Yet it was not merely Lord Ernest’s handsome bearing that had affected Hebe in her time here. It was the lightness to him, an indefatigable…warmth within his manner and flirtation that soothed and caused one’s heart to lift.
His soliloquy in the maze – of the flowers in autumn – should have sounded absurd spoken from such potent, masculine lips and yet…
It had calmed her.
The world and all those within it could be tumbling into hell and his lordship would just expound upon the beauty of the warm crimson décor in order to ease the fearful.
“Beneath all that silk waistcoat frippery,” murmured Aunt, “your Lord Ernest is a fine figure of a man, is he not?”
Hebe rolled her eyes. “He’s notmine, Aunt, and your Redmond is no weakling.”
“No. Indeed.”
Hebe noted that Aunt did not refute theyourand strolled back to sort through further costumes.
Roman soldiers, masked pirates and…more milkmaids.
Scowling, she sat amid the fluff and satin, watched her aunt’s palm hesitantly reach for the windowpane and, as though she couldn’t bear to look any longer, Aunt’s head turned slightly to the side, sadness rippling her lips.
Hebe couldn’t bear to witness such an emotion upon a beloved companion who only ever wore a smile.
Upon Tobias’s death, Aunt had become her crutch, and although Hebe now stood on her own two feet, Aunt was always there to steady her lest she stumble. Hebe scolded herself for not realising that her aunt also held a hidden hurt, perhaps also needed someone with which to talk, to share, and a guilt settled about her.
“I… I’ve never said thank you, Aunt Beatrice. For all your warmth and regard. For every time you held me after a nightmare, for when you listened to me. Never asking for anything in return.”
Twisting from the window, a smile now wreathed her aunt’s lips. “Oh, you’ve no need, Hebe. You’re the daughter I never had.” Her hazel gaze glowed – tender and loving, assuaging any self-reproach. “And it has been all my pleasure to see life return to your eyes. I wish I’d been here to prevent your marriage in the first place.”
“I’m not sure I would have listened, so headstrong was I. So eager for love.” Hebe fiddled with a cat mask. “Do you think… Do you think there could be a future for you and Redmond? It would be a scandal still, but…”
Her aunt blinked rapidly before she meandered over and plonked herself onto a harlequin’s diamonds. “Sometimes, I think…” She slowly shook her head. “At my age, I could bear the scandal, yes, for happiness, and some old tabbies would no doubt expect such behaviour from me in any case. But Redmond and I… We are two different people now. With experiences that have changed us, moulded us. I am no longer an innocent young girl and Redmond, he is…controlled and formidable.”
Hebe reached out to clasp her aunt’s chill hand. So often in the past it had been the reverse, and Hebe could only hope she herself could bring comfort, could say the right words. “And how was he when young?”
“Kind, strong, shy but dependable.”
“I have watched him guide his horses and command the grooms, and he appears that way still.”
“Perhaps.” She twined her fingers within Hebe’s. “And I? What if he does not like what I have become?”
“You are the most generous, adventurous and effusive lady I have ever met.” Hebe narrowed her eyes. “If he does not like those qualities, then he is not worthy of you.”
Aunt placed an arm around Hebe’s shoulders and hugged her close. “Oh, niece. We will see. But what of you? Will you succumb to Lord Ernest? He devours you with passionate eyes. But as I have talked with him, I have come to realise he is no habitual seducer. And I should know, I’ve met a fair few.”
“But a rake nonetheless.”
“Ah, Hebe. Matters are never precisely black and white. Strictly good or bad. Since my Mr Cassell died, I’ve taken lovers, yet would you call me a trollop?”
“No! You enjoy life.”
“And so has Lord Ernest. Yes, he dallies, his reputation amorous, but never have I heard word that he debauches young debutantes or forces himself where his attentions are unwanted.”
“I like him, I admit. He hides a kindness and makes me laugh, but…” Hebe’s thoughts twisted to her husband, so debonair when she’d first met him. All the debutantes and ladies of society had feted his handsome looks and suave tongue, yet he’d vowed to be faithful and loving to her alone. Then the door had closed on the last wedding guest and that face, that handsome face had in an instant betrayed its true character – devious, repulsive and bitter. “How do I know ’tis not a disguise Lord Ernest wears?”
“Well…” Aunt held up a mask of red lace. “I have always believed a masquerade reveals one’s true nature. By what we wear and how we act in disguise. Sir Harold always togged up as Caligula because he was a frustrated despot, and my friend Mrs Sleaford forever dresses as a French courtesan – secret yearnings there.”
“What costume have you decided upon then, Aunt?”
She tapped the lace mask on Hebe’s nose. “You’ll just have to wait and see. And I might also add…” She leaned close, smile wicked. “A kiss bestowed whilst in disguise is ever honest.”
