The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

Mr Hungerford came towards her carrying two pewter goblets. A gentleman nudged his arm as he passed, causing the liquid to slosh over the rim of one vessel, but Mr Hungerford said nothing.

Ross would have demanded an apology, but then she imagined one look at the marquess’ broad shoulders and men gave him a wide berth.

“The wait for coffee would have seen us sitting here for another hour, and I know how desperate you are to return to the shop.” Mr Hungerford placed the goblets on the table. “I ordered wine instead. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

If anything, the potency of the beverage would give her the courage to get this matter over with, and so she took a sip straight away. It tasted a little sour, but she had long since given up being a connoisseur of fine wine or insisting she only take a drop with dinner.

Mr Hungerford spent ten minutes rambling on about the weather and about the benefits of inhaling the country air. Whenever she tried to speak, he mumbled about the merits of Bath, and she got the impression he was stalling.

“Sir, I believe we should get to the matter at hand,” she said, and then took another few sips to bolster her confidence.

“Can we not enjoy our drinks first?”

While some might imagine her plight had given her a level of self-assurance aristocratic misses struggled to possess, every role she’d played since leaving Prescott Hall had been a submissive one. Then, it suited her to remain inconspicuous. But now she was tired of playing the naive fool.

“No, sir, we cannot.” Estelle straightened. “I must tell you that I cannot possibly accept your offer of marriage. I do not love you, you see. And regardless of my position, I could not marry for anything less.”

She brought the goblet to her lips to mask a relieved sigh. Mr Erstwhile was right: the truth was better spoken aloud than left festering within.

Mr Hungerford fell silent.

“Will you not say something, sir?”

His features twisted into a sinister sneer, but the ugly expression faded. “I didn’t know you suffered from romantic delusions, Miss Brown. I hoped you might find me congenial, someone with whom you might have a comfortable life.”

Estelle shook her head. After giving herself to Ross in the carriage, she could never conceive doing so with any other man.

“You make love sound like a dream for fools.”

“In my experience, feelings change. Love comes and goes like flowers in spring. Marriage should be based on so much more. Do you not think?” His abrupt tone marked another change in him. Perhaps these conflicting emotions stemmed from frustration or disappointment.

“Infatuation is fleeting. True love lasts a lifetime,” she countered before finishing what remained in the goblet so she could be free of this difficult conversation.

He scoffed at that. “So, you intend to be the mistress of a marquess.”

“Mistress? What makes you think that?” The comment stung. It brought her mind back to Ross’ secret exchange with Hungerford outside his house in James Street. “Is that what Lord Trevane told you?”

“Why else would the marquess be interested in you?” he said with a level of contempt she had never heard in his voice until now.

Who was this man?

She thought she knew, but doubts surfaced.

“Is that what he told you?” She demanded an answer. The wine had given her a heavy head and more than a little courage. Indeed, she felt rather peculiar. “I want to know.”

“As a matter of fact, he did. In any event, I pointed out that you were far too principled to consider the position.”

And yet, like a naive fool, she had given herself to Ross in the carriage. For all intents and purposes, she had already embraced the role. “I must admit to being somewhat surprised. Lord Trevane is an extremely private man, not one who airs his business to all and sundry.”

Her world suddenly swayed, and she struggled to focus. The odd sensation stemmed from more than Mr Hungerford’s shocking revelation. Bright lights flashed in the corner of her eye. Everything seemed distant. It was as though she stood outside her body looking at herself seated at the table.

“What else did you expect?” he said, looking at her rather oddly. “He is a member of the aristocracy. When he marries, it will be to a lady of position and wealth.”

She possessed neither of those things and was desperately trying to think of a retort when a sharp shooting pain in her stomach drew her to her feet. Dizziness forced her to sit back down.

“You don’t look well,” Mr Hungerford said. He drained his goblet and stood. “Come. I shall see you safely home.”