The Rebel’s Daughter (34 page)

“
Master
Ffoyle knows?” Helena stared, then shook her head, laughing. “Of
course he does, Samuel knows everything.”

The tables began to fill as morning diners
greeted Lubbock jocularly, calling for mulled wine and hot pies to
keep out the cold.

Helena stared at the new arrivals without
seeing them, too occupied with her own thoughts. Then something
occurred to her. “Have you told Aaron all this?”

“
I
intended to.” Lumm sighed. “When news of the Pardon came. I
imagined I might bring him home, to you and Henry. However, my
plans went somewhat awry, when he decided to use his inheritance on
intrigue in Holland.”

The word
inheritance
jogged Helena’s brain. “Father
managed to keep some of his estate back for us. Did you know
that?”

He reached across the table to take her
hand. Helena let him, even welcoming his touch. Huddled in a booth,
they could have been lovers on a secret tryst. The look he gave her
was certainly loving, but not lover-like. The more she looked at
him, the more of herself she saw in his features.

“
He left
me the property your grandfather owned near Bedford House.” His
gaze searched hers, seeking approval.

“
He was
your grandfather too, Tobias.” Saying his given name seemed the
natural thing to do just then. “I’m glad he gave the house to you.
I am delighted too that you are my half-brother.”

His devastating smile reappeared. “Thank
you, Helena. I thought you would be angry.”

“
I would
have been, a year ago. But I have lost too much of my family to be
in a position to reject someone who actually wants to be connected
to me.” Her happy laugh caused several gazes to swivel in their
direction.

“
I
wanted to tell Aaron all this,” Tobias relaxed back in his seat,
“but seeing his grief for your mother, it did not seem appropriate,
somehow.”

She looked down at his hand, which rested
on the table between them and felt a lump in her throat. He had
Aaron’s hands.

Aaron
’s selfishness clearly demonstrated
he cared for her less than she had imagined. Then there was Henry,
who had betrayed her in his own way, when he left to live with the
Newman’s. Neither brother had given a thought as to how she would
find her way in a world where marriage was the only respectable
choice for a woman. But then, who would marry her now? The daughter
of a convicted traitor who faced certain death if he dared
return?

She inhaled, making a decision. “I’ll keep
your secret, Tobias. When do you return to Exeter?” She sipped her
third cup of chocolate of the morning, nursing her new
knowledge.

“
The
coach leaves from
The Rose Inn
in under an hour.” He nodded to Chloe, who stood with his
bag at her feet beside the door, stood up, and gathered his
Brandenburg coat from a nearby chair. “I hope you will allow me to
write you. That is, if you do not feel it inappropriate for the
landlord of a small inn to write Mistress Helena Woulfe of
Lambtons?”

“
This is
not really my home, Tobias. I’m merely a guest here. Of course I
want you to write to me.” She rose with him and wandered outside
into a street that teemed with life, noise, and less than savoury
smells.

He dropped a swift kiss onto her hand,
then turned and walked away, his duffle bag slung casually across
his shoulder, his hat tipped back on his head.

“
I
al'ays told you he was a strange one,” Chloe snorted at her
shoulder.

Helena returned Tobias’s backward wave.
“Stranger than you could ever know,” she murmured.

Chapter
21

Helena sat by the window
overlooking the garden in her room, déshabill
é in a loose, flowing gown tied
over soft linen petticoats. The pastry she had dipped in her cup of
chocolate halted mid-way to her mouth as she stared at
Celia.

“
You are
to be married in a month? What precipitated such a speedy
decision?”

“
Sugar
and spice and all things nice, I believe.” Celia sneaked a slice of
bread and butter from Helena’s breakfast plate.

“
You’re
making no sense.” Helena placed her half-filled cup onto the tray
between them. Was her friend being innocently spontaneous, or was
she being deviously witty?

Celia rearranged her lace bertha round her
voluptuous shoulders. “Ralf’s great uncle died last spring…which is
a tragedy of course…” she waved the bread in the air. “Although
Ralf hasn’t seen him since the age of five, or was it six…?” She
trailed off and stared at the ceiling, a finger at her
cheek.

“
Celia!”
Helena prompted.

“
Oh,
sorry. His uncle’s will stated when his ship returned from the West
Indies, the proceeds of the cargo were to go to Ralf.” She nibbled
delicately at the bread as she talked. ““Everyone imagined it must
have been lost in a storm, or to pirates, or something; but
the
Emerald
came into port last week. The cargo went for auction and
sold for four thousand pounds.” She dragged the words out for
effect. “Therefore, we have no need to wait and can marry
immediately. Is that not wonderful news?”

“
Did
Ralf ask if you were willing to marry earlier than
planned?”

“
Should
he have done?” Celia asked, reaching for another slice of buttered
bread.

Helena sighed and changed the subject.
“Which church shall you be married in?”

“
We
shall marry here of course, in Lambtons.” She licked butter from
her fingers with a grimace. “No one of quality gets married in
church.”

“
Why
ever not?” Helena stared, the concept quite unknown to
her.

“
Because, the ceremony would have to take place during
divine service, when everyone who cares to may come and watch. The
notion of a charivari would simply mortify Mama.”

“
What is
a charivari?” Helena asked.

“
A
charivari, my dear,” Celia”s mouth twisted in distaste, “is when a
band of complete strangers gather outside the bride’s window with
drums, whistles and bang sticks. They make as much noise as they
can until they are paid to leave.”

The image of Alyce Devereux confronted with
such a spectacle made Helena smile

“
We are
to have an evening wedding,” Celia declared, this apparently being
the height of sophistication. “As it is, Father will have to pay
the clergyman twenty shillings for us to marry outside canonical
hours.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “There seems to be a fee
for everything one wishes to do these days.” Barely pausing to draw
breath, she gabbled on, “Ralf is taking me to see his house
tomorrow.”

“
He has
bought a house?” Helena said, envious.

Celia frowned. “Well no, the uncle left it
to him. An old retainer lived there. According to the will, he
could not have been dislodged. However, he died months ago, so now
the property belongs in its entirety to Ralf. Is that not
convenient?” Celia asked, her eyes shining with
excitement.

Helena
’s thoughts went to the old servant,
whose death appeared to have no effect on Celia. A year ago, Helena
too would have been hard pressed to have given sympathetic thought
to a servant. She wondered if this new aspect to her character was
a good thing or not.

Pouring more chocolate for
herself and Celia, she pondered on how complicated life had become,
with so many things to feel sad about. She could hardly remember
the days when all that concerned her was how her new gown looked,
or if her father would take her riding.
How swiftly and with such randomness
could fortunes be turned
.

The fact she lived comfortably with generous
people reminded her there could have been a far worse alternative.
In fact, had Master Devereux expected her to work as a serving girl
in his inn, she would have been in no position to complain. The
thought made her shiver.

“
Why are
you looking so melancholy, Helena?” Celia asked
suddenly.

“
Is that
so? I apologise. What have I to feel melancholy about?”

* * *

On Celia
”s wedding day, Helena wandered
through Lambtons” halls. The walls were hung with ribbons,
branches, violet and yellow heartsease, and cream meadowsweet like
an enchanted garden, while serving men and girls bustled around
like insects in response to Alice’s shrill orders.

Despite several visits from the seamstress
and hours of being measured, pinned and tucked in preparation for
their wedding outfits, it was not the bride who declared her gown
did not become her.

“
I hate
the colour. It makes me look pale,” Phebe announced. Her complaints
persisted most of the morning, and throughout Chloe’s weaving of
sprays of rosemary and bay dipped in scented water. However, when
Phebe caught sight of herself in the long glass, her features
softened. “I look like a wood nymph,” she declared, smiling for the
first time that day.

The invited guests thronged the main
dining hall, while the taproom regulars peered in at the windows to
wish the bride happiness.

Alyce made her Grand Entrance late,
gliding into place beside Robert in a fuchsia silk gown, her face
painted and patched like that of a courtier. Ralf wore nut-brown
velvet, sumptuously embroidered with leaves and spring buds to
match the season, which complemented the design picked out on
Celia”s cream bodice. He stood shuffling his feet beside the bride,
in an ebony wig that did not suit his pale colouring; his responses
made with much stammering and false starts, whereas Celia was word
perfect. After the ceremony, the principal guests surged forward to
shake hands with the newlyweds, some to show approval for an
alliance well-forged, while others congratulated themselves for
whatever part they played in this union.

Helena moved between acquaintances and
strangers, chatting to guests who devoured the elaborately-prepared
supper: roasted meats, savory pies and pasties, puddings and
sallets, with cheeses, nuts and fruit, together with the excellent
wines, ales and spirits Robert had bought especially for the
occasion.

Close to midnight, the wedding party all
trooped noisily upstairs to the newlywed couple’s chamber in
preparation for the bedding ceremony. Before the Groomsmen arrived,
Alyce untied Celia”s blue silk garters, destined to be worn on
their hats for weeks afterward, insisting, “We cannot have young
men hunting disrespectfully beneath your skirt.”

Celia stood shyly in her negligee as a
loud knocking came at the door and a male voice called, “Ho Madame,
let us in, we have a groom to put to bed!” Without waiting for
permission, the door flew open, and a group of young men crowded
the bedchamber, pulling a blushing Ralf after them.

The Bridemen removed Celia”s garters and
the riotous process of tying them to the men’s hats followed,
hindered somewhat by the copious amounts of wine everyone had
consumed.

There followed loud and suggestive
toasting, mostly at the groom’s expense, before a blushing Celia
and self-conscious Ralf clambered onto the canopied bed. Phebe and
Helena took up their positions, with their backs to the bed and
each holding one of Ralf’s stockings.

“
Why are
we doing this again?” Helena asked Phebe in a whisper.

Phebe
rolled her eyes, obviously scornful
of the entire process. “Tradition states that if one of the
stockings lands on one or both of them, the thrower will be married
within the twelvemonth.”

Giving the superstition no credence, but
happy to join in the general hilarity, Helena acted on an
indiscrete cue from Alyce and hurled the length of silk at the bed
accompanied by loud and tipsy cheers.

“
Now you
turn round,” Phebe urged, grabbing Helena’s arm. “Look, yours
draped itself across Celia”s face, but mine fell short. What a
shame.”

“
You did
that on purpose,” Helena accused her, rewarded with Phoebe’s mock
innocent shrug. “Now what happens?”

“
It’s
the men’s turn. Only they throw Celia”s stockings. Watch out!”
Phebe tugged her swiftly aside. “These gallants tend to be less
than gentle when they are full of Papa’s wine.”

Repeated, the procedure proved a good deal
noisier and far less skilled. The first stocking caught on the
tester above, while Henry toppled over as he threw, drawing rowdy
laughter as the stocking slid to the floor.

Handsome in navy blue silk, William led the
group of inebriated young men to raucous teasing of the bride and
lewd suggestions to the groom.

When Celia”s blushes threatened to turn
into tears, Ralf earned Helena’s admiration by calling for silence
and, nightshirt notwithstanding, firmly ordered everyone
out.