Page 94 of Duke of Emeralds
“She will be there, then,” Hester said, glancing toward the upper landing where the sound of running feet could be heard.
Anna stood, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “We should leave Hester to her family,” she announced. “I have ten thousand arrangements to finish before dawn, and Nancy will help whether she likes it or not.”
Nancy protested but rose all the same. “Promise me, Duchess.”
“I promise,” Hester said.
They hugged her—Fiona’s embrace soft and scented with lavender, Anna’s brief and brisk, Nancy’s a tangle of arms and laughter—and left as a cluster, coats swirling and voices echoing in the hall.
Hester stayed on the settee, watching the fire gutter as the door shut behind them. It took her a full minute to notice that Patience had not followed the crowd but instead remained in the far chair, hands folded in her lap.
Leonard drifted in and out, muttering something about correspondence and leaving the two women alone.
Patience waited until the house was nearly silent before speaking. “How are you, my heart?”
Hester kept her gaze fixed on the carpet. “I am perfectly well, Mama.”
Patience tsked. “You never did know how to lie. Not even as a child.”
This disarmed Hester; she let her shoulders fall, allowed herself to sink into the cushions. “I am tired,” she admitted. “That is all.”
Patience nodded. “Tired is not the end of the world.”
They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the clock marking out the minutes.
“I have been thinking of your father,” Patience said, abruptly. “How we used to quarrel. How I would say the most dreadful things, and he would storm out and refuse to speak to me for a day or more.” She smiled, wistful. “But every time, he returned. And every time, I let him.”
Hester glanced at her mother, startled by the clarity of her tone. “You never told me that.”
Patience shrugged. “It is not the sort of thing one tells a daughter. But I tell you now because you remind me of him. The way you look when you are hurt—the way you fight not to show it.”
“I do not think Thomas will come back,” Hester said so quietly, she was not sure the words had left her mouth.
Patience reached across the space, took Hester’s hand, and held it with surprising strength. “That is nonsense,” she said. “He loves you. Anyone can see it.”
Hester shook her head, bitter. “He left because I told him at the start that I did not want a true marriage.”
“Then ask him to come back.”
“It is not so simple.”
Patience laughed, the sound as bright and youthful as Hester remembered from before her father’s death. “It is, though. You just say it. You say, I want you, I love you, come home. And if he does not listen, you say it again and again until he does.”
Hester felt the tears build but held them back.
Patience squeezed her hand insistently. “Do not be so proud, Hester. I was proud, once, and it cost me time I can never get back.”
There was a thump overhead, Arabella’s unmistakable footfall, followed by a burst of laughter. Hester let it anchor her.
“I will think about what you have said,” Hester whispered.
Patience leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Think, and then do. Love is worth it, even when it hurts.”
Hester felt the tears break finally, silent and hot. She allowed herself to be held, to be small again, just for a moment.
When the fire died to embers, Patience stood and kissed her once more. “Good night, my darling,” she said, and left the room.
Hester sat in the hush, hands clasped tight. She thought of Thomas: how desperately she wanted to see him. She thought of her own heart and of how much she had denied it.
