A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

T
he porter brought
him his cane and hat and was helping him on with his frock coat when he heard his name called.

“Walker? Is that you?”

Turning his head, he saw a tall, elegant gentleman approaching him from the card room. Blast it! He wasn’t in the mood to be social—particularly not with his late wife’s uncle—but the Earl of Cranbourne was not someone he wished to offend.

He immediately felt ashamed. The earl was an amiable gentleman, and he and his wife had been fond of Anne and quite saddened by her death.

Forcing a smile, he turned to greet the older man. “Cranbourne! Fancy meeting you here. It's been a long time since I've seen you in London.”

Lord Cranbourne clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t keep a London residence. M’wife and I find Derbyshire far more to our taste. But Mariah took it in her head to attend Stephen’s wedding—my cousin’s son, you know—and the bride-to-be insisted on St. George’s, so here we are.”

He shook his head. “I’ve orders to be fitted for a new set of clothing. Mariah thinks I’ve put on weight, and I might as well visit Weston and Hoby while I’m here. She’s at the modiste’s right now.” He chuckled. “It’ll cost a pretty penny, but worth it to keep the lady happy.”

“Indeed,” replied James, wincing inwardly at the memory of his unhappy marriage.

“So, how’s the young lassie? She was a babe the last time I saw her. A beauty like her mother, eh?”

“She is at that,” James said. “She’s six already and quite a handful.” He recounted a bit about the difficulties he was having finding an appropriate governess.

“Gel needs a mama,” the earl asserted. “Any prospects in mind? It’s been a few years now. A man needs a wife, you know. Lots of pretty girls out there wouldn’t mind takin’ on a handsome young widower.” He winked at James, who wondered how soon he could make his excuses without causing offense.

“Not at the moment,” he managed, forcing the image of Helena’s face from his mind.

“Should be a goodly number of ‘em at Lady Langton’s ball tonight. Don’t have a card? Why not join us? I vow Her Ladyship won’t turn away an eligible gentleman.”

“That’s very kind of you,” James responded. “I’d love to accompany you and your charming wife.”

H
e supposed
he should be grateful for the Gibsons’ kindness in inviting him to join their party for the ball tonight. His purpose in coming to London was, after all, to search for a suitable lady to bring up his daughter and run his household. Thus far, however, the search had not proved fruitful. The young ladies he met at at-homes and balls were pretty enough, he supposed, but thus far, they had all been just out of the schoolroom with an annoying tendency to be silly and starry-eyed romantics. He hardly knew how to reply when they chattered on about lace and slippers and their favorite Bond Street emporium. He could not imagine any of them being content with a rural life, let alone having the maturity to raise his daughter. He'd heard it spread about that it was best to seek out a malleable young lady who could be molded into a suitable wife, but he hadn’t counted on the
young
part feeling so wrong. He was nearly twice as old as some; did he really want another child in his household…in his
bed?

He was rubbing his temple wearily when Lady Melbourne came upon him, her latest cicisbeo trailing after her.

“Dear James! What a surprise to see you here! Why did you not come to call upon me the
moment
you arrived?” She swatted him playfully with her fan.

James swallowed and bowed over her hand. “I meant no offense, my lady. I only just arrived yesterday and have had business to attend to.”

“Come for the Little Season, have you?” She studied James’s clothing critically. “I hope you’ll forgive me for daring to suggest that your wardrobe could use some updating, James. That is,
if
you are serious about seeking a wife.”

James’s mouth fell open.

Lady Melbourne burst into laughter. “Why else would you be here at all after years of being buried in the country?” She waved her hand to indicate the room. “It is quite obvious to one and all that you are here find a wife. And while you aren’t a prize catch, you’re not a fortune hunter either, and I’m sure you’ll have a goodly number to choose from.”

“Er-thank you, my lady,” James managed, wishing he were somewhere—anywhere—else. The whole marriage scheme seemed
wrong
, and he wondered if it was too late—or too soon—to end it and run back to Melbourne Manor and forget about finding a wife.

“These gels are too young for you, you know. You need someone more serious. I daresay my niece Annabella Milbanke might have served, but she married two years ago, Lord Byron, you know.” She tut-tutted. “A disaster, that. George treated her abominably. I’m quite sure
you
would have been a much more suitable husband for dear Anna.”

James flinched. He knew he was no bargain, having failed his first wife. And he wasn’t sure a bluestocking like Annabella Milbanke would have suited him either.

“A country lady. That’s what you need. A kind, motherly type who won’t be averse to bringing out your daughter when the time comes. How old is dear Annabelle now—five?”

“Six.”

“I know a widow who might suit you. Not yet five-and-twenty. Her husband died at Waterloo, and she’s just out of her blacks. Lived on her father’s estate in Somerset all her life. Not a diamond of the first water, but comely enough.”

James kept his doubts to himself. It wouldn't do to offend Lady Melbourne.

“I should be happy to meet her,” James said, his gaze sweeping the room.

Lady Melbourne surveyed him with a pleased expression. “I fear she is not here this evening, James, but I happen to know she will be attending Almack’s tomorrow night. I shall get my daughter Emily—one of the Lady Patronesses, you know—to send you a voucher first thing tomorrow.”

James thanked her for her kindness and before parting, she leaned toward him and whispered in his ear:

“Knee breeches, dear boy. And don’t be late. Not even His Grace the Duke of Wellington will be admitted after eleven.”

D
ear Lady Pendleton
,

First of all, let me assure you that your daughter and her family are all well, and the girls and I have become quite friendly. However, I am not trained as a governess, and it’s well past time that the permanent governess be brought in. Lady Sarah says she has had no word from you on this matter, and I find myself wondering if you have made any progress with either this or that other matter we have discussed.

The Newsomes have been kind and welcoming, and while I do not wish to desert them before the arrival of the new governess, I find myself restless and eager to get on with my search. There is nothing for me here, and if you have found no leads in all this time, I believe it’s time to consider returning
home
to the place I came from.

Please respond at your first opportunity. I hope you do not believe me ungrateful, for I do appreciate all of your efforts on my behalf.

Affectionately,

Helena Lloyd

M
y dear Helena
,

Young people are ever so impatient! I shall never understand it. With all the years ahead of you, why must you demand to have your desires granted instantly? You are not Cinderella and I’m certainly not your fairy godmother!

I haven’t forgotten that other matter. I’ve made several discreet inquiries and I believe I have a very good lead. These things take time, however, and must be done with the utmost of discretion. (Yes, I
can
be discreet when necessary!) There is nothing you can do here, and, as you say, it would be unpardonable for you to leave my daughter’s employ prematurely. The governess I have chosen will not be available for several more weeks, but when she is, I shall send her on directly. I’m certain Miss Templeton will be perfect for dear Emily and Theo.

I was delighted to see James Walker in Town. The word is that he is seeking a new wife! Anne has been gone more than three years, and dear Annabelle desperately needs a new mother, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, having had her in your care. Men do not know the first thing about raising daughters, and a governess isn’t the answer either. They say he danced twice with Mrs. Rhodes at Almack’s, and he took her driving through Hyde Park the next day. It rained all day yesterday, but I hear he is accompanying her family to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens this evening. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the lady, but from what I hear, she is a sweet young woman who lost her husband in Belgium. So many of our young men were struck down there! Would it not be a wonderful thing if she and James were to make a match of it?

Rest assured, my dear Helena, that I have not forgotten you, and that as soon as I have something definitive to tell you regarding that "other matter," I will be sure to pass on the news to you without delay.

Yours affectionately,

Agatha Tate, Lady Pendleton

H
elena clenched
her stomach as a wave of nausea passed through her. It was true—James was courting another woman. A widow. Mrs. Rhodes. Someone who was probably just right for him. Not someone like her, who would challenge his decisions and demand equality in the relationship.

She’d have felt better had it been a young miss who would hang on to his every word and drive him crazy with her childish demands. But that was unkind. This Mrs. Rhodes sounded like a most suitable choice for him. He deserved to be happy, as did Annabelle. Surely Helena could put aside her own feelings and be happy for their good fortune. Couldn’t she?

But the feeling of hopelessness and despair followed her the rest of the day.

A
dele Rhodes might be
the perfect wife for him, James reflected as they sat in the supper-box he’d rented for the evening. Except that she often seemed to fade into the background. It wasn’t just the paleness of her coloring—ghostly white skin and platinum blonde hair and unremarkable pale blue eyes—but her personality as well. Beyond the niceties, she seemed to have no opinion about anything.

When he asked her if she enjoyed the opera, she said that she’d never been, but was certain she would if he did. Asked about children, she blushed and admitted that she’d never been around them, but was certain she would adore his daughter Annabelle. About politics—she had no opinion because it wasn’t a woman’s prerogative. When they were together, he did most of the talking.

But there were points in her favor too. Having lived all her life in the country, she expressed a preference for the quiet serenity of rustic life. Her clothing was appropriate, but not ostentatious, and she was a self-proclaimed expert needlewoman, having embroidered chair covers and tapestries and taken on all of the darning in her father’s household prior to her marriage.

Darning! James scowled, wishing for a quick end to the evening. He was so bored he almost wished her rowdy Henley cousins—with whom she was currently residing—had accompanied them. Uncouth and ill-mannered they might be, but never boring. They’d welcomed him with open arms, offered him whisky, patted him on the back and talked up the virtues of their “dear sweet cousin” who’d been sadly cheated by the brutality of war. James wasn’t sure why she couldn’t return to her father’s household—somewhere in Somerset, he thought. She didn’t seem to wish to speak about it, and he did not feel at ease pressing her on it at this stage of their acquaintance.

“Quite a crush, is it not?” he said, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

A handful of urchins raced by chasing a ball, dodging people left and right.

She frowned. “It isn’t very—orderly—is it?”

“It’s not Almack’s, of course, but I suppose opening the place up to the masses makes for more profits.”

She looked away, no doubt because she considered the discussion of money inappropriate.

He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Bloody hell, was he always going to have to watch his tongue around her, because if so, he was sure the only way they would get along would be to avoid her presence altogether.

Now if Helena Lloyd were here, she’d be laughing and commenting on the disparity between the Vauxhall visitors. One seldom saw elegant ladies and gentlemen, strumpets, and common urchins in the same locale. She might make inappropriate comments on the Prince Regent’s disappearance down the Dark Walk with Lady Hertford, but she’d never just sit there and bore him to death as Adele Rhodes was doing.

Speaking of the Dark Walk, he knew
she’d
accompany him down those mysterious paths, admire the Chinese Pavilion, and perhaps even let him kiss her, if he could persuade her to forgive him for being a pompous ass at their last meeting. He recalled the warmth of her body, the feel of her hands wrapped around his neck, the sparkle of her fairytale eyes as they’d shared that splendid kiss. He knew instinctively she’d be a passionate lover, the kind every man dreamed to find in a lover and rarely did within the bounds of marriage. His late wife Anne had been enthusiastic at first, but less so as the marriage turned sour. He wondered if that were the case with most marriages—passion turning to disappointment then boredom. It seemed to be true of many
ton
marriages, but he suddenly realized that wasn’t what
he
wanted. He rather preferred a marriage like the Newsomes’, a love match where both parties shared equally in their relationship.

“Isn’t that Lord Liverpool?”

James spun his head around and saw the Prime Minister stroll by with his wife, Louisa.

“It is indeed,” he replied, faintly surprised that she knew him, being so ignorant of politics as she’d claimed. “Are you acquainted with him?”

“No-er-yes.” Her hand flew to her chest. “My father knew him before he became Prime Minister. He visited once, when I was a child.”

Aha, James thought, hoping she would expound a bit more on her origins. “So your father is a Tory?”

She bit her lip. “My father was, yes. But he died recently, and I’ve no political inclinations.”

James felt like banging his head against the wall. “And your mother?”

“She died when I was born.”

“Any siblings?” he pressed on.

“Only my brother George. And my cousins, whom you’ve met.”

James gave up. It was hard to feign interest in a woman who had so little to say for herself. Was she hiding something or was this really all there was? In either case, he was beginning to regret showing partiality to her. While he had not formally requested to pay his addresses, he was aware that his attentions thus far must have encouraged her to expect them soon. It would be difficult to extricate himself without causing the young lady to feel humiliated.

But how in the hell was he to find a compatible wife if society did not allow them time to become acquainted? Anne he’d taken at face value, only to discover later that she wasn't the malleable, even-tempered girl she seemed. He wasn’t willing to do the same again. Adele Rhodes' reluctance to speak about herself made him suspect she was hiding something, and he wouldn't commit himself further until he knew what it was.

Secrets. Adele Rhodes had them. Helena Lloyd did too. He wondered if there were any honest women left in the world.

A warning blast sounded, and the crowd outside began to move toward the river.

James rose and extended a hand to his companion. “The fireworks are about to start. Shall we, Mrs. Rhodes?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with a relieved smile as she put her hand in his. “I’m quite fond of fireworks.”

Was that the first personal bit of information she’d volunteered about herself all evening? James rather thought it was.

“
I
don’t know
why we couldn’t have
all
gone to London,” lamented Theo. “There’s plenty of room in the townhouse, and Miss Lloyd could take us riding through Hyde Park or to see the animals in the Royal Menagerie.”

“Or to Astley’s,” Annabelle added. “Papa promised he would take me there soon. Perhaps he will take all of us. I really want to see the man who rides six horses at once.”

“Papa said he saw General Jackoo ride a horse with a candelabra balanced on a stick between his teeth,” said Theo. “General Jackoo is a monkey,” she explained to Helena, who was suitably impressed.

“He’s too old now,” Annabelle explained. “Mrs. Fenwick—she took her grandson there, you know—says the big attraction is the pig who can read minds and tell time. And Mr. Ducrow, the best horseman in the world.”

Helena sat on the grass leaning against the trunk of a beech tree as she gazed idly at the wildflowers she held in her hands.

“Don’t worry, Annabelle. I’m sure you’ll get your trip to London soon. Your father knows you’ve been a model pupil. And your parents, Emily and Theo, won’t be there long enough on this trip to make a family holiday of it.” The Newsomes had traveled to London to finalize preparations for Marcus’s wedding to Miss Hill, which was two weeks away.

She held a bluish flower to her nose and sniffed. “What’s this one called, Emily? It’s too pretty to be growing wild.”

Emily tucked a few stray locks of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled. “
All
of these flowers grow wild—that’s why I love the summer. That’s a cornflower, Miss Lloyd. They will soon be gone, but these meadow buttercups will bloom a few weeks more.”

The weather had been inclement for so long that when a sunny day finally came along, Helena had yielded to the girls’ pleas for an outdoor excursion. After an hour of running, climbing trees and wading in the lake, the party had adjourned for a rest period in their favorite spot, the hill overlooking the shores of the lake, glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It was a perfect day to lounge in the sun, Helena thought, wondering idly what would happen if she were caught sunbathing in her bikini as she had done frequently at Florida State. Which wouldn’t ever happen, since the bikini in question wouldn’t be manufactured for another two hundred years.

She stretched her legs on the grass and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. There were times when she felt like her entire life up to now was nothing but a twenty-seven-year-old dream from which she had finally been awakened, like one of those coma patients in the movie
Awakenings.
After a few hours of glorious revival, they all went back to sleep again. Would that be the case with her too? Would she wake up one day and find herself back in the twenty-first century and wonder if she’d been dreaming the life she lived here in 1817, or vice versa? It was all rather fantastical, she marveled, and then chuckled as she realized how the language of the period was slipping into her speech. In itself, such a thing was not at all remarkable; she’d found herself picking up Britishisms in the twenty-first century too as her stay in the UK lengthened. But if she were to stay here long enough, would she ever reach the point of forgetting her American speech? Or forget her past life altogether? She made a note to ask Lady P when next she saw her. Or Mrs. Herne—she went by Madame Herne here—if she ever returned to London from her own travels.

“Never fear, girls, you will all be going to London soon to attend Marcus’s wedding to Miss Hill. Your mother is bringing back your new gowns, and you will soon have a new sister to welcome to the family.”

“Shan’t I get a new gown, Miss Lloyd?” Annabelle’s lip trembled.

Poor motherless child. Her father had deserted her to go off courting—well, to give him his due, he
was
apparently searching for a mother for Annabelle. Being a man, though, he’d undoubtedly tossed the wedding invitation aside when it arrived, and hadn’t even considered his own wedding apparel, let alone that of his daughter. While it wasn’t really the responsibility of a governess, Helena found her heart aching for the child who seemed to have been overlooked for so long.

“We’ll go into Maidstone tomorrow,” she decided impulsively. “I have no doubt the modiste will be able to make up a fine gown for you to wear to the wedding. Won’t that be amusing, girls? A shopping trip for Princess Annabelle?”

The girls giggled as they always did when Helena referred to them as royal offspring, and Annabelle beamed.

“Your crown, Your Royal Highness,” proclaimed Theo, rising to offer her friend the wreath of intertwined yellow buttercups she’d woven.

“Shall I have a gown made of silver threads like the wedding dress of Princess Charlotte?” asked Annabelle with a mischievous grin in Helena’s direction.

Helena pursed her lips and pretended to consider it. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Silver gleams like nothing else when it’s polished and new, but quickly tarnishes and turns ugly. No, Your Royal Highness, your gown will be beautiful for all time, even after you’ve outgrown it and packed it away in the attic.”

Annabelle’s eyes sparkled. “Do you suppose Princess Charlotte has a servant to polish her wedding gown, like Higgins does with the silver?”

The girls laughed hysterically at the vision of the Newsomes’ butler polishing a gown with the same intensity he used for the family silver.

“He’d ruin it, I should think,” Theo offered. “And then… off with his head!”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Helena. “I shouldn’t like to be around royalty too much. I’m far too fond of my head, you know, to be exposed to royal whims.”

“Does Princess Charlotte say such things, Miss Lloyd?” Annabelle turned her inquisitive hazel eyes in Helena’s direction.

Helena shook her head. “I shouldn’t think so,” she said with a smile. “But I’m not sure being royal is much like the way it is portrayed in fairy tales.” She was thinking of Princess Diana’s tragic marriage, but she thought it applied equally to what she knew of the Prince Regent’s disastrous life and marriage. Of course, it wouldn’t be appropriate to mention either example, for very different reasons, so she deliberately shifted the subject.

“I believe we are all princesses, in our own way,” she began. “Each one of us is completely unique, with talents and abilities and emotions that no one else has or will ever have. That makes us all special. Precious, like gems, perhaps a bit rough at first, but with time and effort, each one of us has the ability to make the world a better place.”

She leaned forward and squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “So you are indeed a princess, darling Annabelle. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“So we’re
all
princesses?” Emily inquired. “That means
you
are a princess too, Miss Lloyd!”

“I don’t know,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. “I don’t think they have princesses in America.”

Helena burst out laughing. “I’m a princess, you are all princesses. Everyone is, really, in a way.”

“Papa’s a prince!” Annabelle’s eyes widened.

“Mine’s a king!” boasted Theo. “And Mama’s a queen!”

The girls jumped up and practiced curtseying to each other and then persuaded Helena to join them in “Ring Around the Rosie” and “The Farmer in the Dell”—all songs Helena had taught them—before they all collapsed to the ground in a heap of giggles.

“What about
your
parents, Miss Lloyd?” Emily remarked when their mirth had subsided. “You’ve never told us much about them. Did they teach you about being a princess when you were growing up?”

Helena swallowed uncomfortably. She knew the story she and Lady P had fabricated between them, but she loathed having to tell lies, especially when she had to keep making up details in a flash and trying to remember them later on.

And then there was the whole issue of deliberately lying to people she had come to care about. It felt—wrong—somehow. And yet, under the circumstances, how could she do anything else? It was easier to avoid the subject altogether.