A Marriageable Miss (17 page)

Although she was still filled with a curious mixture of mortification and disbelief, Helena, lifting her chin resolutely, swept past the now hushed crowd with as much dignity as she could muster.

They had hardly gone more than half-a-dozen steps or so down the passageway, however, before their progress was brought to an abrupt halt by the anxious tones of Lady Isobel calling them from behind, urging Markfield to slow down.

‘I cannot possibly keep up with you, if you insist upon dashing along at such a preposterous speed!’ she huffed irritably, as soon as she had caught up with them. Then, without pausing for breath and, after casting a concerned look towards her grandson, she asked, ‘I don’t suppose you would care to explain to me exactly what that astonishing brouhaha was all about?’

‘Not now, Grandmama, please!’ groaned Richard, shaking his head in weary protest. ‘We have to get Miss Wheatley home. Can’t you see that the poor girl has endured more than enough for one evening?’

‘Hmm. I dare say you have a point there, my boy,’ returned the countess, a pensive frown appearing on her face as she took in Helena’s dishevelled appearance and unnaturally pallid cheeks. ‘But I trust that you will do me the courtesy of clarifying the matter as soon as we get back to Curzon Street.’

‘All in good time, I promise you,’ he assured her as, after pushing open the door that led into the assembly room’s foyer, he gently settled Helena on to one of the nearby sofas. ‘For the moment, however, I would appreciate it if you would be so good as to sit with Miss Wheatley while I go in search of her cousin and collect our cloaks.’

‘Very well, dear boy,’ returned her ladyship with a brief nod as, taking her place beside Helena, she picked up her hand and began to stroke it reassuringly. ‘And have no fear! No one will
dare to pester the child while I have charge of her, you may be sure of that!’

On hearing the dowager’s forthright reassurance, a sudden rush of guilt caused a momentary faltering in the earl’s step as he returned to the doorway and he could hardly help the dismal reflection that, had he been a sight more attentive, he might well have been able to utter the same words himself! As it was, however, by allowing his damnable pride to outweigh the most basic of gentlemanly codes, he had exposed Helena to one of the gravest of dangers imaginable. And, it suddenly came to him that, despite all his former reservations on the subject, if marriage were the only way in which he could redeem himself in her eyes then he would be more than happy to take the chance and let the consequences go hang!

No sooner had the door closed behind him than Helena, jumping to her feet, swung round to face the dowager, exclaiming, ‘Now we really are in the basket, ma’am! Markfield has led everyone to believe that he and I are engaged to be married! How on earth are we going to persuade them that it has all just been some frightful mistake?’

‘Pray, do not allow yourself to worry about it, my dear,’ returned Lady Isobel as, reaching out and catching hold of her hand, she pulled her gently back down on to the sofa. ‘Richard is bound to have the matter well in hand. You may be sure that it will not be long before he comes up with some perfectly satisfactory solution to this inopportune predicament!’

B
ut when, ten days later, Helena found herself standing clutching at her father’s arm in the vestibule of St George’s Church, Hanover Square, it had become worryingly evident to her that Markfield had not, thus far, managed to come up with any sort of solution at all, let alone a satisfactory one. Other than denying him at the altar—the idea of which was wholly repugnant to her nature—it would seem that she had been left with no alternative but to see the thing through to its fateful conclusion!

After having spent the whole of the morning following the traumatic events at Almack’s closeted with Dr Redfern in Mr Wheatley’s sick room, the earl had left town for his Surrey estate and, apart from two short visits when he had called in at Cadogan Place in order to sign various settlement papers and finalise last-minute details of the impending union, his presence had been conspicuously lacking. And, even though he had conducted himself in a perfectly proper manner on each of these occasions—such as bending over her hand and pressing his lips to her fingers in the time-honoured fashion—Helena had been left with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that Markfield had resigned himself to the situation and was merely going through the motions.

During the whole of this seemingly endless period scarcely a dozen words had been exchanged between the pair—and every
one of these had been in the presence of either Lottie or the earl’s cousin, Charles Standish. And to complicate matters even further—if that were at all possible—Standish’s constant attendance at her house during the past week had led her to suspect that Markfield had charged his cousin with the task of ensuring that no harm should befall his betrothed during his own enforced non-attendance.

Her father had, not surprisingly, been over the moon with delight at the unexpected announcement and, owing to his absolute determination to lead his only daughter up the aisle, his health had begun to improve with startling rapidity from that moment onwards. And now, as she looked across at his dearly beloved face, which held an expression that she could only liken to a cat that had been set free in a creamery, Helena was unable to prevent the sudden rush of tears to her eyes. At least
he
had achieved his heart’s desire, she thought, as she forlornly contemplated the uncertainty of her own future happiness. Even after everything that had transpired during the past week, she was still finding it difficult to come to terms with the fact that, in a little less than an hour, she would be walking out of this same church on the arm of a man who quite clearly did not love her and for whom her own feelings were still in such a wild turmoil of confusion!

The sudden ripple of organ chords, signalling the start to the ceremony, quickly roused her from her somewhat morbid reflections and, as the poignant notes of the music echoed across the vaulted galleries, she took a deep breath and, her chin held high, she grasped hold of her father’s arm and stepped through the vestibule doors into the church’s lengthy aisle.

To her amazement, every single pew on both sides of the church was packed to capacity—most of the faces totally unknown to her and, even though she forced herself to return their smiles as she passed them, she could not help but wonder at who they might all be, since neither she nor her father had invited even half of their small circle of acquaintances. She could only suppose that they must all be here at Lady Isobel’s request for, although she herself would have preferred to have had her Uncle Daniels
conduct the marriage service in his little country church in Woodlands St Mary, the countess had refused to countenance the idea, having declared that the only way to knock their detractors’ noses out of joint would be to put on the grandest, most prestigious display that society had seen since the wedding of Princess Charlotte herself! Needless to say, the reluctant bride, who would far rather have seen what she could only regard as an obscene amount of money being put to a far more practical use, had been inclined to view the excessive arrangements with a somewhat jaundiced eye. However, since her father—to whom, of course, had fallen the privilege of funding the entire venture—had given his wholehearted support to the project, here she now was, clad from head to foot in the most outrageously extravagant concoction of satin and lace ever to have been created and feeling more wretched than she could ever have thought possible.

But the moment her eyes finally lit upon her waiting groom, she found it impossible to control either her sudden intake of breath or the tumultuous pounding of her heart. Attired in an elegantly tailored swallow-tailed jacket of maroon superfine, his buff-coloured pantaloons hugging his thighs like a second skin, he looked so very handsome, standing there, with his smiling cousin in attendance. If only she could find some way of softening his heart towards her, she felt sure that she could eventually learn to settle for a marriage based upon mutual affection. After all, she reasoned, as she stepped to his side, wasn’t this how the majority of marriages were said to function nowadays and why should she, with her very limited experience in such matters, look for anything more?

Markfield’s eyes had been glued to her face from the moment she had appeared through the vestibule doors and his heart was now so full that he would have been prepared to swear that it was at bursting point. It was almost impossible to believe that this vision of loveliness was soon to be his wife; to have, to hold and—as he now knew without any shadow of a doubt—to worship with every fibre of his being. And, although she had made her feelings
for him perfectly clear, he resolved that, as soon as they were married and away from all the fuss and palaver that the hastily organised celebrations had necessitated, he meant to do everything in his power to try to gain her love. He would woo her with so dogged a devotion that that she would eventually find his advances impossible to resist! Or so he had to keep telling himself, lest he lost his nerve entirely.

Now, unbelievably, she was here standing at his side, ready to take those all important vows and, although he did his utmost to catch her eye in an effort to offer her a reassuring smile, she refused to look in his direction and, instead, kept her gaze resolutely focused upon the prayer-book that the vicar was holding up in front of him.

And so, with the immortal and hallowed phrase,
‘Dearly Beloved’
, the wedding service at last began. Striving to ignore not only the cleric’s somewhat nasal monotone but also the far more disconcerting sensation of Markfield’s arm so close to her own, Helena did her level best to focus her attention on the unique and powerful words of the sacred text.

‘…honourable estate…not taken unadvisedly…procreation…mutual society…just cause…impediment…’

One by one the highly revered phrases rolled off the vicar’s tongue with relentless finality and then,
‘Wilt thou, Richard Alexander Henry, take this woman…?’

Markfield’s deep and confident, ‘I will.’

‘Wilt thou, Helena Louisa, take this man…?’

Her own whispered and hesitant, ‘I will.’

Then her father stepping forwards and passing her hand into Markfield’s and he, still vainly trying to catch her eye, promising to love and cherish her, and she blindly repeating the self-same words and then Markfield placing the ring on her finger.

‘…let no man put asunder.’

A prayer, a psalm, yet more prayers. The final blessing and, at last, the thing was done. For better or for worse, it seemed, she and Markfield were wed!

Recapturing her hand, Richard drew her towards him and
lowering his head, sought to claim the bridegroom’s first, tentative kiss.

Her heart pounding with excitement, Helena raised her face to receive the long-awaited touch of his lips, but since she could not bring herself to look him directly in the eyes, lest he might see and recognise the true strength of her feelings for him, she averted her gaze and allowed it to drift idly across the heads of the waiting congregation.

But then, as, all at once, the unexpected flash of a brightly coloured jewel in a feathered headgear caught her attention, her eyes were at once drawn to its wearer’s face and, as the highly painted features of Lady Rachel Cummings swam into her view, she felt a cold fury descend upon her.
That he should have gone so far as to invite his mistress along to witness his wedding must, surely, rank as the greatest of insults to offer his future wife! So much for the ‘avoidance of fornication’ and the ‘forsaking of all others’!

Angrily jerking her face to the side, she was vaguely aware of Markfield’s lips making brief contact with her right earlobe but, impervious as to any possible consequences, she extricated herself from his hold and indicated to the startled cleric that he should proceed with the signing of the registers.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed and not a little confused at the sudden and unexpected alteration in Helena’s hitherto distinctly remote and withdrawn manner—which he had put down to bridal nerves—the earl, a puzzled frown on his face, accompanied the pair into the vestry where, reaching forwards, he took hold of her arm and spun her round to face him.

‘What is it, my dear?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

‘I am perfectly well, thank you, my lord,’ she replied, in a slightly unsteady voice as, disengaging herself carefully, she turned to the perplexed reverend and, in a rather firmer tone, reminded him that he had not yet invited the witnesses to join them.

‘Please tell me what is troubling you,’ Richard urged her, as soon as the man had scurried out of the room. ‘If you have the headache, I am sure I can arrange—’

‘I can assure you that my head is perfectly fine,’ she interrupted him hotly. ‘In fact, I would say that it is a good deal clearer now than it was an hour ago!’

‘I’m not sure that I entirely understand you,’ queried Richard. ‘You are surely not intending to imply that you are beginning to regret this marriage already?’

‘I doubt that it would bother you greatly were I to do so, my lord,’ returned Helena, with a careless shrug. ‘It is quite clear to me that you, at any rate, have no intention of abiding by any of the vows that we have just exchanged!’

He stepped back, an angry flush covering his face. ‘I beg your pardon!’ he gasped, in astonishment. ‘What, in the name of God, can you possibly mean by that remark?’

‘I doubt that the Almighty is likely to rush to your defence, my lord,’ she retorted drily. ‘In my opinion, you would be far better advised to take the matter up with your
“chère-amie”!
’

‘Chère-amie?’
Now totally at a loss, Richard raked his fingers abstractedly through his hair. ‘I really cannot imagine what—’

Unfortunately, owing to the fact that the Reverend Aldridge happened to choose that very moment to return to the vestry, accompanied by the dowager countess and Giles Wheatley, the deeply confused earl was obliged to abandon his protestations and concentrate his attention on the signing of the registers.

As luck would have it, the newly-weds were to be allowed no further opportunity to indulge themselves in private discussion. Not only did huge crowds of well-wishers surround their open carriage every step of the way from Hanover Square back to Standish House, where the wedding breakfast was to be held, but, aside from the fact that they sat next to one another at the actual meal, where conversation of any sort was, of necessity, restricted to the commonplace, it seemed that the bridal pair were destined to be kept apart for almost the whole of the proceedings.

Having smiled and dipped and curtsied to every single one of the hundred and fifty guests as they jockeyed their way along the receiving line, Helena had allowed herself to heave a huge sigh of relief when, as the last of their number finally disappeared through
the double doors that led towards the dining room, she realised that her worst fears had not been realised. At least the despised Lady Cummings had not been invited to attend the reception!

Insofar as Richard was concerned, it was as though he had found himself trapped in the grip of some hideous nightmare. As a result of all the hearty handshaking and back-slapping he had undergone, his head and shoulders ached and, thanks to the crowds in constant attendance around Helena, it had been impossible for him to get close enough to her to suggest that they might snatch a short respite for a few minutes.

He had racked his brain to try and figure out what she could have meant by that very pointed reference to his one time paramour. Having neither seen nor heard from Rachel since that fateful night two weeks ago, he could not begin to imagine why Helena should have suddenly got it into her head that he was still involved with the creature.
And why today
? he wondered, as he stared disconsolately across the room in the vague hope of catching even the merest glimpse of his bride.
At the blessed altar, no less! And, fat chance he had of getting to the bottom of the confounded matter while she seemed to be more than content to surround herself with a set of cork-brained fly-by-nights who, if he were any judge, were only there in the hopes of setting up some secret assignation with her. What he wouldn’t give to put a bullet into every last one of them!

‘So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself, old man! The burdens of marriage getting too much for you already?’

Hurriedly putting aside his bellicose thoughts, he turned to greet the grinning Geoffrey Fairfax who, along with Sir Peter Braithwaite, had finally managed to track their friend down to the temporary refuge he had sought in one of the ballroom’s many window alcoves.

‘Just wishing the whole thing was over and done with,’ he replied, with a weary sigh, as he once again cast his eyes across the room to where his wife was still heavily involved in flirting with one of her latest conquests.

Observing his friend’s somewhat bleak expression, Sir Peter
was anxious to point out that, since it seemed that a good many people were already beginning to take their leave, it would appear that Markfield’s wish was soon to be granted.