A Shameful Secret by Anne Ireland Page B

the dressing mirror once more before going out into the hall. Her heart beat rapidly, and she felt terrible for she was distressed at the prospect of hurting the man who had honored her by asking for her hand in marriage.
    He was standing gazing out of the window when she entered the small parlor but turned almost at once, his face lighting with pleasure as he saw her.
    “Miss Weston, may I say how delightful you look and how gratified I am that you came down. I was not sure that you would.”
    “We are friends, sir.” Hester raised her head, unaware that she looked regal as she addressed him. “Charlotte told me that you had something particular to say to me. I came to beg you not to speak. I fear it might cause us both some distress.”
    The light died from his face. “You are not prepared to accept an offer of marriage from me?”
    “I like you very well as a friend, sir,” she replied with quiet dignity. “However, I do not wish to marry at this time.”
    “I have spoken too soon,” he said looking rueful. “My besetting sin is impatience, Miss Weston. I should have waited until we knew each other better.”
    Hester’s expression was serious as she looked directly at him. “I believe it would make no difference, sir. I am unlikely to marry. My mother is . . . an invalid, and she needs me with her. For the moment, she has a companion, but I must return to her soon.” It was the closest to the truth that she dare confess to him. “Forgive me if something in my manner led you to believe that my answer would be otherwise.
    “You have been everything you ought,” Henry swallowed his disappointment as best he could. “Perhaps a companion may be found for your mother? If she could be brought to accept your marriage, I am sure something could be arranged.”
    “No, I do not think so.” Hester half lifted her hand in apology. “I am truly sorry I cannot answer you differently. I hope you will not dislike me too much because of it, sir?”
    “I could never dislike you,” Henry said.  “Forgive me for embarrassing you, Miss Weston.”
    “Oh no . . .” She felt close to tears. “You did me too much honor, sir. The fault is mine.” She bowed her head as he left, feeling wretched.
    She waited until he had gone and then turned and ran from the room. She knew that she had lost a friend and it made her wish that she had never come to Bath.
     
    * * * *
     
    As Hester sought the sanctuary of her bedchamber to weep useless tears, Paul stood across the road and watched Henry Blackwater leaving. For a moment, he thought he was too late, but the other man’s manner was one of dejection. He did not look like a man who had had his offer of marriage accepted.
    “Blackwater!” Paul called to him. “Hold a moment, if you please. I would have words with you.”
    A startled look came to the other’s face, and for a moment, he seemed as if he would refuse, but then stood and waited for Paul to come up to him. His eyes were narrowed, his expression slightly wary and not exactly friendly.
    “Crawford?” Blackwater frowned. “What may I do for you?”
    “I understand you have a stallion for sale. May I take a look at the horse?”
    A flicker of something showed in Blackwater’s eyes. Was it relief or something more? Paul could not be certain, but he sensed an odd reserve in the other man, though he answered him fair enough.
    “Yes, of course. The horse has a good bloodline, but I have recently bought another and thought I might sell.” He pulled a wry face, a gleam of some secret emotion in his eyes. “We could go and look at the beast now if you like? I have nothing better to do.”
    “You seem at odds with yourself, Blackwater?”
    Blackwater hesitated. “The devil is in it! I had hopes of being settled but it was not to be. The lady has no thought of marriage,” he confessed, taking on a confiding air.
    “I am sorry for your disappointment,” Paul said, abandoning his intention of speaking to Miss Weston