The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(44)

“Do you have sherry?”

“Indeed.” He glanced over his shoulder upon hearing Ross rattling the shop door. “His lordship seems rather insistent this evening.”

“He will leave in a moment.”

“Perhaps he wishes to return your jacket and bonnet.”

Estelle ran her hand over her hair and glanced at her dress. In her hurry to leave the carriage she had forgotten her clothes. “We were caught in the rain. They were wet, and I removed them as I did not want to catch a chill.”

“A wise decision.”

“I’m sure his lordship will return them tomorrow.”

Mr Erstwhile pursed his lips. His inquisitive gaze journeyed over her face. “Will you be here tomorrow, Estelle, or will you be on the next mail coach to heaven knows where?”

The insightful comment caught her short. “Why … why do you say that?”

“I may be old, but I am not blind. The day we met aboard the ship it was clear you were running from something.” He paused. “Now sit by the fire and warm yourself. Ideally, you should change out of those damp clothes. But I fear that if you go to your room, I might never see you again.”

“A lady cannot run forever.” Estelle dropped into the seat, picked up the poker and prodded the coal.

Mr Erstwhile smiled. “Then I shall pour us both a sherry before you beat the lumps of coal to powder.” He ambled over to the decanters on the sideboard, poured two drinks and returned to sit by the fire.

“To whom or what shall we make a toast?” he said raising his glass. “To friends and family wherever they may be. To love, for there is nothing finer in this world than two souls who belong together.”

With mild enthusiasm, Estelle raised her glass in salute. “To Fate for being a sly conniving devil.”

They both took a sip of sherry. Estelle wanted to drain the contents in the hope it would calm her erratic emotions, but in some things, she was still a lady.

“How is Mrs Erstwhile this evening?” Estelle said by way of a distraction.

“Oh, much better. She should be up and about tomorrow with any luck.”

Silence ensued.

They stared at the flames for a while and sipped their drinks.

“Do you know what is strange?” Mr Erstwhile eventually said in the tone of a constable from Bow Street. “For the second time in two days, you have left the shop with Mr Hungerford and returned with Lord Trevane. I trust Hungerford acted the gentleman, and it was his lordship’s overbearing nature that led to this sudden change in circumstance.”

“You think Lord Trevane is overbearing?” she said defensively. She supposed Ross might appear arrogant, a little forceful of manner, but weren’t all deeply passionate men the same?

“He did admit to threatening Mr Hungerford.” Mr Erstwhile shook his head. “I cannot help but wonder what poor Mr Hungerford makes of it all. Equally puzzling is why a marquess is willing to brawl in the street for you, Estelle.”

Mr Erstwhile never used her given name and yet he’d made a point of stressing it twice now.

“Ah, I see the flicker of surprise in your eyes,” he continued. “After tonight, it is fair to assume that while Estelle is your name, clearly Miss Brown is not.”

Fear wrapped around her heart like a vine. This kind, honest man deserved to hear the truth.

“It was never my intention to deceive you.” She spoke slowly and with reservation. “But I could not return to London without assuming a false identity.”

Mr Erstwhile finished the remainder of his sherry and placed the glass on the table next to him.

“Falsehoods occur when one is hiding from the truth.” He stroked his white beard. “As an observer, the truth is that you were once in love with the marquess, and he was very much in love with you. From your elegant bearing, clearly you’re from good stock, as the matrons like to say. And so I must assume a terrible tragedy occurred. One that led to your separation.”

“I have lived in a constant state of mourning these last eight years,” she said softly. “Losing one’s true love evokes a pain deeper than any physical wound.”

“In that, we are agreed. I too struggled in turmoil for a while until I followed my heart.” He sat forward. “That same turmoil is like a tempest raging through you, shaking your branches. But the time for honesty is nigh. To understand a problem, one must dig down to the roots for more often than not the issue lies there.”

Estelle contemplated his comment.

Her problems began the moment she received an ultimatum and invariably made the wrong choice. Everything that happened afterwards was merely a consequence of that one action. It was too late to rekindle what was lost. Even so, she owed it to Ross, to Fabian and to herself to tell the truth.

Estelle stood, and Mr Erstwhile followed. “The time for introductions is long overdue.” She inclined her head. “Sir, my name is Estelle Darcy, sister to Baron Ravenscroft, and a lady lost these past eight years.”

A smile touched the old man’s lips. He bowed. “Miss Darcy. Thankfully, you have found your way home at long last.”

The word home roused a flutter in her stomach. The odd feeling came to settle in her chest, warm and comforting. England was home. She had lived by many names, had been but a ghost of her former self, but she owned the name Darcy.