An Unreasonable Match. Sylvia Andrew
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brought her back to Dungarran. Hester straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. At seventeen she had gone to London expecting the world to fall at her feet. At twenty-four she expected very little—merely to get through the Season with as little trouble as possible. Then she would return and continue her relationship with the only man she respected—Zeno. He was the man for her.
Lady Perceval was delighted when her daughter agreed to accompany them to London without further protest. She launched into a frenzy of discussions with the local dressmakers—already working at full capacity on Robina Perceval’s wardrobe. The house was swamped in samples and pattern books. It soon became clear that they would unfortunately not get to town in time for Sophia Cleeve’s come-out ball. This was held in March, and it was the middle of April before Sir James brought his wife and daughter to the house Hugo had found for them off Berkeley Square.
“Very pleasant!” pronounced Lady Perceval, looking round her as the family entered the spacious salon on the first floor. “How clever of you, Hugo dear, to find such a pleasant house in such a convenient situation. Hester, do you not agree?”
Mindful of her promise, Hester smiled at her brother and offered her cheek. “I would expect nothing less,” she said, as he kissed it. “I’m glad to see you, brother. You’re looking well—and very elegant.”
“I was delighted to hear you had agreed to come, Hester. I think we can do better this time, don’t you?”
Hester sighed. “I’ll try, Hugo. I’ll try. I can at least promise not to make a nuisance of myself.”
“We’ll do better than that,” he promised, smiling down at her with a glint in his eye. Her heart warmed to him. When Hugo forgot he was a nonpareil with a position to uphold, there was no one kinder or more affectionate. The older brother she had loved was still there, underneath the man of fashion.
Lowell came bounding up the stairs, falling over some valises on the way, and the mood of family unity was disturbed.
“I’m sorry, Mama, Papa,” he gasped. “I meant to be here when you arrived.”
“Ma’am,” said Hugo impatiently, turning to his mother. “Ma’am, I wish you would persuade your younger son to be less…less noisy! It’s like having a Great Dane in the drawing-room!”
Sir James laughed. “Let him be, Hugo! He’ll learn. How are you, my boy?”
“Well, sir, very well. I find London greatly to my taste—especially since I moved out of Sir Hugely Perfect’s rooms. Sharing with Gaines is much more fun.”
Hester’s start of surprise fortunately went unnoticed as Sir James said disapprovingly, “What was that you said? Sir Hugely Perfect? That is not amusing, Lowell. It doesn’t do to call your brother names.”
“Oh, I’m not alone, sir! That’s how he is known here in London.”
“Sir Hugely Perfect?” Lady Perceval went over to her son. “Hugo! How unkind! Are you really called so?”
The colour had risen in Hugo’s cheeks, but he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Not by everyone, only Lowell and his cronies. The rest of my acquaintance are not so childish.”
Hester cleared her throat. “Where…where did such a name come from, Lowell? Mama is right. It isn’t kind.”
“It’s from a book,” Hugo answered for Lowell, who had hesitated. “A piece of rubbish which came on the scene a month or two ago. But no one of any sense could possibly take it seriously.”
“A book?”
Lowell held his sister’s eyes. “A book called The Wicked Marquis. And Hugo is mistaken. It’s not just my set. The whole of the beau-monde is talking about it.”
Lady Perceval was looking bewildered. “Hugo? A wicked marquis? What are you talking about, Lowell?”
“Hugo isn’t the wicked marquis, Mama. He’s just a character in the book. One of a great number.”
Hester said faintly, “Mama, I should quite like to see my room. I feel sadly dishevelled, and…and I have a touch of the headache.”
“My poor child! I thought you seemed rather pale—we rose so early this morning, Hugo. I dare swear you were not even awake when we left Perceval Hall. Come, my dear!” At the door she paused. “I hope to see you later, Hugo. Are you dining here?”
“Certainly! I couldn’t neglect you all on your first evening in town. I must bring you up to date! Sophia Cleeve’s ball was a huge success, by the way. No expense spared, naturally. And in her quiet way little Robina is doing very well.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Sir James beamed with pleasure.
His wife was equally pleased. She left Hester and came back into the room to join Hugo and her husband. “What a relief for her mother!” she exclaimed. “Elizabeth was so worried at the expense of it all, but if Robina can make a reasonable match, the prospect for her sisters is vastly improved. She is, of course, a very pretty girl. Do you know who…?”
Hester seized her opportunity. She pulled Lowell out into the hall and pushed him into a side room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Then she turned.
“What have you done, Lowell?” she hissed.
“I don’t know what you m—”
Hester gave her brother a most unladylike shake.
“Yes you do, you little toad! How did you find it? And what did you do with it?”
“Oh, you mean The Wicked Marquis? I sold it.”
“You what?”
“I sold it. I showed it to a friend of mine in Cambridge and he was as keen as mustard about it. He knew where to go to get it printed, and…”
“You…you sold it? For publication? You’re trying to hoax me, Lowell—no respectable publisher would handle a thing like that!”
“Well, no. That’s where old Marbury was so useful. He knew a fellow who dealt with the other kind.”
“Lowell!” Hester was horrified, but Lowell was too full of enthusiasm to notice.
He went on, “It needed spicing up a bit for that kind of trade, of course, so I did that. I brought it up to date as well. I didn’t do at all a bad job, either. The chap I sold it to was quite impressed.”
“You…you traitor, Lowell! How could you! How dare you!”
He looked injured. “I thought you’d be pleased. It wasn’t doing any good in that dusty old cupboard, and now it’s a huge success. Don’t listen to what Hugo says. It’s not just my set—everyone is talking about it.”
“Oh God!” she said in despair, pacing up and down in a fever of anxiety. “Oh, Lowell! How could you? We’re ruined!”
“Nonsense! For one thing, no one knows who the author is—”
“But they’re bound to find out! It wouldn’t be difficult to work out who wrote it—all the people in it were the ones I knew. I’m surprised Hugo hasn’t worked it out already.”
“That’s where my bits came in,” said her brother proudly. “I think you’ll find that I’ve obscured the tracks enough.”
“I must see it—immediately. Tonight!”
“I don’t think so, Hes. Gaines and I are off to Astley’s tonight. Tomorrow.”
“You’ll bring it tonight, you snake—”
“Hester!” Lady Perceval came into the room. “I thought you had gone upstairs. Whatever are you doing here? And Lowell!”
“I…I…er…I have some messages for Lowell. From the Vicarage.”
“Henrietta,