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

by Susana Ellis

  Helena blanched. She’d considered there might be obstacles, but hearing the words was painful. She’d left one world that she’d never felt comfortable in. What if it turned out there was no longer a place for her here either?

  Lady Pendleton reached across the table and patted her hand.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. Things will work out as they should. My purpose in mentioning it is to advise you that if there is a chance you may elect to remain here, you will have to adapt to our ways. That may or may not include a marriage; you shall be the one to decide.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “You’ve done quite well this week. I haven’t heard any complaints about the tight fit of your corset or the smell of the privy. I believe your speech has improved ever so slightly as well. Are you feeling more comfortable with our way of living, my dear?”

  Helena gave a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I am, Your Ladyship.”

  It was true. She no longer felt uncomfortable being dressed and undressed by a lady’s maid. In fact, she rather liked having someone do her hair. While there were times when she wished she could slip into jeans and a t-shirt and run freely through Hyde Park, she found she enjoyed the girly-girl stuff more than she’d expected. She demurred at some of the ton’s more ridiculous rules, like wearing gigantic hoops for a court presentation (thankfully, it wasn't the season for that) and eating a peach with a knife and fork, but she found herself appreciating the elegance and grace of the Regency more and more as each day passed. Was that because she’d found a wealthy benefactor or because she’d returned to the world where she belonged?

  Lady Pendleton gave her a crisp nod and picked up the list on the table. “Number Three: Dancing. I believe you are doing well with Monsieur Arquette, particularly with the country dances. Of course, you must practice with more dancers. I believe I received an invitation from my cousin for a small, informal ball on Thursday night. I shall accept on behalf of the two of us. I believe you already know several of the young people who will be there.”

  A ball? Helena swallowed. “How many guests might there be at a ‘small, informal ball’?”

  “Only about one-and-a-half hundred or so,” responded her benefactor in a matter-of-fact tone. “Her ballroom won’t stand for more. It will be quite a crush as it is.”

  One hundred fifty people? “I-I see,” she said weakly. “And you believe I am ready for a ball of that size?” She felt a tightness in her chest at the thought of having to remember her steps in a crowded ballroom.

  Lady Pendleton waved away her misgivings. “An accomplished partner will do much to disguise any mistakes you might make. You don’t have the quadrille down well enough yet, but it’s so new you won’t be faulted for sitting out those sets.”

  Her mouth dry, Helena took a sip of tea. Surely a girl with a master's degree could manage one ‘small, informal ball’!

  “Number Four: Familiarity with the history of England.” She tapped her cheek with the end of the quill pen. "Your history degree does you credit, my dear, although it is a pity that your American bias is so conspicuous. Still, it is perhaps forgivable since you are American." She grinned. "I happen to be partial to them, myself."

  Her gaze returned to the list. "Your social history is a bit lacking, however. Do take some time with Debrett's this afternoon and I shall quiz you at dinner.”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship.”

  “Oh, and Helena…” she added, “Do call me Agatha when we are in private. There are some who call me Lady P as well, and I am not offended. I am not so high in the instep that I insist on such formality with my good friends.”

  Helena blinked away tears. “Yes, my l-, er, Agatha. I am honored.”

  The older woman’s eyes looked suspiciously bright. “You’ve become something of a daughter to me, Helena. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having young people around.”

  She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to her list. “Now as for Number Five…”

  * * *

  Four days later

  Helena had barely had time enough to change into her night clothes after the ball when she received the summons. Franklin Peters, the butler, still wore his nightcap when he knocked on Helena’s door and excused himself for waking her.

  “Lady Pendleton wishes you to attend her in her bedchamber.” His normally flawless livery was slightly mussed, and no doubt he’d forgotten about the nightcap while hastily dressing to answer the door.

  The light of dawn was just beginning to peer through her window at a quarter to four, and Helena was exhausted. The ball had lasted until the wee hours and Helena had a headache in addition to her aching feet. She’d met so many people, and it wasn’t until later that she realized the punch was spiked. Her benefactress had found her dance partners for every dance she had learned, and except for a few missteps in the beginning, she made a good accounting of herself.

  But she hadn’t stayed up so late since her early college days, so she yearned to put her head to the pillow and sleep until noon.

  “What is it, Peters?” she asked as they made their way to the master bedchamber.

  “An express came just now, Miss Lloyd.” Seeing her confusion, he added, “Messages arriving at such an hour rarely bring good tidings, you know.”

  Ah. Like phone calls in the middle of the night. She'd had one of those when her mom—her adoptive mother—had succumbed to cancer.

  She found Lady P sitting at her dressing table, wearing a fuchsia-colored wrapper over her pink nightgown. Silk, no doubt, as Her Ladyship had insisted she have nothing but silk for her own nightwear. Her hair was loosely braided and her gray eyes flashed silver with excitement when focused on Helena.

  Not bad news, apparently.

  “Helena, my dear, I’ve just had the most brilliant idea! You’re to go to Kent immediately. Izzy! Where is that girl? Surely she hasn’t gone to bed yet. We shall all be very busy packing to get you off as soon as may be.”

  Kent? Helena put her hands to her forehead in an effort to stop the pounding. All she wanted to do was fall into bed.

  "Why must we go to Kent? And why can't this wait until morning?"

  “You can sleep in the carriage. Come with me and I’ll explain while we’re packing. Peters, we’ll need the trunks from the attic.”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship.” Franklin straightened his clothing and Helena saw the nightcap was gone. He knew his mistress well enough to know further sleep would not be forthcoming.

  Helena sighed.

  * * *

  Newsome Grange

  Kingswood

  Kent

  Later that morning

  “Miss Dray is dead?”

  James stared incredulously at Sir Henry, who, for once, was not wearing his normal easy-going expression. Instead, he leaned against the mantel of the fireplace of his study, studying the grate as though there were a fire blazing in it.

  “Good God, what happened? Is Annabelle all right?”

  “She’s fine, James.”

  Lady Sarah strolled through the doorway and into her husband’s arms. In spite of her words, she looked worn out. Strands of her blonde hair were falling out of her chignon, and he thought he saw the remains of tears on her cheeks.

  “The girls are quite distressed, of course. They were fond of Miss Dray. As were we all,” she said with a glance at her husband, whose arm remained tightly clasped around her shoulders. “She was a dear thing, but very strict. The perfect governess. I don’t know how we shall go on without her.” Her voice broke and she buried her face on her husband’s chest.

  “They found her in Abbey Wood,” Sir Henry explained. “Wednesday was her half-day, and when she didn’t return, we sent out a search party. No signs of foul play. The doctor says it was natural causes—her heart just gave out.”

  His wife erupted in sobs again, and James decided he should find his daughter and leave the Newsomes to their grief, giving voice to that decision.

  Lady Sarah turned
to face him, accepting her husband’s handkerchief to dab her eyes with.

  “Oh no, James, you needn’t do that. The nanny will manage until Mother can send us a replacement. Emily and Theodosia simply love having Annabelle around, and it will only distress them further if she leaves as well. And as for Colin, I’ve no doubt he thinks Annabelle’s his mother by now. She has a way with babies, it seems.”

  James was not convinced. “Still, it takes time to find a governess.” He should know—the agency he’d consulted in London had yet to send him information on any potential candidates.

  Sir Henry chuckled. “Have you met my mother-in-law?”

  Lady Sarah smiled in spite of herself. “We sent an express requesting her aid. If I know her, she’ll come herself if she can’t find someone suitable to fill in until we find a permanent replacement.”

  Sir Henry winked at him. “Perhaps she’ll bring along that pretty Miss Lloyd she has residing with her. I think she liked you well enough.” He chuckled. “Not looking for a husband, though. Or so she says.”

  James frowned. He’d nearly succeeded in forcing the image of the forthright Miss Lloyd out of his mind, and now she had installed herself right back in again. If he were truthful with himself, he’d admit he wouldn’t be sorry to see her again. She was quite an eyeful.

  It was really too bad he hadn't been able to visit Violet while in London. It seemed her new protector demanded exclusivity, and he'd not been able to get past her burly butler. He hadn't been near an attractive woman in ages, and this Miss Lloyd was proving strangely difficult to dismiss from his thoughts.

  Lady Sarah looked thoughtful. “What do you know about this Miss Lloyd, Henry? Where did she come from? I don’t believe Mother has ever mentioned her before.”

  Sir Henry grinned as he looked down at her. “She’s your mother, my dear. Surely you know by now how unpredictable she can be.”

  Lady Sarah drew a deep breath. “I do know that. That’s precisely why I’m—concerned.”

  James cleared his throat. “I appreciate your kindness in offering to keep my daughter, but you obviously have more than enough to deal with at present. If you would be so kind as to call her down… I can send for her things later.”

  But the Newsomes wouldn’t hear of it. Lady Sarah was so vehement that he could see she was almost ready to burst into tears again, and after Sir Henry shook his head in warning, James visited his daughter briefly and left without her.

  As he rode home, no matter how he fought it, his mind’s eye kept reverting to a pair of bright green eyes and the lovely face that went with them. Would he be seeing them again?

  * * *

  The George Inn

  Swanley

  Kent

  That evening

  “Why is that man staring at us, Izzy? Do you know who he is?”

  Izzy turned slightly and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. “No, miss. But he’s a nob, that’s for sure. I’ll go ask the innkeeper’s wife.”

  Helena and Izzy had just arrived at the inn recommended to them by Lady P. It was a good thing they had departed so early, because the skies had grown dark and a pounding rain had begun to impede their progress. Helena felt sorry for the poor coachman outside in the deluge.

  “Just mention my name, and they’ll take good care of you there,” she had dictated. “Be sure to leave generous vails,” she added, nodding toward the coin purse she had hidden in the skirt pocket of Helena’s traveling frock. “I recommend the shepherd’s pie; Mrs. Hill’s is the best I’ve had.”

  Mr. Hill had given them a hearty welcome, and set them to wait in the public room until the chamber normally allocated to Lady Pendleton—“the premier suite”—was ready. “Won’t be but a moment,” he’d promised ten minutes ago. Helena had assured him that a normal room would be fine, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Nothing but the best for Lady Pendleton’s friends.”

  In the meantime, the dinner she’d ordered was scheduled for an hour later, in a private dining room that was also being prepared. After so many hours in a carriage—which, although undoubtedly the deluxe model according to standards of the era, was nonetheless the most bumpy ride Helena had ever undertaken—she yearned to stretch out her aching muscles and walk around the town for awhile. Since it was raining, however, she had to content herself with pacing the public room. Perhaps that was the reason that man was staring at her so brazenly. No doubt a respectable lady would just sit down and wait in a ladylike manner. Unfortunately, Helena wasn’t feeling the least bit ladylike, having missed a night’s sleep and then being packed off unceremoniously to Kent to be Lady Pendleton’s daughter’s governess.

  Temporary governess. “It’s a brilliant solution!” Lady Pendleton had proclaimed. “You like children, don’t you? You were a nanny, after all.”

  Helena agreed that it was so. “But my drawing is dreadful and the only needlework I know how to do is cross-stitch.”

  Lady P waved away her misgivings. “Teach them reading, geography, sums. Do you know French?”

  Helena shrugged. “Only enough to pass the undergraduate requirements at Florida State.” She could conjugate verbs with the best of ‘em.

  “That'll do. Take them to the park. Visit some of the local sites. It’ll give you something to do while we delve into your family origins.”

  Helena wasn’t sure who was meant by “we,” but she figured it was as good a plan as any. She did like children, and she’d been favorably impressed with Sir Henry too, the one time they’d met. The fact that she knew James Walker lived nearby and they were likely to bump into one another had absolutely nothing to do it.

  And frankly, she was a bit tired of the social scene in London. A holiday in the country sounded idyllic. Although it wasn't really a vacation. She would be taking charge of Lady Pendleton's grandchildren.

  A beaming innkeeper approached to show her to her rooms. “Tom will bring up your trunks directly,” he said. “I know you and your maid will be wanting a wash and a rest before dinner.”

  Izzy hurried to catch up. “The man’s name is Stephen Gibson,” she whispered in Helena’s ear. “He’s heir to the Cranbourne earldom. I overheard him mention that he thinks you favor his cousin Anne.”

  “Anne who?” Helena’s interest was piqued. Was this a clue to discovering her identity?

  “Don’t know, miss. Gibson, maybe.”

  She peeked into the public room on the way to dinner, but Stephen Gibson was gone. It was a clue, however. Perhaps the Newsomes knew something about the Gibsons. Heir to an earldom, was he? Perhaps this journey would turn out to be much more than just a detour. Her spirits revived, she entered the private room and ate heartily of shepherd’s pie, rolls, cheese, and fruit. The ale wasn’t bad either.

  Later, after Izzy had helped her into her night clothes, she collapsed into the bed and slept like a log.

  * * *

  Newsome Grange

  Kingswood

  Kent

  Twenty-four hours later

  The Newsomes must be filthy rich.

  Newsome Grange was a large, brick manor house with a white-pillared portico, two stories of windows, and at least six chimneys jutting out from the roof. Not as massive as Chatsworth, which Helena had been privileged to visit in the twenty-first century, but still large enough to require a boatload of servants to maintain it. She wondered if the Grange still existed in the twenty-first century or if it had become too costly to maintain and been destroyed or turned into a public building. Hopefully, its owners had made a deal with the National Trust to keep it maintained and open to the public.

  The taxes alone must be staggering.

  Izzy, of course, had visited on previous occasions with her mistress.

  “Sir Henry bought the place when he started his horse-breeding business. The stables are out past the orchard. Prinny himself was out here to look at a horse once.”

  Prinny. The Prince Regent. She’d heard many stories about him from Lady P. A na
rcissist who lived only for his own pleasures. Lady P scoffed at his self-absorption in private, but she remained an admirer of his taste in art, architecture, and music. “If only he cared as much about the English people as he does the Brighton Pavilion!” she had lamented.

  Sir Henry and Lady Sarah turned out to meet them as the carriage came to a stop in front of the portico. Helena bowed her head slightly at Sir Henry’s greeting, and waited to be introduced to his wife. Lady Sarah was more or less her own height, with a fringe of dark blonde hair framing her face, her blue eyes signaling a hint of wariness.

  “Welcome to Newsome Grange,” boomed Sir Henry.

  “Yes, indeed,” said his wife more cautiously. “We’ve had an express from my mother. Do come in and Mrs. Morton will show you to your rooms. Dinner is at six.”

  As she followed the housekeeper, Helena wondered how much Lady P had told her daughter about her new protégée. She had a feeling Lady P’s close family were all aware of her remarkable journeys into the future, but she wasn’t sure that they would be eager to accept a stranger from the future into the immediate family, not to mention put the care of their children in her hands.

  The room she was shown to was decorated in shades of yellow and white, with pretty lime green curtains and a matching wing chair in the alcove. The ruffles hanging from the canopy, yellow printed with white roses, were created from the same fabric as the bedskirt and the counterpane. The rest of the furniture—a dressing table, a small writing desk, and a bureau were spotless white, with cushions and knickknacks in shades of yellow and green.

  “This is the closet,” Izzy announced, opening a door to reveal a walk-in closet with pegs for hanging on both sides and rows of shelves for shoes and other items of ladies’ accessories. “I’ll begin unpacking immediately, miss.”

  Helena looked longingly at the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up in it and ease her aching muscles.

  “There’s time enough for that later, Izzy. Just lay out a dress for dinner and we can both get some rest.” She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and sighed. “Well, half an hour is better than nothing, I suppose.”