The Scottish Prisoner - Diana Gabaldon [54]
“Vulgar curiosity,” John admitted. “I was quite young when they married and didn’t really know her. I do remember the wedding—huge affair, white lace and diamonds, St. James’s, hundreds of guests …” He trailed off, seeing her face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for your wedding,” he said hastily, trying to make amends.
“So am I,” she said, dimpling on one side. “You would have doubled the guest list. Though it wasn’t here. Not in England, I mean.”
“A, um, private affair, I take it?”
“Rather. Hal had Harry Quarry to stand up with him, and he got the landlady of the pub to be the other witness. It was in Amsterdam. She didn’t speak English and had no idea who we were.”
Grey was fascinated but afraid of giving offense by being too inquisitive.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” She was openly laughing at him now. “I hadn’t the slightest intention of marrying him, despite a six-month belly. He paid absolutely no attention to my objections, though.”
“Desp—oh. Er … Benjamin?”
“Yes.” A flicker of what Grey thought of as maternal contentment touched her face, softening her mouth for an instant. She glanced at him, a glint in her eye. “I could have managed well enough.”
“I daresay you could,” he murmured. “How did you come to meet Hal again in Amsterdam?” What was it Hal had said? “It took me nearly six months to find her.”
“He came looking for me,” she said frankly. “Strode into my father’s bookshop one day with fire in his eye. I nearly fainted. So did he, when he saw I was with child.”
She smiled, but it was an inward smile now, one of reminiscence.
“He took the most enormous breath, shook his head, then walked round the counter, picked me up, and carried me straight out of the shop and into a coach Harry had waiting outside. I was most impressed; I must have weighed eleven stone, at least.” She glanced sideways at him. The dimple was back. “Are you dreadfully scandalized, John?”
“Dreadfully.” What he was really thinking was that it was a mercy that Benjamin so strongly resembled Hal. He took her hand and tucked it comfortably into the crook of his elbow.
“Why are you thinking of poor Esmé?” she asked.
“Oh … just thinking that it wasn’t like Hal to marry a boring woman.”
“I am reasonably sure that she wasn’t boring,” Minnie said dryly. “Though I thank you for the implied compliment.”
“Well, I know she was beautiful—quite beautiful—but as to her character …”
“Self-loving, narcissistic, and anxious,” Minnie said concisely. “Not happy unless she was the center of attention—but very talented at getting said attention. Not stupid, by any means.”
“Really.” He absorbed that for a moment. “Getting attention. Do you suppose—I mean, if Hal’s told you that much, I imagine you know about Nathaniel Twelvetrees?”
“I do,” she said tersely, and her hand tightened a little on his arm. “Do I think she had an affair with him for his own sake, you mean? Or in order to regain Hal’s attention? The latter.”
He looked at her, surprised.
“You seem very sure. Is that what Hal says?”
She shook her head, and a lock of hair fell loose and drooped beside her ear. She thrust it back without ceremony. “I told him so, but I don’t think he believes it.
“She loved him, you know,” she said, and her mouth tightened a little. “He loved her to distraction, but it wasn’t enough for her—she was one of those spoilt girls for whom no amount of devotion is ever enough. But she did love him. I read her letters.” She looked up at him. “He doesn’t know that, by the way.”
So Hal had kept Esmé’s letters, and Minnie had found them. He wondered if Hal still had them. He squeezed her hand lightly and let it go.
“He won’t hear it from me.”
“I know that,” she said, “or I wouldn’t have told you. I don’t suppose you’re any more anxious to see him fight another duel than I am.”
“I didn’t see him fight the first one. But what—why ought he—oh. Never mind.” There must be something in Esmé’s letters, some clue regarding yet another admirer, that Hal hadn’t noticed but Minnie had.
She didn’t say anything, but paused, taking her hand from his arm,