neither was I. Distracted by this.’ Nathaniel held up the paper in his hand, a single sheet covered in small, neat writing. ‘I should have watched where I was going.’
‘No, no. It was quite my fault.’
‘Not at all. I ought to be more careful.’
Hester mustered a smile, although fresh discomfort twisted low in her belly. Ever since that scene beside Nathaniel’s fire things had been strained, different, the two of them now painfully polite as though to make up for what had transpired. They might almost be strangers again—albeit strangers who had passionately explored each other’s lips, the mere thought of it making heat flare beneath the bodice of Hester’s gown.
There was a horrible pause during which neither looked directly at the other. It only lasted a moment, but Hester felt every second stretch out unbearably, until both cracked at the same time.
‘Your letter—?’
‘Who is your—?’
Nathaniel smiled—a stiff, forced thing that matched Hester’s own grimace. ‘Sorry. I was just going to ask who your letter was from.’
‘Not a letter but an invitation.’ Hester studied the card once again, relieved to have somewhere to look other than at her husband. ‘From Diana. She invited me weeks ago to a ball next Saturday, to celebrate her first wedding anniversary, and has just sent an amendment to include you too.’
‘A ball? Well, I look forward to it.’
‘You’ll come?’
Hester glanced up in surprise. Nathaniel had spent every day since their encounter locked away with his books and ledgers—and every night, too. The light of his candle crept beneath the door separating her rooms from his now he had taken back his own quarters, and it flickered until the early hours, Hester barely able to sleep knowing Nathaniel sat scribbling at his desk mere metres away.
‘I assumed you’d be working. Can you spare the time?’
She saw something flit over Nathaniel’s face, quick as a blink. ‘Would you rather go alone? I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘By no means. I only meant you don’t have to come if there are other demands on your schedule.’
‘I thought perhaps it might please you for me to attend.’
Caught off guard, Hester hesitated. Would it please her? Yes, was the undeniable, instinctive answer. The thought of an evening with Nathaniel was more appealing than she’d ever admit, even if the confusion between them meant she had no idea what to expect from such a thing. At the very least there would be dancing: another chance to revel in the strength of Nathaniel’s arms and feel his body close to hers, the mere idea of it more exciting than any ladylike sensibilities should allow.
‘It would.’
Nathaniel nodded, although more to the wall behind Hester’s head than at her directly. ‘Then nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
Hester swallowed, her throat suddenly and mysteriously dry. Probably he was just trying to make amends for what had happened four nights before, when the effects of Lavendon’s potent port had made him forget—for that brief, wonderful moment—it was only friendship he desired. If her flaming nightgown hadn’t decided to cut their entanglement short, who knew what might have happened next?
Hester certainly didn’t, and now the prospect of attending the ball with Nathaniel only added to the whirl of bewilderment that was her constant companion whenever he was near.
Another excruciating pause threatened to settle, but this time Hester acted swiftly. ‘And who is your letter from?’
‘Ah.’ Nathaniel held up the paper again, skimming the fluid writing with his one eye. ‘My mother. Asking whether we’d join her for luncheon today.’
A perfect opportunity to change the subject. ‘Of course. I haven’t yet paid my weekly visit.’
‘I’ll let her know to expect us, then. The last thing I want is to catch her unawares like the first time, even if I’ve tried to make up for it since.’
A slightly more real curve lifted Nathaniel’s mouth, triggering a corresponding skip of Hester’s pulse. He was so handsome when he smiled. It sharpened the line of his jaw and rolled back some of the years his absence had imprinted on his face, the difference so stark it always made Hester want to stare.
She was in danger of doing just that right now.
With a small start she dragged her eyes away. ‘Shall we ride over? The snow is almost gone and I haven’t ridden in a while.’
‘Good idea. I have a meeting with Mr Morrow this morning, but I’ll have the horses readied for afterwards.’
A question teetered on the tip of Hester’s tongue, but she stopped herself just in time from asking how the estate manager had settled at Shardlow. He certainly seemed popular, despite his somewhat alarming appearance, but Hester couldn’t help but feel he avoided her as much as possible. Perhaps he wanted to be sure none of Nathaniel’s secrets escaped...secrets Hester could only guess at.
Unseen as she carefully folded the card in half, Hester frowned. Apparently it was yet to dawn on Nathaniel that sometimes telling the truth helped unburden the soul. If she hadn’t snapped that day in the storm, and let the hidden past spill from her mouth, she might still believe him to be as cruel and thoughtless as ever, rather than learning that his father bore most of the blame. Any friendship between them would have died before it had even begun to live—but that was Nathaniel’s choice. If he didn’t want to share she wouldn’t make him. The peace they were building was too fragile to bear much pressure.
Blessedly unaware of what his wife was thinking, Nathaniel gave a quick bow. ‘Shall we say we’ll meet outside at half-past eleven? I’m looking forward to the exercise.’
The quickest flash of how good Nathaniel looked in the saddle darted before Hester’s eyes, and she turned away before he noticed the vague discomfort in her face. Appreciating a man’s form was one thing. Doing it in front of him was quite another, and not something that ought to be encouraged.
‘As am I. I hope we’ll have a pleasant afternoon.’
A ‘pleasant afternoon’ was not quite what Hester was having as Nathaniel helped her into the saddle of her gentle black mare—she didn’t know what word would accurately describe the feelings that coursed through her: a combination of awkwardness and scandalised delight as he stood so close. With both of his hands locked around her waist she barely knew where to look as Nathaniel prepared to lift her, throwing her up as effortlessly as though she was a sack of feathers.
‘Are you settled?’
Reaching up he kept one hand on her lower back to steady her, the sensation of it all Hester could focus on, and she had to admit to taking a little longer than strictly necessary to modestly arrange her skirts.
Finally she nodded. ‘I’m ready now.’
Nathaniel withdrew—leaving a somewhat cold, bereft patch where his hand had been—and swung himself onto his own horse, gathering the reins in one smooth motion. He turned the grey gelding’s head and together they trotted down the drive, hearing the gravel crunch beneath two sets of hooves as they made for the gate and Thame Magna beyond.
From her position slightly behind Nathaniel’s horse, Hester was at perfect liberty to admire the cut of his figure. Seated upright, with impressive shoulders squared, his bearing was enviable, and Hester noticed more than one lady cast an appraising eye over him as they rode down the main street.
‘It’s sunny today. But for the chill it might almost be spring.’
Nathaniel reined his horse back to come level with Hester’s mare. ‘Discussing the weather, Hester? It’s a sad state of events when that’s the best you can come up with.’
Slightly nettled, she was about to reply when she caught the gleam of humour in that one wicked green eye. In the wintry sunshine it glowed emerald, the fair hair visible below the brim of his hat shining likewise.
‘What would you suggest as an alternative?’
‘Anything. Anything is preferable to conversing about the weather.’
Possibly it was being out in the crisp air that made the difference. Now the shadow of Shardlow had receded her feeling of strain had shrunk too, perhaps being trapped within four walls allowing no space to escape her own thoughts. A little of the weight of confusion seemed to have lifted from Hester’s chest, at the very least, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise.
‘I see. Well... How about...?’ She cast about for a suitable topic, but anything of interest evaded her until with a triumphant nod she came up victorious. ‘How are you finding being back in your old rooms?’
‘I like it very well indeed, thank you,’ Nathaniel answered, briefly touching his hat at some passing acquaintance. ‘Far more comfortable than the ones I was consigned to when I first arrived. About as far from your own as it was possible to get, weren’t they?’
It wasn’t a complaint, his tone still joking, and Hester raised one brow. ‘And whose fault was that?’ she asked dryly. ‘Bursting in unannounced and expecting all to be exactly as it was before? Frankly, you’re lucky I didn’t make you sleep in the cellar.’
Nathaniel groaned. ‘Please don’t remind me. When I think how that must have been for you... No wonder you weren’t dancing for joy. I can still remember the look on your face—and, let me tell you, it was not one of delight.’
With a flicker of surprise Hester redoubled her grip on the reins, hoping Nathaniel wouldn’t see. It never would have occurred to her that he’d notice her reaction to his return, let alone be able to recall it so long afterwards.
‘I’m not sure either of us behaved at our best that day.’
‘You needn’t reproach yourself. I’m sure there’s nothing you said or did that I didn’t deserve, considering how poorly you believed I’d treated you before I left.’
They rode on for a moment in silence. What Nathaniel was thinking Hester couldn’t say, but her own thoughts moved so swiftly through her mind that it made her dizzy. Did he want to talk about what she’d told him out in the storm? They hadn’t touched on it since, but was there more to say—more they might have spoken of at the time, had that heart-stopping kiss not thrown all into disarray?
‘Don’t dwell on that. There was misunderstanding on both sides.’
‘Even so...’ Nathaniel leaned down to pat his horse’s glossy neck, his face conveniently hidden for a second by the brim of his hat. ‘There was more to it than one single instance. Leaving in the way that I did was unforgivable, but we can’t pretend I didn’t let you down long before that.’
The carousel of Hester’s thoughts whirled faster as she watched her husband straighten up again, any glint of humour in his countenance fading fast. He glanced across, meeting her eyes only briefly, but enough to stoke the embers in her stomach.
‘Surely it’s for me to choose what I find forgivable?’
‘That’s true,’ Nathaniel agreed, his attention fixed firmly now on the road ahead. ‘It’s up to you whether you want to extend to me your grace...but it’s for me to decide if I can ever forgive myself.’
Looking down at her gloved hands, Hester hardly knew what to say. Probably the safest option was nothing; with her mind spinning uncontrollably, something might spill out that she didn’t intend. And then what would happen?
I might tell Nathaniel even more secrets, she cautioned herself, watching her mare’s ears flick at the whinny of a passing horse. I might reveal how I feel at this moment, wondering that he has finally realised how poor a husband he was—or, worse, how it moves me to know he regrets it.
Which would not be welcome.
If Nathaniel was coming to repent of his coldness, it meant only that—a small measure of shame, not the desire for anything more from her, and certainly not her sentiment. He might be kinder, but the Honeywell Trading Company still had him by the throat, leaving no room for anything else and she would be foolish indeed to think otherwise. A lifetime of ambition was unlikely ever to be replaced just because he had found some compassion. It made him more pleasant to live with, that was all; something she ought to be grateful for, instead of wasting time wondering if...
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nathaniel suddenly sit a little higher in the saddle.
‘I think... Is that my father’s carriage?’
Hester’s head snapped up. ‘Where?’
She followed Nathaniel’s pointing finger. To her swift dismay it seemed he was right. Mr Honeywell’s grand carriage moved in the distance, instantly recognisable by the smart pair of chestnut mares.
‘It certainly looks like it. Do you want to catch him up?’
‘Would you be able to ride that fast?’
Despite the growing knot in her stomach, Hester couldn’t help a small smile. She was in no rush to meet Mr Honeywell again now she knew of his malign influence, and yet the earnest—if misguided—concern on the face of his son was sweet indeed.
Without a word of warning Hester shook her horse’s reins, urging the mare onwards so abruptly she had to call over her shoulder to Nathaniel as she left him behind.
‘Why don’t you decide? If you can catch me!’
Nathaniel and Hester were flushed and laughing as they entered Grafton Lodge’s drive just behind the carriage, neck and neck, with barely a whisker to tell the winner.
Leaning back in the saddle, Nathaniel pulled his horse to a stop, looking across to see Hester’s eyes shining. ‘I believe the victory is mine.’
‘Absolutely not! Anyone could see I was miles ahead!’
‘I’d hesitate to call a lady a cheat, but...’
The faux outraged wrinkling of Hester’s nose probably wasn’t fit for a lady either, but it made Nathaniel’s grin widen. With some of her hair threatening to fall loose and her colour high she wasn’t quite her usual proper self, different but still just as alluring as he slid from his horse and held out a hand to help her do the same.
Standing together on the gravel, they waited for the carriage door to open, a hint of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before beginning to circle in Nathaniel’s gut.
I haven’t seen Father in above five years, and the last time I did he lied to my face. What will our first meeting be like now I know the truth?
Glancing down, he caught Hester biting her lip, the same unease he felt written clearly across her face, and a jolt of understanding crackled through him. How horrible it would be for her to see the man who had placed so little value on her life. He should have thought more quickly, Nathaniel admonished himself harshly, realising far too late that she was left with nowhere to hide—but then he watched as her head came up and her shoulders straightened, and the composure nobody but he knew she was forcing took his breath away.
He leaned down to mutter into her ear...a pink, pretty ear that reminded him of a delicate shell. ‘Hester. If you’d rather not—’
‘I would absolutely rather not.’ She kept her eyes unwaveringly on the carriage, standing quite still as the door handle turned. ‘But that doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ll need to see your father sooner or later, and I’d prefer to jump before I’m pushed.’
There was no time for him to reply. The carriage door swung open and a passenger stepped out: Mr Honeywell, looking every bit as austere and unsmiling as Nathaniel remembered. He leaned on a cane now, a difference from five years ago, but the expression was the same and so was the measured voice that addressed Nathaniel by name.
‘Nathaniel.’
Mr Honeywell didn’t come any closer, or show any sign of surprise to see his long-lost heir standing large as life in front of him. Instead he inspected his son coolly, starting at the top of his hat and working downwards, lingering briefly on the patch and weather-beaten face before giving one curt, apparently satisfied nod at what he found.
‘I see your mother spoke true. She told me you’d returned when I arrived home this morning.’
Nathaniel nodded back, the vague discomfort in his belly growing worse. A servant approached to take his horse’s reins and he handed them over, glad for a chance to look away as he ordered his thoughts. Shouldn’t a father show a little more reaction when meeting a son back from the dead? To hear Mr Honeywell speak they might as well be indifferent acquaintances, the lack of emotion that had once seemed so normal now feeling anything but.
‘Yes. She invited us for luncheon, but I don’t know whether that was before or after she knew you were back.’
‘After, probably. Some damn fool notion of a reunion, in all likelihood.’
Beside him, he felt Hester stir. Mr Honeywell hadn’t so much as looked at her. Perhaps he thought her below his notice? A spark of irritation kindled behind Nathaniel’s breastbone at the thought, joining unhappily with the other sensations already holding court there.
He gestured towards her, hoping his voice would remain steady. ‘You’ll have seen Hester regularly, of course, on her weekly visits with Mother. No need for a touching reunion there.’
Mr Honeywell finally spared her a glance. ‘Hester.’
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
Her curtsey was far more elegant than his father’s brusqueness deserved—but then, Nathaniel thought, elegance came as naturally to his wife as breathing. A snatched glimpse down at her showed the first signs of strain, however, and he held out his arm.
‘Shall we go in? It’s too cold to be standing about, and I imagine my mother will be anxious to see us.’
Hester took hold of him at once, small fingers resting lightly on his forearm but still somehow managing to affect his insides, and Nathaniel had to take a moment to wonder at how far they’d come. Not so very long ago she’d shied away at the offer of his hand, and yet now there was no hesitation in her touch, or in the way she drew closer to him, perhaps for reassurance as his father frowned.
‘Yes. Come inside. My bones mislike this cold air.’
All three made for the grand ivy-strewn house, Mr Honeywell leading the way in spite of the cane. His father walked with a pronounced limp now, Nathaniel saw, with interest as well as a fleeting glimmer of sympathy—something he was quite sure would never have occurred to him before Jacob’s actions in Algiers had set him on a different and infinitely kinder course. Now he might almost have found some patience for his irascible papa, had the man not ridden roughshod over Hester’s heart and done more damage than Nathaniel feared he could mend.
‘It’s as well you’ve returned,’ Mr Honeywell huffed. ‘It was a blow when the Celeste went down and to believe I’d lost my heir—and a damned nuisance to think how to replace you. The business is growing more quickly than ever, and another steady pair of hands is just what’s required.’
Unseen by either of his companions as he followed them up the front steps, Nathaniel tightened his jaw. That was the extent of his father’s happiness to see him home. No mention of having missed him, or feeling any pleasure to know he was safe: only the potential for profit, as if he was more machine than man, and the avoidance of tedious paperwork.
‘I know. I’ve been studying the past few years’ books while you were away and noticed the upward trend. It seems I’m to congratulate you on your success.’
The front door opened and the little procession stepped inside. Servants materialised to help with hats and coats, and some of the darkness in Nathaniel’s thoughts was chased away by the brilliance of his mother’s smile as she emerged into the hall.
‘Nathaniel! Hester! I’m so glad you came.’
She hurried towards them, pressing a fond kiss first to Hester’s cold cheek and then reaching up on tiptoe to reach Nathaniel’s. He stooped to embrace her, catching the surprised disapproval on his father’s face to see such newfound sentiment—and in his own house, no less. In the old days Nathaniel wouldn’t have dreamed of such a thing, and some relic of that time sat uncomfortably within him as the four seated themselves in the best parlour.
‘Aren’t we a merry set? The whole family together again!’ Mrs Honeywell beamed around the room, although her gaze didn’t linger on her husband for long. He had produced a notebook from his pocket as soon as he’d sat down and now ignored his wife completely as he looked through it with a stern frown.
Hester could always be relied on to find a tactful reply. She leaned towards her mother-in-law, seated beside her on an overstuffed sofa, and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s a day I’m sure none of us ever imagined. How good it is to see you smile again after so long.’
His mother patted Hester’s arm. ‘Dear Hester. Always so kind.’ She took a teacup from the tray proffered by a smartly uniformed maid, thanking her pleasantly before turning back. ‘We were lucky indeed to find such a wife for our Nathaniel—were we not, Mr Honeywell?’
Nathaniel’s stomach dropped even more at his father’s indifference, not even deigning to glance up from his little book of figures.
‘There was no luck involved. One of Townsend’s daughters was the best match from a business standpoint, and as the other was too young to wed, Hester was the most logical option.’
A hot dart of anger lanced between Nathaniel’s ribs and instinctively he looked across at Hester, cursing his father’s unkindness. She was carefully studying a painting on the opposite wall, her face determinedly blank, but there was a tinge of colour in her cheeks that made him want to shake his father by the lapels.
Had he always been so objectionable? Nathaniel already knew the answer, but for some reason that bluntness rankled in a way it hadn’t before Algiers had altered more than just Nathaniel’s face. There was no excuse to embarrass Hester, and he felt that quick flash of temper burn brighter as he saw her blink rapidly, as though fighting to remain calm.
A snide little voice lifted its head to mutter into his ear. He’s only saying out loud what you used to think privately, it murmured quietly, not needing volume to make its point. You can’t deny that once upon a time you viewed Hester in exactly the same way: as a business proposition, and an inconvenient one at that.
Nathaniel clenched his teeth so tightly it hurt. As much as he’d have liked to reject the charges his subconscious brought, he knew that they were fair. Once he’d thought of Hester just as his father did now, and shame tore through him like wildfire.
He cleared his throat, trying to hide the churn of anger and regret that gripped his chest like a vice. ‘I’m thankful Diana was too young. Hester could have had her choice of men, I’ve no doubt, but I know I would never have found a better wife.’
The maid handed him a cup and he took a sip of tea far too hot to enjoy. It burned his tongue, but saved him from having to meet anybody’s eyes—not his mother’s surprised but delighted grey, nor his father’s sharply disapproving green, and certainly not Hester’s sapphire, behind which he had no idea what she could be thinking. All he knew for sure was the way his heart had stepped up a notch, and he wondered now at the wisdom of allowing such a dangerous truth to escape.
There was no choice but to power on through what might be an awkward silence, and with another more cautious sip he affected a shrug. ‘Anyway, Diana has subsequently made an excellent match of her own. Hester and I are attending a ball to celebrate her first year wed to Lord Lavendon.’
‘Oh, how wonderful.’ Thankfully Mrs Honeywell took her cue from his unease. ‘She was good enough to invite us to the wedding, you know, although as your father was too busy to accompany me I went alone. A year already! How does she settle to married life, Hester?’
‘Very well indeed. You’d think she’d been born into her title if you were to see her about Farleigh, and her husband is besotted.’
‘I can well imagine. She was a beautiful bride—and her dress! Such exquisite beading at the hem!’
‘Did you notice the lace? Lavendon had it imported from Italy just for her.’
With the conversation turning to gowns Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief, wishing he hadn’t when his mother slid him one quick glance. There was something in it he didn’t quite like: something a bit too knowing, as though for the first time in his life the two of them shared a secret, and Nathaniel rose not entirely casually to cross to the parlour window.
He stood looking out, glad to turn his back to the scene behind. The gentle hum of female voices continued as both silks and satins were considered, although the words washed over Nathaniel like a wave as he allowed his mind to cover past ground.
I ought to be more careful.
Many more mistakes like that and the whole world would know how he felt about his wife, putting Hester in the excruciating position of having to reject him straight out. Their fledgling friendship would lie in tatters—and for what? His mother already wondered. He could tell from that single searching look. And his father would soon harbour suspicions of his own at the change anyone could see in his son.
If he concentrated, Nathaniel could just make out their reflections in the window’s glass, and for a moment he watched the tableau behind him without the players’ knowing. The pale form of his father was still engrossed in his lists of profit and loss, while Mrs Honeywell and Hester sat close together, the intimacy between them raising an unexpected lump in Nathaniel’s throat.
It’s as though Father doesn’t even see them. No wonder Mother looked to Hester for comfort while I was away, and no wonder Hester was so quick to give it.
He passed a hand across tired eyes. Sooner or later he’d challenge Mr Honeywell on his unforgivable lies, but not today. Hester had already been humiliated once this visit, and with another surge of ire Nathaniel swore she wouldn’t be again.
To think I ever followed his example of how to be a man—and still might, had Jacob not shown me it’s possible to be strong while also kind.
‘And will you be having a new gown? For the ball?’
His mother’s earnest voice cut through the disquiet that held Nathaniel in its grip. Her ghostly reflection was animated, and even Hester’s seemed happier as she shook her transparent head.
‘I have so many pretty ones already. I’m ashamed to admit there’s probably a couple I’ve never worn more than once.’
‘A woman’s prerogative, my dear. I’m sure everybody, including Nathaniel, will think you look well in whatever you decide. Don’t you agree, Mr Honeywell?’
Bless Mother for trying, Nathaniel thought wryly as his father looked up, clearly irritated by the interruption. He hadn’t been taking the least bit of notice, and kept his notebook open as if intending to return to it at any moment.
‘Don’t I agree with what?’
‘That Nathaniel will appreciate Hester in whatever gown she chooses on Saturday.’
Mr Honeywell grunted. ‘A pointless question, considering he won’t be here to see her. I’m riding down to London on Friday to visit the warehouses and Nathaniel is coming with me.’
Nathaniel turned at once. ‘What was that, sir? This is the first I’ve heard of any such trip.’
‘You’ve been away for five years and you need breaking back in.’ His father flipped another page, either oblivious to Nathaniel’s tone or—more likely—entirely unmoved by it. ‘Business doesn’t sleep. Perhaps you need reminding.’
As if a lit match had been dropped into a pile of leaves, the embers of Nathaniel’s anger began to smoulder anew. He didn’t look at Hester, instead directing the full force of his uneven gaze to his father’s impassive face.
‘I’m afraid I cannot consent. I have a prior engagement.’
‘You have an invitation to a ball. A waste of time when there’s so much else of importance to occupy you.’
‘But this occasion is important to Hester. Does that deserve no consideration?’
Mild surprise swam through Mr Honeywell’s expression, rapidly consumed by displeasure. He looked as though he was about to speak when Hester broke in, calmly enough, but with the pink tinge of her cheeks burning brighter.
‘I understand, Nathaniel. Of course your work must come before something as trivial as a ball.’
Nathaniel lowered his voice a little, although there was no hope of not being overheard. ‘I told you I’d attend.’
‘I know you did. But I also know you have other responsibilities.’
He frowned, his aggravation gaining ground as conflict began to stir inside him. The business was important, and despite his anger at his father he couldn’t deny it. It took vigilance and concentration to build success, his work ethic an inheritance passed down through his family to rest on Nathaniel’s shoulders, and in truth some part of him hesitated at the idea of neglecting his duty. There was always something to be done, and relaxing for so much as a moment could be enough to allow competitors an edge.
But Hester. Surely I can’t disappoint her again when I’ve done so countless times already?
Mr Honeywell’s example of how to be a good husband was non-existent, with his abandoning Nathaniel’s mother for untold lengths of time and all but ignoring her on the rare instances he was in her presence. Wouldn’t Nathaniel be almost as bad if he broke his word to Hester, proving his unfeeling father’s influence still held him in its grip? It had been a slow awakening, but now the scales were falling from Nathaniel’s eyes surely there was no excuse to continue to behave with such blind ignorance as before.
However, it seemed the decision had been made for him.
With a proud lift of her chin—clearly more for Mr Honeywell’s benefit than for his—Hester slipped him a small smile. ‘Really, Nathaniel. Do what you must. You’re under no obligation to me.’
‘Hester—’ he began, not really knowing how to finish.
It was probably just as well that his father interrupted, his cold nod at Hester as close to approval as he’d ever show. ‘You see. She appreciates the proper order of things. We’ll leave on Friday as planned.’
Nathaniel felt the muscles in his neck flex with strain but said nothing to argue back. What was there to say, after all? He wouldn’t get into some war of words like a petulant child—and besides, that niggle of uncertainty, still a kernel but threatening to grow, muttered to him that the Honeywell Trading Company had always come first. Money wouldn’t make itself—something Hester clearly understood—and if she gave him leave to break their arrangement then he should take her at her word.
But as he turned back to the window, Nathaniel couldn’t quite find the will to be pleased.