by L G Rollins
But it wasn’t the lovely young ladies the room seemed to be watching with bated breath. They were watching the gentleman. Watching him, and then quickly glancing over at Helena.
She took it all back. If this—strange silent stares whenever a handsome man entered the room—was what she had to look forward to when venturing back into society, she would stay locked up in her room for a long time to come. Who was he anyway? Probably a rake. Nothing else made sense. If she was considered a lightskirt and he a rake, then it made sense all the guests would see them both and assume they were on the cusp of a new scandal.
The gentleman, for his part, looked as confused as Helena felt. He moved up to Lady Andrews and began speaking with their hostess. As he did so, most of the room resumed their various conversations. But Helena didn’t miss that while everyone had begun speaking again, no one was truly ignoring the man.
Topper asked Emma about her thoughts on a musicale they’d both apparently attended while in London. Emma picked up the conversation with gusto and rattled on and on. Helena took the moment to carefully study the man who’d caused such a commotion by simply walking into the room.
He was tall but not overly so. He filled his jacket quite becomingly and his chestnut hair appeared as though his valet had tried to get it to set well, but the slight curl had refused to remain completely tame.
The room was beginning to feel calmer when the man walked up to Lord Forbes and greeted him.
“Chapman.” Lord Forbes shook his hand, his mouth barely twitching up into a smile. “I was wondering when next I’d run into you. It’s been too long.”
Chapman? As in, Lord Chapman? The man who’d singlehandedly ruined Helena’s chances at marriage? The floor seemed to tip beneath her feet, and Helena found herself grabbing Emma’s arm for support. How could he be here? Of all the places he could have shown up this winter, why did it have to be here?
Lord Forbes, seemingly oblivious to all, turned their way. “This is Lady Emma,” he said, even as Emma curtsied, “daughter of Lord and Lady Shakerley. They are the two standing beside the pier table, over there.” Then Lord Forbes’s gaze jumped over to Helena before dropping to his boots. “And this lady I’m sure you know.” Then he coughed and his head came back up. “I’ve been dying to know, how was the hunting for you this year?”
The gentleman’s brow creased, but with confusion, not anger. “I was rather too busy for any hunting. But, I beg your pardon, I do not know this young lady.”
Helena felt her face grow hot, so hot she felt certain her cheeks would burn from now until she met an early grave.
Lord Forbes shifted a bit, as did the others in their small group. All except Emma.
Bless her, but she stood up straight, stuck her chin out and leveled Lord Chapman with quite the scowl.
“This is my dear friend,” she said, her voice firm and commanding, “the lovely Miss Helena Spencer.”
Lord Chapman’s eyes met Helena’s; they were a rich brown, soft and intelligent.
Slowly he closed his eyes and cursed softly. Though Helena would not have chosen those exact words—despite what society thought, she did strive to be a lady always—she still agreed with the sentiment.
Luckily, or perhaps Lady Andrews was concerned over what might happen if Helena and Lord Chapman spoke to one another for long, dinner was announced just then. Lord Chapman bowed stiffly and moved off without muttering another word. The other three gentlemen shifted about, clearly unsure what to do.
Helena didn’t know either. He was here. The one man she most despised and the one whom, she was quite certain, despised her. He’d left Town before the scandal truly broke, so he would not have felt the full weight of it as she had. He may not even be fully aware of how awful society had turned. Nonetheless, judging by his curt, well-chosen words at hearing who she was, he had heard some of it.
The whole of the room was slowly filing out the door and toward the dining room. Lord Ellis leaned forward and requested Emma walk in with him.
“Yes, thank you,” she said sweetly, “and Lord Dowding—”
“Topper, I truly do insist,” he said with a friendly smile. “Just Topper.”
“Then, Topper, be a dear and take Miss Spencer in? Only give us a moment first.”
Helena nearly balked at her friend’s forwardness; at the same time she recognized as well as Emma that if someone didn’t speak up for her, Helena would likely be left in the drawing room alone.
Alone again. That seemed to be the way of things now.
Both men agreed and stepped to the side so that Emma and Helena might have a moment of privacy.
“Helena, I swear, I had no idea, no notion at all that he would be here.”
Helena could only nod.
“You believe me, don’t you?”
Helena looked at her friend. Emma looked not only sincere, but very near crying herself. “Of course I believe you.”
Emma let out a loud sigh. “Good. Then I am not completely cast down. Now, let us hurry in before—”
“No.” Helena took Emma’s hand in hers. “I appreciate you securing me an escort in to dinner, but I think it best if I claim a headache and eat in my bedchamber.”
Much to Helena’s surprise, Emma’s expression morphed, going straight from distraught penitence to stubborn determination. “There is no chance that I am going to allow you to shut yourself up again. Helena Spencer, you have let this rumor dictate your life for far too long. Now, turn around this instant and walk into the dining room with your chin held high.”
Helena blinked. Where had this sudden insistence come from? “You cannot be serious.”
“I most certainly am. You have done nothing wrong. If anyone should eat dinner alone in their room, then let it be Lord Chapman. You are going to enjoy this house party.” Taking hold of Helena’s arm, Emma all but dragged her toward Lord Ellis and Topper who patiently waited for them. “I won’t allow you to cry off now,” Emma hissed in Helena’s ear. “I’d much rather put pepper in his after-dinner port.”
“How would you do that when all the ladies will be in the drawing room?”
“I’d enlist his sisters. I can feel that they would make valuable allies if so enlisted.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” At least, Helena hoped she wouldn’t dare.
Emma shrugged. “I would if it would make you feel better.” She gave Helena’s arm a squeeze before disposing of her next to Topper.
Helena smiled up at the decidedly nervous gentleman. But he didn’t look ready to cry off, so neither would she. More than that though, she couldn’t cry off. Not utterly. She’d sent Uncle Scrooge the letter. Yes, she’d told herself that she would wait until after dinner tonight. But then Jane had found the letter and said, with a curtsy, that she’d see to getting it sent right away. Helena had almost called after her, but her abigail had disappeared too quickly. Moreover, Helena wasn’t sure what excuse she would have given to explain having written and addressed a letter but not wanting to send it.
Truly, if she’d wanted to stop Jane she could have. The reality was, she wanted the letter sent, and as soon as possible. And she wanted her Uncle Scrooge to write back, to agree to meet her. She only wanted a family once more.
As Helena walked beside Topper into the dining room, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever have a family again.
Chapter Four
The door to Fredrick’s bedchamber swung open with a bang, and Christina stormed in.
“Tell Eleanor that she cannot have every eligible bachelor here!”
Fredrick slowly shut his eyes, lowering the book he’d been reading, and breathed in and out. Patience, he reminded himself; his sisters needed a calming influence in their lives. If he flew off the handle whenever they drove him to distraction, then he couldn’t be that influence.
Trying to keep his teeth-grinding to a minimum, he turned in his chair before the fireplace and faced Christina. “Has she claimed them all, all ready?”
&nbs
p; “Yes.” Christina didn’t try to hide her exasperation. “Every last one of them. Lord Ellis she says is handsome and hers. Lord Forbes she says is wealthy and hers. Topper she says is considerate—”
“And hers?”
Christina groaned loudly and flung herself down on the settee, her yellow dress pluming out and then settling around her once more.
Eleanor, in an identical yellow dress, stomped into the room. “Don’t believe her. It’s not true.”
“It is so true!”
Fredrick rubbed at the back of his neck even as his sisters continued their heated disagreement. Before Father had passed, he’d seen a little competition between Christina and Eleanor. But immediately after the funeral, he’d caught them sitting together and comforting each other more often than not. Why they’d reverted back to being archenemies he couldn’t say, but he sincerely wished back those days of quiet and peace.
It took several times of him calling both their names before either settled down enough to actually hear him. “Please, we are here for Mother, not to shackle anyone to either of you.”
“Shackle?” Christina stomped her foot.
Eleanor sidled up next to Christina. “He’s only saying that because he had to look at Miss Spencer all night. He’s probably kicking himself now for not going through with Uncle’s plan and marrying her.”
Christina was quick to agree. “He always takes his dismay out on us. It isn’t our fault he’s such a dunderhead.”
Why were they both suddenly angry at him now? Actually, it didn’t matter. He’d take the anger if it meant they’d stop yelling.
“All I’m asking,” he said, “is that we have a cheerful, not-dramatic Christmas. Mother needs this.” Heaven knew that if it weren’t for Mother, he would have packed his bags after seeing that Miss Spencer was included in the house party and been gone before first light.
Eleanor tipped her head up, sighing dreamily. “All I need is a gentleman like Lord Ellis vying for my hand.”
Christina giggled. “Or Topper; did you see how attentive he was to Miss Spencer last night? All the while, some people were being rude and dismissive.”
Why did she have to look at him like that? It was true; he hadn’t spoken to Miss Spencer all night. But he’d felt strongly that such was the best way to quell any gossip which might spring from them both sitting down to the same table for dinner.
“A woman could not go wrong with a man like that,” Eleanor chimed in.
Arm in arm, they began to walk back toward the bedchamber door. Just before moving out, Christina turned back around. “Aren’t you coming down for breakfast?”
And risk being in the same room as Miss Spencer again? “No, thank you. I have a few correspondences I wish to answer.” He knew he’d have to see her at least part of the time during the next month. But, in his opinion, the less the better.
“You’re avoiding her,” Eleanor said, shaking her head.
“And if I am?” he asked.
His twin sisters only shared a look, then giggled as they traipsed out the door.
What the blazes was that supposed to mean?
Shaking his head, Fredrick picked up his book. Between being unable to sleep for the better part of last night and not caring to leave his bedchamber this morning, he was nearly done with Tom Jones. He fingered the last few pages. At this rate, he’d be needing a new book before tomorrow. Perhaps he would ask Lord Andrews if he might select something new from the library down the hall from the guest rooms.
“There you are.”
Or . . . he might not be finished as soon as he thought.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said, lowering his book once more.
She wore all black, as she had for months now. At least this dress, with its overlays and lace, seemed more of a statement than a drudgery. He sincerely hoped she was enjoying her time with Lady Andrews—they were longstanding friends—and would continue to do so. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s my bedchamber, Fred, dear. It’s so frightfully drafty.”
“Is it?” His own room was completely comfortable. “Does not your bed sit far away from the window?” If hers was anything like his, he couldn’t imagine how she would feel a draft. His was so far away from the window, he could only just make out the imposing hedge maze in the back of the garden—a fact he was fully aware of since he hadn’t risen until late that morning, on account of the guilt he felt whenever Miss Spencer’s strained smile crossed his mind.
“Well, yes, but I couldn’t sleep for the wind across my face. I am sure during the autumn or spring it would not be a bother at all, but in the dead of winter . . .” She left off with a shiver.
“Have you spoken to Lady Andrews?”
“Oh, no, of course not. I would hate to appear ungrateful.”
“If your room is unsuitable, I am sure Lady Andrews would be more than willing to help a good friend like yourself get situated somewhere better.”
Mother drew a little nearer. “I hate to bother her, especially now, when she has a house full of guests.”
“Of whom you are one.” Fredrick stood and took both of her hands in his. “How about I speak to Lord Andrews about it?”
“Would you? That sounds just splendid.” The relief was evident in her face.
“It is no problem at all.” For years, she’d had Father to do these sorts of things for her. Now, all that responsibility rested on him. He’d been shouldering it for months now, and yet, every day he wondered if he were truly doing enough.
“Come,” she said, looping her arm through his. “I believe I saw Lord Andrews in the breakfast room.”
She expected him to speak to Lord Andrews now? Fredrick’s gaze swung to the door. “I can always find him later this morning.” No doubt the man would be in his study, or the library perhaps, and would be easy enough to locate; he would also undoubtedly be far away from any of the female persuasion.
“I would feel far more at peace if you spoke with him now.”
Fredrick pulled his gaze away from the door and looked at Mother. She’d aged quite a bit these last few months. The wrinkles around her eyes had deepened, and her hair sported far more gray than it had only nine months ago when they’d all gone to London for the Season—all five of them. Now, they were only four.
“Yes,” Fredrick heard himself say. “Let us go down, and I will speak with him posthaste.”
Fredrick allowed his mother to lead him out of his room and down the hall. The wing was a large and elaborate one, boasting of over a dozen rooms. At the end of the hallway, there were a few steps that took them down to a large landing. Directly in front of them was the family wing, off to the right the library.
Fredrick glanced over at the library; while he was speaking to Lord Andrews about his mother’s room, he’d have to also ask about borrowing a book. Not that he had any concerns their host would say no to either request. Fredrick had only spoken with Lord Andrews a couple of times the night before, but he seemed a joyful, pleasing sort of man.
Andrew and his mother turned to the left, heading down the extra-wide staircase that led to the west parlor, a grand ballroom, and the breakfast room, among other spaces in the vast house.
He led Mother down the stairs. Voices met them halfway down the hall. It seemed most of the guests had gathered in the breakfast room. Hopefully, Lord Andrews would be among them. If so, Fredrick could speak with him and have done immediately.
When he stepped through the door, his gaze instead fell on someone else—a lovely auburn-haired woman attired in a stylish, muted blue morning dress.
Miss Spencer.
Blast, but his throat grew tight just looking at her. Which he shouldn’t do. At all. The less he allowed his gaze to wander her direction, the better.
Fixing his gaze on the array of food set out, Fredrick walked steadily across the room with Mother on his arm. Of all the deuced decisions he’d made since becoming Earl of Chapman, his dealings with Miss Spencer haunted him more t
han any other. Of course, he’d had no idea when he first sent Uncle Baker to undo all the contriving he’d done that anyone outside his own family had known of the almost-engagement. After that, he’d removed himself to the country. Yes, he’d heard rumors regarding his supposed snub of Miss Spencer; but judging by the reception the two of them had received last night at dinner, he’d left her in a far worse situation than he’d ever imagined.
“Do you not care to eat?” Mother asked in a low voice.
Fredrick blinked. They were standing before the food that filled the sideboard, and while she had a plate and several items upon it, he was only standing dumbly by.
He silenced the growl rolling about his chest—he normally wasn’t this idiotic—and reached for Mother’s plate. “Let me get that for you while you find a seat to your liking.”
Mother handed him the plate but didn’t let go right away.
Fredrick glanced up at her.
She eyed him, a peculiar expression weighing her brow down. First, Christina and Eleanor had laughed at him, and now Mother was considering him most pointedly. These were exactly the things an earl ought to know how to handle, yet he hadn’t a notion what was to be done.
Without a word, Mother finally released the plate and strode over toward the table.
Fredrick shook his head, bending over the assortment of food, wondering what else his mother would prefer. How could a man reasonably be expected to act respectably as earl when there were so many different things always vying for his attention? He had sisters to guard and guide. He had an aging mother who needed attending. Then there was the estate—the farmers and the staff and the stewards and his father’s man-of-business.