by Diane Gaston
She knocked.
‘Come in,’ Mrs Jacobs called out.
She opened the door and entered the room.
‘Ah, mademoiselle!’ Mrs Jacobs said cheerily. ‘I told Mr Wilson and Louise you would come.’
‘I ordered tea to be brought up for all of you.’ Helene peeked around the woman to see that Wilson now sat up in bed and Louise was in the chair by his side, holding his hand.
‘How nice of you!’ The nurse clapped her hands. ‘I was about to go down for food, now I do not have to.’
Helene approached Wilson’s cot, but did not come so close she would intrude on the reunited couple. ‘How do you feel, Wilson?’
He gazed lovingly at Louise. ‘Happy. Fortunate. Very grateful.’
‘Yes, well, he still has a fever, Lady Helene.’ Mrs Jacobs clucked her tongue. ‘No frolicking for him.’
There was a knock on the door. Not Rhys. The tea arrived and they moved things around to make room for it. Louise assisted Wilson. She sat on the edge of the cot so that Mrs Jacobs and Helene could have the chairs.
Mrs Jacobs swallowed her biscuit and took a sip of tea, then leaned over to Helene. ‘I have told Mr Wilson and Louise all about the Duchess’s Ball and about Captain Landon and that your brother refused to escort you, so Captain Grantwell offered—’
Helene held up a hand. ‘Yes, but I am not attending the ball. I have no dress.’
Mrs Jacobs tossed Louise a conspiratorial look. ‘We have that all settled, as well.’
‘How?’ There was no way to sew a gown in only one day.
Mrs Jacobs gave Helene a smug grin.
Louise spoke. ‘For many years I have sewn the costumes for the theatre. I do not sew as much lately, but I am certain the theatre will have a suitable dress among the costumes that they will be willing to lend me.’
‘Louise will get your dress from the theatre,’ Mrs Jacobs said excitedly. ‘And she can make any alterations tomorrow. Very simple, is it not?’
Helene laughed in surprise. How dear of them to plot a way for her to attend a ball she had no desire to attend. ‘I hardly know what to say.’ She could think of no way to refuse. She looked at Louise. ‘You will not get yourself in trouble for this, will you?’
‘Oh, no. No one will mind,’ Louise assured her. ‘You will be wearing a dress that has been worn before. After we return it, no one will mind it has been worn one extra time.’ She gave Helene a serious look. ‘Besides, you have brought my Samuel back to me. There is nothing I would not do for you.’
Mrs Jacobs shook a finger at Helene. ‘Listen to Louise and to me. You will go to this ball that everyone talks about and you will look so beautiful your Captain Landon will beg you to come back to him.’
Chapter Eleven
Rhys’s regiment engaged in drills all morning and it was not until well after the noon hour that the troops were dismissed. Word had reached the regiment that Wellington wanted all troops in readiness in case deployment was necessary. Rhys had done what he could to ensure his company could march at a moment’s notice, but, riding back to Brussels, he could not shake his concerns.
Grant’s horse caught up to Rhys’s. ‘That went fairly well, I thought.’
‘We’ve been too idle.’ Rhys frowned. ‘They’ve been sharper.’
‘Come on, man! Why the glum mood?’ Grant exclaimed. ‘They did well. They will be ready.’
Rhys shook his head. ‘They will have to be.’
They rode side by side without speaking.
Grant broke the silence. ‘Oh, I have some good news. Our invitations arrived.’
Rhys’s thoughts were still on his men and what else he might do to bring them up to snuff. ‘What invitations?’
‘What invitations!’ Grant laughed. ‘The invitation to the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball. Your friend Banes came through. I have the invitations in my pocket.’
‘Banes is not precisely a friend,’ Rhys said.
‘Whatever you wish to call him.’ They rode on for a while, then Grant suddenly asked, ‘Does Banes have an older brother?’
‘No,’ Rhys replied. ‘What makes you ask?’
‘Well,’ Grant responded. ‘If he does not have an older brother and his father was the Earl of Yarford and is now deceased, then is he not now the Earl?’
To Rhys, David so perfectly played the role of annoying little brother that it was difficult to think of him as the Earl. ‘Yes. He would be.’
‘Impressed as the boy is by dukes, you’d think he’d be telling everyone he has a title,’ Grant said.
‘You would think that.’ So why did David introduce himself by name and not title? Did the boy do nothing right?
At least it made more sense that Helene travelled to Brussels. If David were killed watching the battle, as could happen to any spectator, what would happen to Helene? Some distant cousin would inherit David’s title and estates and she would be forced to leave her home. Had her father made adequate provision for her in that case?
Rhys did not trust her father to have done so.
But why concern himself? His energies were better spent on his soldiers.
‘By the way...’ Grant broke into Rhys’s thoughts ‘...I happened upon Lady Helene when I was handed the invitations. Her brother did refuse to escort her to the ball as he said he would.’
David was a disappointment at every turn.
‘So,’ Grant continued, ‘I said we would escort her.’
Rhys looked over at him. ‘We? I am not attending the ball.’
Grant returned his gaze. ‘You are not attending the ball?’
Rhys shrugged. ‘I have no desire to.’
‘Indeed?’ Grant spurred on ahead. ‘I suppose I will have to escort her alone then.’
It was none of Rhys’s concern who escorted Helene to the ball.
Still, a memory sprang to mind, of joyous village assemblies where he and Helene danced almost every dance together. He tried to tell himself it did not matter if this time she danced with Grant.
* * *
Rhys and Grant returned to the hotel and cleaned the dirt of the road off their clothes and boots, no easy feat.
Grant took the invitations to the ball out of his pocket and set them on a nearby table. ‘Are you sure you won’t attend the ball? Wellington and his staff will be there. Won’t hurt you to be seen by them. You have the clothes for it too, do you not?’
Rhys had purchased the dress uniform required for formal occasions when he’d received his commission. The money for that uniform had come from Helene’s father as well as the rest of it. His kit. His horse. His sword. Even his toothbrush.
‘I have the clothes, but I’ll not change my mind,’ Rhys responded.
‘No?’ Grant said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Seems cowardly of you.’
Rhys had no intention of responding to that comment.
Grant slapped his thighs and stood. ‘I do not know about you, but I could use some Belgian beer and frites about now.’
‘Name the place.’ Rhys’s throat was dry and his stomach empty.
Grant selected the tavern, the one with the best beer and best frites and mussels. It was where Rhys first saw Helene.
They started out the door and down the hallway when Rhys stopped. ‘I should look in on Wilson, Helene’s manservant. Do you want to come with me? I will not stay long.’
‘A sickroom?’ Grant shook his head. ‘I’ll meet you at the tavern. I’ll order for you.’
The two men parted and Rhys walked up the back stairs to the hallway where the servants slept. He hoped Helene would not be there.
He supposed he could believe that Helene had not known her father’s true colours. It was not enough, though, to erase the wounds Rhys suffered. He’d never open his heart like that again.
He reached Wilson’s room and k
nocked.
The door was opened by the very ebullient Mrs Jacobs. ‘Captain Landon! How good to see you!’
‘How are you today, Mrs Jacobs?’ he asked.
‘I am very well.’ She stepped aside so he could enter. ‘Your Lady Helene is not here at the moment. She and Louise are...out.’ She said this last bit as if it was one very big secret.
Rhys was glad Helene was not here. Seeing her just tore open the wound. ‘I came to visit Wilson.’
He heard a rustling in the cot. ‘Is that you, Master Rhys?’
Rhys walked over and sat in the chair next to the bed. ‘It is indeed, Wilson. How do you fare?’
The old servant sat up in bed. He was still pale and his voice weak, but he was no longer insensible. ‘I suppose I am better. I remember very little of the last two days.’ The old man took his hand. ‘It is so good to see you, my boy. We have missed you at Yarford.’
‘Yes. I am in the army, as you can see.’ Rhys wore his red coat.
The old man coughed, gripping Rhys’s hand as he did so. Rhys waited until the spasm stopped.
Wilson spoke again. ‘I hear that you and Lady Helene are together once more. Makes me happy, boy.’ Wilson managed a smile.
Rhys wondered where that information came from. ‘We are not together,’ he said quietly. ‘But we have worked together to see you have what you need.’
‘And you brought my Louise to me. I know that.’ Wilson gripped his hand again.
‘That we did.’
Wilson looked worried. ‘I do not know where Louise is right now.’
She is with mademoiselle, Mr Wilson,’ Mrs Jacobs called to him. ‘They will return soon.’ She grinned at Rhys. ‘Will you wait for them with us, Captain?’
No! Not at all. ‘I cannot stay.’ He gripped Wilson’s hand. ‘I am expected elsewhere, but I wanted to look in on you.’
‘You will come again?’ Wilson asked.
‘I will try.’
Mrs Jacobs walked Rhys to the door, even though it was not more than three steps away. She patted his arm. ‘Do not fret, Captain,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling you will see Mr Wilson—and your Helene—again.’
As he reached for the door latch, the door opened. Just as Mrs Jacobs prophesied, there stood Helene. She looked lovely—she wore the same dress as the day before, but it looked different. Had she worn lace around the neckline before? He could not remember, but there was no doubt her beauty was enhanced by rosy cheeks and eyes sparkling with excitement.
Rhys remembered a time when such a look of excitement on Helene’s face would have meant the two of them had been up to some childish piece of mischief. No longer. Her happiness had nothing to do with him.
Helene saw him and her eyes turned blank. ‘Rhys.’
‘Helene.’ He nodded formally. Madame Desmet stood behind her. ‘Madame, good day to you.’
‘And to you, Captain.’ Madame Desmet looked brightened, as well.
‘Forgive me, I was just leaving.’ He bowed and was acutely aware of being inches from touching Helene when he brushed past her.
* * *
Mrs Jacobs grinned as she closed the door. ‘Ooh, did you see his face, mademoiselle? He was like the fish who has just spied a fat worm. You will hook him soon enough!’
‘Never mind Rhys.’ Helene refused to let him dampen her spirits. She was determined to eke some enjoyment out of this ball, now that Louise and Mrs Jacobs made it impossible for her not to attend. ‘We found a dress!’
Louise had taken her to the theatre where they’d searched through several trunks before Helene spied the most perfect dress—in the same gold colour as the impractical lace shawl she had purchased earlier. They’d even found dancing slippers to match and some citrine jewellery. The jewellery was paste, but no matter. It looked real enough.
Louise, at Wilson’s bedside, placed a kiss on his forehead. ‘Go to sleep, ma chérie,’ she murmured to him. ‘I will be here when you wake up.’
He nodded and closed his eyes.
Mrs Jacob picked up Louise’s bag and in a loud whisper said, ‘Come! Show me what you found. I am on pins and needles in anticipation.’ She laughed, not too quietly. ‘Pins and needles. Is that not a good joke?’
Helene could not help but smile. She was becoming very fond of this nurse.
The three women gathered in a corner of the room as far away from the napping patient as they could get, which was only a few feet away.
‘You show her, Louise,’ Helene said.
Louise lifted the largest package from her bag. She removed the tissue the dress was wrapped in and draped it over a chair.
The gown was simple design without the ribbons, lace and silk flowers that adorned the gowns so often worn at London balls, but it suited Helene more than any of the ones her mother had chosen for her. It was a gold silk dress underneath with a gold gauze overdress that caught the light from the window in Wilson’s room. Cleverly twisted and pleated gauze elevated the bodice and the puffed sleeves from being ordinary to being worthy of a society ball.
‘Oh, that is very pretty. Very pretty indeed.’ Mrs Jacobs fingered the sleeves and bodice. ‘I love how it shimmers in the light.’
‘You can imagine how it looked on stage where the lamps can be very bright,’ Louise said. ‘It was quite effective.’
And Helene imagined the gown would be equally effective under the light of chandeliers.
She smiled. ‘I even have a lace shawl that will match the dress perfectly. I purchased it this morning.’
Mrs Jacobs gave her an impulsive hug. ‘You are going to look so beautiful. All the men will be admiring you! Especially your captain.’
After their words last night, Helene could not even wish for it.
Chapter Twelve
The next day was overcast and grey, but Helene woke with a mood of optimism she had not felt in a long time. All because of a ball? She could not think herself so shallow, but life had been so bleak for so long that the prospect of music and dancing and wearing that beautiful gown was enough for her to look forward to.
As long as she kept Rhys out of her mind.
She rang for the maid and dressed quickly before heading straight to Wilson’s room. Her preparation for the ball was to be a team effort. Mrs Jacobs and Louise were to bring items she might need. A papillote iron to curl her hair. A pot of rouge to tint her cheeks and lips. Extra pins for her hair and her dress. She could not have asked for two more enthusiastic lady’s maids.
* * *
She spent most of the day in Wilson’s room with them, while Louise altered the dress so that it fit her to perfection. Luckily Wilson was a great deal better and a good sport about being encompassed by this purely feminine business. She left them only to arrange for food or to run to the shops for whatever they forgot.
* * *
When the time came for her to dress for dinner, Wilson felt well enough to be left alone. He persuaded the ladies to attend to Helene in her own room, perhaps to gain a little peace for himself. At times, thinking of Rhys, Helene’s spirits started to flag, but the ebullience of Mrs Jacobs and Louise always lifted her up again. Even if she did not enjoy the ball, she’d always fondly remember sharing this part of the day with Mrs Jacobs and Louise.
Helene sat at her dressing table as Louise pinned her hair up in a knot resembling a mass of curls high on her head and loose curls framing her face.
‘After dinner, we will add ribbons,’ Louise said.
Mrs Jacobs nodded. ‘Yes. You must look very fancy indeed. The hair must complement the dress.’
Helene was fairly certain Mrs Jacobs had never been to a society ball, nor worn a ball gown, but she was beginning to enjoy the nurse’s absolute certainty in her opinions. Would Helene have made it this far without Mrs Jacobs urging her on? If not for Mrs Jacobs, would she not have spent the past two days
sitting in her hotel room, desolate about Rhys and worried about David?
For dinner before the ball Helene chose the other of her two day dresses, this one a dark green. It was a walking dress, not at all a dinner dress, but she added the finest of her new lace fichus to make it a fancy as she could. Her serviceable half-boots would not do at all, so she wore the gold slippers that matched her ball gown.
‘Wear the earrings to dinner and add the necklace for the ball,’ suggested Louise.
The earrings resembled two teardrops that dangled from her ears. ‘Are you certain these are paste?’ They were lovely enough to be real.
Louise laughed. ‘Oh, they are paste. On stage they catch the light well enough.’
Mrs Jacobs put her hands on her waist. ‘Well, I defy anyone to tell you they are not real.’
Helene smiled at her, an expert on jewels now. ‘With that endorsement, I shall feel quite special in them.’
Mrs Jacobs beamed.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck seven.
Mrs Jacobs waved her hands. ‘It is time. You must go now. Your Captain will be waiting for you!’
Helene wondered if that would be true.
* * *
Mrs Jacobs and Louise accompanied Helene down the stairway to the hall, where Captain Grantwell waited for her. Alone.
Helene turned to say goodbye to her friends before they reached the bottom of the stairs.
Mrs Jacobs looked as disappointed as Helene felt, seeing only Grantwell, but she put on a resolute expression. ‘Never you mind. Your Captain will show up. I will wager on it.’
‘It does not matter,’ Helene lied. She squeezed each of their hands. ‘I will see you later!’ When they would be helping her dress for the ball.
Grantwell stepped forward to meet Helene at the bottom of the stairs. He extended his arm to her. ‘Good evening, Lady Helene.’
She quickly scanned the hall again.