The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (5 page)

“I think no such thing; he is very much a man of the world, and I’m sure we seem terribly provincial to him,” said Damaris. “But you must not hold that against him. It would be better if the two of you could be on friendly terms. Arthur seems quite taken with him, and I imagine he will be much underfoot.”

Helena sighed. Her friend made good sense, but she was not inclined to listen. “He accused me of encouraging Denby!”

Damaris shook her head. “You have never told me the story, and I have not pried. No doubt people have been only too happy to relate the unfortunate tale to his lordship, and he was unwise enough to mention it. Fortunately the two of you will not have to spend much time together.”

“Of that I am very sure.” Helena looked down at Damaris, who merely gazed back skeptically. She sighed. “Very well, I will try to forget our argument. I bid him wait on me tomorrow, and if he can behave respectably, perhaps we can rub along together until he relieves us of his presence.”

“I’m sure our neighbors do not wish him to depart soon,” said Damaris. “He has made quite a splash tonight. However, I must say I am disappointed he lacks a scar and a limp. I suppose it is too much to hope that he brought a low-born mistress with him!”

Helena laughed despite herself. “He appears to have brought Mr. Delaney instead.”

“Yes, I danced with him—as did you. A personable gentleman.”

“I found him more agreeable than the earl. But then, I would be hard put to find someone I dislike more than his lordship just now.”

“I believe Mr. Delaney is unmarried,” ventured Damaris, her eye twinkling.

“Don’t even mention it!” exclaimed Helena. “I have no intention of pursuing—or being pursued by—Mr. Delaney!”

“No?” asked Damaris innocently.

“No,” replied Helena firmly.

“Oh, very well,” pouted Damaris, looked across the room. “There is your brother now.”

Helena followed her gaze and saw Arthur approaching, deep in conversation with Lord Wroxton. She resisted the urge to sigh audibly, and walked across the room to them, Damaris, clearly agog, following in her wake.

Bestowing a frosty smile on Malcolm, she laid her hand on Arthur’s arm. “If you would not mind, dear, I would like to go home now. I have the headache.”

“The headache?” Arthur was astonished. “You never have headaches.”

“Well, tonight I do,” she said impatiently. She avoided looking at the earl, as she was fairly certain he was regarding her with some amusement.

“What a pity you are unwell, Miss Keighley,” said Malcolm solicitously. “By all means, Sir Arthur, you must take your sister home immediately. Her health should be your first concern. We can continue our conversation tomorrow.”

Arthur seemed to be appeased by this promise. “Very well, if you aren’t feeling quite the thing, Helena, we should go.”

“Thank you,” she replied, trying to not let her annoyance creep into her voice.

The earl bowed politely. “I made plans to ride out with your brother tomorrow, Miss Keighley and had thought to wait on you as well. Do you expect to be recovered enough to receive visitors?” His voice was faintly teasing, and she itched to give him a sharp set down.

“I’m sure I will feel much better in the morning.” She refused to meet his eyes.

“I look forward to seeing you again,” he said smoothly. “Good evening, Mrs. Honeysett.” He clapped Arthur on the shoulder and strode away, leaving Helena seething.

Helena turned to say good night to Damaris, whose amusement at her friend’s situation was clear.

“I look forward to hearing all about your visit with Lord Wroxton,” said Damaris impishly.

“I doubt it will be particularly enlightening.” Helena looked at Arthur. “Please, may we go now?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied politely, offering his arm.

Helena gave Damaris a hug, and then allowed Arthur to lead her towards the foyer.

Helena was just beginning to feel a sense of calm steal over her at the thought they would soon be out of the presence of Lord Wroxton, when her equilibrium was again thoroughly dashed. There was a stir by the door, and a gentleman entered, impeccably dressed in black evening clothes. He was middle-aged, but handsome in a rather coarse way, with cynical black eyes and a slightly dissolute air. Helena stopped in her tracks.

“Oh lord,” she said under breath.

Arthur looked up and groaned. “What the devil is Denby doing here?”

“Annoying us all,” said Helena. “Well, I can hardly turn tail and flee. It must be faced, I suppose.”

Knowing everyone in the vicinity was watching her closely, Helena moved forward, her fingers gripping Arthur’s arm tightly. She held her head regally as they swept up the stairs and past Lord Denby, who paused with an expression on his face that might be a smile or might be a sneer and sketched a bow. Helena’s eyes passed over him as though she did not see him, and she and Arthur moved on and out the door.

“The rotter,” muttered Arthur. “I’d like to call him out.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Helena sharply. “I will not have my name bandied about further. And,” she added, her voice softening, “I would never wish you to risk yourself simply because he is a horrid person.”

“If I had been grown at the time—” began Arthur.

“But you were not. Please, let us discuss it no further this evening; it only makes us both angry. I’m thankful for your concern, but it is best to not think of Lord Denby.”

Arthur shook his head angrily, but allowed Helena to draw him out of the foyer and into the night, where their carriage waited.

In the assembly room, Lord Denby gazed after Helena and Arthur for a moment, then made his leisurely way down the stairs. A few people in the crowd greeted him, and he eventually fell into conversation with a gentleman in startling yellow breeches and very high shirt points.

Stephen, having observed the interaction between Helena and Denby, gave a low whistle. “It seems Miss Keighley has no affection for his lordship.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “She made that abundantly clear to me earlier. Not that I can blame her. There is no love lost between Denby and myself.”

“A lady?” asked Stephen teasingly.

Malcolm shrugged. “No, not a lady. I have always found him lacking in something—though I cannot tell you what. He is somewhat older than I, of course, and our paths seldom cross. But he does not pretend to care for me, either.”

“He’s usually quite popular with the womenfolk,” observed Stephen.

Malcolm gave a short laugh. “But not the one he was caught kissing.” His eyes narrowed. “I wonder what the story is there.”

Stephen looked alarmed. “Lord, Mal, don’t involve yourself in the troubles of the locals. We want to return to London at some point, and if you call Denby out over Miss Keighley’s honor, the gossip will surely follow us. Aren’t you talked about enough as it is?”

The hint of anger faded from Malcolm’s eyes, and he laughed. “I’m one far more likely to compromise a lady’s honor than defend it, Del. I don’t think Miss Keighley would thank me if I tried to do either with hers.”

“No, I doubt she would,” agreed Stephen. “Not that she is the dragon you led me to believe; I danced with her and found her very charming.”

“Did you? I found her likely to bite my head off.”

“You doubtless deserved it,” Stephen pointed out.

Malcolm shrugged. “She has a way of provoking me, I’ll give you that. Forgive me, but I grow bored with discussing Miss Keighley. Will you return to the card room, or are you for home?”

Stephen shrugged. “We’ve rusticated enough for the night, I suppose.”

The gentlemen turned towards the door, and as they did so, Lord Denby extricated himself from his conversation and approached them. He held out his hand, and Malcolm shook it with some reluctance.

“Wroxton,” said Lord Denby. He turned to Stephen, who acknowledged him with a nod. “Delaney.”

“What are you doing in Kent, Denby?” asked Malcolm after a brief pause. “It’s the height of the Season in London.”

“The same as you, I imagine,” responded Lord Denby. “Checking on my estates and visiting the local assembly in search of amusement.”

“You’ll not be in Kent long, then?”

“Until my business is done. I find it odd that you are here, Wroxton. Since your return you seem bent on pleasure, not on responsibility.”

Malcolm shrugged. “My estate needs tending to as well. London can wait.”

“Will the beautiful Mrs. Lacey wait?” asked Denby, with a bit of a leer.

Malcolm refused to be drawn. “That is up to Mrs. Lacey.”

Denby shot him an inquiring glance. “Surely you aren’t thinking of finding a bride while you are here? You’ve barely regained your life of pleasure--do you mean to give it up again so soon?”

“Lord no, I’m not looking to marry. I told you I’m here on business, and I mean to return to London as soon as I may.

“What sort of business do you have here?” persisted Lord Denby.

Malcolm’s brow creased. “The usual things; my bailiff needs guidance, the tenants wish to see the earl, and apparently there are free traders on my land. I can’t have that, and neither can the neighbors.”

“The neighbors?” A flicker of concern crossed Denby’s face.

Malcolm looked at him more closely. “They afflict Keighley Manor as well as Wroxton. Neither estate can support such things.”

Denby laughed. “Ah, you have been listening to Miss Keighley’s romantic notions, then.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Malcolm stiffly.

Denby shook his head. “You’ve come down here for naught if you are pursuing her summons. She will have it that there are dangerous marauders on the coast, hauling in French brandy by the boatload. I’ve no doubt the county holds a free trader or two, but there is no large band of ruffians out to trespass upon her lands. Miss Keighley has some far-fetched notions, no doubt fed by her father’s imaginings. He was not right in the head, you know.” Denby tapped his temple significantly.

“I heard some mention of that, but, to date, I find Miss Keighley to be remarkably unafflicted with romantic notions.”

“Ah, well, you will see,” said Denby jovially. “You will soon learn that Wroxton is in no danger from smugglers.”

“Perhaps I shall,” said Malcolm mildly. “But I plan to find out for myself. Thank you for your advice, Denby. Del, shall we be on our way?”

With a nod, Malcolm strolled away, Stephen following in his wake.

“It seems Denby doesn’t believe the smugglers are a threat,” he said.

Malcolm snorted. “His estate isn’t on the water, and he clearly has no compunction about sullying Miss Keighley’s name further. I certainly intend to listen to what she has to say, at any rate. I’d put my faith in her over Denby any day.”

“As she is far more attractive than Denby,” said Stephen lightly, “I’d prefer to listen to her myself.”

“True enough,” agreed Malcolm. “But I have no intention of allowing Miss Keighley to talk me into any nonsense. We’ll be gone in a few days, Del.”

Ignoring the skeptical look on his friend’s face, Malcolm walked up the stairs and out of the room.

Helena rose early the next morning, and, not bothering to ring for Sherburne, dressed herself and strode down to the stables, as was her habit. As she walked across the grounds, enjoying the bright early morning sunlight and the fresh scent of the new day, she did her best to put thoughts of Malcolm Arlingby out of her mind. It was difficult, as the ride home the night before had consisted primarily of Arthur singing his praises. The Earl of Wroxton, it seemed, was all that was gracious and amusing, and Arthur thought it very kind of him to condescend to spend time with one so much younger and less experienced than himself. Helena had held her tongue, not wishful to ruin her brother’s enthusiasm, but his hero worship had rankled.

She spent half an hour in the stables, checking on a mare that was soon to foal. Macklin was of the opinion that it would be some days yet, and she had faith in his instincts.

“But do be sure to let me know when the time comes,” she said to the groom. “I wish to be present if at all possible.”

“Aye, miss,” he said. “I would want you to be there.”

She nodded briskly and stepped out of the stall, her stomach telling her it was time for breakfast. As she headed to the house, she saw Arthur approaching, dressed for riding.

“Helena! What are you doing here, and dressed like that?” he asked.

Helena glanced down at her plain dress, now covered with an apron. “I am usually here at this hour, and just how would you have me dress? I can’t look in on the horses in a ball gown.”

“You know I am riding with Wroxton this morning,” he said with exasperation. “If he should see you, what would he think?”

“That I am tending to my duties?” she ventured. “Or that I am a serving girl, perhaps,” she added impishly.

“Which is precisely what you look like! I wonder that you aren’t mortified at the thought.”

“As I have no wish to impress his lordship, it hardly matters. I have plenty of time to change before you return from your ride.”

“But he is to meet me here, in less than half an hour,” said Arthur. “He may see you!”

“Is he indeed?” Helena looked at Arthur’s distressed face, and took pity on him. “I was about to go to the house and get breakfast; I promise I will change my clothes and be presentable by the time his lordship makes an appearance,” she assured him.

Arthur looked relieved, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Helena. I wish you would not tease me so.”

“It is hard not to at times; you seem to admire the earl, and I admit I cannot understand why.”

“He is a man of the world,” said Arthur enthusiastically. “He has been to Paris, and Rome, and Venice—no one around here has been farther away from Folkestone than London. Even Father, in his day, did not travel the way Wroxton has.”

Helena took his hand looked at him earnestly. “I realize Wroxton’s history seems fascinating, but it is not one I would wish you to emulate.”

Arthur grinned. “I have no plans to gamble away any family heirlooms, Helena. But it would be nice to have an adventure from time to time.”

Helena laid a hand on his arm. “I hope you will have the chance some day. But, in the meantime, I wish you will be careful.”

“I promise I will not allow Wroxton to drag me to any gaming hells this morning,” said Arthur. “Now, do go change your clothes. You look very pretty when you make the effort.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” laughed Helena, dropping him a mock curtsey. She turned and left, making her way slowly across the grass, admiring the way Keighley Manor appeared in the morning sun, its ochre walls and silvered timbers glowing. As she neared the kitchen door, she heard the thud of a horse’s hooves, and turned her head to see the Earl of Wroxton ride up. He sat his horse as though he was one with it, and despite herself she admired the softness of his hands, and the quietness with which he rode, as though it required no effort to make his horse obey. She paused a moment to watch him dismount gracefully and greet Arthur, who was wreathed in smiles. Resolutely, she turned her back and entered the house. She had promised Arthur she would not look like a serving girl when the earl called on her, and that might take some time.

Several hours later, Helena sat in the drawing room of Keighley Manor. She was dressed with propriety in a gown of sprigged muslin, with a ruched band at the hem and cutwork sleeves edged in ruffles. Sherburne had once again coaxed her riotous locks into
a very modish style, with loose curls falling in front of her ears, and the rest swept up into a braided loop. Despite the knowledge that she looked very well indeed, she felt faintly ridiculous and thoroughly impatient. Sitting about waiting for his lordship to deign to visit her, when she could be riding, or reviewing the accounts with the bailiff, seemed the height of foolishness. She had attempted to read a few pages of Mr. Scott’s most recent book, but it had not held her attention, and she now paced the room, growing increasingly impatient. Why had she not gone riding with Arthur and the earl this morning? As aggravating as Wroxton was, at least she would not have been bored to tears.

She strode to the window and gazed out over the grounds. After what seemed an age, she saw two horses trot up to the stable, and their riders dismount and stand talking, seemingly on the best of terms. Eventually they walked towards the manor, and Helena rushed to the mirror over the fireplace. When she got there she paused; what did it matter what she looked like? Arthur would of course be happy to see she was conventionally dressed, but would be otherwise indifferent, and it was absurd to think Wroxton might care about her appearance. She turned away from the mirror and perched herself on the settee.

Eventually she heard the sound of boot heels in the hall, and Arthur’s voice speaking quickly, followed by Arlingby’s deeper tone. She grabbed the novel she had attempted to read earlier, and held it in front of her, seemingly entranced by its contents. The door flew open and the gentlemen entered, and Helena waited a moment, finishing the sentence her eyes had alighted on, before looking up and noticing them.

“Good afternoon, Lord Wroxton,” she said primly, laying the book on a side table. The earl presented very well in his riding dress, the width of his shoulders and lean strength of his thighs emphasized by the cut of his coat and his buckskin breeches. He looked the very picture of a dashing nobleman. It was a pity, Helena reflected, that he was so irresponsible.

Malcolm’s eyes widened briefly at the sight of Helena on the settee, her foaming skirts spread around her and her white skin above the neckline of the dainty dress. If he had found her lovely as a servant girl, and regal in her evening dress, she was even more exquisite in sprigged muslin, the white of the fabric setting off her creamy complexion, and the green of the pattern her glowing locks. It was a pity, he thought, that she was so headstrong.

“Good afternoon, Miss Keighley,” he responded, bowing politely.

They glared at each other across the room, and Arthur glanced curiously from one to the other.

“Wroxton tells me you wished to speak to him about some business,” he said to Helena.

“He was correct,” she replied.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then,” said Arthur cheerfully. “I doubt you have need of me. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Wroxton.”

“Thank you for showing me the countryside,” Malcolm replied. “A great deal has changed since my time.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Arthur. He dropped a kiss on Helena’s cheek, and left them alone.