The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“Estelle, wait.” Ross jumped down and came up behind her.

“Leave me be.” She knocked again. “Go home, Ross.”

The soft glow of candlelight appeared and drew closer to the door. Mr Erstwhile peered through the glass pane. He raised his hand in recognition. “Just a moment.”

“I should have stayed in France. I should have stayed away.”

“Come back to the carriage.” Ross gripped her shoulder. His touch almost made her yield. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened. Tell me how we have gone from sharing a heavenly experience to this.”

Mr Erstwhile turned the key and sheltered behind the door as he opened it. “Heavens above, come inside before you catch your death of cold.”

Estelle stepped over the threshold. She turned and placed her palm on Ross’ chest when he attempted to follow her. “Good night, my lord. Thank you for escorting me home.”

“Wait. At least explain what you meant when you said you were frightened,” he said as she closed the door. “Estelle!”

Estelle turned the key before Ross had an opportunity to try the handle. She hurried from the shop to the small parlour,

aware that Mr Erstwhile traipsed slowly behind.

A cloud of confusion filled her head.

Love was not always perfect — she knew that. Love often required a sacrifice. But she would rather be without Ross than be his mistress. She would rather be without him than be made to feel inferior. She paced back and forth while wringing her hands. Ross called out to her again, his voice but a faint mumble now.

“Would you care for some tea?” Mr Erstwhile, said ignoring Ross’ pleas. “Or would something stronger suffice?”

“Do you have sherry?”

“Indeed.” He glanced over his shoulder upon hearing Ross rattling the shop door. “His lordship seems rather insistent this evening.”

“He will leave in a moment.”

“Perhaps he wishes to return your jacket and bonnet.”

Estelle ran her hand over her hair and glanced at her dress. In her hurry to leave the carriage she had forgotten her clothes. “We were caught in the rain. They were wet, and I removed them as I did not want to catch a chill.”

“A wise decision.”

“I’m sure his lordship will return them tomorrow.”

Mr Erstwhile pursed his lips. His inquisitive gaze journeyed over her face. “Will you be here tomorrow, Estelle, or will you be on the next mail coach to heaven knows where?”

The insightful comment caught her short. “Why … why do you say that?”

“I may be old, but I am not blind. The day we met aboard the ship it was clear you were running from something.” He paused. “Now sit by the fire and warm yourself. Ideally, you should change out of those damp clothes. But I fear that if you go to your room, I might never see you again.”

“A lady cannot run forever.” Estelle dropped into the seat, picked up the poker and prodded the coal.

Mr Erstwhile smiled. “Then I shall pour us both a sherry before you beat the lumps of coal to powder.” He ambled over to the decanters on the sideboard, poured two drinks and returned to sit by the fire.

“To whom or what shall we make a toast?” he said raising his glass. “To friends and family wherever they may be. To love, for there is nothing finer in this world than two souls who belong together.”

With mild enthusiasm, Estelle raised her glass in salute. “To Fate for being a sly conniving devil.”

They both took a sip of sherry. Estelle wanted to drain the contents in the hope it would calm her erratic emotions, but in some things, she was still a lady.

“How is Mrs Erstwhile this evening?” Estelle said by way of a distraction.

“Oh, much better. She should be up and about tomorrow with any luck.”