Reunited At The King's Court. Helen Dickson
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motherless daughters?’ Arlette replied, unable to hide her bitterness at such a prospect.
Hester waved her objections aside. ‘Nevertheless, your defiance and the gossip directed against this family, brought about by your friendship with James Sefton of late, are all too much. Your behaviour has upset Richard. If Sir Ralph did change his mind, I would not blame him.’
‘Then to escape his attention perhaps I should damage my reputation some more,’ Arlette retorted, tossing her head rebelliously. The moment the words had left her mouth she had cause for regret, for her flippant remark only angered Hester further.
‘Do not even think of doing that,’ Hester snapped, breathing deeply in an effort to control the anger that seemed to erupt more quickly of late no matter how hard she tried to temper it. ‘Think yourself lucky that marriage to Sir Ralph Crompton will provide you with the standing and security you deserve.’ Noting Arlette’s defiance, she sighed, shoving her hair tiredly from her brow. ‘You are my sister and I love you dearly and I do understand that you are set against the marriage—but...’
‘Richard would be not so understanding. Where your husband is concerned, my opinion counts for nothing.’ Arlette sighed. ‘Worry not, Hester, I know I am duty-bound to marry Sir Ralph and I have committed myself to doing what is right. I will not go back on my word,’ she said, no matter how distasteful she found the consequences.
‘Richard is only doing what he thinks is best for you,’ Hester said in his defence. ‘You have to marry as your circumstances demand and Sir Ralph is the only one offering. It’s high time you were married. This alliance is important to Richard—more than you realise. You should be grateful he is doing this.’
Arlette took a deep, tight breath. That she was being sacrificed for Richard’s ambition angered her, but she had learned to know her place in Richard’s house and knew better than to defy the rules and make her own destiny. All her life she had hoped she would have the freedom to choose her own husband, but, when it came to it, Richard had chosen for her. A good alliance, he called it—but the last person she’d ever have chosen was Sir Ralph Crompton.
‘I had hoped you might repent of the folly of your ways,’ Hester went on, ‘but it seems that is not so. I have tried so hard since you came here, Arlette, hoping to find more submission in you—obedience, even—but I have come to realise it is not in your nature. With no one to steer you, you were left too much to your own devices at Mayfield Hall. I love you dearly, but you do try my patience to the limit.’
‘I am deeply sorry to have caused you so much grief, Hester, truly, and I am most grateful for everything you and Richard have done for me. But,’ she said, with a note of defiance, ‘I am twenty-two years of age and even though I know I have to marry Sir Ralph, I would like to have had a say in my choice of husband—and Sir Ralph it would not be.’
Furious by what she considered to be Arlette’s insolence, Hester was unable to curb her tongue as it began to run away with her, which was something she would come to regret later. ‘You ungrateful girl. You put me in mind of your mother. You are turning out to be just like her after all. Her ingratitude, after all our father did for her, was unforgivable also.’
Arlette stared at her in puzzlement. ‘My mother? Why do you mention my mother? And why should she have need to be grateful to our father?’
‘Our father was a fool ever to marry her.’
‘Please don’t say that, Hester. I will not let you shake my kinder memories of my mother. She was my mother and I loved her dearly.’
‘How could you? You scarcely remember her.’
‘I was a mere child when she died—I know that. I know very little of how she came to wed our father.’
‘Then it’s high time you did,’ Hester replied sharply. ‘It’s high time you knew what kind of woman she was.’ Anger had brought blood rushing to her face and a hard glitter to her eyes. She looked so frighteningly angry that Arlette almost turned and fled the room. Suspecting that her sister was about to enlighten her to the more disagreeable traits to her mother’s character she turned away, unwilling to hear anything to discredit her.
‘Pray excuse me, Hester, but I will not stay and listen to anything you might say that is disparaging.’
‘Oh, yes, Arlette, you will listen.’
She had always sensed Hester’s deep dislike of her mother, whose name was never mentioned between them. The reason for this dislike had always remained a mystery to her, but she felt it must be something deep and profound, that maybe it was because their father had taken another wife after the death of Hester’s own mother.
‘So our father would have you believe that she died giving birth to our sister in an attempt to hide the truth. She did not care for our father. The man she loved—whose bed she had wallowed in and whose child she had conceived while Father was away in London about the King’s business—was a widower.’
Arlette was filled with an overriding horror at what Hester was telling her. The whole of her world seemed to be rocking about her. It could not be true. ‘But—but that cannot be—she would not...’
‘Yes, Arlette, she did. Open your eyes to the truth. Like a fool Father worshipped her—she could do no wrong in his eyes—but when he returned home after a long absence and found her nursing a child and knowing it could not possibly be his, he turned both her and her child out.’
Arlette stared at her, sick with horror at what she had been told. Feeling light-headed, she slumped into a chair at the table, staring ahead of her, but seeing nothing. There was a constriction in her throat and tears swam in her eyes. ‘What happened to her? Where did she go?’
‘As to that I cannot say. I do not know.’
‘And my sister?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know that, either.’
‘What was my sister’s name?’
‘I don’t remember. Miranda—Matilda—something like that. What does it matter now? She was your sister, not mine.’
‘It does matter to me. Very much. But why have you told me now? You could have spared me this and continued with the deception.’
‘Because, Arlette, I have reached the limits of my endurance in keeping this secret,’ she uttered tiredly. ‘I think it is high time you knew what kind of woman your mother was.’
‘Say what you like, Hester. It is easy when she is not here to defend herself. I will remain faithful to her memory no matter what you say. Does Richard know of this?’
‘No—I was too ashamed to tell him.’
Arlette’s cheeks burned with indignation and heated words rose to her lips in defence of her mother, regardless of what she had just been told, but her sister silenced her before she could utter a word.
‘As your sister, I will continue to do my duty towards you, which is what our father would have wanted, and see that preparations are made for your betrothal to Sir Ralph as soon as possible—for the sooner you are wed with a family to care for the less I will have to worry about.’
When Arlette was able, she escaped to her room beneath the eaves to consider at length what Hester had told her. Her father was not young at the time he had married her mother, being forty years of age. His first wife had died shortly after giving birth to Hester. Arlette’s mother was twenty years her father’s junior and she had been told she had died in childbirth along with the newborn infant.
After what Hester had confided, she could imagine the anger and the grief at Mayfield Hall at a time when, at two years old, she had been too young to understand the goings-on in the adult world. Her father had been a good and gentle man, but the wars had taken him away from home all too frequently, leaving Arlette in the capable and loving hands of