Free The Birth of Blue Satan by Patricia Wynn

intended to ask St. Mars. His implication had been that his lordship would have to explain the quarrel he had had with his father.
    Hester worried that no one would take care of his wound, which might go septic. Fevered and upset, would St. Mars be able to defend himself?
    She told herself she had no right to feel this sharp an anxiety. Lord St. Mars—Lord Hawkhurst now—was a man with more power and influence than she could ever have. It would be presumptuous of her to think he could need her help.
    Yet, these were treacherous times. The Jacobites had not stopped complaining about King George’s accession, and rumours that the Pretender had landed on British soil continued to stir fears among the loyal populace. His Majesty had shown such a preference for the Whigs that he had created hostility even among those Tories who had pledged him their loyalty, and both parties were so acrimonious that no one could feel secure in this climate of smears and lies.
    Lord Hawkhurst had been a Tory, and Sir Joshua Tate, clothed as he was, could be nothing short of a Roundhead. He had shown no sympathy for St. Mars. On the contrary, he had seemed to regard him from the first with suspicion.
    He might think a greater motive for murder existed than a simple family quarrel. The Hawkhurst estate was one of the oldest and greatest in England; the Fitzsimmons family could trace its line back to the Norman Conquest, if not to William himself.
    Why would a son who was certain of inheriting that fortune be so foolish as to kill his own father? The question in itself was ridiculous. Still, Hester could not help wondering why the two men had fought.
    There was an old chipped mirror on the wall of her chamber, which told her little about her looks. Nevertheless, tonight Hester carried the candle over to it and spent some time examining her features in the glass. She could find very little to recommend her, but a good, straight set of teeth. If Isabella had a flaw, it was a smile that seemed to beg for a set of false ones, but she was so like most other ladies in that regard, no one would notice the fault at all.
    “Poor St. Mars,” Hester sighed aloud. “I would return your affection if you loved me as you love Isabella, but I will not be so foolish as to hope for that.”
    She would ache for him on the day when he should learn how shallow Isabella’s feelings were. Most gentlemen, she knew, would be content just to have such a divine creature in their bed. But if Isabella could not return St. Mars’s love. . . .
    The heat Hester had seen in his eyes when he’d looked at her cousin had been enough to make her knees go weak. Even now as she pondered the depth of his desire, she grew quite restless. Thoughts of my Lord St. Mars and his wants were enough to send her hastily away from the mirror and its truths.
    Climbing under her moth-eaten covers, she made a firm vow. If it would make St. Mars happy to have her cousin Isabella, then she, Hester, would do everything in her power to see that he was not disappointed.
     
    Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear!
    Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Daemons, hear!
    Ye know the spheres and various tasks assigned
    By laws eternal to th’aerial kind.
     
    In various talk th’instructive hours they past,
    Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
    One speaks the glory of the British Queen,
    And one describes a charming Indian screen;
    A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;
    At every word a reputation dies.
    Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat,
    With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    Distressed by the attack on St. Mars, Thomas Barnes had disobeyed him to stay awake until he was safely home. Then, the justice of the peace from Kent had arrived and, within minutes, Lord Hawkhurst’s household had learned that the harsh, proud, but just man they all called master had been brutally killed. Sir Joshua Tate, informed of St. Mars’s whereabouts, had gone to