A Marriageable Miss (20 page)

Helena, however, had no intention of allowing her husband’s well-practised charm to win her over twice in one day. Wrenching herself away, she glared up at him.

‘May I ask where it is that you have been all this time, my lord?’ she enquired, her tone decidedly chill.

A disconcerted frown crossed his forehead. ‘Over at the stables, of course,’ he explained. ‘Surely Mrs Wainwright informed you—Grimthorpe was worried about Copperlady—she had a bad colic—we were obliged to send to Epsom for the veterinary.’

Pausing, he then added, ‘I dare say it all sounds of little consequence to you, my dear, but I swear I did my best to get away sooner.’

One look at Helena’s stony expression, however, was more than enough to convince him that there was little point in telling her that he had spent the better part of his time at the stables all but tearing out his hair in his utter frustration and fury at having had to abandon his new bride so abruptly. Those final, precious few moments in the carriage having encouraged him to believe that Helena was not quite as averse to his advances as he had originally feared, he had been so desperate to get back to her that the majority of the horse doctor’s pontificating advice had sailed totally over his head.

‘I trust she has recovered—this Copperlady—one of your brood mares, I take it?’

He nodded and, stepping forwards, reached out to take hold of her hands.

‘Don’t be cross with me, sweetheart,’ he cajoled her. ‘I swear it won’t happen again.’

Not until the next time, I suspect
, thought Helena as, repressing a sigh, she could feel herself succumbing, once again, to the irresistible appeal in his eyes and the compelling pressure of his hands on hers.
Why do I allow him to have this effect on
me?
she wondered hopelessly as, with a brief kiss on her fingertips, the earl sketched her an extravagant bow and made for the connecting door that led to his chamber, saying, ‘Ten minutes—no more!’

A quarter of an hour later, having changed out of his soiled garments into a black dinner jacket, his skilfully tied neckcloth of snowy white linen a fine testament to his valet’s expertise, Richard proudly escorted his blushing bride through the doors of the impressive dining room she had inspected some hours earlier.

The grand banqueting table itself, she was relieved to observe, had had several of its leaves wheeled away and its two end pieces had been slotted together to form a table of a more intimate size, enabling the couple to sit a mere eight feet distant from each other.

It was clear to Helena that the cook had gone to considerable trouble to show off her culinary skills, thereby occasioning her new mistress to feel obliged to taste a little of everything, lest the woman take offence. And, as one after another, the courses and removes were set before her, in seemingly never-ending succession, she was obliged to resort to a number of different stratagems in order to give the impression that she was enjoying every mouthful.

In point of fact, she found the presence of so many attendants hovering around her rather unnerving, quite apart from the fact that it proved a decided hindrance to any sort of a private conversation between Markfield and herself. Whilst she, in the normal way, would have been perfectly content to have him enlarge upon the ongoing health of his ailing mare—or, indeed, any other matter upon which he might have cared to converse—the eight feet of highly polished mahogany that lay between them was more than enough to quell any desire she might have had to introduce a topic, since the very idea of having to listen to the sound of her own voice rebounding off the panelled walls was hardly conducive to friendly discourse. As for her husband, other than the hurried apology blurted out before dashing off to change, the only observations he had managed had been in reference to the meal itself—yet another sad indication of their future life together!

Had she but known it, Richard’s silence had rather more to do with the odd sense of unease that he had, all at once, found himself experiencing, as his thoughts dwelt increasingly upon the upcoming nuptial scene.

Not that he had any reservations as to his own competence in that direction—as his many successful conquests in the past would, no doubt, have been prepared to stand surety! No, the difficulty that confronted him at present was in regard to his wife’s total lack of knowledge—a situation that fell well outside his customary range of experience, since he had always been pretty careful to ensure that his amatory adventures only ever involved the sort of female whose familiarity with such matters was well on a par with his own—women such as Rachel Cummings, for instance.

Innocent virgins, he realised, as he stole a quick look at his silent wife, were, on the other hand, an entirely different matter, and one that would require a somewhat more delicate approach. Especially if one wanted to be certain of not making a great hash of the whole event, he cautioned himself grimly, reflecting that he’d made more than enough of those recently to see him well into his dotage.

Signalling to Teddington to serve the port, he clenched his jaw. If he was to have any hope of breaking through the barriers of reserve that Helena seemed to have erected between them, it was clear that he was going to have to subjugate his own wayward emotions and concentrate all his efforts on a slow, gentle seduction, the very prospect of which was distinctly at odds with his current desires!

Taking her husband’s gesture as the sign for which she had been waiting, Helena rose purposefully from her seat, having told herself that there was little point in her sitting there in silence if it was Markfield’s intention to drink himself into oblivion.

‘If you will excuse me, my lord,’ she said, with a quick glance at the decanter at his elbow, ‘I will leave you to enjoy your port and retire to my room—it has been a long day and I am feeling rather tired.’

Richard rose hurriedly to his feet. ‘I had rather hoped you would stay and join me,’ he exclaimed. ‘We have scarcely had a moment to ourselves all day…’

Her look of incredulity was sufficient to indicate that this particular phrase was not the most ideal to have chosen in the circumstances.

‘Yes, well, I realise that I have been greatly at fault in that respect,’ he said. ‘But that’s all over and done with now, surely? I thought we might take our glasses across to the sitting room and relax for a few minutes.’

‘I don’t actually care for port, my lord,’ returned Helena, in a last-ditch effort to put off the fateful moment for as long as possible. ‘And, it is getting rather late, so—if you have no objection?’

Despite his earlier good intentions, Richard was unable to prevent the sudden wave of irritation that washed over him at her rejection. Why couldn’t she just accept his apology and be done with it? he fumed silently. It was not as though he had enjoyed walking out and leaving her—particularly not with the heady taste of that kiss still lingering on his lips. Perhaps it was time to exercise a little of that male dominance for which he had, until fairly recently, been well renowned.

‘I hesitate to remind you, my dear,’ he said as, pushing back his chair, he moved purposefully towards her, ‘but, as you are no doubt aware, this is supposed to be our wedding night—an occasion which generally requires the observation of certain—how shall I put it?—formalities. Taking yourself off to bed alone is hardly in keeping with the moment, to my way of thinking!’

Helena backed away, her cheeks flooding with colour. ‘I assure you that I have no intention of avoiding my—obligations, my lord—’

‘And, for God’s sake, stop calling me “my lord”!’ interrupted the earl hotly, his fingers raking through his hair in frustration. ‘My given name is Richard, as well you know, and I would be greatly obliged if you could bring yourself to use it, on the odd occasion!’

‘Whatever you say,
Richard!’
retorted Helena pointedly but then, fearing that she had finally outrun his patience, she held her breath.

There was a brief pause, during which Markfield regarded her steadily then, with a slight twitch of his lips, he executed a polite bow and lifting her unresisting hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and started to make for the door.

‘You are quite right, my dear,’ he said, as he led her through the hall towards the staircase. ‘The hour is getting rather late—well past our bedtime, I hazard a guess!’

Trembling with a mixture of fear and expectation, Helena could do nothing other than follow where he chose to lead her. On reaching her bedroom door, she had every reason to suppose that he would accompany her inside. Instead of which, he halted and, spinning her round to face him, wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his chest.

‘Please stop fighting me, my sweet,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘I simply cannot bear to be at odds with you. I’ll submit to whatever penance you care to drum up for me—just don’t shut me out of your life, I beg you!’

‘Penance, my lord?’ Helena stared up at him in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’

He gave her a brief smile and released her. ‘I realise that I’ve made a complete mess of things from start to finish, Helena, for which I truly beg your forgiveness. I want you to know that, from this moment on, I mean to do whatever it takes to make this marriage work. I just need to hear that you’re willing to give me the chance.’

Totally lost in the glow of the absolute sincerity that shone from her husband’s eyes, Helena was so full of love for him that she could scarcely breathe. No longer afraid of whatever mystery lay in store for her, for she felt that she could trust him with her very life, she reached out her hands and pulled him towards her, yearning for the feel of his lips on hers and the comfort of his arms around her once again.

His heart skipping several beats, Richard found himself in a wild state of euphoria. Having cast aside all his former cleverly conceived plans, he had been perfectly prepared to bid his wife a respectful goodnight and adjourn to the solitude of
his lonely bedroom, with nothing more than a bumper of brandy to keep him company through the coming night. Instead—and he could hardly believe it possible—it seemed that she had forgiven him and, more than that, appeared to be actually inviting his caresses!

With a husky groan, he swept her into his arms and lowered his lips, revelling once again, in the captivating sweetness of that earlier embrace. Clinging to him, it seemed to Helena that the whole world had spun away, leaving the two of them suspended in a kind of enchanted oblivion, where nothing mattered but the heat of the spiralling passion within which they were both locked.

Gasping for breath, Richard reluctantly tore his lips away from hers and, hefting his shoulder against the bedroom door, thrust it open; lifting Helena in his arms, he strode swiftly to the bed and, without taking his eyes from hers, deposited her none too gently on its lilac-coloured counterpane. Ripping off his jacket, he tossed it carelessly to one side, likewise his waistcoat. Then, tearing at his neckcloth, he dragged it from his neck and sent it sailing across the room. With scarcely a pause, he kicked off his shoes and leapt on to the bed beside her, his fingers busy with the fastenings of her gown.

The raucous creak of a floorboard on the far side of the room cut across his senses like an icy shower. With a muttered oath he lunged to his feet and at once perceived the scarlet-faced figure of Helena’s maid tiptoeing gingerly towards the door.

‘What the blazes do you think you are doing?’ he rapped out, barely able to control his fury.

‘B-beg pardon, sir!’ stammered Fran, utterly beside herself with mortification. ‘I was turning down madam’s bed when you—that is, I…’

At the earl’s pointed gaze, her voice trailed away and she shrank back in embarrassment.

‘Very well,’ he barked curtly. ‘Now go!’

Dipping a hasty curtsy, Fran scurried for the door but then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, she hesitated and turning, she held out her hand and faltered, ‘It’s just that I found this, sir—
madam—and I know it isn’t yours, Mi—my lady, so I just wondered what I should do with it?’

‘What is it, Fran?’

Having rolled over and hidden her face in the coverlet in her humiliation at being discovered by her maid in such a wild state of abandon, Helena, her curiosity gradually overcoming her, raised herself into a sitting position and, screwing up her eyes, squinted at the shiny object dangling from Fran’s fingers.

All at once, it was as if her very breath had been torn from her body; the room seemed to be closing in on her and she could feel herself sinking into some vast bottomless void.

A stifled moan escaped her lips, bringing Richard instantly to her side.

‘What’s wrong, my love?’ he asked urgently, reaching out for her.

Thrusting his hands aside, Helena scrambled away from him, her face numb with shock.

‘Get out!’ she said hoarsely, her voice quivering with anger. ‘Get out of this room and take your paramour’s bauble with you!’

Then, leaning forwards, she snatched the offending object out of her maid’s trembling fingers and hurled it at him.

Although Richard was at a complete loss as to why Helena had erupted in such a sudden fury, his reaction was instinctive, his hand coming up to catch the object in mid-flight. Uncurling his fingers, he stared down at it, in stupefied incomprehension.

There, in the palm of his hand, its ruby eye glinting up at him, lay one of Rachel Cummings’s earrings!

A
s the insistent sound of tinkling chinaware broke into Helena’s consciousness, a dejected groan escaped her lips and she made a futile attempt to block out the invasive noise by burrowing more deeply into the mound of pillows.

‘I’m that sorry to have to wake you up, Mi—my lady,’ came Fran’s hesitant tones. ‘But it’s gone half-past ten and the cook and housekeeper are waiting downstairs for you to give them their orders.’

Like a bolt of lightning, awareness suddenly returned and, shooting up, Helena stared at her maid in wide-eyed consternation. ‘You haven’t mentioned anything about—what happened last night?’ she breathed fearfully.

‘Hardly!’ retorted the woman drily, pulling open one of the drawers and extracting a soft shawl. ‘What goes on between a husband and wife in the privacy of their bedroom is nobody’s business but their own, to my way of thinking,’ she added, and returning to the bedside, draped the shawl across her mistress’s shoulders. ‘Now, you drink up your chocolate and then we’ll see what we can do about those dark rings under your eyes—else that lot down there will have a field day making much out of nothing!’

Having spent most of the night curled up in one of the fireside chairs, still fully dressed and with her eyes pinned to the adjoin
ing door, lest her husband should choose to return and catch her unawares, Helena was too exhausted to do anything other than offer a weak smile in reply.

‘I think we’d best forgo the bath this morning, ma’am,’ continued the maid, as she selected an assortment of undergarments from the chest of drawers and piled it neatly on top of the ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘The quicker you get downstairs and start taking up your duties, the less they’ll have to gossip about.’

Spurred on by the woman’s matter-of-fact attitude, Helena quickly gulped down the remainder of her hot chocolate and slid out of bed.

‘There’s hot water in the basin, waiting for you,’ Fran advised her, indicating the marble washstand, on which reposed a pretty rose-patterned washbowl and its matching water jug, along with Helena’s own toilet accessories. ‘And I brought up a few bits of ice, as well—a cooling compress for those swollen eyes will make all the difference, you’ll see.’

Barely twenty minutes later, thanks to Fran’s deft administrations, her neatly dressed and fully coiffed mistress stood at the door to her bedchamber, willing herself to go down and face whatever lay before her.

Having already ascertained from her maidservant that his lordship had taken himself off to the stables some three hours earlier, her nerves were not nearly as strung up as they would have been had she been required to confront him head-on.

The violent altercation of the previous evening had left her feeling both physically and mentally drained. After taking one look at the ruby earring, so clearly recognisable as one of the pair that Lady Cummings had worn at the Kettleshams’ rout, Markfield had flung it from him in angry refutation, disclaiming any knowledge of how it had come to be in her bedroom.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that his robust denials had eventually dissolved into an anguished and frantic entreaty, Helena, by clamping her hands over her ears, had refused to listen to a word he said, the discovery of her rival’s earring
being the final insult in a day that had seemed to her to have consisted of one indignity after another. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself for having been so totally gulled by his charismatic love-making techniques and had sworn that, as far as she was concerned, he had played that card for the last time. No matter what he might do or say to try to persuade her otherwise, she would never again allow him to cozen her in such a despicable manner. To think that she had been so utterly captivated by the feel of his arms around her and the compelling pressure of his lips on hers that she had been within a whisper of succumbing to his persuasive overtures. But for Fran’s timely interruption—!

A shudder ran through her and, drawing in a trembling breath, she straightened her shoulders, stepped out into the corridor and made her way down the stairs, steeling herself to face the uncertain rigours of her new position.

Having decided that she would conduct the interviews with the cook and housekeeper in a relatively informal manner, she turned in the direction of the cosy-looking sitting room that she had viewed briefly the previous day. After tugging at the bell cord next to the mantelpiece, she settled herself into a comfortable armchair near the window and, after offering up a silent prayer, sat back and waited.

Mrs Ellis, the cheerfully buxom cook, having spent the past quarter of an hour or so hovering at the top of the staff staircase in high expectation of the summons, was the first to arrive, anticipating the equally impatient Mrs Wainwright by a good thirty seconds.

‘Good morning, my lady!’ she cried, as she bustled in with her daybook and grocery lists, her crisply starched apron crackling as she moved forwards. ‘You slept well, I trust?’

Then, accepting her mistress’s invitation to sit, she proceeded to spread her lists in on the table in front of her before turning an expectant eye in Helena’s direction.

‘Lamb today, I should think, my lady, possibly with a smoked haddock roulade to start—Mr Pearson tells me that he has some fine French beans that are just ripe for picking—new potatoes, of
course, and maybe a cherry almond syllabub to finish? How does that sound, ma’am?’

‘It all sounds very nice, Mrs Ellis,’ replied Helena, with just the slightest lift of an eyebrow. ‘But rather as though you hardly needed to confer with me in the first place, it would seem.’

‘Ah, well, that’s true, ma’am,’ said the cook, looking slightly abashed. ‘Mr Richard—his lordship, that is, usually just lets me get on with it.’

‘Well, since you have already gone to so much trouble to arrange this evening’s dinner menu, Cook, perhaps we ought to leave it at that for today. In future, however, I do believe that a little discussion would be in order. Needless to say, of course, I shall always rely on your expert knowledge to assist me in my choices.’

Her chubby face wreathed with gratification at the implied compliment, the smiling woman gathered up her bits and pieces and sketched her new mistress a brief curtsy. ‘Why, of course, ma’am—it will be my pleasure, ma’am.’

‘Let’s say tomorrow at ten, then,’ nodded Helena, as the cook prepared to depart. ‘Ask Mrs Wainwright to come in now, if you would, please.’

Having already been given ample time to weigh up the housekeeper’s assets on the previous afternoon, Helena lost no time in assuring Mrs Wainwright that she was more than happy to leave the general running of the house in her capable hands for the time being.

‘And, if I happen upon anything that I would like to change, I’m sure we won’t need to come to cuffs over the matter,’ she added, with a swift smile at the older woman.

‘I should think not indeed, your ladyship,’ returned the other, with an answering smile. ‘And, may I say, on behalf of all the staff, ma’am, how very glad we all are to see the master happily settled down at last!’

‘Why, thank you, Mrs Wainwright—how very kind of you to mention it.’

Feeling somewhat flustered at hearing such a fond reference to her husband, Helena sought desperately to change the subject.

‘You have been with the family for a long time, I imagine,’ she ventured, at last.

Her eyes lighting up, the housekeeper nodded. ‘Why, yes, ma’am—thirty years this coming August, as it happens. Brand, spanking new the house was, when I first came here. I was just twelve years old and only a kitchen skivvy in those days, of course, and Captain and Mrs Standish—his lordship’s parents—were just newly-weds themselves then.’

Despite her current antipathy towards her husband, Helena could not help feeling a certain curiosity about his early days.

‘His lordship was born here, then, I take it?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes, ma’am! I can remember the day as if it were yesterday. Such a fuss and palaver there was going on—what with the master being born scarcely six hours after Lord Leo’s son Simon! Captain Standish’s father—the old earl, that was—brought a whole hogshead of ale down to the kitchen for the staff to celebrate the two births—he was over the moon with joy at getting two grandsons at almost one and the same time.’ She paused, reflectively. ‘A grand fellow, he was, his old lordship—he’d be turning in his grave if he could see the state of his old home now!’

Helena nodded in sympathy. ‘How did it come to be allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair?’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘An unfortunate combination of events, really. When the old earl died—six years ago, that would be—Lord Leo, Viscount Lexington, as he was then—being the eldest of his old lordship’s three sons, inherited the title, but he was a very poor landlord, having always been a bit of a loose fish, ever since his wife ran off with one of the grooms back in ’92!’

‘Ran off with one of the grooms?’ repeated Helena faintly. ‘Why did his lordship not just go after her and fetch her back?’

‘Oh, he did try, my lady,’ replied Mrs Wainwright, with a pensive sigh. ‘That was the start of it, really. He took after the pair like a maniac, grabbed hold of the leader’s harness and brought the carriage up so sharply that the whole lot tipped over on its side. Poor Lady Julia didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid—that was when Lord Leo started all the drinking and gambling.
Never took the slightest bit of interest in either the estate or young Lord Simon from that moment on—not until the lad turned seventeen, that is, when his father chose to introduce him to all his rakehell associates and their obnoxious pursuits!’ She gave a disapproving sniff.

‘I understand that the present Lord Markfield and his cousin Simon were very close, in those days,’ put in Helena carefully. ‘Am I to take it that he, too, joined in the general revelry?’

‘Good gracious, no, my lady!’ The housekeeper looked thoroughly shocked. ‘The master has always been far too much of a gentleman to involve himself with that sort of set. He preferred to spend whatever spare time he had in his grandfather’s stables, just as he does now, my lady—he’s been totally besotted with horses ever since he was in leading strings!’

‘But, the two of them were close—as children, I mean?’ persisted Helena, unable to reconcile her husband’s own description of events with what the housekeeper now seemed to be telling her.

‘Oh, yes, ma’am,’ replied Mrs Wainwright, with a satisfied nod. ‘Almost inseparable, they were then—on account of the poor lambs both having lost their mothers at such an early age, I suppose—Lord Simon barely six years old when his mother was killed and then Mrs Standish dying in childbed the following year, just after the master’s seventh birthday. Spent most of their time with their grandparents over at the Hall, after that, the pair of them did,’ she added reflectively. ‘Went off to Rugby together the following year and then on to Cambridge—joined at the hip, they seemed to be—until Lord Simon was sent down for getting up to some sort of mischief, that is—although I never did get to find out what that was all about.’

‘And that was when the two of them started drifting apart, I suppose?’ suggested Helena, her interest growing by the minute. ‘Lord Markfield joined the military…?’

Mrs Wainwright nodded. ‘His father—who was General Standish by then—bought him a cornetcy in the same regiment that he was in—the master didn’t really seem that keen at the time, to my way of thinking, but he’s always been the sort of lad who
puts duty before self and, once he makes up his mind to do something, he just knuckles down and does his very best to make a success of it. He refused to sell out—even after the old earl died and then his father was killed at Vimiero. Fair knocked him sideways that did, I know, but I remember hearing him tell Lady Isobel that there was still a war to be won and that he had no intention of quitting until our lot had settled those Frenchies for good and all!’

A moment’s silence followed, during which Helena reflected upon the rather different picture of her husband that the housekeeper had succeeded in conveying to her. A pensive frown crept across her brow as she wondered if it could be at all possible that she had misjudged him—his indignation and subsequent fury last evening had been extremely convincing, after all, and, if Mrs Wainwright’s assessment of his character held any credibility, it seemed hardly possible that so principled a man would ever involve himself in the sort of devious chicanery of which she had held him guilty!

‘It does seem most unlikely,’ she murmured softly to herself.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

Helena started. She had been so wrapped up in her re-evaluation of Markfield’s character that she had almost forgotten the housekeeper’s presence.

‘That Lord Markfield would quit his post!’ she parried hastily. ‘I was merely remarking how unlikely that would be!’

‘Very true, my lady,’ nodded Mrs Wainwright, in mournful agreement. ‘Stuck it out right to the end, he did—too bad he had to come home and find that his uncle had sold off all the old earl’s horses and let the Hall to go to rack and ruin. Fair broke Master Richard’s heart—oh, I do beg your pardon, ma’am—I’ve been so used to calling his lordship by that name that it just slipped out!’

A stricken expression in her eyes, the mortified housekeeper got to her feet and, smoothing down the skirts of her black bombazine gown, dipped a hurried curtsy and made ready to leave, but Helena, putting out her hand, stayed her.

‘Please do not concern yourself, Mrs Wainwright,’ she begged.
‘It is perfectly natural for you to think of his lordship as Master Richard and I really don’t mind a bit. I would dearly love to hear more about his childhood, if you can spare me another few minutes of your time, some time in the near future?’

‘Why, certainly, my lady,’ returned the housekeeper, highly relieved that her careless slip had not been taken amiss. ‘I’d be more than glad to do that.’

Having also risen, Helena accompanied the woman to the doorway. On reaching it, she paused momentarily, before asking, ‘The old house—Markfield Hall—how far is it from Westpark?’