The Birth of Blue Satan by Patricia Wynn Page B

affairs are any business of yours, Hester. Your partiality for that gentleman is quite unbecoming. If I was you, and I did not wish to become a laughing-stock, I should keep my tongue inside my head.”
    Hester swallowed the cruelty of the taunt, as she had so many others—by ignoring it, although the teeth on this particular knife were sharp.
    “You mistake me, Aunt. I merely think that Isabella could show more interest. Surely a note, consoling St. Mars on the loss of his father, would not be inappropriate? She was, after all, in his company when he received the tragic news. And if she is still entertaining his suit—for I am certain he means to propose when he is well—mightn’t she write to inquire how he is healing?”
    “I am not so certain that his suit will be welcome then, Miss Prig. We shall know more after dinner tomorrow. I have asked Sir Harrowby Fitzsimmons to join us. He will be able to tell us if these terrible rumours about St. Mars are to be believed.”
    “Surely you do not believe them! You, who have been so much in his company!” As Hester spoke, she could not keep the indignation from her voice.
    Mrs. Mayfield gave a toss of her head. “I do not pretend to know everything the way you do, Hester. But I can tell you that I will never let Isabella throw her prospects away! Not when she could have the greatest gentleman in London.”
    “And who might that be, Aunt, if not my Lord St. Mars? I presume you to mean his Grace of Bournemouth. Has he spoken yet?”
    Her aunt’s smile was brittle. “Not yet, perhaps, but he will, when he sees that my little girl may be ready to accept someone else.”
    “Is she?”
    “If you expect an answer to that, you must think me a greater simpleton than I am.” Mrs. Mayfield tossed her head, as she rose from her chair by the fire, dropping her needlework to one side. “I must speak to Cook about the menu. I wonder if Sir Harrowby would prefer eels or salmon with his tongue? I had better check the colour of the gills on that salmon Cook bought this morning. Hester, you may finish the work I began on these sheets, but mind, keep your stitches as fine as mine.”
    Since Hester had never known Mrs. Mayfield to set more than five stitches in a row, she had no fear that her handiwork would throw a stain on her aunt’s. Suppressing her frustration, she took the sheet from the mending basket, grateful at least to have this chance to speak to Isabella alone.
    For all the reaction she had given to their conversation, Isabella might have been in a different room. Her thoughts seemed far away, as she slowly worked her needle.
    Unwilling to wait for her aunt to reenter the room, Hester asked immediately, “Is it true, Bella? Have you decided on a suitor?”
    Isabella gave a sigh. “I don’t know. I think I should like to have Sir Harrowby, but if the Duke should offer for me, then Mama says I will have to jilt him.”
    “And if the Duke does not?”
    “Then maybe I can have Sir Harrowby instead.”
    Hester felt a clutching at her heart. “Then your mama has given Sir Harrowby permission to pay his addresses to you?”
    “No. But after tonight, she might. It all depends on what he says about St. Mars.”
    “You cannot believe that St. Mars has killed his papa!”
    “I don’t know, Hester. Last night Mama told me that gentlemen can do terrible things in a passion. And everyone says that Lord St. Mars fought with his papa.”
    “But you know him, Bella. You have danced and talked with him. Has none of your time together taught you that he would never do anything unjust?”
    Isabella shook her head. “I told you that St. Mars looks at me as if he wants me. What if he wants me so badly, he decided to kill Lord Hawkhurst so he could be an earl?”
    “I do not perfectly understand.”
    “Well, neither did I, at first. But Mama explained it to me. Lord St. Mars must have known that I would never marry him if the Duke offered. How could I, when he was not even an earl