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

by Susana Ellis

  “Tell me about Miss Dray,” she encouraged.

  The conversation was slow at first, but soon all three girls were eulogizing the merits of their late governess. There were smiles among the tears, though, as Helena reminded them that Miss Dray would live on in their hearts and minds, even though she could no longer physically be with them.

  “My mother died,” said Annabelle. “I don’t remember much about her, but I have a watercolor of her. She was pretty.”

  “I lost my mother too,” said Helena. “But I was in coll—I was in university at the time, so I still remember everything about her.”

  Three faces stared at her in astonishment.

  “You went to university? But you’re a woman!”

  Helena caught her breath. Oops. “It was in America,” she blurted out, “Things are different in America, you know.”

  “Do not women in America marry and have children?” Emily looked puzzled.

  “Oh yes, of course they do. But they can also become doctors and lawyers if they wish.” Although Helena didn't think Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman doctor, had been born yet.

  “Really?” Theo’s eyes glowed with interest. “Can women in America breed horses, then?”

  “Of course they can,” her sister answered. “Women here do that too, silly. Miss Phelps and her brother have one in Oxfordshire. Papa bought a mare from them last year.”

  Annabelle, who was studying Helena from her position on her side on the wool blanket, broke in. “Does everyone in America talk like you, Miss Lloyd? You have a strange way of saying things sometimes. Like ‘O-K.’ What does that mean?”

  Helena bit her lip. “It is a word Americans use a lot.” At least in the twenty-first century. "It's an affirmative. Like yes, or fine."

  Annabelle’s brow furrowed. “Or aye,” she said thoughtfully.

  "Exactly."

  Theodosia had been eyeing the lake with eager anticipation. "May we take off our shoes and stockings and wade in the lake, Miss Lloyd?”

  "Certainly."

  "Okay," Annabelle corrected.

  Helena smiled. "Just don't go out too far."

  It was becoming clear to her that her presence was already having an impact on the timeline. She hoped she wouldn't do something that might inadvertently cause World War III. But if she did… oh well.

  * * *

  The first few days at Newsome Grange proved to be fascinating for Helena. She and Lady Sarah had agreed to forego lessons for awhile, at least in the schoolroom. Instead, Helena encouraged them to be the teachers and show her around the estate. She got to see butter being churned, cows milked, fields being planted with horse and plow, and even a foal being birthed in Sir Henry's stud. She watched Sir Henry on his rounds, joking with his employees, feeding a carrot to his favorite mount, and conferring with his steward about a broken fence. He was a hard worker, despite the fact that "work" was supposed to be for the lower classes.

  Nor was Lady Sarah a slouch. Still nursing Baby Colin—she refused to even consider allowing a wet-nurse near her child—she was kept busy planning meals, reconciling accounts, consulting with the cook and housekeeper, and evaluating her family's wardrobe needs. In spite of the fact that she employed nursery maids and a governess, she still made time for her children, reading stories or encouraging them to read to her, playing along with their tea parties, and tucking them into bed at night.

  The Newsomes were hardly an example of the idle rich Helena had heard about.

  Marcus Newsome, however, was the perfect example of a spoiled young rich kid. A future Tricky Dickie? For his parents' sake, Helena hoped he would grow out of it.

  Marcus was Sir Henry's heir, his son by his first wife. In his early twenties, he was always dressed to the nines, rather ostentatiously, in fact. Sir Henry thought his dress far too dandy-like, and did not hesitate to say so. Marcus spent most of his time in London, doing whatever wealthy young men did, probably drinking, gaming, and wenching, Helena thought. Helena learned from one of the kitchen maids—not that she approved of listening at doors—that Marcus had come to Kent this time to beg his father for an advance on his allowance. But once he'd set eyes on Helena, he'd decided to stick around a little longer. To Helena's great chagrin.

  Because—despite the fact that he was to be married in the autumn—Marcus followed her everywhere. He was another Tricky Dickie! But it was worse, because, as the son of her employer, she had to be polite to him. Which meant graciously accepting his presence on her excursions with the children. Not rolling her eyes when he boasted of his London exploits. Politely refusing his invitations to accompany him on a drive or visit the dairy barn. Please! She knew exactly what was planned for her in the dairy barn. But she had to pretend not to know that, for her employers' sake. But the more tolerance she exhibited toward his behavior, the bolder he became.

  In the end, she reluctantly decided to approach Sir Henry. Ironically, it was that same day that Marcus decided to make his move.

  * * *

  “No! Please let me go, Mr. Newsome!”

  “Marcus.” James could hear the male voice clearly through the drawing room door. “Call me Marcus. Haven’t we gone beyond the formalities by now, Helena?”

  “No, we have not! You arrived here three days ago, and you’ve been stalking me ever since. What if Miss Hill should hear of your disgraceful behavior?”

  “Miss Hill!” Even James could hear the disdain in young Newsome’s tone. “Why should she care? She knows it’s an arranged marriage.”

  “So I’m to be the first of a long line of extramarital affairs? Forget it, buddy! I cut my eyeteeth on jerks like you!”

  There was a yelp of pain, and James flung open the door to see the heedless Marcus Newsome red-faced and clutching his groin. Miss Lloyd stood by with a look of disgust on her face, both hands clenched into fists. This was a woman who could fend for herself, he thought admiringly. She wasn’t at all like the women he knew.

  “She’s vicious!” whined young Newsome upon seeing James in the doorway. “I just wanted to take her for a drive—and look what she’s done to me!”

  James’s nostrils flared as he strode over to the hapless young man, pulled him off the floor by his cravat, and tossed him into an overstuffed chair nearby.

  “You should be grateful that I hold your father in great esteem, because I am sorely tempted even now to plant you a facer! Importuning a young lady, a member of your father's household! Sir Henry would be appalled."

  Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "You're not going to tell him, are you? I didn't mean any harm. It was all her fault. She led me on!" He pointed a shaky finger at Miss Lloyd, whose mouth fell open in surprise. He shook his head in warning.

  "You are a liar and a cad, Marcus Newsome. I heard enough of the encounter to know otherwise. Now get out of my sight, before I lose any patience I have left and send you flying into the next county!"

  Marcus hastened away, leaving James alone with Miss Lloyd, whose flushed face made her look even more attractive than he remembered.

  She tucked a reddish-blonde curl behind her ear. “T-Thank you,” she said weakly. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She put a hand to her chest and took a series of short breaths to gain control. “The last thing I want to do is cause a rift between Sir Henry and his son.”

  James took her arm and urged her to a chair. “It’s hardly your fault, Miss Lloyd. Marcus’s behavior was unpardonable. He’s always been a ramshackle fellow. No doubt he’s here because his pockets are to let and no one else will bear his presence. Were you injured at all?”

  Miss Lloyd laughed shakily. “Only my pride,” she said. “Your arrival was well-timed, though. I might have had to punch him in the eye and spoil his good looks."

  He raised his eyebrows at her plain speaking. “Appears to me that you had everything in hand, striking a blow, as you did, in just the right place.”

  She grinned. “I took a course in self
-defense in col—at school,” she said.

  “A most singular course of study for a young lady,” he commented, studying her with interest. “Have you been teaching your American curricula to my daughter?”

  “Oh no!” Miss Lloyd hastened to reassure him. “That is—I would do so if my employers thought it appropriate. Do you yourself disapprove of young ladies being taught to defend themselves?”

  She gave him a defiant look. James chose his words carefully.

  “Well,” he said, his fingers rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I shouldn’t care for my daughter to be in the habit of involving herself in brawls, of course, but I shouldn’t object to her being taught to defend herself. Although,” he added, “I would rather she not put herself in a position require such defending in the first place. Which is why ladies are expected to be accompanied when they are out in public.”

  Miss Lloyd rolled her eyes. “Typical,” she said, her voice clipped. “The little woman stays home where the male can protect her, and if she leaves his protection, it’s her own fault if she’s assaulted.”

  James’s eyes widened. “I didn’t say that,” he protested. Her eyes were flaming green fire, and he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

  “No, but you implied it,” she argued. “If a woman is assaulted, she’s a slut, but the cad who assaulted her makes another notch on his bedpost.”

  A notch on his bedpost? Helena Lloyd certainly had a unique way of expressing herself. But he couldn’t deny the truth of her accusation. Slut?

  “I would hope,” he began slowly, “that my protection would be enough, but I cannot disagree that a woman should be taught to defend herself should it become necessary." He nodded in her direction. You make a valid point, however. Society is quick to condemn the woman in such cases, while the man's behavior is excused.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “Is it very much different in America, then?”

  Miss Lloyd shook her head and smiled wryly. “No. Things are much the same where I came from. I suppose someday the double-standard will disappear, but yes, in my time the males still have the upper hand.”

  In her time?

  Lady Sarah burst in, looking flustered. “Miss Lloyd, do you know where Marcus has got to? It’s nearly time for luncheon, and he wasn’t up when we left for church this morning. Oh, there you are, James, Higgins informed me of your arrival,” she said when James rose from his chair. “Annabelle will be delighted to see you. She feels your absence a great deal, you know. The girls will be dining with us today. But we can’t seem to find Marcus.”

  James took her hand and kissed it. “Good day, Lady Sarah. I don’t believe Marcus will be joining us after all. There was a bit of problem, you see.”

  He gave a brief summary of the altercation.

  Lady Sarah grimaced and shook her head sadly.

  “My dear, I’m so sorry,” she said with a sympathetic look at Helena. “I thought my husband made it clear to him last evening that you were off-limits, but the boy has been so ill-tempered since he got sent down from Oxford and his father insisted he betroth himself to Miss Hill. I told Henry it was a mistake, but he thinks it will make a man of him."

  "Poor Miss Hill," said Helena. Her nostrils were flaring. James had the impression she wanted to say a lot more on the subject.

  "Indeed," said Lady Sarah, pursing her lips.

  Trouble in paradise? Or simply a minor marital squabble? In any case, Lady Sarah took the opportunity to change the subject.

  “We shan’t wait on him to begin our meal.” She waved her arm toward the dining room. “The children are ravenous, and Cook’s ready to serve the soup. Will you join us, Mr. Walker? I'm sure Annabelle will enjoy the opportunity to display her handsome father to the girls."

  "I will, yes. Thank you, Lady Sarah."

  He'd brought a picnic lunch for his outing with Annabelle, but he agreed with Lady Sarah that Annabelle would rather he stay. And he wouldn't mind having the opportunity to observe more of the enigmatic Miss Lloyd either.

  Her Ladyship tucked her arm into Miss Lloyd’s, and whispered—just loud enough for James to overhear—that Sir Henry would ensure that she not be importuned by Marcus again in future. She would insist that he be sent away somewhere where he would have to behave himself, quite possibly to the family of his betrothed, where his future father-in-law would be closely scrutinizing his behavior.

  James privately doubted that Marcus could be kept in line quite that easily, but it was worth a try. He followed them into the dining room.

  7

  Newsome Grange

  Kingswood

  Kent

  The next afternoon

  Blue bells, cockle shell

  Easy ivy over

  Oh no, here comes Miss Lloyd

  With her big black stick

  Now it’s time for arithmetic

  One plus one is

  Two

  Two plus two is

  Four

  Four plus four is

  Eight

  Eight plus eight is

  Sixteen

  Now it’s time for spelling

  Spell cat

  C-A-T

  Spell dog

  D-O-G

  Spell hot

  H-O-T

  James watched, fascinated, from the terrace as his daughter, the lower portion of her frock hiked up over knees, skipped a rope turned by Miss Lloyd and Emily Newsome. Her eyes sparkled with excitement when she successfully navigated the last few, very quick, turns.

  “I did it!” she said as the rope stilled.

  “Brilliant!”

  James descended the steps to the garden and bent down as Annabelle ran into his arms.

  “Papa! Did you see? I did hot peppers!”

  James tilted his head to one side. “Is that what you were doing? It looked as though you were skipping rope.”

  Annabelle squealed. “I was skipping rope, Papa! Hot peppers is when you have to skip really, really fast.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t really. Hot peppers? He sent a questioning look in Miss Lloyd’s direction.

  “Your teaching methods are quite unique, Miss Lloyd.”

  She grinned. “We’re having recess. It’s not healthy for children to be cooped up in a schoolroom all day, and skipping rope was one of my favorite activities when I was at school.”

  Her eyes sparkled like fairy dust, he thought, not for the first time. A lock of hair had escaped her coiled braid, and he was struck by the desire to push it back behind her ear—and touch her face while he did so.

  Good God, why do I have these thoughts whenever I'm near this woman? She's a damned governess, for heaven's sake! Governesses ought not to be as pretty as this one, though.

  Miss Lloyd took the other end of rope from Emily and instructed the children to practice on their own for a few minutes.

  “Did you wish to speak to me about something, Mr. Walker? Or is it Annabelle you came to see?”

  “Er-yes, to both questions.” He nodded in the direction of a pretty little bower on the edge of the fountain of Venus and Adonis. “Will you take a seat over here with me? I believe the children will be well in sight from that position.”

  “Certainly.”

  He offered his arm and she took it as they strolled through the garden to a white-painted seat under the rose-covered bower.

  “So… what can I help you with, Mr. Walker? Is it something about Annabelle?”

  Not really, thought James. “Yes, of course,” he lied. Well, perhaps it wasn’t completely a lie. He did care about Annabelle’s progress.

  “It’s a bit premature to make any assessments, of course,” she began. “We've only begun classes this past week. I wanted to give the girls a chance to grieve for their last governess. And take the time for us to become acquainted."

  “I understand,” he said. “I’m not here for a progress report. I just thought it might help if you understood a bit more about my daughter’s background.”

&nb
sp; Miss Lloyd nodded. “I only know what Lady Sarah told me, that her mother died when she was three and that she’s been through—had—a number of governesses lately.”

  James sighed. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to care for governesses much.” He told her about the incident that had incited the departure of Miss Ledbetter.

  Miss Lloyd chuckled. “I haven’t had any problems of that sort—not yet, anyway.”

  James caught himself staring appreciatively at Miss Lloyd’s apple-green morning gown, noticing how the neckline, while not low according to London standards, revealed the top of the cleft between her breasts. Not at all the typical raiment of a governess.

  “No, I don’t suppose she’d want to spoil a dress as pretty as yours. I agree with my daughter that Miss Ledbetter’s gowns were rather hideous.”

  She blushed. “Miss Dray’s as well,” she admitted. “I helped pack them up. I suppose I should have realized my clothing is inappropriate for the position. Perhaps I should have some more modest gowns made up.”

  “Goodness no!” James protested. “I find it quite pleasant to look upon you dressed in your fashionable clothing.”

  Miss Lloyd’s ears turned red when she was embarrassed, he noted with interest.

  “I suppose most governesses cannot afford stylish clothes,” she suggested. Then bit her lip as she looked at him guiltily.

  “Indeed,” he responded, his brow furrowed. “Governesses do tend to be poverty-stricken. No doubt that is why they become governesses. However," he said with an impish smile, "it is quite likely that the lady in the house objects to putting attractive ladies in her husband's path."

  "Oh. I suppose so."

  That surprised him. Hadn't she been a governess before? Surely Lady Pendleton would not have sent someone unsuitable to serve as her grandchildren’s governess.

  “I understand you’ve had prior experience caring for children, Miss Lloyd?”

  “Er-yes, I have. The Earskines were the most recent. In America.” She was lying; he was sure of it, noting the way she refused to meet his eyes.