Chapter 3
Michael Sinclair, Viscount Tarley, found himself in front of the Regmont town house in Mayfair thirty minutes into the two-hour block of time in which Lady Regmont was known to be at home to callers. He dismounted before he could change his mind and passed the reins to the waiting footman, then took the steps up to the front door two at a time. He resisted the urge to check his cravat, which he’d styled modestly with a simple barrel knot. His anxiousness was extreme, to the point that he’d dithered over which of his waistcoats was the most attractive foil for the deep blue coat he wore for her, because she had once said blue was a very attractive color on his person.
In short order, he was announced into a drawing room holding half a dozen callers. Hester sat in a butter-colored wingback in the center of the assemblage, looking as fragile and beautiful as he had ever seen her.
“Lord Tarley,” she greeted, extending her hands to him without rising.
He crossed the oriental rug with swift strides and kissed the back of each pale, slender hand. “Lady Regmont. My day is brighter for having begun it in your presence.”
His pleasure would be dimmed when he left, as if he stepped out of the sunlight and into a shadow. He believed she was made for him, so much so he’d never once contemplated marrying anyone else. In his youth, he had thought it would be perfect for the Sinclair brothers to marry the Sheffield sisters and live parallel, harmonious lives. But Hadley had nursed grander plans for his daughters, and Michael’s position as second son was not of sufficient consequence even to bear consideration.
He’d never had a chance to have her.
To add insult to injury, Hester was denied even a proper Season, just as her sister had been. She was betrothed almost from the moment she was presented at court.
“I thought you had forgotten me,” she said to him. “It has been ages since you last called.”
“I could never forget you.” Although there were nights when he prayed for such to be possible.
She looked over his shoulder with a telling glance. A moment later, an efficient servant moved a damask-upholstered wooden chair to a place beside her. The other guests returned Michael’s brisk nods of greeting with smiles and effusive welcomes.
“Please,” Hester said, gesturing at the chair. “Sit. Tell me everything that has transpired in your life since the last time we spoke.”
He settled into the seat, his gaze ravenous as it swept over her glorious features. Her golden hair was styled fashionably, with ringlets on her forehead and hanging over her ears. She wore a lovely gown of rose pink, and her neck was adorned with a cameo secured by a thick black ribbon.
“I’ve come to reassure you. Jessica is in good hands. Alistair Caulfield has agreed to look after her while she is away. He’s lived in Jamaica for some years now and is well versed in the flow of Society and the personages in residence there.”
“Mr. Caulfield, you say.” A frown marred the line of her brows. “I am not certain she ever cared much for him.”
“I think the feeling might be mutual. The few times I’ve seen them together, they both became noticeably discomfited. However, they are adults now and she requires some guidance in matters in which Caulfield has expertise. In addition, she seeks to sell the plantation, and Caulfield’s property borders hers, so she has the impetus and means to conclude her affairs posthaste and return to you.”
“My lord.” Hester’s lovely green eyes warmed. “You are deviously clever. I adore that trait in you.”
Her last words caused a pang in his chest. Her adoration was only a small portion of what he wanted from her. “I cannot take all the credit. Caulfield rather fell into my lap and volunteered. I was simply in the correct place at the correct time to take advantage.”
“You are a godsend.” Her smile faded. “I miss her terribly already and she has been gone only one day. But listen to me go on so selfishly. She made a great attempt to hide it, but it was clear she anticipated the trip. In fact, she was quite eager. I should at least make an attempt to be excited for her.”
“That is why I came by today. I know how close you are to Jessica and how her absence will pain you. I want you to know … I am at your disposal, for whatever you require, in the interim until she returns.”
“You have always been so wonderful to me.” She reached out and gently, all-too-briefly touched his forearm. An air of melancholy clung to her that disturbed him. “But you have enough new burdens without adding me to the mix.”
“You will never be a burden to me. It is my privilege to be available to you whenever you may need me.”
“You may live to regret that offer one day,” she teased, brightening. “I am certain I could devise ways to torment you with it.”
Although her meaning was innocent, his reaction to her words was less so. “Do your worst,” he challenged in a husky voice. “I am eager to prove myself up to the task.”
A blush brought welcome color to her pale cheeks.
“Milady.” The butler approached with a small, beribboned box on a silver salver. He presented the gift to her.
One of Hester’s guests, the Marchioness of Grayson, began to tease her about secret admirers and how jealous Regmont would be, since his possessiveness over his wife was well known. He was unfashionably doting.
Hester opened the small accompanying card first, then set it on the chair arm beside her. Michael noted that her fingers were shaking as she opened the box, revealing a jewel-encrusted broach of obvious expense. Noting the pinched look around her eyes, he glanced at the card, which had been only partially refolded. He could make out very little of the slashing scrawl, but “forgive me” was legible enough. It tautened his jaw and sent a rush of questions through his mind.
“Well?” Lady Bencott asked. “Do not keep us in an agony of curiosity. What is it and who sent it?”
Hester passed the gift into the countess’s waiting hand. “Regmont, of course.”
As the broach made its way around the room to much approbation, Michael thought Hester’s wide smile looked forced. Certainly she was too pale not to raise some concern.
He excused himself, unable to bear the feeling that something was wrong in her world, and he lacked the right to do anything about it.