A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2)

by Susana Ellis

  He leaned forward and clapped James on the shoulder. “No worries, old chap. A quarter of an hour doing the pretty and we’ll be off. Tattersall’s is practically on her doorstep, you know.”

  James rolled his eyes. Lady Pendleton was well-known for her frank and intrusive manner. She had a way of looking at a person that made you think she knew what you were thinking. She was also one who never failed to remind James that he owed it to his daughter to remarry.

  On one occasion, at a dinner party at Newsome Grange, he had told her in no uncertain terms to stop meddling in his life, and, after a brief moment of shocked silence, she’d thrown her head back and erupted in laughter that had silenced the entire table and delayed the presentation of the next course for a full five minutes.

  “I knew I liked you, Mr. Walker,” she’d said as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “A gentleman who speaks his mind. He thinks I’m a meddler,” she informed the other guests. “Can you imagine? Me—a meddler?”

  The room abounded with laughter, and Lady Sarah, with a sympathetic look, took pity on him.

  “My mother is the very definition of meddlesome, Mr. Walker. It is a cross my sisters and I have borne forever, and no doubt everyone here has suffered from it as well. Never fear—it will pass.”

  A quarter of an hour at Lady Pendleton's at-home? Surely he could manage to muddle through for that length of time.

  A stout, gray-haired butler with friendly blue eyes greeted them at the door and led them into the drawing room, where Lady Pendleton was bidding farewell to a caller. A Mrs. Endicott, he discovered as they were introduced. She looked him over with an appraising eye, and he discerned that she must have a marriageable daughter or two. He bid her goodbye, turned his head away, and found them drawn in by the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen.

  Like the dewy fruit of the lime, they sparkled with tartness. A few strands of her red-blonde hair escaped from the knot at the back of her neck, and he had an urge to tuck them behind her ear. For all that he was sure they'd never met, there was a familiar look about her.

  “Dear Henry, how kind of you to drop by. Sarah and the children are well? And you brought Mr. Walker with you as well! I’m flattered that you condescended to come to my little at-home.”

  Her Ladyship, dressed in a bright yellow morning gown with big red rosettes, turned her penetrating brown eyes on him while she pulled the mystery woman to her side. “Allow me to introduce my protégée, Miss Lloyd. She is an American, the daughter of an old school friend who married and moved to the former colonies."

  "Helena, this is my son by marriage, Sir Henry Newsome, and a neighbor of his, Mr. James Walker.

  Miss Lloyd's face went white when she saw him and she stumbled back a step until steadying herself on the back of a nearby chair. But she recovered quickly, bowing her head slightly and offering him her hand

  Was she ill? Or was she piqued by his rudeness in staring at her.

  “Sir Henry is married to my youngest daughter, Sarah. A bit long in the tooth for her, but she had her mind set on him, and there was nothing else to be said.”

  Sir Henry grinned as he bowed over the young lady’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lloyd. My mother-in-law is really quite fond of me, but she enjoys pretending otherwise.” He approached Lady Pendleton and gave her an enthusiastic hug. She kissed him on the cheek and then pushed him away and began fussing with her gown.

  “What Sarah ever saw in you I’ll never understand,” she sputtered, then chuckled as she returned his lighthearted gaze. “Well, perhaps I do, after all,” she confessed. “Just see to her happiness, dear Henry, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sir Henry responded, with a wink in Miss Lloyd’s direction. “Did I not promise you so at our wedding breakfast?”

  Lady Pendleton narrowed her eyes. “So you did. And mind you don't forget it."

  James felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend. God save him from such a mother-in-law!

  He turned his attention back to the pretty Miss Lloyd, bowing politely. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Lloyd. Shall you be staying long in England?”

  Miss Lloyd flushed charmingly, and it occurred to him that he had not seen a lady so pretty in years. Three years, in fact. She had a look that reminded him of his late wife. The nose. The cheekbones. The daintily-shaped ears. Anne’s eyes had been shamrock green, and her hair honey blonde. Miss Lloyd’s figure was distinctly more curvy. An attractive armful, he reflected, before giving himself a mental shake. Wherever she had come from, she was a lady and thus not eligible for the sort of connection he had in mind. He made a mental note to slip away from Sir Henry for a visit with Violet. It had been some time since his last visit. Weeks? Months?

  “A few weeks, perhaps,” said Miss Lloyd.

  James blinked. Surely he hadn't said that out loud.

  “Helena is here to search for some cousins of her mother’s that she’s lost touch with over the years. And, of course, to enjoy the pleasures of London. It’s my hope she’ll decide to remain here.”

  James smiled in relief that he hadn't slipped up.

  “Ah, husband-hunting, are you?” Sir Henry tipped his head in James’s direction. “My friend here is available. A widower, you know.”

  James wanted to plant his fist squarely on Sir Henry’s jaw.

  Miss Lloyd backed away. “Heavens, no!” Her tone was so emphatic that both gentleman stared at her incredulously.

  “I am not looking for a husband,” she insisted, with a defiant look at Lady Pendleton. “There are other options for women besides becoming some man’s property.”

  Were there? James could only think of one other option, and he couldn’t believe she really meant that.

  Lady Pendleton looked pained. “My dear…” she began, and was interrupted by the arrival of the housekeeper with the tea trolley.

  “Do let us sit down and have some tea. Helena, will you offer the gentlemen some of Mrs. Hunt’s fine strawberry tarts? She’s quite famous for them, you know. Sally Jersey has been after me forever to get the receipt for her, and Mrs. Hunt simply won’t hear of it. I daresay she’d have to if the Prince Regent were to entreat her for it, but for anyone else, I fear they are doomed to disappointment.”

  * * *

  Helena sipped her tea and took a back seat as Lady Pendleton dominated the conversation. No doubt she was afraid to give Helena the opportunity to make another inappropriate comment.

  But Helena could hardly keep from staring at James Walker. Because when he'd first stepped through the doorway, she'd taken him for the man in the portrait. The one with the compelling brown eyes. But once she'd gained her composure, she realized it was unlikely to be true. The man in the portrait could have been any dark man. Quite good-looking too. A hunk, really. Average height for a man, he was a few inches taller than she. Perfect.

  And his coffee-colored eyes had heat in them when they’d landed on her. He'd examined her from head to toe and liked what he was looking at. Hadn’t even flinched at the ill-fitting pink dress borrowed from Lady Pendleton.

  At first. Before she'd made her little blunder, that is.

  It was all Helena could do to keep herself from drooling. His slightly tousled dark brown hair—cut to mid-ear and longer in the back—made her itch to run her hands through it. She liked the way his beige nankeen trousers clung to his thighs, and his broad chest filled out the bottle green waistcoat. His neckcloth was neat, but not ostentatious, and he bore the look of a man worked for a living, not like a useless dandy. Perhaps working for a living was not the most appropriate way to describe it, since Lady Pendleton had explained to her that gentlemen did not work for a living. What they did with their time was a mystery to Helena, but she had a feeling that James Walker was not an idle man.

  Nor Sir Henry. His appearance did not jive at all with her image of a country squire—a short, rotund, slightly coarse man of sixty years or so who interspersed his speech with “Jolly good show,” an
d “Pip! Pip!” Leaner and a decade or so older than his friend, he was still agile and quite attractive. In manner, though, he was quite squire-like, with the genuine look of interest in his warm brown eyes as he greeted her and teased Mr. Walker about his need for a wife.

  Helena’s jaw tightened as she recalled the utter look of horror on James’s face when the subject of marriage was mentioned. Feeling humiliated and oddly betrayed, she’d lashed out and nearly caused a scene with her vigorous condemnation of the institution of marriage. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass the woman who was so committed to helping her.

  Control yourself. No one is going to force you to marry anyone.

  Nothing could be further from her mind than giving herself to some man who would be legally entitled to beat her.

  Why, then, had she felt so disappointed when the friendly attraction she’d seen in James Walker’s eyes had so abruptly turned to dismay at the mention of marriage?

  She shrugged. Why did she care? She hadn't come to find romance. It didn't matter one jot to her if he turned out to be a womanizer, like Richard Earskine. She'd come here out of curiosity, to learn of her origins, see if she had any siblings or cousins, or perhaps even parents still alive.

  Hunky Regency gentlemen didn't fit into her plans.

  * * *

  “Goodness!” Lady Pendleton exclaimed after the gentlemen had left and Helena had apologized for her rudeness. “How on earth could you have taken such a dislike of Mr. Walker? No fortune, of course, but Henry tells me he's doing fabulously with his estate, which is saying something, since it was in sad shape when he inherited it. He's quite a catch for some lucky girl. Quite attractive, don't you agree? Doesn't gamble or haunt the fleshpots. Family connections too—he's a distant cousin to Lord Melbourne."

  Helena frowned. "Your Ladyship…"

  Lady Pendleton ignored her. "The daughter is a handful, from what I’ve heard, but that’s certain to happen when there’s no mother to take her in hand.”

  She shook her head. “What he needs is a wife. I’ve told him so any number of times, but all he does is accuse me of meddling. I ask you, what does he expect an old lady to do if not meddle in the lives of others?”

  Helena nearly choked on her strawberry tart. No wonder James had been so irritated at Sir Henry’s comment!

  “A meddler? You?” she said, biting her lips to hide a smile.

  Lady Pendleton grinned. “You young people don’t understand the advantages that age gives a woman, particularly a widow.” She sighed. “Not that I don’t still miss my dear departed husband George. He and I got on well once I learned how to properly manage him. That said, there is something quite wonderful about having the freedom to do what I want, whenever I want to do it. Not worrying so much about pleasing others. Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause a scandal that could have repercussions on my daughters and their families, but I’ve found I quite enjoy being labeled an eccentric. Odd behavior is exactly what they expect when they see me.”

  Something about that struck Helena as familiar.

  “Mrs. Herne,” she said thoughtfully. “Mrs. Herne said something similar. She hinted that she was—immortal. That she chose to stop aging in her fifties. Did you…”

  Lady Pendleton's eyes widened, then she began laughing so hard she had to hold on to the arms of her chair with both hands.

  “Oh my dear,” she exclaimed when she finally caught her breath, “are you truly asking if I’m immortal? Heavens, no! Nor would I wish to be. I enjoy dabbling a bit in traveling through the ages, but I am as human and mortal as you are.”

  For some reason, Helena felt relieved. “And Mrs. Herne…”

  Lady Pendleton frowned. “She’s called Madame Herne here, my dear. In all honesty, I don’t know what she is. A witch? A goddess? I have always had the feeling that she has what some call ‘an old soul.’ Superstitious folk will have nothing to do with her. Whatever she is, she’s always struck me as having a good heart. I trust her. I don’t really need to know anything else—and she wouldn't tell me anyway.”

  The clock chimed four o'clock and the at-home was over. Lady Pendleton rang the bell for the tea things to be taken away, and the two women parted ways, Lady Pendleton to her study to work on her correspondence, and Helena to her room to read the novel she’d borrowed from her hostess's library, the first volume of The Mysteries of Udolpho.

  It wasn’t until later that she recalled something Lady Pendleton had said about James Walker… that he had a daughter. Helena idly wondered if she resembled the girl in portrait, but then rejected the idea as too far-fetched. Which made her chuckle as she considered the whole time-travel thing. Could anything ever again be too far-fetched?

  Thoughts of the portrait and James dominated her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to get into Udolpho's mysteries. Finally, the book fell from her hands, and her dreams were filled with images of James Walker interspersed with the Mystery Man in the portrait.

  5

  42 Grosvenor Square

  London

  Two weeks later

  “Number One: Wardrobe.” Lady Pendleton smiled across the breakfast table at Helena, who was wearing one of her new gowns, an apple green morning dress that enhanced her sparkling green eyes. “You do look lovely in that gown, my dear. I believe I like it even better than the rose pink.”

  Helena hid a smile. She’d tried to veto the pink, believing it to be too “little-girlish” for a grown woman, but her benefactor had insisted. And in all honesty, she had been pleased with the result. The color brought out the reddish strands in her blonde hair and complemented her eyes, giving her the feeling of a fairy princess. While one part of her objected on principle—she did, after all, pride herself on being a strong, independent woman—there was another part of her that reveled in “playing dress-up” as she called it.

  Although she had loudly objected to the size of the wardrobe Her Ladyship had deemed essential. The Season was over, after all, and she wouldn't be going to dozens of balls, or even Almack's. Would she even be there long enough to wear them all?

  “Number Two: Manners.” She tipped her head and gave Helena an assessing glance. “You’ve made great progress, my dear. I’ve seen nothing exceptionable about your conduct on any of our calls this past week, and Lady Jersey herself was all compliments at her Venetian breakfast on Saturday. She thinks you might have a chance at a splendid match, in spite of your age and your mysterious origins.”

  Helena’s eyes narrowed. “More matchmaking?” She felt like throwing her book across the room, but didn't, since it belonged to her hostess. "Can't I be a spinster or-or a bluestocking? Someone who's sworn off marriage for good."

  Lady Pendleton put down her list and smiled. “Dear me, you are far too pretty for that." She cocked her head and pretended to study Helena's face. "I suppose we could powder your hair and add a pair of spectacles." She shook her head. "No, some men would find that even more appealing."

  She gave Helena a direct look. "I assure you that no one here will force you to marry, Helena. But this is the way our society works, and it's something you will have to become accustomed to, whether or not you decide to remain. Mixing with the ton and asking discreet questions is the best way to discover the identity of your parents—if indeed they are noble, as I suspect from your locket.”

  Helena shifted in her seat. “I know,” she said with a wry smile. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, my lady. Your generosity is beyond belief. It’s just that… it seems to be such a laborious process. Where I come from, I could get on the Internet and find a hundred leads in about three seconds. Whereas here, it’s been more than two weeks and we haven’t made any progress.”

  Lady Pendleton shook her head and aimed a long-suffering look in Helena’s direction. “Young people are ever impatient.”

  She took another sip of tea and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “And shortsighted. Think on this, Helena. Why are you here? If all you wished was to discover your origins, yo
u might have begun by studying genealogical records, cemetery plots, or even DNA tests. But you did not. Given the opportunity, you decided to risk traveling backwards in time. And it was a risk. I know because I've had to come to terms with it myself. You can never tell where you're going to appear and what situation you'll find yourself facing. You must be prepared for anything, including the possibility of not being able to return."

  She crossed her arms and gave Helena a searching look. "Why, Helena? Did you come here simply to find your family and then return to your old life that made you so unhappy? Or is it possible you came here with the intention of taking back the life here that you were born to?”

  Helena’s mind raced. Had she been intending to stay when she made the decision to come here? The thought had been in the back of her mind, but events had happened so quickly that she hadn’t considered anything beyond discovering her true roots. If she did indeed find her family and a fulfilling life, would she be willing to give up all the modern conveniences and advantages of the twenty-first century? Planes, cars, good roads, computers, and yes, the Internet? Even worse, modern medicine. People died of things that could be cured by a pill or a simple laparoscopic operation in the world where she grew up.

  “I-I don’t know,” she said finally.

  “Of course you do not,” said Lady Pendleton kindly. “You have no idea what you will find when your family is finally located. You cannot possibly know whether or not they will welcome you as their long-lost daughter or discard you as an impostor. No DNA tests here, unfortunately. A younger sister may not welcome a stranger coming along to usurp her inheritance.”