“How old are you, Hebe?” He scowled – so much for the silver-tongued rake. “Damn, I apologise, that was rude. I just…”
“’Tis fine…”
He looped Stanley’s rein about one hand and held out his other to her. They clasped palms, dry and warm.
“I will have three and twenty years this November.”
Ernest frowned as they began to walk – considered the shadows beneath her eyes. “I thought you… I’m about to be rude again.”
She laughed. “Older. I know. Everyone does. And I do not mind as I myself do not feel young. For I’ve been married and widowed. My father died and I now have my own house with enough of my dowry investments to keep me till I am old. In those aspects, I have at least thirty years.”
A chittering cry came from high up in the canopy and Hebe startled with a yelp, so he leaned close, slipped a hand to her waist. “Up there. See the little red fellow?”
“Oh, a squirrel.” She huffed. “I yelped at a squirrel. How humiliating.”
“This place is a dash gloomy, and unless you know the forest, it can be daunting. It needs clearing a little – not fully, for insects and mammals live in these dead trunks – but enough for the bluebells to recover. This land belongs to the manor house we’re heading to.”
“The one Thos said was haunted?”
“Everywhere is haunted according to Thos, including the castle privy. But yes, I believe there is a spectral butler who wanders the manor serving wine.” And they sauntered on, leaves rustling underfoot. “Hebe…” Ernest breathed deep. There was no easy way to ask this. “When I found you, your fright was not…a normal sort of fright. And you mentioned your husband.”
She sighed and fell silent.
Was this too soon?
Ernest had no wish to reopen her old wounds, although he sensed they had never altogether healed, perchance merely been bandaged over and left to fester. And the only way to allow such a wound to mend, he knew, was to rip it open, clear out the canker and then rebandage it with care and affection.
“I…I married in error,” she at length replied.
“Did your family force you?”
“No.” She grimly laughed for a moment before that laughter died. “I walked into misery of my own accord. In fact…” She twisted. “I begged for it. Pleaded with my father that Tobias and I marry with all haste.”
She strolled on, worrying her lip, but her fingers had become lax within his. Ernest held on, plaiting his own fingers about hers.
“You loved him?”
“Oh yes.” Her eyes grew narrow, mouth pulled taut, and he almost wished his question back, yet her lips parted once more… “And he said he loved me, you see. But…’twas a lie so tenderly told. He said he would care for me. A lie so craftily voiced. That he’d never hurt me. A lie so cruelly revealed.” She halted and faced him. “I loved, quite simply, a lie. A falsity that existed not. A man that married me for my substantial dowry and my father’s business.”
Emotion roiled within Ernest and he wished to haul her close, to promise she’d never be lied to again. Yet in this world, he knew that to be a lie also, and all he could offer were insufficient platitudes. “I am so sorry, Hebe.”
She shrugged. “I was seventeen. My mother died birthing me. My father was distant. I fell for the first handsome man who paid me attention, who smothered me with praise, when all he wanted was our Dashwood name, money and business. Such a stupid little girl.”
Ernest’s jaw gritted. “Not stupid, Hebe. Never. Innocent, perhaps, that was all.” He frowned. “Dashwood, you said? As in shipping?”
“Yes. My grandfather built up the business from one schooner, and Father grew it to what it is now. A ruthless man, if I were to be honest.”
“Did he not investigate this Tobias?”
“I think… Father only cared for money, so I was merely a burden anyhow.”
Ernest’s anger flared yet he compelled his hand not to clench upon hers. He knew of such men in London, sly deceivers that preyed upon unworldly maidens. “But this Tobias soon showed his true colours after you’d married?”
“Hah,” she cried sharply, her fingers endeavouring to pull away, Ernest refusing. “As soon as the last wedding guest bade their farewell.” She breathed deep. “I hugged my new husband, told him I was so glad he was finally mine.” Her fingers stilled within his. “My heart,” she whispered, “was so full of happiness, I felt sure it would burst.”
Ernest’s own thundered with pain. For the tale he was about to hear, that would twist a beautiful girl with a head full of romantic dreams to a shadowed widow, pursued by nightmares. He loosened his grip a touch, aware it had unconsciously tightened.
With a shudder, Hebe stared into the branches overhead and a crow studied them with ebony eyes.
