by Mary Brendan
Helen had gently declined the young woman’s offers of assistance in preparing for bed. She had wanted time alone; not only to make herself ready but, like a child on a fascinating excursion, to explore her surroundings.
She had brushed velvet bed-hangings with reverent fingers, taken puffy pillows from the bed to peer beneath at the silky white sheets. And then she had found the gossamer negligee draped on a chair beside a dressing chest that held a selection of oils and perfumes and silver-backed brushes.
Helen had tested a scent in a pot on a wrist, wondering if it was the perfume that had wafted in Mrs Tucker’s wake on the day she had seen her alight from her stylish carriage. She had accepted, with a twinge of melancholy, that Jason was probably as generous to all his mistresses, but nevertheless she had appreciated being treated well. And now she had ruined everything …
She touched a finger to his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. She wanted him to open his eyes. ‘Please look at me. I … it is not nothing. I would not have liked it at all if you had … I mean, if you had called me Diana at such a time I would have been insulted.’
Jason gazed up at her. ‘I’m not likely to do that, Helen. ’ Her name carried a certain stress that told her his nonchalance was poorly feigned.
As though he read her knowledge and it irked that he had betrayed himself, he swiftly turned, drawing her down and beneath him. Slowly he linked brown fingers with white then carried their clasped hands to where the black silk of her hair tumbled over snowy pillows.
‘I said it doesn’t matter, Helen … Shall I prove it to you?’
Helen felt an odd surge of tears clog her throat, for indeed she wanted him to.
Earlier Jason had made love to her with a skill that had transported her to a level of sensation unknown to her. With a poignant ache she understood how he had acquired such expertise. Diana Tucker, and numerous other women who had come before her, had also gasped and cried out beneath such lavish sensuality. But, when teetering on the brink of explosive tension, had they all remembered to rightfully name the man who had so inflamed them?
Her late husband might not have loved her as slickly as Jason, but such tenderness had existed between her and Harry that they had communicated softly even at the height of passion. And this evening she had called his name again….
Chapter Fourteen
‘How much longer are we to endure this?’
The petulant demand snatched Helen’s interest from the pearly silk slipping beneath a sensitive palm. ‘What is the matter, dear?’ she asked Charlotte.
Charlotte shot a fierce look to the other side of the shop’s counter. ‘They are talking about us, I’m certain of it.’ Charlotte gave Helen a glimmering look. ‘Or rather, they are gossiping about you, I suspect.’ Helen glanced at two fashionable young women who were peeking in their direction. Curious eyes were intermittently visible between the filigree edges of Brussel’s lace suspended from rolls shelved on high. Linking arms with her sister, Helen urged her to move on towards the selection of velvets at the other end of Baldwin’s Emporium. ‘They will soon grow bored and find somebody more worthy of their snooping.’
‘I doubt it!’ Charlotte announced pithily. ‘Sir Jason is very eligible and handsome and the débutantes will naturally want to know whether or not he is taken.’ She gave her sister an arch glance. ‘I have to say, Helen, I think it is time your beau gazetted a notice.’
Helen felt her cheeks prickle with warmth, but said levelly, ‘Sir Jason is not my beau; he is simply a good friend of mine. I have said that you must not hope—you certainly should not say to anyone—that there is more to it than that.’
‘Sir Jason intends there be more to it than that, I’m sure,’ Charlotte flatly opined. ‘He has been calling on you and escorting you around town for two weeks. Everyone has noticed how taken he is with you. Emily and Anne are so excited! Anne has already hinted at how nice it will be to welcome you as a new cousin. She quite thinks of the Hunters as family now, you know.’ Charlotte slid a significant look back at the gossiping ladies. ‘Not everyone will be so thrilled, of course. But I shall be most surprised—and disappointed—if soon you are not sporting a huge betrothal ring.’
‘Charlotte!’
Charlotte was unperturbed. ‘I’m not so innocent and naïve that I’m ignorant of what people imagine is going on between a rakish gentlemen and a young widow … who happens to be my sister,’ she added primly. She gave a cautioning nod and set her auburn curls to bouncing. ‘Especially when it gets out how very generous your admirer has been in providing comforts for us at Westlea House.’ Under the pretence of examining a bolt of blue velvet, Charlotte stole a peek to see if others found them noteworthy. ‘I’ve no doubt Sir Jason has his pride. He is probably waiting for a little sign from you before he proposes. You must encourage him, or you only have yourself to blame if people start making up lies about the two of you!’ Charlotte gave her elder sister an extremely old-fashioned look before taking a more genuine interest in selecting fabric for her trousseau.
‘That colour would suit you,’ Helen said, desperately bright, as she attempted changing the subject.
‘I know you’re in love with him,’ Charlotte breathed insouciantly whilst trailing her fingers over plush gentian pile.
Helen dropped her eyes to the cloths and in agitation yanked a length of apricot velvet off the roll. But in her mind rotated thoughts far removed from a new gown.
Charlotte was correct in one respect: Jason’s generosity had altered her routine and her spending. Obviously it had been noticed that she shopped more and that clue, coupled with her outings with Jason, had naturally aroused speculation that they were more than friends. She was not extravagant, but neither could she mix in polite society dressed in her old clothes. New stockings and gloves had just a short time ago been unaffordable luxuries. She could now purchase a dozen bonnets at a time should she so wish.
George, of course, knew that her upturn in fortune was not the result of his conscience finally troubling him. In fact, she was most surprised that her brother had not been by to express his gratitude that she had found a man to support her.
And, indeed, she was being lavishly supported. She had received a note from her bank of the astonishing sum that had been credited to her account. Her monthly allowance from her lover was more than her sweet papa had estimated his daughters could comfortably live on for a year.
So her plan for her future security was a success: she had acquired a gentleman to keep her, and a promise that in the future Westlea House would be hers. Charlotte was shortly to be married to Philip, who now had excellent prospects. Jason Hunter had within a short time bestowed so much. She had got what she wanted, she again impressed on herself as she absently wandered between rolls of jewel-coloured cloth. For the first time in many years she felt pampered and attractive. Jason treated her with respect and, if not prone to display overt affection, she was sure he was fond of her. He invariably complimented her on her new gowns when he came to collect her from Westlea House. But his patient, polite socialising for a few hours could not mask the fact that he’d sooner go to Chelsea and see her naked. His desire for her was as yet undiminished and sharing a bed and mutual pleasure was her bittersweet role … But he had promised to tell her if he fell in love, or was ready to wed, Helen poignantly reminded herself.
She glanced up and saw the débutantes had not yet conquered their inquisitiveness. At first she ignored them, but then could not help but wonder if either of those pretty young women might capture Jason’s heart. He was now thirty-five and, although no further mention had been made between them of his marriage, she knew he must want eventually to settle down with a wife and raise his family.
‘Let us go, Charlotte.’ Helen abruptly turned to her sister, making Charlotte frown enquiringly at her. ‘It is quite warm in here,’ Helen excused her need to avoid the nubile young ladies. ‘Let’s go to the tearoom. We can return here later for another browse.’
Ch
arlotte smiled agreement and linked arms with Helen.
They had barely put a step on to the pavement when Charlotte let out a groan. ‘Oh, no! Iris is coming this way with that Bridgeman fellow. We will never manage to dodge her.’
Helen squinted into the glaring sunlight and a sigh of disappointment escaped her, too. Iris had seen them and obviously had no intention of walking on by. Her buxom silhouette was looming at them through the incandescence. Helen blinked and saw that her sister-in-law was dragging her escort along by the arm.
‘We’re doomed to speak to her, I’m afraid,’ Helen muttered to Charlotte just before Iris and Colin Bridgeman came to a halt in front of them.
Iris’s blue gaze ranged quickly over Charlotte before sharpening on Helen. ‘Have you not bought anything?’ she demanded, looking significantly at the sisters’ empty hands.
‘No … we have not …’ Helen began.
Iris let out a shrill giggle. ‘Heavens! You have much to learn!’ she amiably sneered. ‘With such a friend as you have acquired, surely you must be able to find something in Baldwin’s on which to spend his money?’
Helen felt her cheeks sting and noticed that Charlotte had blushed bright red.
‘I expect Mrs Marlowe is a lady of certain taste who likes to take her time before making her decision,’ Colin purred into the tense quiet. ‘Sometimes waiting makes possession the sweeter … do you not think, Mrs Marlowe?’
Helen gave him an icy glare, uneasily aware of the insinuation in his tone. ‘We were just going to Millie’s Tearoom,’ she clipped out. ‘Good day to you,’ and, with a curt nod, she made to propel Charlotte along by the arm.
Iris was not about to lose her quarry so easily. ‘I should like some refreshment.’ She began to determinedly trail in their wake.
‘There’s George.’ With a relieved sigh Charlotte waved urgently at their brother. He was making slow progress in his carriage for there was a press of vehicles in the street.
George saw them and steered the rig to the kerb then nimbly alighted. If he resented seeing his wife arm in arm with her lover, he gave no sign. In fact, he tried to avoid meeting Bridgeman’s eyes at all. When eventually their glances collided, an unspoken message passed between them. George was first to look away and he immediately turned his attention to his sisters.
‘Where are you two bound?’
‘We were going to take tea in Millie’s Rooms, but I think we shall instead go straight home,’ Helen said.
Charlotte nodded her agreement to aborting their shopping trip.
‘Well, I was just on my way to Westlea House,’ George said. ‘I’ll take you home and save you the hackney fare.’
‘I don’t think Helen is now short of such a paltry amount, do you?’ his wife sourly muttered. Iris was annoyed at George’s interference, for she saw the chance slipping away to interrogate Helen.
George barely looked at Iris. He proceeded to help his sisters alight.
When they had been journeying west for a few minutes, Charlotte asked idly, ‘Was there a special reason for your visit to see us, George?’
‘Yes,’ he succinctly replied after a momentary silence. ‘And I won’t say more on it till we are indoors,’ he finished ominously.
Once back home and in Westlea House’s parlour, Charlotte stripped off her bonnet and gloves and lobbed them on to the table. She sank wearily into the sofa. ‘A wasted afternoon!’ she peevishly complained. ‘I feel too cross about it to go to Vauxhall this evening,’ she dramatically threatened. ‘Why did we not stay in the shop? I could have bought the blue velvet for my honeymoon outfit.’
‘If things don’t come right for me, you won’t need a trousseau; leastways, not for a marriage to Philip.’
For the duration of the journey home Helen had sensed that George was in a fit of the sulks brought on by self-pity. From that she had deduced that he probably had got himself into more financial troubles. But she had not expected him to sink low enough to use Charlotte’s happiness as a bargaining tool. And she was sure he was about to reveal a plan.
‘You have no right to say such a thing!’ Helen sharply rebuked him, for Charlotte’s face had turned chalky on hearing his muttering. ‘You have given your consent to Philip and cannot now retract even if you have got yourself into another muddle.’
‘I would not get into muddles at all if it were not for you two leeches!’ George snapped defensively. He paced back and forth, ignoring the withering look Helen shot his way.
‘Well, you might as well say what you must,’ Helen urged in exasperation. ‘You obviously have something unpleasant on your mind. What is it?’
‘Who is it is what you ought to have asked me.’ George brought a fist down on the mantelpiece. ‘Damnation! If I had known that Goode would eventually cosy up to Hunter, none of this would have come about.’
‘You’re talking in riddles, George. What have you done?’ Helen insisted on knowing whilst keeping an eye on her sister’s fearful expression. Charlotte was batting glances between her and George as though trying to estimate the course of an, as yet, unspoken debate.
‘I borrowed money from a fellow to pay off the worst of my debts on the understanding that I’d permit him to marry Charlotte.’
Helen snorted in outrage. Quickly she put a comforting arm about her sister’s shoulders. ‘Well, that was an astonishingly stupid thing to do—you must have known that Charlotte would refuse him.’ She suddenly turned a disgusted look on George. ‘It was Bridgeman, wasn’t it?’
Charlotte burst from her sister’s embrace and, fists clenched, confronted her brother. ‘I would rather run away than have that weasel for my husband.’
‘Fortunately he will consider another solution …’ George said so hoarsely the words were almost inaudible.
Helen frowned until George’s uneasiness and downcast eyes gave her a blinding insight as to what the solution was. Her eyes grew round with horrified disbelief. Turning swiftly, she instructed Charlotte, ‘Ask Betty to make some tea, please.’ She gave her sister a reassuring smile. ‘This foolishness will not affect your wedding plans. George must sort it all out.’
Charlotte backed towards the door. ‘I swear I will run away if you even say that scrawny coxcomb can call on me!’ she shouted at George before rushing from the room.
Once sure that Charlotte was out of earshot, Helen announced tightly, ‘If you think I will in any shape or form contemplate a relationship with Colin Bridgeman, you are addled in the wits.’
George gripped the mantel with both hands till the knuckles showed bone. ‘I am in serious trouble this time,’ he obliquely wheedled for her to reconsider. ‘Bridgeman isn’t a piddling merchant, waving his invoices. Contracts were signed and he immediately wants back his money.’ George looked forlornly at Helen. ‘He’ll set the duns on me. I might be in the Fleet as soon as next week.’
‘How dare you try and prick my conscience. All of this is your own fault!’
George hung his head between arms braced on the mantel. A sudden sound stopped Helen from quitting the room. She spun about, but did not retrace one pace. She addressed her snivelling brother from the threshold. ‘How much do you owe him? I have some cash in the bank …’
‘Four thousand pounds,’ George immediately supplied the figure in a gurgle. ‘Plus some interest, too …’
Helen repeated the amount in disgust.
George made an instant recovery. He pushed away from his support and swiped a hand over his eyes. ‘Don’t lecture me!’ he spat irritably. ‘You’re hardly Madam Virtue, are you?’
Helen’s complexion became grey with rage—she knew to what her brother referred, just as he intended she would. ‘No, I’m not,’ she whispered. ‘I’m what you made me. You forced me to support myself and I am doing so. Your schemes worked. You have Father’s money all to yourself, just as you intended, and now you have the outrageous cheek to moralise.’
‘How much might you be able to loan me?’ George plaintively asked.
‘I have at the moment just over one thousand pounds …’
‘It is not enough!’ George despairingly shook balled fists at the parlour’s cracked ceiling. ‘Besides, I suspect Bridgeman wants you more than his cash.’ He speared a glance at Helen. ‘Why did you not tell me that he had approached you before?’
‘Because I knew you would try to bully me to accept him, just as you are doing now.’
George looked affronted. ‘I’ve only ever wanted you to be practical. You’re not a blushing virgin, after all. And Colin is not such a bad chap. Would you not … once or twice …?’
Helen said icily, ‘No, I would not.’
George resumed his pacing about the room, frowning at ceiling, door and wall. Suddenly he halted and spun to face Helen, a grin splitting his face. ‘Of course! Hunter would advance you more if you ask him. He is renowned for being generous to his women. You could find a romantic little spot in the Pleasure Gardens this evening and ask him nicely for me.’
‘I shall do no such thing, for he has been more than generous thus far,’ Helen said in a cold, quiet voice.
‘So you will not help me? You refuse to do a thing,’ George whined.
‘What I will do, when next I see Bridgeman, is tell him exactly what I think of him. I’ll see if Betty has made the tea.’ With that Helen quit the room without a backward glance.
‘You’re quiet this evening.’
Helen slanted Jason a faltering smile as they promenaded the Long Walk in Vauxhall Gardens. ‘I have been engrossed in Charlotte’s wedding plans, that is all.’ She pressed a little closer to him to indicate she was content. ‘Shall we go back and find Philip and Charlotte? The music must soon be due to start.’