Helena sat down and read the letter again. And then again. What a letter to receive! It was hardly credible, and yet there it was on the page. How could she have missed it? She lingered over the phrase blinded by a passion. It sent a strange thrill up her spine. She could have truly said that she had been blinded by passion when she met her husband, but could he have said the same? Of course, he had been charmed by her beauty, or so he said, and had treated her affectionately once they were married, but had there ever been a moment when he was blinded by passion for her? She did not know. He never said as much.
She set the letter down on the washstand, blew out the candle, and crawled under the covers of her large, cold bed. She would once have asserted that she could never desire another husband, but, in the dark of her room, she had to admit that she longed for the warmth of a man. William could be that man if she let him.
She had a sudden vision of his arms around her, their bodies entwined as one, and his warm gazed upon her with the flash of hungry desire she had seen when he told her that he loved her. The vividness of the image startled her.
“What is coming over me?” she whispered into her pillow. “Why am I suddenly consumed with thoughts of Lord Brandon when I had none before? I must have gone mad with loneliness. Or longing for times gone by. He reminds me of happier days. That is the only rational explanation.”
She finally fell asleep with her thoughts lost in a jumble of memories.
Chapter Six
The next day, she awoke with a start when the maid pulled open the curtains of her bed. It was morning, and she had actually slept the entire night. She lay back against the pillow, rested and relaxed, and then dozed a few minutes more just for the joy of it. When she went down to breakfast, her aunt was just finishing hers, surrounded on all sides by pugs anxiously hoping for crumbs.
“You are late this morning, Helena,” Lady Wickersham said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, for the first time in several nights. I am sorry to be late. Have we plans this morning?”
“I wished to see about those gloves we saw at Willingham’s. I do think they will go with my straw satin gown, don’t you?”
“Most assuredly. I promise I shall make quick work of my food.”
Lady Wickersham poured herself another cup of chocolate and then shushed several pugs as they whimpered in hopes of a reward. “It is strange that you should have slept so soundly for I was awakened half a dozen times by strange noises. You know how these houses get, all creaks and groans. I sent Abbott around to check and make sure there was nothing amiss, and he tells me that all is as it should be. I suppose it is my imagination. Getting old is so frightfully annoying. One’s mind is beset by foolish ideas.”
“Hearing strange noises in the night is normal enough. The dark makes the commonplace mysterious.”
“I suppose you are right. Still, living alone as I have since your uncle died makes one appreciate the male presence in the house. There is that sense of security that I miss.”
Helena nodded.
Lady Wickersham continued on, “Speaking of a man, where is Lord Brandon? Have you completed your review of the papers?”
Helena swallowed and then said with an air of indifference, “He had other obligations that have kept him away, but I hope we can finish the project.”
“Now, he would be just the sort of stable husband for you, Helena. Not that you are in the market for a husband just yet. I think men take it for granted that women will desire to marry again soon after their bereavement, but aside from protecting the house and all that, I don’t know that we need them for much.”
Helena nodded, and tried to finish a slice of bacon before she, too, was assaulted by pugs.
“Except for lovemaking, of course, that goes without saying, but after a certain age, even that loses its attraction. Particularly when it has served no purpose. If I had had children, I suppose I would have looked on it in quite a different light.”
Helena swallowed quickly and nearly choked. “Aunt!”
Lady Wickersham tut tutted. “There is no need for such prudishness between the two of us. I will speak my mind in my own house.”
“Of course,” Helena replied, duly chastised.
“Still, you are young yet, Helena, and should marry for love, or at least lust, if you possibly can.”
Helena repressed a giggle. “Oh Aunt, I promise I shall be advised by you in all things. Now, who would you have me love or lust after?”
“There are any number of agreeable men here in London. That Lord Brandon has quite a figure when he wears those skintight breeches. They are all the rage, I know, but would have been considered scandalous back in my day—not that your uncle didn’t have a very neat ankle, I will tell you. Still, Lord Brandon is possessed of a fine pair of legs. And Northcutt is charming enough, although not nearly so handsome. He wears his clothes well, which I suppose is an asset in the dandy circles he frequents. I would not look to the new Lord Carlyle for either love or lust. I am sure that he pads his calves to give them a shape, and if a man cannot be honest about his calves, then what else is he hiding?”
Helena bit her lip and replied in the most serious tone she could muster, “I promise, I shall make a study of their legs most carefully, as that seems to be indicative of their fitness for marriage.”
Lady Wickersham finished her chocolate and stood. “The legs always tell the story. Come babies, up to my room with you. I have a nice warm fire in the grate, and the cook has promised a soup bone if you are good, so hustle up now.”
The ladies spent most of the day shopping and then went to a friend of Lady Wickersham’s for supper and cards. They arrived home just after midnight and went straight to bed. The next day was spent in making and receiving calls. Mr. Northcutt was very much in evidence, and his cheerful demeanor soothed Helena’s nerves. He did attempt to renew his addresses to her once or twice, but was foiled by Lady Wickersham’s constant interruptions. That night, the ladies had tickets for the theater and saw a fine production of All’s Well that Ends Well. They returned to the house quite late after Lady Wickersham discovered a long-lost school fellow to be in town and sat talking with the woman for a good hour after the last curtain.
Helena awoke the next morning with the intention of writing letters after breakfast, including perhaps a response to Lord Brandon, if she could ever figure out what to say, but was detained by her aunt who wished for her guidance on just the right sort of feathers to wear on her turban with the straw-colored satin. So, it was something past midday when Helena entered the library.
The sight that met her eyes caused the blood in her veins to turn to ice. Books and papers lay scattered all over the floor. It was clear that someone had been looking for something and had seen no reason to search in an orderly fashion. Helena stood paralyzed for a moment or two and then heard a snuffling noise behind her. She turned with a start.
Georgie looked up at her with his big canine eyes. “Oh Georgie.” She scooped him up in her arms and nuzzled his face. “What are we going to do?” He licked her with a large wet tongue and then surveyed the scene.
“Georgie?” The door opened wide. “My Lord, what has happened here?” Lady Wickersham said.
Helena turned back to the chaos. “I have no idea, Aunt, but I think someone must have entered the house. Perhaps those were the noises that kept you awake two nights ago.”
Lady Wickersham came up beside her. “Abbott must be going blind if he missed this mess!”
“I have to think that he must not have opened the door, this room being unused before I came.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s the case. Is anything missing? Although what a thief could possibly have wanted in the library is beyond my understanding.”
“I have no notion myself, but as I should put the papers in order, I suppose I will find out.”
“Call Lord Brandon. Two eyes are better than one with that sort of project.”
“I don’t know if that would be wis
e. I wouldn’t want to burden him further. He has many things to occupy him at present.”
“Well ask, and he can refuse you if he hasn’t the time.”
Helena nodded reluctantly, her stomach twisted in a knot. How was she to face him after he had declared his love for her? What would she even say?
* * *
Lord Brandon woke suddenly from a fevered dream when his man pulled the bed curtains aside and sun streamed across his face. He had fallen into bed after a late night spent at the house of a friend, sulking over more brandy as he watched other men lose their fortunes at dice. He wished—no, hoped—no, expected—some sort of response to his letter from Lady Carlyle, but so far had received only silence. What could it mean? What was she thinking?
He blinked at the light. “Ugh. What time is it, Perkins?”
“Not more than midday, sir. You were in such a sound sleep, that I thought it best not to wake you.”
“Thank you, Perkins. I haven’t slept well in some days.”
Perkins nodded. “I will bring your breakfast up to you.”
“No, no. I shall be down directly.”
“Shall I lay out your green coat?”
“Yes. As the hour is so advanced, I think I will look in at my club.”
“Very good, sir. Let me bring your shaving things.”
After he had been shaved and dressed and finished a steak that Cook had prepared for him for dinner the night before, he felt almost like himself again. He hailed a hackney cab to his club and, encountering friends and acquaintances, stayed some time over a friendly card game.
He was just about to retrieve his hat and coat, when the new Lord Carlyle strolled into the coffee room, looking distinctly put out. He scanned the room, then approached Lord Brandon.
“How do you do, Carlyle?” William said.
“That bastard has stolen a march on me!”
“Who?”
“Northcutt, of course. I called at her house just now and was told she was indisposed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lady Carlyle, of course. Northcutt was making up to her the other night, and then this morning, Mr. Pennington tells me that it is all over London that Northcutt has made a match of it. Of course, I went to her house to confirm the rumor, and the old fool they have for a butler told me that she was indisposed. Indisposed, my eye!”
William felt as if someone had suddenly punched him in the gut—repeatedly. He took a step back and then reminded himself that he didn’t have the right to care. Lady Carlyle could decide to marry Northcutt if she chose. If that sort of man could make her happy, there was nothing he could say to it. “Look, Carlyle, what do you want me to do about it?” William asked curtly.
Reginald’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing, I suppose. I’m just so damn angry. Next time I see Northcutt, I’m going to wring his skinny little neck.”
While William secretly felt the same, he had to remain calm. “No, you aren’t. Look, there are plenty of ladies with dowries sufficient for your needs. Pick one of them and leave Northcutt alone.”
“It is not only the dowry and you know it. She is so damnably lovely, it hurts to look at her. Tell me you aren’t struck by her beauty, and I will call you a liar.”
William was unwilling to bare his soul to Reginald, but he also couldn’t lie with any degree of credibility. “Lady Carlyle is extremely beautiful,” he admitted, “but extreme beauty is not required for marital happiness. You would do better with another.”
Reginald turned angrily on his heel. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that you had some pretentions to her hand.”
Chapter Seven
Lord Brandon returned to his rooms in a considerably more depressed frame of mind than when he left them. She was going to end up with Northcutt and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He should go back to Edinburgh and escape the very sight of Lady Carlyle. He threw himself into a chair and put his head in his hands.
“Sir?”
He looked up, startled. “Perkins?”
Perkins held out a letter on a tray. “This note came for you, sir. I believe there may be some urgency associated with the reply. Or, at least, that was what the messenger informed me.”
William took it. “Thank you.”
When Perkins left the room, he broke the seal.
Dear Lord Brandon,
I write with haste as I have discovered that someone entered my aunt’s house several nights ago. My husband’s papers have been thrown asunder and I cannot tell if any are missing. I know that I am asking too much, but would it be possible for you to come and help me? If so, please send word by the same messenger.
Yours,
Lady Carlyle
His heart raced, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. She needed his help with the business of finding her husband’s killer. It was that business that impelled her to turn to him. Yet, she was betrothed to Northcutt. William had half a mind to refuse her just to save himself the anguish, but he had promised to find his friend’s killer, so he supposed he couldn’t turn back now.
* * *
Helena paced the room, waiting for Lord Brandon. She must remain calm. He would come to help with the papers. She couldn’t promise him more than that. Her own heart was too unsettled. Still, how could she meet him impassively?
She heard Abbott’s slow steps down the passage and gripped the edge of the desk. The door opened slowly. “Lord Brandon to see you, milady.”
“Show him in, please, Abbott.”
Abbott looked around at the mess and clicked his tongue. “Let me say how sorry I am to have missed the library in my search of the house. But I never thought— In short, it shall not happen again.”
“I am glad you did not search the library, Abbott, or else you might have caught the burglar and been injured in the struggle,” Helena said.
“Very good, milady.” He stepped back, opened the door to admit Lord Brandon and then left, closing the door behind him.
Lady Carlyle and Lord Brandon faced each other for a moment. She noticed that his warm eyes looked tired, like he hadn’t slept, and that his usually neat appearance was a little rumpled. His lopsided smile seemed tense.
He was struck, as always, by the beauty of her face, although she seemed paler than usual, and the smile on her lips had a brittle quality, as if at any moment she might cry.
Finally, William cleared his throat and said, “Well, it appears that the housebreakers did a thorough job of throwing the papers about.”
Helena released the breath she held. “Yes, as you can see. I was afraid I might not know if some paper is missing and thought two pairs of eyes was better for the job. Come, Lord Brandon, perhaps if you start with the desk and I with the floor, we might make some headway. I have asked Abbott to bring us tea to sustain us in the task.”
He nodded, sure that employment was just the thing to keep his mind away from her sinuous grace as she knelt to retrieve papers from the floor. Her manner remained business-like, and he began to consider the real possibility that she had accepted Northcutt’s hand in marriage. It felt like someone had stabbed his chest with a long knife, but he took a deep breath and plunged into the work.
Helena regarded him a moment in between picking up papers and carrying them to the desk. He had a stern look, studying Charles’s papers, and an even sterner look when he caught her watching him. He certainly didn’t appear to be the same man who had declared his love to her a little over a week ago. He must have decided that as she would not have him, he would not have her either. She felt a strange sadness. Surely, she was not a woman who toyed with men’s affections and wished to keep them always upon a string, but it was a lowering thought that he could have decided to move on from her that quickly after writing his letter.
She was so lost in reverie that she wasn’t watching the floor. She stepped on something hard and a pain shot through her foot.
“Ah!” she jumped back.
Lord Brandon wa
s immediately at her side. “What is it?”
“I trod upon something. It seems to be a piece of gold.” She picked up the small object and held it in the palm of her hand.
“It is a watch fob, I believe,” he said.
“A watch fob? Is it one of yours?”
He shook his head. “No. I would assume it is one of your late uncle’s fobs unless you or your aunt have entertained other gentlemen in the library?”
Helena gave him a hard look. “You are the only gentleman who has entered this library since I arrived, and my uncle was a very fastidious man. He never wore watch fobs. In fact, he made fun of men who did—called them popinjays. Besides, it has a C on it and that was not one of my uncle’s initials.”
“Forgive me, but it came into this room somehow.”
“You don’t think it was the thief, do you?”
He took the fob from her and examined it closely. “I have seen this somewhere before, but where?”
“Whoever dropped it must have been the man who ransacked the library. Please think, Lord Brandon.”
He walked over and set it on the desk. “I’m sure it will come to me.” He looked down at the piles of papers. “I cannot find that anything was stolen. The papers I examined are all in order. Can you find that anything is missing?”
“No, I can’t.” She sighed. “What do you think it all means? What could the thief have been after?”
“Perhaps it was only to frighten you and Lady Wickersham.”
“But why the library, of all the rooms in the house? I think that it must be connected with my husband’s death, or at least his papers.”
“I agree, but that doesn’t bring us any closer to the truth. Who have you told about your search for your husband’s killer?”
“You are the only person I have told about the Bow Street report. My aunt knows that I suspect something amiss with my husband’s papers. That is all.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If this intrusion was meant to frighten me, it has succeeded. I am well and duly frightened.”
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 32