'No, ma'am. My parents are both gone and I live in...a small village in Northamptonshire.'
'Really. And have you other family there?'
'No, I live alone. That is—' Helen went to explain when she saw the look of concern on Gillian's face and abruptly stopped. Why was the child frowning? Was she worried about what Lady Endersley might say when she learned the truth of what she was?
'Miss de Coverdale is an exceptional watercolourist, Aunt Georgiana,' Oliver said in a conversational tone. 'She is also fluent in Italian, and is presently engaged in the teaching of those subjects at a private girls' school in Northamptonshire.'
'A girls' school!'
'Yes. The establishment has an excellent reputation and is run by a woman who is herself an acknowledged historian, poet and novelist.'
'Good Lord.' Lady Endersley's eyes widened in astonishment. 'This young woman is a schoolmistress?'
'Yes. She is also Gillian's friend,' Oliver said in a voice that dared anyone to offer a criticism. 'Sophie and I were both very pleased that she accepted our invitation to come.'
There was a long, heavy silence. Lady Endersley glanced at Sophie, then at Helen, and then finally at Oliver, who was still standing relaxed and at ease in front of her.
'Well, I suppose it is not for me to comment upon who you invite to your house, Oliver, but in my day, we did not invite caper merchants and tutors to join in our family celebrations.' Lady Endersley looked down her nose at Helen, and then turned to address her next remark to her nephew. 'By the by, I saw Lady Merriot and her daughter in town last week. Constance has become quite the elegant young lady. So poised and refined. And of course, she always was beautiful. In fact, I seem to remember you saying that she was the most beautiful young lady you had ever seen. Is that not correct?'
Oliver's mouth curved in a knowing smile. 'I likely said as much, yes.'
'I thought so. I told her I would pass along her greetings. I also told her you would likely call upon her when you were next in London.'
The last remark was accompanied by a look at Helen that no one—including Helen—could fail to understand. Clearly, Lady Endersley was informing everyone that while Oliver might think well enough of Helen to invite her to celebrate his ward's betrothal, she was not to be mistaken for a lady who might engage his affections in any other way.
And Helen knew there was nothing Oliver or anyone else could say that was going to change her mind about that!
The rest of the evening did not improve. Though the meal was excellent, the wines exceptional, and the conversation filled with details about wedding breakfasts and house plans, the atmosphere was still strained. Mrs Llewellyn's seating arrangement thankfully put Helen at the opposite end of the table from the Viscountess, but it did not lessen her discomfort at being there. Because every time Helen looked up, she saw people staring at her, their expressions ranging from mildly pitying to outright condemning.
Was it any wonder she pleaded a headache and retired as early as possible?
Gillian, of course, had valiantly tried to ease the situation. She had caught up with Helen at the bottom of the stairs and tried to assure her that she mustn't pay any attention to Lady Endersley's remarks, reminding her—as Oliver had done—that one of the Viscountess's own daughters-in-law was the offspring of a lowly clergyman. But Helen had merely smiled and assured Gillian that she was not offended by the woman's remarks, and that she truly was suffering from a headache. What would have been the point in saying anything else?
Lady Endersley was Oliver's aunt; a member of the aristocracy, and a woman of considerable influence and power in society. How could Helen blame her for harbouring cynical opinions about her, an impoverished schoolmistress? The Viscountess obviously viewed her as an unmarried woman who was desirous of bettering her circumstances in life, and who saw in Oliver a way of making that happen. Perhaps she even believed that the only reason Helen was here was so that Oliver might be able to visit with her under the guise of her being a guest at Gillian's betrothal party. The fact that Oliver had intervened on her behalf would only have served to confirm the woman's suspicions. After all, why else would her beloved nephew—a man who could have had any lady he desired—defend the reputation of a penniless schoolmistress unless she already meant something to him?
No, it was better that she have as little to do with Lady Endersley as possible, Helen decided. She had no desire to be humiliated in front of Oliver or Mrs Llewellyn again, and if she kept to her room and did not venture downstairs, there would be no chance of that happening.
As to the ball tomorrow night, she would mingle as little as possible, make sure that she kept as far away from the Viscountess and her family as possible, and first thing Saturday morning, she would climb back into the carriage and head for home, where her associations with Oliver Brandon would become nothing more than a collection of bittersweet memories.
Helen found the gown she intended to wear to the betrothal party tucked away at the back of the wardrobe and wrapped in layers of tissue thin paper. Curiosity compelled her to draw it out, but from the moment she removed its wrappings and held it up to the light, Helen knew it was perfect.
The rich, ivory-coloured silk was exquisite, its fine overlay of silver net shimmering in the morning sun. Hundreds of tiny beads had been sewn into, the bodice and down the front in a narrow line, and though the styling of the gown was years out of date, its uncomplicated design made it relatively simple to alter. All that was required was some gathering of the fabric around the bust line, the application of some lace around the sleeves and neck, and the shortening of the hem to make it appear au courant.
Mrs Llewellyn, after deciding not to press Helen into coming downstairs, personally brought her something to eat, and after seeing what she was working on, kindly sent up a pair of long ivory gloves for Helen to wear. Gillian also appeared at her door late in the afternoon with the gift of a beautiful, hand-painted fan, something Helen knew would go perfectly with the gown and which Gillian assured her she was delighted to see her wearing.
'And I shall send Marie to assist you this evening,' the girl said as she flounced down upon the bed. 'I am positively dying to see what she will do with all that wonderful long hair of yours.'
Helen smiled, but the expression in her eyes was wistful. 'I haven't had anyone dress my hair in years. Since I was your age, in fact.'
'Really?' Gillian's eyes went wide. 'Then you haven't always been a teacher?'
Helen set the fan on the bedside table and shook her head. 'At one time, my life was not unlike yours. I went to parties and to musicales. I even sang and played the piano forte.'
'You never told me!'
'I had no reason to. My life is not what it once was.'
'But you were obviously comfortable with this sort of thing once, so there is no reason for you to feel uncomfortable tonight. And I do so want you to have a good time, Miss de Coverdale, the presence of my aunt notwithstanding.'
'I shall have a wonderful time, whether your aunt is there or not,' Helen said as bravely as she could. 'Because more than anything, I am looking forward to seeing you dance with the young man whom Mrs Llewellyn tells me you are very happy to be marrying.'
Gillian sighed. 'Yes, I am really most fortunate. Mr Riddleston treats me ever so well, and he is very handsome. Did Sophie tell you we met in London last year?'
'Yes. She also told me you were not taken with the gentleman upon first acquaintance.'
Gillian tipped back her head and laughed. 'Yes, is that not a good joke? I cannot even recall what he was like the first time I met him. But strangely enough, when I saw him again last month, it was almost as though...I was seeing him for the first time. As though he was a different person altogether.'
Neglecting to point out that it was probably Gillian who was the different person, Helen said only, 'Do you love him?'
Gillian's smile slipped ever so slightly. 'Yes. Perhaps not in the way I loved Mr Wymington, but I would never tell Oliver that. He h
as been so good to me since we've been back, Miss de Coverdale. He's taken me out nearly every day, and he has spoiled me even more than he did before. In fact, I shall almost be sorry to leave Shefferton Hall,' she admitted with a laugh. 'As to Mr Wymington...well...I know that he was only interested in my fortune, and I know that should make it easier for me to get over him, but a person never really forgets their first love, do they?'
Unbidden, an image of Thomas's face flashed into Helen's mind, and for the first time in her life, she realised she couldn't see him any more. His features were beginning to blur, and the memory of his voice and of his physical appearance was becoming hazy in her mind. But she saw Oliver's face. She saw it as clearly as though he was standing right in front of her.
'We can if we allow ourselves to,' Helen said softly. 'In time, your memories of Mr Wymington will fade as new ones of your life with your husband and children move in to take their place. But no one can say how long that will take. Only you will know when it happens. But now, we must put the past aside and look to the future. I am here to celebrate your engagement to Mr Riddleston. And now before you dash away to get dressed and become the most popular young lady in the house tonight, I insist that you tell me everything you can about him!'
At twenty minutes to eight, Helen closed the door to her room and quietly tiptoed downstairs. She had no desire to be on the upper floors when the guests began to arrive. Better to be down here, tucked away in some quiet corner where no one would see her, and where she could lose herself in the crowds of people that would quickly gather.
Would she feel terribly ill at ease this evening, Helen wondered as she made her way into the deserted parlour? In truth, she failed to see how she could not. It had been years since she had moved in any kind of society, and though she had long ago learned the necessary social skills, she could only pray that she would remember how to use them.
Thank goodness she need have no concerns about her appearance. The gown had turned out even better than she'd hoped. The shimmering fabric now draped softly over the fullness of her breasts, fit snugly underneath and then fell in graceful folds to the floor. The elegant evening gloves Mrs Llewellyn had lent her for the occasion were perfect, and Gillian's beautiful hand-painted fan hung from a ribbon at her wrist.
True to her word, Gillian had also sent her maid to attend to Helen's hair, and the pretty French girl had worked wonders with it. She had exclaimed at length over its lush softness, and after studying it for a few moments, had decided to dress it in the antique Roman style, bringing the gleaming tresses together and confining them at the back of Helen's head. A single ribbon of ivory silk studded with pearl ornaments wound like a ribbon of starlight through the dark tresses.
Helen could scarce believe that she was the same woman who had left Steep Abbot only a day before. Certainly she did not look the same. In her beautiful gown and her upswept hairstyle, she looked as though she belonged in this magnificent house, with its beautiful, sophisticated people.
And just for tonight, Helen wanted to believe that she belonged. Because more than anything, she wanted Oliver to see her as something other than a schoolmistress wearing a plain old schoolmistress's gown. Just for tonight, she wanted him to see her as the privileged young lady she had once been.
'I vow the girls and the staff at Mrs Guarding's Academy would not recognise you, Miss de Coverdale,' Oliver said softly from the door. 'I almost did not myself.'
The soft, caressing tone caused Helen to gasp as she spun around. She hadn't heard him come into the room, but now as she saw him standing opposite her, she could only thank the Fates for having given her this last opportunity to spend time with the man who had become so important in her life.
He had dressed formally for the occasion and Helen knew that he would be the most handsome man in the house. His double-breasted black cut-away coat, tailored, no doubt, by Weston or Meyer, fit his broad shoulders to perfection, while light kerseymere breeches and fine silk stockings outlined as fine a leg as Helen had ever seen. A snowy white cravat nestled against the lapels of his jacket, the arrangement of which she knew would have taken considerable time and skill, whilst nestled in the folds was an elegant sapphire pin.
Oliver's appearance was impeccable, and yet now, as in the past, there was nothing of the dandy about him. He appeared to her at this moment exactly as he always had; a simple man of taste and refinement. It was no wonder Lady Endersley held out such high hopes for him.
'You startled me, Mr Brandon,' Helen said, hating the breathlessness that had crept back into her voice.
Oliver bowed from the waist. 'Forgive me, Miss de Coverdale, it was not my intention to do so. I should have noticed that you were lost in your thoughts.' He smiled as he moved towards her. 'But I am surprised to find you hidden away in here. I thought to see you coming down the stairs. You would have created quite a stir looking as beautiful as you do now.'
Helen felt a blush heat her skin, and hastily opened her fan. 'I thought only to find an out-of-the-way place to hide. I am well aware my company is not so grand as many of the guests who will be here tonight.'
If possible, Oliver's smile grew gentler still. 'Ah, but your presence is more welcome than most, Miss de Coverdale, because you were invited out of affection. Would that I could say that about everyone who will be coming tonight.'
Helen's mouth curved in a grateful smile. 'Then I shall consider myself fortunate, sir, for I would far rather be thought of with affection than obligation.'
Oliver chuckled, and Helen was relieved to discover that she could still converse in the light, flirtatious manner expected of young men and women. The only problem was, she had no desire to flirt with Oliver. Her feelings went too deep for such trivial exchanges. As she moved around the room, she was extremely conscious of being alone with him. It seemed to her that his presence filled every inch of the room, and yet it was in no way suffocating or overwhelming.
But then, how could it be? He was the man she had fallen in love with. The man she would have chosen to spend the rest of her life with. As long as she could be in his company, there was no other place in the world she would rather be.
'You must be...very pleased that Gillian accepted Mr Riddleston's proposal so quickly,' Helen said, hoping to engage him in harmless conversation.
'Pleased and relieved,' Oliver admitted. 'I am delighted that Gillian is promised to a gentleman whom I can admire and who I know is marrying her for the right reasons. But at the same time, I am relieved that she genuinely cares for him and is happy to go through with the marriage for her own sake.'
'Go through with it?' Helen's expression reflected her surprise. 'You make it sound as though she was doing something she would rather not.'
Oliver sighed. 'Come, Miss de Coverdale, you and I know each other—and the situation—too well for that. Gillian is happy enough to be marrying young Riddleston, and I know she holds him in great affection, but I do not believe she feels for him the kind of breathless passion she felt for Sidney Wymington. Wymington was the kind of man whose appearance and manner would inspire such a response in the female breast. Even you cannot deny that he was a dashing fellow.'
'No, I cannot,' Helen admitted with a smile. 'But the flaws I discovered in his character soon blinded me to his good looks. My unfortunate conversation with him in Abbot Giles, and his attempts to discredit me in front of you and Miss Gresham, made me see him as a most unattractive man all around.'
'I would be lying if I said I was not glad to hear you say so,' Oliver said quietly. 'Fortunately, Nigel Riddleston has nothing of Wymington's ways about him, yet he is every bit as charming and a hundred times more sincere. In time he will inherit a grand estate and I know he has the intelligence and foresight to manage it well. He will not be one to fritter away his fortune on impulse and trifles.'
'And is he as...enamoured of Gillian as she is of him?' Helen asked, careful to use the same word he had.
'The poor lad is head over heels in love with her.
Has been ever since the first time he saw her in London.' Oliver's mouth curved in a smile. 'Yes, I am well pleased with the way events have turned out for Gillian, especially when I remember how perilously close we came to losing her. But what about you, Miss de Coverdale? Have matters turned out as well for you as you might have liked?'
Helen drew a long, deep breath. The question begged a cautious answer, for while she had no wish to lie to him outright, she could hardly admit the truth of her feelings.
'I am in the enviable position of having both a home and a job at the Guarding Academy,' she said slowly, 'and I am fortunate enough to have earned the respect and affection of a few good friends. What more could a woman in my position want?'
'The same things any woman might want,' Oliver replied. 'A home of your own. Children to care for. A husband to love—'
'Oliver, is that you I hear?' Mrs Llewellyn's voice called, seconds before she breezed into the room. 'The receiving line is forming and Gillian wishes you to take your place. You should—why, Miss de Coverdale, whatever are you doing here? And looking so very beautiful.' Sophie's eyes widened as she took in the magnificence of the skilfully altered gown. 'I vow, you have worked a minor miracle, my dear. Does she not look radiant, Oliver?'
'She does indeed.' Oliver's gaze fell softly on Helen's face. 'I told her as much only a moment ago.'
'But why are you not out in the ballroom where the gentlemen can see you?'
Helen felt the blush begin at her throat and spread upwards. 'I did not wish to appear too early amongst your guests, Mrs Llewellyn. Lady Endersley—'
'Oh, bother Lady Endersley,' Mrs Llewellyn interrupted. 'I intend to keep her fully occupied and well away from you this evening, my dear. But there will be many others anxious to make your acquaintance. And the sooner you take your place amongst them, the sooner you shall begin enjoying yourself. Now, Oliver, off you go. I shall attend to Miss de Coverdale.' Sophie marched forward and linked her arm through Helen's. 'It is past time we introduced this lovely young woman to society. And of course, to our delightful Mr Riddleston.'
The Guardian's Dilemma Page 18