by L G Rollins
“What reason have you to be miserable? You’ve admitted to being rich.”
“Bah, I’ve never admitted to any such thing.”
“But you can afford to loan money to the entire neighborhood, or so I’ve been told. That loan money must originate somewhere.”
“Do you want my money or a discussion on philosophy? If it be the second, I recommend the pub down the street. If it be the first, I suggest you shut your trap.”
Helena rocked back in her chair, embarrassment flaming against her cheeks, both from his cutting words as well as his harsh tone.
Willis stalked forward. “Need I remind you, sir, you are speaking to a lady.” His words were hard, and Helena caught sight of his curled fist at his side.
Helena stood, swallowing hard. It seemed the time had come to leave. “It’s all right, Willis,” she said, nonetheless grateful that he would speak up for her. She turned back to her uncle. “The invitation to Christmas Day dinner still stands.”
“Bah.”
Helena set her jaw and turned away. “Come, Willis, I believe it is time we leave.”
Chapter Nineteen
The ride back to Hedgewood Manor did little to calm Helena.
How dare that man speak to her like that. Had he no compassion, no kindness in his heart at all? She’d always secretly wondered if her grandfather wasn’t mostly to blame for the rift between them. Now, however, she wondered that Mother cared to keep in contact with her brother at all.
Of all the rude, inconsiderate, brutish responses.
She dismounted quickly once they arrived and hurried into the house. She needed time to herself—or perhaps a conversation with Lord Chapman. He would understand.
Helena pulled off her bonnet and pelisse then hurried down the corridor, checking each room as she passed. Lady Andrews sat in the drawing room with Miss Wynn and Lady Chapman. In the parlor, she found Lord Ellis and Lord Andrews laughing over a bottle of port. She checked the library next, but only found Eleanor, Christina, Lord Forbes and Topper. No Lord Chapman.
Not caring that she was scowling, Helena stomped toward her bedchamber.
“Helena, wait.”
She paused at the sound of Eleanor’s voice but didn’t turn.
Eleanor caught up to her quickly. “Fredrick said he had business to see to all day, but he left you something.”
“Oh?” Helena’s shoulders lifted a bit.
“This way.” Eleanor looped her arm through Helena’s. “It’s in the music room.”
Helena allowed herself to be led back down the stairs. When she entered the room, her breath caught.
Standing in the center of the room was a most elegant harp. Two maids were running clothes over the instrument; it most likely had only just been pulled out of storage.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Eleanor giggled. “Fredrick spoke to Lord Andrews over breakfast this morning.”
It was beautiful. Helena walked up to the tall instrument and placed her hand lightly against it. How many months had gone by since she’d last played? The Shakerleys didn’t have a harp, and her own had been part of her father’s estate, which meant she’d had to give it up soon after his passing.
The maids both curtsied and hurried out of the room. Helena pulled over the stool that she guessed they had brought down with the harp. She sat but did no more than run her fingers over the instrument.
“Well, play something,” Eleanor encouraged.
Helena took hold of the harp and rested it against her shoulder. The feel was wonderful. How she’d missed this. Lifting her hands, she brushed her fingers over the strings. The sound was lovely. Clear, but not too sharp.
“This is a very nice instrument,” she said.
“No doubt, but I think I’d like it even more if you actually played something.”
Helena shot Eleanor a glare, but she couldn’t truly be upset. Fredrick had seen to it that she had exactly what she needed to get hold of herself after her trying morning meeting Uncle Scrooge.
Fredrick stood, his back pressed against the wall. Blessedly, the corridor was empty save himself. He’d hate to have to explain why he was standing outside the music room when all the other guests were chatting cheerfully inside.
Helena laughed, the sound carrying out of the room. It pulled on him, beckoning him to join the others. But he wouldn’t. Even being this close to her was proving dangerous; he wouldn’t risk actually being in the same room she was, not after catching sight of how becoming she was in blue.
Music reached him next. Helena had begun playing again. The song was lovely. Fredrick pressed his head against the wall behind him. He’d been confident when he’d asked Lord Andrews to pull out the harp for her that he was doing the right thing. He was doing a safe thing. Only now did he realize how wrong he had been. He never dreamed anyone could play so beautifully. It was nearly too much for him. He ached to march in there and sit directly beside her. Perhaps even place his hand against the small of her back as she played.
He would listen. Smile. Wait for her to smile up at him.
See the light in her eyes.
“Fredrick?”
He stood up straight and whirled around.
Mother stood beside him in her ever-present matte black. He hadn’t even heard her leave the music room.
“Whatever are you doing out here?” she asked, rightfully perplexed.
Punishing myself.
“Nothing. Just thinking through a few estate problems,” he fibbed.
“In the corridor?” she said, one eyebrow raised.
Fredrick ran a hand over the back of his neck. He didn’t want to discuss this with his mother, but neither could he think up a suitable excuse.
“Never mind,” she hurried on. “You can set aside your problems for now—”
Just how much of his current predicament did Mother understand? She was giving him a terribly knowing look.
“—and join me in the entryway. I have heard that your Uncle Baker has just arrived.”
“Uncle Baker?” Whatever was he doing here?
Mother brushed past him, waving for him to follow. Fredrick dutifully fell in line but missed the sound of Helena’s playing the moment they were out of earshot.
“I did not know my uncle would be joining us this Christmas,” he said as they neared the entryway. Through the grand windows on either side of the door, he could see a carriage and people bustling about. But no one had entered the house yet.
“That is entirely my fault, you know,” Mother said, not a hint of remorse in her voice. “You have been so terribly occupied with business matters, I thought you might appreciate another gentleman’s advice. Lady Andrews assured me another couple of guests would be no trouble at all.”
Why ever would he want more advice? He didn’t say so to Mother—he had been raised never to disrespect her—but if he truly had estate questions he could have asked Lord Andrews or even Lord Shakerley. Baker hardly even saw to any of his own estate problems; Father had always handled those things. If anything, Baker should be wanting to see him with questions regarding his own estate.
The door burst open and Baker and Fredrick’s cousin, Alice, tumbled into the room. With many shouts and ‘haloo!’s they all greeted one another. The housekeeper asked if either Baker or Alice cared to rest after their journey. Fredrick wasn’t the least bit surprised when they both chose not to, declaring instead that they wished to meet all the other guests.
Not ten minutes after Fredrick had trudged downstairs, the four of them were moving back toward the music room.
Alice fell back a pace to speak with Fredrick’s mother while Baker talked at a furious rate about the many wonders he’d seen in Dover that autumn.
“Most gentlemen go north for the hunting,” he said as they stepped into the music room. “But I say, go south. Avoid the crowds. Enjoy the warmer—”
Baker’s diatribe ceased suddenly. Unsure what had caused the unusual silence, Fredrick turned his way.
And found Baker staring directly at Helena, his mouth agape.
Ah, blast, Mother had probably forgotten to tell Baker that the woman he’d tried to get Fredrick to marry was here—the very woman who’d experienced much hardship thanks to Baker and Shakerley’s meddling machinations. Well, he hoped his uncle felt good and sorry for what he’d done. A bit of guilt wouldn’t hurt him in the least.
However, as he studied Uncle further, a tinge of unease skittered through him. The expression on Uncle’s face was not one of guilt or even embarrassment.
Lady Andrews stood and hurried over, and introductions were quickly made. All the while, Baker hardly took his eyes off of Helena.
“Pardon me, Lady Andrews,” he said when first there was a lull in the conversation, “but who is that ravenous woman there? The one who was playing the harp when we entered?”
“Oh?” Lady Andrews turned about as though expecting someone besides Helena to be at the harp. “That is Miss Spencer. Would you care for an introduction?”
“Yes, please.”
Baker’s voice was far too eager for Fredrick’s taste. His stomach clenched tightly as Baker walked away with Lady Andrews.
Alice sidled up close to Fredrick. “Perhaps I should warn you. It appears Papa has finally gotten over Mother’s death. He has been on the hunt, as you might say, these past three months.”
Great. This was just what he needed. His own uncle making eyes at Helena.
“She’s a little young for him, don’t you think?” Alice said, listing her head. “But then, my good friend Margret married a man three years Papa’s senior and she, two months younger than I am. I suppose it is not all that strange.”
Fredrick could have sworn the voices around him were growing muffled, and the floor was rocking slightly beneath his boots. This was absurd. Unthinkable.
Alice moved forward, joining her father near the harp and engaging Helena in conversation. The two of them seemed about ready to overwhelm Helena, and she glanced more than once over at Fredrick. Each time, her attention was immediately demanded by her new acquaintances.
“What do you think?” Mother said, moving up beside him.
That he was suddenly hating this day. That he couldn’t seem to make sense of his life anymore. He sighed. “What do I think about what?”
Mother tutted. “Of them. Of Miss Spencer and your uncle.”
Gads, she was already speaking of them as a done deal. What the devil? Baker had only arrived a quarter of an hour ago.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mother said. “You might as well know. Helena herself came to Lady Shakerley and me, quite upset she was, and when I offered to help . . . arrange . . . something for her, she readily agreed.”
So this was a done deal? “She came to you?” His gaze moved back toward the harp. Helena was playing again, Baker smiling on. “She asked for help in . . .?” He waved a hand in her direction.
“Help in securing her future. Yes. Really, Fred, I don’t see why this is so hard for you to swallow. The girl is a dear and has been through far too much already. Her only chance at a happy life is to marry and move past all you did to her this summer.”
All he’d done? And what of Baker? Surely his uncle held some of the blame, too. But, no. Baker was the one who was going to marry Helena—at Helena’s request, no less.
Watching Lord Ellis or even Lord Forbes vie for a conversation with Helena was torture enough—now this? Baker may be a decent man, but he was also a bit ridiculous.
Surely Helena would never . . .
Someone as astute as she couldn’t possibly prefer . . .
Fredrick had to leave before he did something disgraceful. He’d been unsure of Helena’s feelings toward him. Now, they were far too clear.
Without another word to Mother or anyone, Fredrick spun on his heel and marched out of the room.
Chapter Twenty
Helena pulled hard on Starfire’s reins. The cold winter wind tugged at her bonnet, but that was the least of her annoyances. She’d come out here this morning to catch a break from the house, especially from Mr. Baker.
She had nearly forgotten her conversation with Lady Shakerley and Lady Chapman of last week and had been quite surprised when Mr. Baker had shown up. Then came the never-ending addresses. Overwhelming wasn’t a strong enough word. She was drowning in all the attention he was determined to heap upon her. Though she still stood by her original design to give Mr. Baker every benefit and truly get to know him, this morning she’d needed a break.
All she’d received for her trouble was a branch across the face.
"May I help you dismount, miss?" a stablehand said from several paces away.
She was tempted to tell him no and simply leap from the saddle if only to prove to herself that she still had some modicum of control in her own life. But such would be foolish. She'd probably twist her ankle or even break her neck. Then, she wouldn't be able to slip out of any room Mr. Baker happened to walk in to.
"Yes, if you don't mind," she said.
The young man brought over a mounting block and gently handed her down.
"I hope you enjoyed your ride, miss."
"I did," she lied. "Thank you."
Once she had both feet on the ground, the stablehand bowed briefly, picked up the mounting block, and shot her a smile before turning away.
He paused in his turn, his gaze centering on her left cheek, and his brow dropped.
Oh, drat; she had been worried her encounter with the low hanging branch had left its mark. Oh, well; she'd endured her reputation being left in tatters; having everyone at Hedgewood Manor see her with an unbecoming red line across her face didn't seem too bad.
"It is only a little scratch," she said, hoping to wave off his concern.
"It don't look like a little scratch to me. Beggin' yer pardon, miss." He added the last bit with a bow.
"It doesn't hurt, truly," she said. Which was mostly, if not completely, true.
"Do you want me to send for the doctor? He's mighty good."
"Gracious, no. It's not as bad as all that."
He bowed one more time and began leading Starfire back toward the stables.
Alone once again, Helena tugged on her gloves and righted her riding habit. Hedgewood Maze loomed up before her, reminding her that she had better go back inside. She would be missed soon if she didn't. Who knew what would happen then?
Unfortunately, it would probably be something close to Mr. Baker seeking her out, or Lord Chapman refusing to meet her gaze. What had changed in him? They'd become such good friends, and then, almost overnight, he’d stopped speaking to her. She'd tried several times to broach this topic or that with him, but inevitably, he made his excuses and left. The warmth and comfort she'd always found in his company had shriveled up, too. Instead, she was in a constant state of unease. Not even her well-practiced optimism could chase away her maudlin mood.
Helena pulled in a deep breath. The cold air filled her lungs, taking residence inside her. She closed her eyes for a minute and soaked in the sun's rays. She'd hoped that getting out of doors and riding on horseback would work its usual magic. But, after a minute, the cold came back, pecking away at her hands and toes. She'd dressed warm for her ride, but it was bitterly cold and, today, she felt it.
Shaking her head, Helena turned her sights on Hedgewood Manor and walked inside. At least it was warm there. And, just perhaps, if she were careful, she might make it to her bedchamber without being waylaid by a certain aging man who only ever referred to her as something he could eat. It had been 'sweetmeat' last night, then 'my plum pudding' that morning at breakfast. Even as she was trying to get away, he'd called her his 'apple dumpling.'
Christina came around a corner just as Helena was passing by.
"There you are!" Christina hurried over, a stack of papers in her hand. "You'll never imagine what Eleanor and I found only this morning."
Helena glanced about the corridor, but Mr. Baker was nowhere to be seen. Wit
h any luck, he wouldn't catch her standing here with his niece.
"It's music for the harp." Christina held out several sheets. "I'm dying to hear it played. Do you think you could manage?"
The score promised to be lovely. But did she dare? Helena's gaze darted about the corridor.
"My uncle has gone into Dunwell with my cousin. I believe Lord Forbes, Mother, and Mrs. Andrews accompanied them."
Helena gave Christina a thankful smile. "Then yes, let me change quickly, and I'll meet you in the music room."
"Excellent." Christina giggled and moved away.
Feeling lighter than she had all morning, Helena hurried to her room and rushed her abigail through changing out of her warm riding habit and into a more comfortable morning dress. Moreover, since she was feeling a touch better at the thought of playing her music, she decided to scribble off another short letter to her Uncle Scrooge. Another insistent invitation to Christmas Day dinner seemed in order. He may have been rude and dismissive, but he was her only family, and she wasn't giving up on him just yet.
"A little powder for your cheek, ma'am?" her abigail asked after Helena had folded and sealed the quickly written letter.
"I had not planned on it," she said, placing a hand against her cheek. It burned slightly at the touch and she pulled her hand away. "Lady Christina did not think anything amiss."
Her abigail watched her silently, clearly knowing it wasn't proper to disagree but not wanting to agree with her either.
Helena turned toward the mirror and inspected her face. A long, bright red line crossed her left cheek. A few drops of dried blood sat darkly near her temple.
"Now that I think about it, I believe Lady Christina only saw the right side of my face." They hadn't been conversing long, and Christina had been rather taken in with the music she was holding. Helena lifted a rag and began scrubbing at the dried blood. "Yes, I think a little might be called for."
Once the scratch was cleaned and powdered over, it wasn't nearly as noticeable. Still, Helena's abigail pulled her hair to the left side, allowing it to cascade over her shoulder, covering most of the deepest part of the scratch. Her abigail then took the letter for Uncle Scrooge and left to see it franked.