An Impossible Confession (17 page)

Helen lowered her eyes. How very noble of you, Ralph, she thought wryly.

Margaret was upset. ‘Oh, Ralph, how dreadful. And how caring you are to go as well.’

‘I’m rather afraid that being caring where my father is concerned has brought about a situation that might appear
un
caring
where Miss Fairmead is concerned.’ He looked at Helen again, his brown eyes cool and veiled.

Margaret was puzzled. ‘Uncaring? Whatever do you mean, Ralph?’

‘Simply that I cannot possibly say how long I’ll be away, but it’s bound to be some considerable time, which means that I cannot
with any degree of justification or honor expect her to wait.’

Helen’s face was expressionless, but Margaret was dismayed. ‘Oh, Ralph….’

‘You must understand my predicament, Miss Fairmead. I trust you will find it in your heart to forgive me for failing you.’

Before Helen could reply, Margaret spoke for her, ‘Failing her? Oh, Ralph, my dear, how can you possibly speak like that of what you’re doing? Of course you haven’t failed her, and of course she forgives you. Why, she might even wish to wait, no matter how long it takes.’

He smiled a little, his eyes searching Helen’s face in a way that told her he suspected her of having been indiscreet in her
conversation
with his father. ‘I couldn’t possibly expect her to wait,’ he murmured.

Helen gave a slight smile. ‘And I couldn’t possibly place the responsibility for such a wait upon your shoulders, Mr St John. You’re already enduring problems enough without having me to concern yourself with as well.’

‘You’re far too kind, Miss Fairmead,’ he replied.

Margaret was close to tears. ‘Oh, dear, this is such a
disappointment
, and to think I was so pleased with today so far. Tell me, Ralph, when exactly will you be leaving? I must arrange a farewell party….’

‘There isn’t time, I’m afraid; we’re setting off before dawn tomorrow morning.’

Her eyes widened with still more dismay. ‘Oh, no, surely you don’t have to leave as quickly as that.’

‘My father wishes to return with as much haste as possible. There’s a ship sailing from Falmouth the day after tomorrow, and we expect to be on board.’

Margaret blinked back the tears. ‘Oh, Ralph, we’ll all miss you more than you’ll ever know. Society will simply never be the same again.’

No, it will be much improved, thought Helen, looking away.

A footman was hovering nearby with a tray of champagne, and Margaret quickly took a glass, pressing it into Ralph’s hand. ‘You will at least remain with us for the racing, won’t you? And you’ll be at the Cardusays’ do tonight?’

‘I’ll gladly remain with you for the races, but alas, the water party has to manage without me.’

Margaret slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Ralph, I simply cannot believe you’re leaving us, it’s too awful for words.’ She glanced around the box. No one else had heard Ralph’s news, they were all too intent on watching the runners for the first race. ‘Listen, everyone,’ she cried, causing them all to turn, ‘I’m afraid I have something very sad to tell you. Dear Ralph is leaving us to rush off across the Atlantic to Jamaica, we only have him for today.’

There were general murmurs of astonishment, and as they all came to express their regret, Helen moved away, watching Ralph as he smoothly acted his sad role. If she hadn’t known the truth behind his abrupt departure, she would have found him very convincing indeed – she could almost see the gutted plantation house and smell the smoke, so eloquently did he describe it.

The first race commenced, providing little real excitement as the Duke of York’s well-fancied colt Hippocampus romped home virtually unchallenged. As was the custom, an hour’s break for luncheon followed immediately, and then came the Maisemore. An air of great excitement pervaded the scene as the horses went down to the start, led by the Prince Regent’s Cherry Brandy. Musket danced past on his toes, his jockey’s purple and silver silks gleaming in the sunlight.

Margaret pressed anxiously to the front of the box, watching the horse. ‘What do you think, Helen? Is he up to the mark?’

‘I’m sure he is.’

Ralph came to stand next to them. ‘The nag’s looking well enough to run around the course twice and still win,’ he declared.

‘I do trust you’re right,’ murmured Margaret, bending her head to look at the start through Gregory’s spyglass, which had been brought from the house. ‘They’re lining up. Cherry Brandy’s not coming around … now he’s there. They’re off!’

A great roar of excitement went up from the crowd, and Helen watched nervously as the field of five came thundering along the course. She could see Musket quite clearly, for he was second, but the horse in front of him was the prince’s distinctive white-faced bay, Cherry Brandy.

The thunder of hooves filled the air as they came at full stretch toward the finish, and Margaret was almost hopping up and down with excitement as inch by inch Musket came up on the leader. It was a hard race, both horses neck-and-neck for the final furlong, but Musket was under pressure first, his jockey forced to be severe. Musket was game to the last, but his recent ill health, and the fact that his jockey was heavier than his rival’s told on him in the end. At the post Cherry Brandy had him beaten by a head.

A groan of disappointment passed through the Bourne box, and Margaret watched in dismay as the horses slowed to a canter and then turned to come back. There were as many boos as cheers from the great crowd, for the two horses had started as joint favorites at three to one, and for every man who’d backed the winner, there was one who’d gone for Musket.

Gregory’s fears of the accusations of the previous year being resurrected were very swiftly proved unfounded, however, for it was soon being generally agreed that the best horse had won on the day, for no one could possibly have claimed that Musket hadn’t been game. It was the weight that did it, it was said, and but for that the prince’s nag wouldn’t have come within a tail of him. Margaret’s disappointment in the race being lost was soon replaced by relief that the past was evidently going to be left alone, and she was smiling and cheerful when word was brought from the royal box that the Prince Regent would be honored if she and Miss Fairmead would join him for a few minutes.

Helen was very nervous as she accompanied her sister to the royal box, for not only would she be meeting the Prince Regent again, she would also be presented to the other members of the royal family, including the rather formidable queen.

The royal box was crowded, so much so that Helen’s
presentation
to more royalty passed without remark, either to herself or, she suspected, to those to whom she’d curtsied. The princesses were all more interested in the scene outside than what was happening inside, the Duke of York hardly glanced at her because he was deep in conversation with an equerry about the next race, and the queen cast a baleful eye upon the figure in lime-green, saying that she was much pleased to see Mrs Fairford among them again after so long.

The Prince Regent, however, was well aware of Helen’s identity, and in a very good humor after Cherry Brandy’s success. Already rosy from a number of glasses of champagne, he positively glowed with delight as he sat in an adjoining room on a large gilded chair by the window. He waved them closer.

‘M’dears, may I say how pleased I am to have trounced that wretch Bourne at last? He’s come to regard the Maisemore as his personal preserve, and we can’t have that, eh?’ He beamed,
pressing
a glass of champagne into Margaret’s hand. ‘Your health, m’dear, and just let your odious husband attempt to steal, the race back from me next year – I’ll give him a run for his money.’

He was just about to hold a glass out to Helen when someone pushed discreetly through the crush behind her, making the prince look up in some surprise. ‘Good heavens. Drummond, what can I do for you?’

Helen froze. Oh, please let it be another Drummond … But she knew it wouldn’t be.

‘Forgive the intrusion, Your Royal Highness, but it’s important that I speak to you.’ It was Adam.

‘Speak away.’

‘In private, sir.’

‘Drummond, I’m enjoying the races, and I don’t really relish the notion of government business right now. It is government
business
, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Helen managed to look surreptitiously at him, hiding most of her face with the wide brim of her hat. He was dressed in a wine-red coat and pale-gray trousers with Hessian boots. The frill of his lawn shirt protruded from his partially buttoned gray silk waistooat, and there was a ruby pin in the knot of his starched cravat. He’d removed his top hat, and his dark hair was a little tousled, as if he had but a moment before run his fingers through it. His eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and so intent upon the prince that they didn’t flicker even momentarily toward her. Her heart was
thundering
, and all she could do was stand there, so close she could have reached out to touch him. Please, don’t let him look at her, don’t let him know she was there. One word now from Margaret, or even from the prince, would see all her good intentions dashed.

The prince was surveying him a little irritably. ‘I have no wish to budge from this seat, my lord, so I suggest you spit out
whatever
it is that Lord Liverpool has sent you to say.’

‘As you wish, sir. The situation in London is becoming hourly more uneasy. Every packet arriving in Dover brings more
unsettling
news from Brussels, and the newspapers have become a little, er, hysterical. In Lord Liverpool’s opinion, and the opinion of most of his ministers, the situation would be improved by your presence.’

‘To give heart?’

‘Yes, sir.’

There was an increasing stir in the box, and nervous glances were being exchanged.

The prince sat forward. ‘I take it Boney ain’t at the door?’

‘No, sir, nor likely to be, Wellington will see to that, it’s just that Lord Liverpool believes your presence in the capital would be the, er, music to soothe the savage beast.’

‘I’ve never thought of myself as soothing music. You’ve got a way with you, Drummond, damn your diplomatic soul. Very well, I’ll return to the capital. When does Lord Liverpool think I should make my gesture?’

‘After racing today, sir.’

The prince sighed. ‘I will do as he wishes, but I don’t want to, no, I don’t want to at all. Take yourself off, then; the hospitality of the royal box is at your disposal.’

‘Your Royal Highness.’ Adam bowed and began to withdraw, still without realizing Helen was standing so close to him.

But just as relief was beginning to slip through her veins, the prince returned his attention to her, pressing the glass into her hand as he’d been about to do when Adam had appeared. ‘Even princes must give up their pleasures in the national interest, my dear,
mais c’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?
Well, it may be life, but it ain’t fair, is it, Miss Fairmead?’

Her heart sank, for she knew she had to reply, and that the moment she did Adam would hear and recognize her voice, for he was still only a few yards away, answering the discreetly whispered questions of several concerned gentlemen, for everyone was a little disturbed to know the situation in London had changed so sharply.

She summoned up the willpower to smile at the prince. ‘It isn’t fair at all, Your Royal Highness.’

Adam’s reaction was clear. He broke off in mid-sentence to turn sharply in her direction. For a moment he seemed stunned, then a deep disappointment showed in his eyes as he realized that beyond a doubt that his Helen and Miss Helen Fairmead were one and the same.

The prince, who’d been uncomfortably aware of Margaret’s reaction the moment Adam had appeared, now thought it would be wiser to dismiss the sisters. Clearing his throat, he smiled charmingly. ‘I won’t keep you any longer, dear ladies, for I’m sure you have guests you should return to. Mrs Bourne, you must be sure to convey my condolences to the colonel, and tell him that I don’t intend to let him get his grasping mawlers on the Maisemore again, eh?’ He gave a throaty chuckle, inclining his head to signify the ending of the audience.

Margaret sank into a curtsy, and then moved away; brushing past Adam without so much as a glance. As Helen rose from her curtsy, she turned to look directly at him, wanting to say
something
, anything, but his manner froze the words on her lips.

The deep disappointment was still in his eyes as without acknowledging her at all, he turned on his heel and walked away, pushing through the crush and out of the royal box, where Margaret had gone only seconds before.

For a moment Helen was too stricken to move, then impulsively she hurried after him, catching him just as he was reaching the bottom of the steps. She ignored Margaret, who was waiting a little further on. ‘Adam, I must speak to you.’

He turned reluctantly. ‘I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.’

‘Adam, I must see you again. Please be where you said you’d meet me tonight.’ Her eyes fled to Margaret, who couldn’t hear anything but was looking curiously.

‘I rather think our friendship has to be at an end,’ he replied.

Margaret took a step nearer. ‘Helen?’

Helen looked urgently at him. ‘Be there, I
beg
you.’

Desperately, she spoke again. ‘If you’ve ever felt anything for me, you’ll grant me this one request. Please say you’ll be there at eight!’

He relented a little. ‘Very well, but I warn you, I’m in no mood to be sympathetic, not now I know who you really are.’ With a decidedly cool nod, he walked on.

Margaret came up to her. ‘Helen, what was all that about? I really think you might show a little more loyalty and consideration than to speak to that man!’

‘I do still owe him my life,’ Helen reminded her, watching him until he vanished among the crowds.

‘Well, he as good as cut you, which will perhaps teach you a sovereign lesson about his real character,’ replied Margaret. ‘Now, come on, the prince was right, we do have guests to attend to.’