The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “Miss Keighley?”

  Helena jumped and turned to her maid. “Yes, Sherburne, what is it?”

  “You said you wished to buy a new dress for the party,” said the maid gently. “Your modiste’s shop is across the street.”

  “Oh, yes, you are right, Sherburne. I suppose we should go in.”

  Helena and her companion entered the shop, where Madame Favreau greeted her with delight. When she was told that there was to be a ball at Wroxton Hall, and that a number of guests would be present from London, she exclaimed that she knew precisely what Miss Keighley wanted.

  “For it would not do that you should be outshone by the ladies from London, hein?” she twittered as she led Helena to the back of the shop. “I shall make you a dress in the very latest fashion. No one will suspect it came from a shop in Folkestone!”

  As the modiste pulled out several rolls of silk, none of which was likely to have seen excise tax levied on it, she explained volubly why each would be entirely suitable for her client. There was much discussion of embroidery, lace, and ruching, with Helena finally saying that she would prefer the dress to be as simple as possible.

  Madame Favreau clasped her hands together. “Ah, you have exquisite taste. You understand that the dress must compliment your beauty, not distract from it. I have the very design here. “ She proffered a fashion plate. “Miss is fortunate to have such an elegant figure; not every woman could wear such a gown.”

  Helena glanced at the extremely dashing gown for a few moments, and then looked up at Sherburne, who nodded encouragingly.

  “It’s a bit daring,” she murmured.

  “Not at all,” countered Madame Favreau eagerly. “This is quite discreet compared to the dresses many ladies from London wear! You will look sophisticated, yet genteel. It will also show off your very fine bosom.”

  Helena bit her lip, and finally nodded, unable to chase away the thought that Malcolm would surely find her attractive in such a dress. The next half hour was happily occupied in choosing fabrics and lace, and afterwards it was necessary to visit several shops to procure gloves and slippers to match. She had been in Folkestone more than two hours before they were done shopping, and she emerged from the shops well pleased with her purchases. Thinking that Damaris would surely be out of bed by now, she turned toward her waiting carriage. As she did so, she heard Sherburne make a muffled sound of dismay. Helena looked up to see Lord Denby approaching them, and paused for a moment, but then setting her chin at a proud angle, proceeded.

  Knowing that she must acknowledge him, as the last time they had met she had asked him to call upon her, she inclined her head and gave him an icy smile.

  “Lord Denby,” she said distantly.

  He swept her a bow. “Miss Keighley.”

  Helena, not liking the glint in his eye, prepared to move on, but he spoke again.

  “Perhaps you have wondered why I did not call upon you, as you so kindly requested I do,” he said in a silky voice.

  “It does not matter,” she replied firmly. “You are under no obligation to me, nor I to you.”

  “But I think you should know,” continued Lord Denby. “Your, er, friend, Lord Wroxton, made it quite clear that he would not have me interfering.”

  Helena glared at him. “Interfering in what?”

  Denby gestured vaguely. “In whatever plans he has, clearly.” He leered at her. “I have also heard that he has succeeded where I did not.”

  “You grow insulting, my lord,” said Helena coldly.

  “How can I insult you, when I have spoken the truth?” sneered Denby. “Don’t expect Wroxton to marry you, my dear; he’ll make you no offer. You’d have done better to have accepted mine. You are a mere diversion until he can rejoin Mrs. Lacey.”

  Helena stiffened. “You presume a great deal, Lord Denby.”

  “I presume nothing; I am quite sure that you have allowed Lord Wroxton certain, er, liberties, that you denied me,” he said. “Wroxton made sure of it, threatening me so that the field would be clear for him. He is not known for his constancy, though. There is not only Mrs. Lacey, you know. Mrs. Featherhaugh tells me he is quite an intimate friend of hers as well.”

  “Mrs. Featherhaugh?” repeated Helena, despite herself. She had never met the scandalous widow, but all the women around Folkestone knew her name.

  Denby’s eyebrows rose in an elaborate display of surprise. “Did you not know he has been seen in her house? I thought surely, given the nature of your acquaintance, he would have told you. Your brother was in his company as well, and Mr. Delaney. He seemed to be quite cozy with Mrs. Featherhaugh. I gather they knew one another when he lived on the Continent.”

  “He can hardly be as cozy with her as you must be in order to have such detailed information,” retorted Helena, willing herself not to show her surprise and annoyance.

  “Mrs. Featherhaugh is friendly with a great many gentlemen,” observed Lord Denby. “But I believe she holds Wroxton especially dear. Of course, as he is occupied with you, he has less need of her, I suppose.” He smirked. “I expect I will see him at her gaming tables again soon.”

  Helena did not respond, but drew the hem of her dress away and walked off, her head held proudly. She strolled around the corner as though she had not a care in the world. It was only when she was sure that Denby could no longer that she sped up, as her anger and humiliation rose.

  “Miss Helena, I’m sure Lord Denby is wrong,” said Sherburne hesitantly. “Lord Wroxton would never—I mean, I’m sure he would not do such a thing,”

  Helena’s eyes widened and she swung around to glare at Sherburne. “Does everyone know?”

  Sherburne looked at her anxiously. “Sure now, Miss Helena, we all know that Lord Wroxton is courting you,” she said soothingly. “But we also know that Denby will do anything he can do to stop it, seeing as he wants to marry you himself.”

  Helena drew in her breath. It wouldn’t do to stand on the streets of Folkestone gossiping about herself with her maid. But she was appalled to think that her entire household—and Wroxton’s, and no doubt the entire countryside--believed Malcolm was courting her. Or worse, that they knew what was truly going on between them.

  “He is not courting me, Sherburne,” she said firmly. “You must not believe such nonsense.”

  Sherburne smiled coyly. “Why then is he constantly underfoot, and why do you go to Wroxton so often?” she asked.

  “Because I am helping him plan his ball,” explained Helena. “He does not know the local merchants, or many of his neighbors, and needs my guidance.”

  Sherburne gave her a conspiratorial look. “Indeed he does, miss. Why, we’re all ever so pleased to see the two of you so happy in each other’s company.”

  If Helena’s arms had not been weighed down by packages she would have thrown her hands up in the air. It seemed impossible to disabuse Sherburne of the notion that the earl was pursuing her.

  “Please, Sherburne, do not speak of this with others,” she said urgently.

  “As though I would gossip!” replied the maid indignantly.

  Helena sighed with frustration. “I am not going to marry Lord Wroxton,” she pronounced clearly.

  “If you say so, miss,” said Sherburne, with what to Helena seemed suspiciously like a wink.

  Giving up the fight, Helena walked to her carriage and climbed in, disposing of her packages on the seat next to her. Sherburne followed her, still smiling warmly at her mistress. Helena gave orders to the coachman to take them to Mrs. Honeysett’s house.

  Chapter 30

  By the time they drew up before Damaris’ town house minutes later, Helena’s thoughts were in a complete muddle. Between Denby’s unpleasant insinuations and Sherburne’s obvious belief that the nuptials between Lord Wroxton and herself were to be performed at any moment, she felt quite defeated. She rapped the knocker and was admitted by the butler, who told her Mrs. Honeysett was home and would be pleased to see Miss Keighley. Sherburne went off to t
he kitchen to visit with the cook, a friend of hers, and Helena followed the butler up the elegant staircase, rather relieved. Perhaps Damaris could help her sort through her problems.

  When she entered the morning room, Damaris stood and rushed over to hug her eagerly.

  “My dear, how wonderful of you to visit me,” she said. “I have been so frightfully bored, I thought I must expire of ennui. I prayed something interesting might happen, and you have been supplied to me.”

  Helena hugged her in return, and sank down on the settee. Damaris eyed her briefly.

  “Bring us tea, Hudson,” she told the butler. “If there are other visitors, I am not at home.”

  She seated herself next to Helena in a swirl of silk skirts and possessed herself of one of her friend’s hands.

  “Tell me all about it, dear,” she said encouragingly.

  “All about what?”

  “Whatever it is you came here to tell me,” said Damaris. “I have to guess it is about the Wicked Earl.”

  “I am sick to death of the sound of the man’s name!” said Helena heatedly.

  Damaris blinked. “I didn’t say it. “

  “No, but you were speaking of the Earl of Wroxton, and I have had enough of that for today!”

  “Then we shall speak of something else,” said Damaris brightly. She turned an expectant gaze on Helena.

  “Everyone seems to think that he is courting me!” Helena exclaimed.

  “Well, is he?”

  Helena bit her lip. “Yes—no, he is not.”

  “Which is it?” asked Damaris practically. “I must admit some stories have come to my ears about the very particular attention his lordship has been paying to you.”

  “What have you heard?” demanded Helena.

  Damaris shrugged. “That you spend every day together. Some will have it that he is courting you and others—well, they have an uglier view of the situation.”

  “Yes, Denby made sure to tell me that,” said Helena bitterly.

  “You saw Lord Denby?”

  “In the high street. He was very insulting. He insinuated that I—that Lord Wroxton—that we—”

  “That you what?” asked Damaris innocently.

  “You know what I mean,” said Helena crossly.

  “Indeed, I do.”

  Helena made an exasperated noise. “I have never been so humiliated,” she declared.

  Damaris gave her a curious look. “It does not seem to have bothered you overmuch when the whole world thought Denby had compromised you. Why are you angered now when a much handsomer and nobler man is thought to be your suitor?”

  Helena paused, puzzled, and Hudson chose that moment to enter with the tea tray. He placed it on the table and Damaris busied herself with the cups. After the butler exited, she extended one to her friend.

  “You did not answer my question,” she said.

  Helena frowned. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “My staff is all convinced that he is wooing me, and Denby—well, he made some very insulting comments. But it is all nothing.”

  “Nothing?” asked Damaris.

  Helena looked down into her teacup. “I have spent some time with him of late,” she admitted.

  “I’ve heard you are helping him plan his ball,” said Damaris cautiously.

  “Exactly. That is all it is.”

  Damaris shook her head. “My dear, that is not all it is.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “’Love and cough cannot be hid,’” quoted Damaris succinctly.

  Helena stared at her. “Are you saying you think I am in love with Wroxton?”

  “I am saying I know you are in love with Wroxton. No, do not argue with me,” she said, holding up her hand. “I knew the last time we met, and had very strong suspicions even at the assembly.”

  “I don’t give two groats for the man,” protested Helena. “He is a profligate wastrel, and far too sure of himself.”

  Damaris gave her a pitying look. “So you are spending all this time with him out of mere neighborly concern?”

  “It is only right that I help him,” protested Helena. “He in turn, is helping me catch the smugglers.”

  “Ah yes, the smugglers. I had forgotten them.”

  “Well, I haven’t!” said Helena, realizing dimly that she had barely spared them a thought in the past weeks.

  “Tell me, is he in love with you too?” inquired Damaris.

  Helena gaped at her. “Of course he is not in love with me. I have told you, there is nothing between us.”

  “Oh, there is definitely something between you. The question is, do you agree on what it is?” Damaris smiled. “My dear, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me the truth.”

  Helena flushed, realizing that she had indeed come to Damaris hoping for some solution to her dilemma. She put down her teacup and looked at her friend squarely.

  “He asked me to marry him,” she said quietly.

  Damaris squealed. “How wonderful! When is the wedding?”

  “I am not going to marry Lord Wroxton,” Helena said fiercely.

  “Why not? He is handsome, rich, and amusing. I cannot think of better qualities in a husband!”

  “Except for affection and constancy,” said Helena dryly.

  “Pish,” said Damaris. “Clearly you are very fond of him, and I must imagine he has some feelings for you, or he would not have made you an offer.”

  “No, he has no feelings for me,” said Helena in a small voice. “He felt he had to offer me the protection of his name.”

  “Helena! You did not!” Damaris looked at her closely. “You did! You are having an affaire with Lord Wroxton. I told you that you should. How wonderful—and unusual--that you listened to me.”

  “We are not having an affaire,” said Helena.

  “Are you not?” Damaris seemed to be disappointed.

  Helena shrugged. “Perhaps we are. In any event, he feels he must offer for me, as he has despoiled me. I’ll not be married to a rake merely because he feels it is his duty.”

  “A moment ago you said he is irresponsible,” Damaris pointed out. “Yet now you are annoyed that he wishes to marry you.”

  “I cannot wed a man would almost immediately feel smothered by his marriage. Surely you can see that? I hope for affection and companionship in marriage, and he would soon be off to London to see his mistress.”

  “Affection and companionship?” said Damaris incredulously. “Surely you didn’t enter into this liaison for those things!”

  “I didn’t say I wished to stop,” Helena replied with a small smile. “I said I won’t marry him.”

  Damaris shook her head. “You are being remarkably silly. You realize he has no obligation to offer for you; after all, you are already believed to be compromised long ago by Denby. If he wishes to marry you, is it too much to believe that he cares for you?”

  Helena looked away. “He has a mistress in London,” she said distantly.

  “All men have mistresses in London!” Damaris claimed broadly. “She is not here, is she? Have you seen her since he met you, or more importantly, has he?”

  “Of course not,” said Helena. “But he has also been at Mrs. Featherhaugh’s house, and you know what happens there. I am told that he has a long acquaintance with her, and they were—friends—on the Continent.”

  “I had heard some stories,” Damaris admitted. “But I would not be concerned. Wroxton is not an unblemished boy who never left his mother’s apron strings. He would not be nearly so enticing if he were.”

  “But to go there when he had—had asked me to marry him. He took Arthur as well!”

  “Did he? I’m sure it was good for the boy.”

  “Damaris!” Helena glared at her. “Are you my friend, or Wroxton’s?”

  Damaris patted her hand. “Yours, to be sure, my dear. But you are behaving in a way that only convinces me further that you love the Wicked Earl.”

  “I do not love him,” proteste
d Helena. “He is just very—”

  “Yes?” prompted Damaris.

  “Very interesting,” said Helena anticlimactically.

  Damaris paused a moment, seeming to ponder her next words, then continued, “You, my girl, are clearly are in love with Lord Wroxton, and he desires to marry you. It would be foolish to say no.”

  “It would be foolish to say yes,” countered Helena. “I am not the woman to sit meekly watching my husband romance other women. I would be better off a spinster at Keighley Manor. At least I would not be humiliated.”

  “What will you do when he does marry?” Damaris nodded when Helena shot her a concerned glance. “Because he will, you know. He must; he needs an heir. He will bring her to Wroxton Hall as his countess. Do you want to be the woman he goes to, while she sits alone at home?”

  “That is not fair,” protested Helena. “I would not do this were he married!”

  “Would you not?” Damaris eyed her closely. “You seem very smitten.”

  “I’m not a fool; he will tire of me long before he brings a bride to Wroxton,” said Helena simply. “I will only be to him the woman he wiled away a few weeks with, years ago, at a dance or a dinner party. It will all be very civilized.”

  Damaris raised her hands in the air. “You are the most stubborn, unromantic woman I have ever known! You have the Wicked Earl at your beck and call, begging you to marry him, and you envision only a melancholy future of spinsterhood.”

  “I am not sure he is at my beck and call,” said Helena slowly. “It is very possible I am at his.”

  Damaris squeezed her hand. “Ah, so you came into Folkestone today to show him otherwise?” she asked knowingly. “No, do not bother to deny it. Why are you so sure he does not care for you?”

  “No doubt he is fond of me in his way—as he is surely fond of all his women. He speaks no word of love.”

  “Why would he?” asked Damaris sensibly. “You don’t want to tell him your feelings.”

  “I couldn’t possibly tell him I—” Helena broke off.