“Miss Keighley, I wonder if I might have a word with you?”
Helena paused. She could think of nothing she wanted less than a word with Mrs. Lacey, but good manners made it impossible for her to flee. “Certainly, Mrs. Lacey.”
“In private, if you don’t mind.” Estella held open the door to the drawing room.
Helena inclined her head coldly and entered, turning to face Estella as she closed the door.
“What a beautiful dress.” Estella stepped back, surveying her. “I had no idea there were such fine seamstresses outside of London.”
“As you can see, we are not all rustics here in Kent,” said Helena sharply.
“Of course you are not,” Estella replied with a charming smile. “I did not mean to imply otherwise. Please, sit down. It is ridiculous to stand about like this.” Estella sank down on a settee, and indicated the spot next to her. Left without another choice, Helena perched gingerly beside her.
“Miss Keighley, I wished to speak to you about Malcolm,” began Estella.
Helena, though she had been expecting the words, jumped at the sound of the earl’s name. “Mrs. Lacey, I don’t think Lord Wroxton would be very pleased with this conversation,” she said hastily.
“Oh, he is quite accustomed to my way of speaking my mind,” Estella replied in a serene tone. “I know you feel awkward, but I hope to remedy that.” She paused, glancing at Helena from under her long, dark lashes. “First, I must tell you that Mr. Lacey is not troubled in the least by my little liaison with Malcolm.”
Helena’s eyebrows rose skeptically, and Estella shook her head. “You do not quite understand, Miss Keighley. My husband is not at all in the petticoat line. But he is wealthy, and there must be an heir to inherit the money and lands. For my part, I am quite content to have a rich and charming husband, who does not trouble me overmuch and is completely uninterested in my bed now that I have provided him with two sons.”
“I am sure he must be very grateful to you,” Helena mumbled, feeling rather at sea. She supposed these sorts of conversations must be very ordinary in London, but they were far out of her experience. She wished fervently that Damaris were with her.
“Of course he is,” Estella agreed happily. “I do him credit socially, do not pester him for attention, and am always delighted to have his excellent advice concerning the cut of a gown, or whether a new hairstyle will become me. In return he says nothing about my discreet relationships, and I do not inquire about his close friends.”
“It sounds very civilized,” Helena ventured. She glanced at the door, wishing fervently that another guest would arrive.
“That is the point, of course. Wroxton, however, is very different from Mr. Lacey. He is very much the man, as I’m sure you realize.” She shot Helena a conspiratorial glance. “But he also likes women, and not just for the pleasures of the bedchamber. He is interested in what they think, and converses with us as though we are sensible creatures. Surely you have noticed?”
Helena blinked, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. She realized Estella was right; Malcolm did give more weight to her words than most men she knew. Arthur, she thought, was the only exception, and he was her younger brother, and used to her ways. “I suppose you are right,” she said reluctantly.
“Of course I am,” purred Estella. “Remember that Wroxton has been harmed by a great many men, but women, for the most, have taken his part. There have been dozens of them, of course, as he is so scandalously desirable, but Malcolm remains good friends with them all. He corresponds with the princess in Germany, and the comtessa in Venice, and Madame LaRobisseau in Nimes, and oh, several others.” Estella waved her hands as Helena wondered precisely how many women Malcolm wrote to on a regular basis. “And he adores his sister, who I find tiresome, but I suppose it is only natural. How many gentlemen can you think of who will scribble a note to their mother, let alone carry on correspondence over years with female friends?”
“It is indeed remarkable,” Helena replied, looking again at the door and willing it to open and admit anyone at all.
“Only think,” continued Estella, warming to her subject. “He was barely more than a boy, nearly penniless and wrongly exiled, trying to make his way in a world he did not understand. It was ladies who helped him, and he learned to value them in turn. He has had so many women in his life because he never stayed in one place, not because he is depraved at heart. I think he was always looking for a place to call home, and never found it.”
Helena looked at her thoughtfully, recalling Malcolm’s words in the rose garden.
“And so we come to you,” Estella went on, glancing at Helena’s dubious face. “Did you think I had forgotten what I wished to say? When he came to London, he wanted to enjoy his newfound wealth and fame. Of course, he wanted a woman friend as well, and I feel lucky he chose me. After all, he is handsome, and charming, and well, a delight in the bedchamber, is he not?” She smiled conspiratorially at Helena, who looked away. “But he was so restless in London, always searching for something. Then he came to Wroxton Hall and I ceased to hear from him. One day he was complaining about having to come down here to deal with a virago neighbor and a pack of smugglers, and then--nothing. So, I came here, and found him with you.”
Helena flushed. “I did not mean to interfere. After all, I had no idea that you—“
Estella waved one elegant hand. “I have no claim on Malcolm. That is what I am trying to tell you. We amused each other, and now—he is no longer amused. He has found someone important to him. Someone with whom I think he hopes to make a life.” She glanced at Helena’s stunned face. “Miss Keighley?” she queried.
“Are you saying you think I should marry him?” demanded Helena, finally finding her voice.
“I am saying you would be very stupid not to,” said Estella. “And I do not think you are at all stupid, Miss Keighley.”
Helena rose, clutching her fan. “I appreciate your advice, Mrs. Lacey, and will think well on it.”
“I hope you do.” Estella smiled up at her. “Whatever your decision, if we meet again sometime, I hope it will be as friends.”
“I—I would like that,” said Helena, surprised to realize she meant it. “If you will excuse me, I need to make sure all is ready for dinner.”
Estella waved one white hand and sat back comfortably. “Certainly. I will see you later, at dinner, and at the ball. If you get the opportunity, dance with Lord Queshire. He waltzes divinely.”
Helena nodded and fled.
Chapter 40
To Helena’s immense relief, the guests soon began to arrive for dinner, and she was pleased to see that the visitors from London and the local gentry mingled well. Malcolm moved about the room graciously, greeting people with a relaxed courtesy that put everyone at ease, while Rowena stepped into the role of hostess, happily greeting friends she had not seen in some time. Helena procured a glass of sherry and allowed herself to relax, glad to slip into the background. It had been, all in all, an interesting day.
“Don’t drink that too quickly. You need to have your wits about you tonight,” said a teasing voice in her ear. She turned to see that Malcolm had made his way to her side.
“Are you implying I cannot hold my liquor?” she asked with dignity.
“I daresay you could drink me under the table.” Malcolm grinned down at her. “But I rely on you to be the voice of reason this evening.”
Helena marveled at his ability to move from one role to another. Even though she had been trembling with passion in his arms not two hours before, there was nothing amorous in his attitude; he was clear-eyed and evidently eager to put their plan into action. Yet it had only been minutes since he greeted his guests with the lazy assurance of a bored aristocrat. It came, she supposed, from the life he had led. If only she could know which Wroxton was real.
“I promise not to become—what was the phrase Arthur learned from you? As drunk as a wheelbarrow,” she said tartly.
�
�Good girl.” He looked up. “Now I must play the host. I count on you to keep your eyes open and let me know if aught appears amiss.”
Helena nodded, and he moved away, once again mingling with his guests. She forced herself to do the same, greeting friends and allowing herself to be introduced to the strangers from London. She saw Damaris across the room, laughing at some story Arthur was telling her, and she made her way in their direction, but Estella flitted over to her on the arm of a very bored and handsome gentleman.
“Miss Keighley, may I present Lord Queshire?” she said.
Helena found her hand possessed by his lordship, as he bowed over it with great elegance. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Keighley. Mrs. Lacey tells me this evening is your doing. May I compliment you on an extraordinary endeavor?”
“Thank you, Lord Queshire,” Helena hesitated, not quite knowing what to make of his lordship, whose shirt points were so high he had difficulty turning his head.
“I had no notion the ladies in Kent were so charming,” he continued, glancing briefly at the white expanse of her chest. “Had I known I might have visited Folkestone earlier. You must honor me with a dance later this evening.”
“Certainly, my lord,” murmured Helena.
Lord Queshire bowed again and strolled away. Estella remained for a moment. “He is not so amusing as Malcolm,” she murmured, “but he is nonetheless quite talented in the bedroom. Still, I envy you, Miss Keighley.” With a wink, she followed her new paramour.
Rowena, a questioning look in her eye, replaced Estella. “Whatever does she want with you, I wonder?” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” said Helena hastily, remembering Malcolm’s words about Rowena’s tenacity. “She was simply being polite.”
“Mrs. Lacey rarely does things just to be polite,” observed Rowena. “I wonder—“
“She wished to introduce me to Lord Queshire,” interrupted Helena. “Should you not be tending to the guests, rather than gossiping with me?”
“My dear, I feel as though I am stealing your thunder. You did all the work, while I am serving as hostess and taking all the credit.”
Helena shook her head. “I have no desire to greet guests and talk to strangers,” she said. “Furthermore, in this situation you are the only possible hostess, as you belong to Wroxton Hall. I am a mere interloper.”
“Do not say so,” protested Rowena. “You are always welcome here.” She glanced at Malcolm. “I did have hopes—but that is neither here not there. But I must go.” She whisked away, leaving Helena relieved to be alone.
Catherwood announced that dinner was served, and the group moved to the dining room, chattering merrily. As she was far from the highest ranking lady present, Helena found herself on the arm of Sir Jason Partney, a handsome young man who was a bit of a dandy, and had been included in the party at Rowena’s suggestion to help make up the numbers. Helena amused herself by unobtrusively observing the large number of fobs and seals that hung from his elaborate waistcoat as they proceeded, while feeling grateful that she would be seated a safe distance from Malcolm.
At the table, the rector of a neighboring parish, who was better known for his hunters and pack of hounds than for his sermons, was seated on her other side. However, even this could not disturb her equanimity, for she was well aware that Mr. Wycherman required only an open ear and a closed mouth from his dinner partners, being far more interested in repeating hunting anecdotes than actual conversation.
Dinner, to Helena’s relief, went off without a hitch, and she kept her attention strictly on her dinner partners, not even stealing a glance at the earl. The ball began promptly at ten, and Helena had the pleasure of noting that the guests from London were as amazed by her handiwork as were the locals. Dozens of candles in the sparkling chandelier lit the salon, which resembled nothing so much as a garden brought indoors. Helena stood to one side as Malcolm greeted his guests, feeling a glow of pleasure at her accomplishment. She looked up once and caught Malcolm’s eye, and he smiled at her warmly.
The next arrival, however, was Lord Denby, and Helena felt her stomach tighten at the sight of him. This was no mere party; tonight would put an end to her travails with the free traders, Denby’s harassment, and quite possibly her friendship with Lord Wroxton. She should, she thought, be far happier with the idea than she was.
“You have quite set the neighborhood by the ears,” said a friendly voice next to her, and she jumped, turning to see Damaris next to her.
Helena chuckled. “It was a great deal of effort, but I do believe the result is worth it.”
“It’s beautiful.” Damaris looked her up and down. “As are you, my dear. Tell me, how do you and the Wicked Earl go on?”
Helena glanced over at Malcolm, who was bowing politely over Mrs. Cuthbert’s hand. His impeccable evening dress became his figure well, but the image of him in her room that afternoon was very much in her mind’s eye. “We are—that is to say, we shall—I mean, of course we do not—“
“I see,” said Damaris dryly. “Things are much the same as they were before.”
“I suppose they are.”
The musicians struck up a country dance, and Malcolm stood up with his sister. Lord Brayleigh had solicited Helena’s hand for the first dance, and Arthur came forward to claim Damaris as his partner. As the couples lined up, the well-dressed throng glittered in the candlelight, and the scent of the flowering trees lingered in the air. It seemed as though the old house welcomed the return of society within its walls, as the sound of the musicians filled the room with cheer. When the dance ended, Mrs. Cuthbert took her aside to compliment her.
“For, my dear, you have done something truly splendid here. The whole neighborhood is abuzz with talk. Do you think Wroxton means to spend more time in Kent?”
Helena glanced over to where Malcolm stood, looking, to her mind, far too much as ease. “I don’t know,” she replied. “He does not share his thoughts with me.”
“That is not what I’ve heard,” said Mrs. Cuthbert slyly. “Oh, look my dear, he is coming this way now. I’ll make myself scarce.”
“You need not—“ began Helena, but Mrs. Cuthbert had basely abandoned her, as Malcolm bore down on her.
“I believe the next dance is a waltz,” he said, smiling down at her. “Will you do me the honor of standing up with me?”
“I promised this one to Arthur,” said Helena.
“Then he will be disappointed.” Malcolm’s voice brooked no denial, and he led her out onto the floor. He put one hand on her waist, clasping her hand lightly with the other, and swept her into the dance. Helena noted with a touch of pique that his lordship, of course, waltzed expertly.
“It is quite daring of you to allow the musicians to play a waltz,” he said. “While it is now acceptable in London, I believe it still considered somewhat shocking in the countryside.”
“The populace expects nothing less from the Wicked Earl,” replied Helena, as lightly as she could. She could feel the strength of Malcolm’s thighs through the silk of her dress, and she found her mind wandering to other things. Which, she reflected, was precisely why certain matrons found the dance so improper. She looked up at him, wondering if he felt the same things, but his face was impeccably bare of emotion.
“You have outdone yourself, Helena,” he continued. “The county will talk of little but this evening for a month to come. I have to thank you again for your efforts.”
“It was all done in the service of catching the freetraders.” Helena kept her voice even. If he could pretend there was nothing between them, she could play that game as well.
“Ah yes, the freetraders.” Malcolm looked down at her pensively. “Denby is here.”
“I saw him arrive.”
“I promise you he will not trouble you again after tonight.”
“He does not bother me now. But I will be glad to have our plot finished and done.”
“Will you?” Malcolm’s hand tightened briefly on
her waist.
“I will,” she assured him, looking away from his questioning gaze.
“We will discuss this again at another time. For now, beware of Lord Denby. Del, Brayleigh and I are keeping an eye on him. When he makes a break for it, be sure we will know. We will make a show of leaving for the card room, and then follow him.”
Helena nodded. “I understand.”
Malcolm smiled. “Don’t be sorry that you will miss the capture. It will be very uncomfortable riding around in the dark, and, I hope, very little of substance will occur. With any luck, Denby and his men will be rounded up without a fight.”
“I know,” said Helena meekly. “I will remain here and make sure you are not missed.”
“You are oddly obedient,” teased Malcolm. “I wonder what has come over you.”
“I simply wish Denby to have his comeuppance.”
“Ah. You shall have that indeed. I promise.”
The music came to a close, and they stopped. Malcolm glanced down at her, seeming as though he wished to say something, but her partner for the next dance stepped up to claim her. The next hour passed in a whirl, as the company danced, gossiped, and sipped the excellent champagne from Wroxton’s cellars. Helena stood up with Mr. Delaney and Lord Queshire, in addition to any number of men she could later barely recall. It seemed the evening was enchanted indeed.
Chapter 41
Helena finished a particularly energetic reel with Mr. Wycherman, and glanced around the ballroom trying, as she had throughout night, to ascertain whether Denby and Malcolm were still in the room. She saw neither among the dancers, and so strolled to the supper room as she continued her search. Picking up a glass of champagne, she peered over its rim at the glittering throng. Noting that Brayleigh was also absent, she felt almost sure that the plot was afoot, but peeked into the card room to be sure. It was possible that Denby and Brayleigh were there, and Malcolm who, as host, could not politely desert the dancers, had merely checked on some arrangements, or gone to answer the call of nature.
The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) Page 33