The Carriagemaker's Daughter (35 page)

“Helène, thank goodness–”

“Ah, here’s Miss Phillips now,” said the marquess. “Lord Torrance, your cousin–”

Lord Quentin was frowning; the duke rising to his feet–

“My–my cousin?” said Helène.

“Benjamin Torrance, yes, indeed,” said Jonathan. Helène was staring at the duke in confusion as the marquess continued blithely. “Your grace, this is my friend, Lord Charles Quentin–”

Lord Torrance had moved forward to sweep a bow to Helène; he stopped now, frowning. He looked at Helène, then at Charles.

“Lord Quentin?”

Oh, no, thought Lady Pamela, realizing what had happened. If Celia had only kept her mouth shut–

“Lord
Quentin
?” roared the duke, and cocking his fist he knocked Charles to the floor.

* * * *

Celia started to cry again and Lady Pamela had caught one arm of the duke and was trying to explain that the marchioness had been quite mistaken–Miss Phillips would never–

Lord Quentin came to his feet, looking more puzzled than angry.                                      

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught–” Charles hesitated. “You are Miss Phillips’s
cousin
?”

“Charles.”  The marquess stepped forward. “The Duke of Grentham arrived from the Americas just this past week. I asked him to Luton for a visit. With Miss Phillips being our governess and all–”

* * * *

Everything  made sudden, perfect sense to Helène. The Duke of Grentham had arrived unexpectedly in England. Heaven only knew why he’d picked this particular time to leave the Colonies, or how he knew she had been employed at Luton, but–

And now Lord Quentin, asking her to be his wife–

“You
knew
!” cried Helène. She turned angrily to face Lord Quentin. I’ll knock him down myself, she was thinking. All that nonsense about a foolish man saying foolish things–

The marquess stepped between them. He took Helène’s shoulders gently in his hands.

“No,” Lord Sinclair told her. “No, my dear, as it happens, he knew nothing at all.”

* * * *

And so, the future Earl of Tavelstoke found himself on one knee before the Marquess of Luton’s governess, in front of the gathered company of Lord Sinclair’s parlour, once again offering her his hand in marriage.

“You certainly do not have to accept him,” the Duke of Grentham said helpfully. “I will be remaining in England and you will always have a home with me.”

“Is it true love?” asked Lady Pamela.

“Heaven help us,” said Lady Detweiler, rolling her eyes.

“True love?  Yes,” said Helène. “I believe it is.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The governess may well ask if she can marry...

’Twas a beautiful morning. Helène was enjoying the late winter sunshine streaming through the windows of  the
petit salon
while she held two small children in her lap. The governess was to be married to Charles Quentin within the fortnight, and Alice and Peter chattered excitedly about the upcoming wedding, asking Miss Phillips if she
really truly
had to leave.

She would miss them, of course, and she had extracted a promise from the marquess that the new governess was to be approved by Lady Pamela. Helène had tried to explain this to Alice and Peter.

“
You
can still be our governess!” said the girl.

“Lord Quentin has asked me to marry him,” said Helène. “I cannot marry him if I am to remain as your governess.”  She and the children had already discussed this at some length, but Peter, especially, was unconvinced.

“Yes, you can!” he protested.

“Your papa will find someone
much
nicer than I am,” said Helène, in mock seriousness. The children giggled. “And Tavelstoke is not so far away, you know. We can visit each other.”

“A visit!  That’s not enough!”

“And then, when we have babies of our own,”–Alice and Peter quieted suddenly, their eyes opening wide–“you will have them to visit, as well.”

This, it seemed, was quite satisfactory. Soon they were discussing the number of children Miss Phillips and Lord Quentin should have–“Ten!” said Peter–when the Duke of Grentham walked in, Lady Pamela on his arm.

They are a striking couple, thought Helène. Blond on blond, with the duke’s rustic simplicity a counterpoint to the elegance of Pamela Sinclair.

“You have a lapful, cousin,” said the duke, laughing.

“Indeed.” 

Helène was not yet accustomed to having such a powerful man claim kinship with her. Yesterday, after she had finally accepted Lord Sinclair’s assurances that Charles had certainly known nothing of her family connections prior to that very moment, the duke had stepped forward to insist that Lord Quentin ask his permission before paying his addresses to Helène.

“I find I do not like this talk of mistresses,” said Lord Torrance. “You, sir. Are you worthy of my cousin?”

“Your grace, I am quite sure–”   Lady Pamela, alarmed, had begun to expostulate when Lady Detweiler burst into laughter.

“Hoisted on his own petard!” Amanda had cried. “Oh, Charles, I do so
love
irony.”

* * * *

The day past had provided a surprise from the marquess, as well. After Jonathan had escorted Celia to her rooms, he had returned to face a number of questions from his sister. Yes, the marquess had explained, he had known Helène was the granddaughter of the old Duke of Grentham from the beginning. Did Pamela think he would hire just anyone as governess for his children?  And yes, he had written Lord Torrance, asking him to visit Luton upon his return to England.

“But how did you know Miss Phillips even existed?” asked Lady Pam.

The marquess turned toward Helène, and the governess wondered how she could ever have mistaken the gentleness in his eyes for indifference.

“I knew your aunt,” said Jonathan softly. “Matilde. When I was a younger man. She refused me, you understand. Your father was so bitter against all
ton
society by that time that he would never have allowed you to live with us. And Matilde would not leave you.”

Tears rose in Helène’s eyes. She knew that her poor father, angry at the death of his wife, had been determined to provide for her on his own. And he had done so, well enough, until near the end. But her aunt, giving up her own chance of marriage–

“But I made her a promise,” said the marquess,  “that if Mr. Phillips died with you still unmarried, I would bring you to Luton Court. As it happened, when your father knew he was dying, he contacted me himself.”

* * * *

Peter was squirming;  Helène lowered both children to the floor and sent them off to the kitchen with a promise of cocoa. She turned to the duke and Lady Pamela.

“Oh!” she said suddenly. “Oh, your grace!  I have something for you.”

Lord Torrance looked at Helène curiously. “You have something for me?”

“Indeed. From my grandmother, you see–your aunt. I never knew her, of course, but before she died–”

Lady Pamela, who had forgotten about the sapphire ring in all of yesterday’s excitement, at once realized what Miss Phillips was talking about. Pulling the ring from her finger, Pam handed it wordlessly to Helène.

“Here it is!”  Helène offered it to Lord Torrance. “This ring,” she said, “belongs to the Duchess of Grentham.”  

He took it from her hand and then glanced at Lady Pamela.

She blushed. “Yes, I was wearing it. How did you know?”  

“Know what it looked like?”

Pam nodded.

“I’ve seen portraits of several of the duchesses. They were all wearing that ring.”  He smiled at Lady Pamela. “It does look very nice on you.”

Lady Pamela’s blush deepened, and she turned to Helène. “I spoke with the marchioness late last night,” she told the governess. “I believe she is truly sorry for the trouble she has caused.”

“That will have to do, I suppose,” said Helène.

“Someday she may even tell you so herself. But at the moment, Celia has focused her efforts on mending fences with her husband.”

“I dare say.”

“And I believe that Jonathan has fences to mend himself.”

Helène’s face showed her surprise.

“I think you will find that the typical male can fix his attention on only one subject at a time.”  Lady Pamela shot a quick smile at the duke. “And for my brother,” she added, “it has been the estate.”

“Ah... ” 

“But Charles has convinced him that the steward should take on most of those duties. Jonathan will have the chance he needs to convince Celia that she is cared for and loved. Now, as for Beatrice Harkins–”

Helène grimaced.

“My brother has had a talk with her as well, and I think you can be assured there will be no gossip. Lady Harkins very much wishes to continue a welcome guest at Luton Court–”

“Indeed,” said Helène.

“And,” added Lady Pamela, favoring Lord Torrance with another wry smile, “she has high hopes of forming a favorable connection with the illustrious Duke of Grentham, as well.”

* * * *

Lord Quentin now entered the
petit salon
. He crossed immediately to Helène’s side and took her hands in his. She rose to face him.

“I vow to you that I shall spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of a carriagemaker’s daughter,” he told her, his eyes twinkling.

“I should hope so,” said Lady Pamela. Lord Torrance looked on without comment, his lips twitching.

“And I,” said Helène, “proving myself worthy to be a Tavelstoke wife.”

Lord Quentin bent to kiss his bride-to-be, but for a moment she held him at bay.

“In truth, my lord,” said Helène, “I find all this talk of ancestors to be quite beside the point. Does not true nobility lie in the soul?”

“Indeed.”

“Then let us strive only to be worthy of each other,” said Miss Phillips, “and of our love.”

Copyright © 2002 by Amy Lake

Originally published by Five Star

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.