The Rebel’s Daughter (39 page)

She stepped past him, but he caught her
arm in a vice-like grip. Helena tried to look away but she was
enthralled by a tiny bead of spittle on his lower lip. “I will ruin
Ffoyle, as I ruined your father, and he will wish, instead of your
mother, it was he whom you sealed in that vault in St Mary
Arches.”

“
Do not
imagine there will be no reckoning with the Woulfes, Lord Blanden.”
Helena dragged the last two words out in insult, her cheeks
blazing. Her fingers itched to slap him hard across his face with
all the pent up anger of the last months. “My brothers are young
yet, but they will make you pay for your cowardice.”

Raw shock crossed his face which
told her that despite Aaron’s letter having done the rounds
at
The Ship
Inn
, Blanden
did not know her brother still lived. Blandness hold on her arm
loosened, increasing her confidence. “I would be grateful, My Lord,
if you would oblige me by not dying too soon, and thus deprive them
of their revenge.”

She rolled her shoulder out of his grasp and
marched away, Chloe bustling behind her.

Half way along the concourse, Helena’s
legs weakened. A tiny cry emerged from her lips, but she gathered
her courage and pushed on. Not daring to look behind her to see if
Blanden followed, she concentrated on the summer sun that flooded
through the multi-paned window at the end of the concourse, drawing
her forward.

Chloe caught up with her as she
gained the walkway outside.
“Mistress, oh, Mistress,” she gabbled
breathlessly. “I never thought you could…I mean, the way
you…”

Helena steadied herself against the wall
with one hand. “Go and tell our driver where I am, Chloe. Now!” The
maid clamped her mouth shut and scurried away.

Helena stood alone amongst the crowds
entering and leaving the “Change, some so close she could smell
their sweat and the powder on their faces. Her heart hammered and
she felt the tell-tale prick of tears.

Long minutes passed, during which she
expected Lord Blanden to appear and renew his taunts, then the
coach rolled to a halt beside her and with sobbing relief, she
clambered inside.

Helena stared unseeing out of the window.
How dare Blanden insult her after all he had done? And why would he
want to hurt Samuel? He got what he wanted, although by his threats
it seemed he was not satisfied. How he must have hated the Woulfes.
But why? He and Father were friends once, before King Charles
died.

Her stomach lurched, and she chewed the
base of her thumb, relieved Chloe had finally stopped her
chattering.

Helena had been going to marry
his son. Could Lord Blanden do what he threatened, and claim the
remainder of the estate? If he succeeded, she and Henry would have
no income whatsoever. How would Henry continue with his training as
an architect, or Aaron remain in
The Hague
,
if Samuel was unable to send him money? Would Guy
Palmer still want to marry her if she had nothing?

A tiny groan escaped her and inwardly she
cursed Miles Blanden. The summer’s day was ruined; her pretty
parcels and the shoes she had ordered for her wedding were engulfed
into a world where evil men instilled their insidious
dread.

Helena
’s first instinct had been to pour
out her distress to Robert, and rely on him for an immediate
solution, but when the coach pulled up outside Lambtons, she had
changed her mind.

She couldn’t spend her life relying on
others. This was something she had to sort out for herself. She was
determined that Blanden would never hurt her or her brothers
again.

* * *

Helena had
heard no further word from Lord Blanden with regard to his threat,
though in some ways, his silence was worse. If the man took some
sort of action, she could devise a strategy to fight him. Was he
simply bluffing, in order to frighten her? Or was he serious about
seeking the rest of the Woulfe estate? There was no way of telling.
Whatever his intentions, she wished he would simply get on with
it.

One afternoon,
Helena found herself alone at home. Robert had taken Alyce and
Phebe to visit Celia at Saffron Hill, an outing Helena had
declined, having pleaded a headache. This wasn’t a complete lie,
for she was in no mood for Celia’s chatter or Phoebe’s barbed
remarks about her forthcoming wedding.

The shoes had
finally arrived that morning with apologies from the shoemaker for
their lateness, despite Helena having sent the first pair back
because they did not fit well enough. On her way up the stairs to
her room, she heard a hard voice growling at Lubbock.

Helena turned
to where Lord Miles Blanden stood below her in the entrance hall.
It was too late to retreat. All she could do was stand perfectly
still, watching him shrug off Lubbock’s offer to take his sword and
gloves. Appraising him when he had not yet registered her presence
was a strange feeling. If she did not hate the man so much and her
flesh didn’t crawl when he was near, she could even say he was
handsome. A little taller than herself, and though stickily built,
he was all muscle, with a little extra weight. His heavily lashed
brown eyes showed intelligence, and his skin was unblemished, with
the light tan of a born countryman. His jaw sagged, but only
slightly, and certainly less than expected of a man in his late
forties.

He glanced up
and caught her gaze, then smirked. “Good day to you, Mistress
Woulfe,” he drawled, instilling more insult into his voice than
propriety. He took in his surroundings, raising thick eyebrows in
surprise, as if he did not expect such opulence.

Helena’s knees
buckled. She fumbled for the balustrade and gripped it hard, then
raised her chin, determined not to stumble.

He extended a
hand, but she remained three steps above him, her arms at her sides
so he was forced to drop his. Nor did she reply to his greeting,
but waited, her heart hammering with terror. At the same time she
was furious he had dared to come to her home like this, unannounced
and uninvited.

Three serving
men traversed the hall bearing laden trays. A group of patrons who
had recently arrived were clustered at the entrance darting looks
at them and muttering. Lubbock also hovered close by, a look of
suspicion mixed with concern on his face. When she gave him the
tiniest of nods, he backed away, but she knew he would remain
within earshot and felt slightly reassured.

“I was not
aware you patronised Lambtons, Lord Blanden,” Helena said, forcing
the words through clenched teeth.

He gave a short
bark of a laugh. “I dine at Pontacks, Mistress Woulfe.” His second
sweep of the room displayed contempt. “However, I have gone out of
my way on this occasion. I wished to inform you that I have lodged
my petition for the rest of Sir Jonathan’s estate. I expect a
favourable answer directly.”

With
difficulty, Helena remained calm, her voice light with unconcern.
“You can lodge as many petitions as you wish, sir, but you can
prove nothing.”

His reaction
was no more than a flash of his eyes as he took a step forward,
switching his ubiquitous cane from one hand to the other. His calm
demeanour struck her as more threatening than if had he blustered
and shouted. He was far too sure of himself.

“I have proof,”
he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Ffoyle paid virtually nothing
for those houses and the warehouse. Nor is there any bill of sale
for the sheep, or your mother’s jewels.”

Helena had to
stop her hand from instinctively touching her mother’s pearl
necklace.

“I do have a
solution for you, my dear,” he went on, his unctuous voice
repulsing her even more.

“What sort of
solution?”

“How else does
a young woman get herself out of financial straits? Why by
marrying, of course.”

“Which in your
case is out of the question.” Helena almost laughed. “If my memory
serves, Lady Maude is very much alive. As for me, I’m…” she broke
off, Guy’s name on the tip of her tongue, but bit it back in
time.

“There is of
course that obstacle.” He pressed a finger to his cheek as if
considering. “However, there is nothing to prevent me taking a
Mistress.”

“You cannot be
suggesting…” her voice failed in both disbelief and anger. One look
in his eyes showed he was indeed serious.

She gave the
hallway a frantic look, but they were virtually alone, apart from
Lubbock, whom she knew lurked in the shadows. But could he hear
their conversation? She doubted he could hear the conversation
above the hubbub of the dining rooms. Even so, he would only
intervene if she was physically in danger. Or if she screamed.

Blanden
shrugged. “Why ever not? You could even return to Exeter. I could
install you in a house in the city.” He waved his cane in the air.
“Not at Loxsbeare, which would be quite impossible, of course. The
situation is not without merit, if you consider you would benefit
again from all the things you once enjoyed.”

“Except my
soul,” Helena murmured, clenching her fists.

“I think you’ll
find your soul will survive, my dear.” He leaned closer, his warm
breath on her cheek. “In return, I might be prevailed upon to
withdraw my petition. You may keep the warehouses and the other
property. Your charms would adequately compensate me for
those.”

Helena closed
her eyes, fighting an urge to claw her fingernails down his cheeks.
She even conjured the lines of ragged skin and blood welling into
the scratches, accompanied by colourful insults that would have
shocked her father. Her tongue thickened in her mouth and she
couldn’t speak. After all this man had done to her family, now he
insulted her in the worst way any man could offend a woman.

“Hmm.” He
tapped her cheek lightly with his cane. “Think about it, my dear.
I’ll return in due course for your answer. Though I feel we both
know what it will be. After all, you wouldn’t want to impoverish
your brothers, not to mention remain destitute for the rest of your
life, would you? Or perhaps Devereux would let you be a serving
wench in his tavern.”

He wheeled
round and strode for the door, pausing on the threshold with that
now familiar smirk. Good day to you, Mistress Woulfe. I have so
enjoyed my visit, which I shall repeat quite soon.”

At the click of
the lock, Helena’s knees gave way in earnest, and she collapsed
onto the stair, her blood throbbing in her head while bile rose in
her throat.

Chapter
24

Helena retreated to her room,
and paced the floor,
shifting from fury, to repugnance and then back to hatred.
She dwelled for a while on revenge too, but knew she would not
achieve that unless she foiled Blandness disgusting scheme. Though
how she could do so, and keep possession of whatever she and her
brothers had left, was beyond her.

There must be a way. If only her father
would come back. He would never have allowed her to be so treated
so. He would have killed Blanden first. But then, Father had no
idea that he would be betrayed by someone he had considered a
friend.

She had barely finished cursing the man,
let alone worked out a solution, when Lubbock knocked discreetly at
her door to tell her that Guy Palmer had arrived.

“
I’ll be
down in a moment, thank you, Lubbock.” She groaned inwardly,
wondering how she could possibly act normally in his presence, when
their very future together could be threatened.

She tidied her hair and slapped her cheeks
lightly to give them colour. Her lips were red and slightly
swollen, the result of her having constantly bitten them in the
interval since Blandness departure.

“
I
didn’t expect you to call today,” was Helena’s unenthusiastic
greeting when she met Guy in the hall, only reaching to give him a
peck on the cheek as an afterthought.

“
I have
news which I simply couldn’t wait to bring you.” He brandished a
sheet of stained parchment that looked as if it had travelled a
long way. “My Uncle Arthur has written, congratulating us on our
marriage.”

“
That’s
kind of him.” Helena tucked her arm through his, and drew him into
the Devereux’s private parlour. “Is he coming back from wherever he
is for the wedding?” She took a seat on the chaise, patting the
space beside her in invitation.

“
What?”
Guy frowned, as if caught in mid-thought, then quickly recovered
himself. “Ah, no, that’s not something I anticipate. He’s somewhere
near the Cape of Good Hope as we speak. However, he writes to say
he has given us his house as a wedding gift.”

“
House?
What house?” Helena sat up straighter. Guy had always lamented his
Lincolns Inn lodgings inadequate for a married man, but he had
never mentioned a house.

“
He
bought it from his cousin Roger, with profits from his Africa
Holdings.” Guy slid onto the seat beside her. “The goldmines there
are something he once had in common with the house of
Stuart.”

“
The
King has goldmines in Africa? How interesting.”

“
Not any
more, my dear,” Guy said with an indulgent laugh.

Helena pursed her lips and narrowed her
nostrils. She wished he wouldn’t address her like a schoolmaster.
He was only a few years older than she. “You mentioned a house,”
she said with barely restrained impatience.