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

by Susana Ellis

  “My cousin is rather timid, y’know, like most ladies brought up sheltered in a genteel family, and, being a respectable lady, she can’t make her feelings known to you until you say something first.”

  James tightened his hands into fists, and then slowly loosened them. Blast it all to hell! Just when he was considering how to manage breaking with Mrs. Rhodes and retreating from the wife hunt altogether, this had to happen! He’d done nothing wrong, of course, but he knew that favoring a lady even a few times gives rise to certain expectations. And this lady had three very intimidating protectors that he didn’t wish to antagonize.

  “I have the highest regard for your cousin, Mr. Henley, but it’s a bit early in our acquaintance to know for sure that we should suit each other for marriage.”

  Hugo Henley stopped in mid-stride and gripped his shoulder, nostrils flaring and a vein pulsing in his neck.

  “What’s the hitch, Walker? She’s comely and biddable, and won’t be a hardship to take to bed. A man in your position can’t expect much more in a wife.”

  James cleared his throat. He was sweating profusely, and it had nothing to do with the humidity in the theater. Before he could say anything more, Henley clapped him on the back and grinned.

  “She won’t cost ye more’n fifty quid a year—doesn’t eat much and won’t need much in the way of frocks—one or two should be enough. Meh brothers and I can throw in a dowry of—say—five hundred pounds. What d’ya say, Walker?”

  Now James was angry. Furious, actually. On behalf of Adele Rhodes—whose misfortune it was to be in the power of such men—and on behalf of women everywhere who were denigrated and exploited by them. It was unconscionable that the law allowed this to occur. For the first time, James began to understand what Helena had been telling him about the plight of women. It might be easy to assume that such atrocities were rare and that most men were considerate of their women if that was the experience you knew, but in many cases, James was beginning to realize, men were tyrants who used women for their own purposes and there was little anyone could do to stop it.

  He backed away and glared at the oafish creature.

  “As I said, Mr. Henley, I have the highest regard for your cousin,” he said emphatically. “And I find it repugnant and insulting to both myself and Mrs. Rhodes that you would expect me to appraise a respectable lady in the same terms as one might an animal. You, sir, are no gentleman, and I must ask you to please relieve me of your presence. I will fetch Mrs. Rhodes and return her to your household. Alone.”

  It was probably a good thing that this encounter took place in a public venue, because James was tempted to punch the wretch in the face, and based on their relative sizes, it was quite possible the victor of such a confrontation would not be he.

  He made an about-face and returned to the box where Mrs. Rhodes was waiting with the remainder of the Henley gang.

  “Mrs. Rhodes?” he said as he re-entered the box and bent down to speak to her. “Allow me to assist you with your wrap. We are leaving now. Just the two of us,” he said, with a pointed look at her cousins.

  “We are?” she said, her pale eyes looking up at him in surprise.

  “Well, then, how are we supposed to get home?” said one of her cousins in a whiny voice.

  “T’wouldn’t be proper,” complained the other.

  James glared at them, and, without speaking, offered his arm to Mrs. Rhodes. She hesitated a moment, uncertain whether she should risk the ire of her cousins, and finally she swallowed and took it. After assisting her with her coat, he put on his own, collected his hat and walking stick, and proceeded with her out the door and down the hall, leaving the amazed cousins behind. Deliberately ignoring Hugo, he led her to the theater entrance and tossed a coin to a servant to notify his coachman that it was time to leave.

  Once the coach began to move, James turned toward Mrs. Rhodes and demanded point blank that she tell him why her cousins were so determined to marry her off.

  “If you are being abused in that household, Mrs. Rhodes, all you need do is tell me so, and I will take you to a place where you will be safe.”

  “Wh-a-at? Why would you think that? What did my cousins tell you? No, of course not.” Even in the darkness, he could see that she was trembling.

  James felt like shaking her, but instead, he took another approach.

  “I beg your pardon, madam, but I must speak frankly. I mean you no insult, but I must inform you that I will not be paying my addresses to you.”

  Was that a sigh of relief?

  “It has nothing to do with you, as I have the highest respect for you, Mrs. Rhodes. I’ve come to the conclusion that I was wrong-headed to seek a wife at this particular time. The harvest will soon be upon us, and I shall have very little time for social niceties. I’ve no doubt that you would make some man an excellent wife.”

  “Those are fine words,” she said tartly. “But I have yet to meet one, and time is running out. My cousins may be rude and uncouth, but they are, at least trying to help me. In their own rather vulgar way, of course.”

  “But why? Is it money? Because if so… I am merely a gentleman farmer.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Heavens no! At least—I’m not a fortune hunter. I could marry a rat-catcher for all my family cares. It may come to that, if I don’t find a respectable match soon.”

  James’s jaw clenched. So he was rated slightly higher than a rat-catcher as a potential husband? He’d laugh about that later, but now he needed to find out why she was so desperate to marry.

  “Why, Mrs. Rhodes?”

  She fell back against the squabs and heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose there is no harm in revealing this to you now, since you have already decided against me.”

  “But I told you…”

  “Never mind,” she interrupted. “Have we not already resolved that issue? I know my own worth. I would have been an unexceptionable wife for you had you not been forever comparing me to some other woman. Your late wife, perhaps?” He started to protest, and she held up her hand to stop him. “There is no need to explain, Mr. Walker. Whether it be a living woman or a dead one, I suffer from the same malady. My husband and I loved each other. When he died at Waterloo, I didn’t wish to go on living. My family feared I would never re-marry, and end a burden on them for the rest of my life.”

  The carriage stopped, and James saw that they had arrived at the Henley’s Cheapside home. Opening the window, he called out for the coachman to proceed until he indicated otherwise.

  Then he turned back and regarded Adele Rhodes with interest. “So why did you change your mind?”

  “I haven’t, actually. It’s my family who wishes to see me married. Not for any sentimental reasons or concerns for my happiness, I assure you. It’s just that—well—a few months ago, my aunt left me ten thousand pounds, but only if I’ve remarried by my twenty-fifth birthday. Which is roughly two months from now. If I am not wed by that time, the money goes to the foundling home.”

  "I see." But he didn't, really. "But would not control of the inheritance then be passed on to your husband?"

  Scowling, she stared down at her empty hands. "My aunt's will stipulates that my brother Thomas remain in control of the money. Aunt Philomena would never trust me or any man I married to handle the funds she purported to leave to me." She glared at him, a sour expression on her face. "So no, Mr. Walker, you won't get the money even if you do change your mind and decide to marry me."

  "I'm sorry to hear it," he said, rolling his eyes. "But I must confess that I do not understand why your aunt did not leave the money to your brother in the first place, if she thought so poorly of you." He leaned over and patted her hand. "Was your aunt suffering from an ailment of the mind? Perhaps if you consulted a solicitor…"

  She looked at him with over-bright eyes. "It's far too late for that. This was her way of manipulating me into remarrying. She always wanted Thomas to have it. The irony is that he won't get it either. He owes more than that to m
y cousins from gambling debts. As soon as the money changes hands, it will be funneled into their pockets. Because if they don't get it, it will be debtor's prison for him.

  “It’s not the money I care about!” she said bitterly. “It wouldn’t have been mine at all, had Aunt Philomena not wished to force me into marriage. I should prefer to live quietly in a cottage somewhere and go on long walks and tend to my garden. But my widow’s pension won’t stretch to that, and as profligate as my brother is, I shouldn’t like to think of him spending the rest of his life at the Fleet.”

  A wave of disgust—and a fair amount of self-loathing—passed through him as he considered her plight. Adele Rhodes wasn’t the first woman to be sacrificed for the welfare of others. If he were honest, he knew of many other such cases, not the least of which was the Prince Regent’s own wife.

  Suddenly Helena’s face—flushed with passionate indignation, her eyes throwing sparks as she lashed out at the injustice of the law regarding women and marriage—came to mind. She was right to be wary of marriage. If anything went wrong, it was the woman who suffered. Adele Rhodes would tie herself for life to some man in order to keep her worthless brother out of prison. The whole matter needn't have involved her at all, except for the machinations of a demented old woman.

  “Bloody hell!”

  At Mrs. Rhodes astonished gasp, he quickly apologized. “Pardon me, madame. It is simply that I find it repugnant that a gentle lady such as yourself should find herself in such an untenable situation. I feel I must offer assistance of some kind. I have friends who would take you in, if you feel yourself in danger from your cousins." The Newsomes were still in Town. And Lady Pendleton, although he wasn't particularly eager to put himself in her debt. Or even the Melbournes—after all, it was Lady Melbourne who brought the widow to his notice in the first place.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I thank you for your concern, but they will not harm me. Except for this one-er-disagreement, we manage to get on well enough.”

  “Are you certain?” He didn’t like leaving her to that loathsome Hugo’s ire, but then, the lady had shown herself to be a stronger woman that evening than he’d assumed earlier.

  “Yes,” she said. “Things will work out the way they were meant to, I’m sure.” But she avoided his eyes.

  James pulled at his collar. It didn't feel right to leave her to face such an unsavory situation. Offering her marriage seemed to be the only way he could help, and he might have done so, were it not for his fascination with the charms of a certain temporary governess. He'd come to London to find a wife, and Adele Rhodes was just the sort of wife he'd hoped to find. And yet, for some reason, it was Helena Lloyd's face that popped into his mind at the most unexpected times. Warmth, laughter, surprises… love. A cold, convenient marriage with Adele Rhodes was beginning to seem rather inconvenient.

  He took a deep breath. “Very well, but I must insist you send for me if you find yourself in need of help, Mrs. Rhodes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Walker.” But he knew she would not.

  When he accompanied her to the door of her cousins' residence, she turned to him and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  “Whoever she is, she’s a very lucky woman,” she said sadly before disappearing inside.

  James stared at the door in front of him.

  How had she known? Because James had just realized himself that—in spite of all his protestations to the contrary—he had fallen in love with Helena Lloyd. And she was bound and determined never to marry.

  Bloody hell.

  * * *

  “James! I’ve been waiting all day to tell you the news! Aunt Esther has rented a house in Mayfair—on Mount Street!—and she has invited us to visit for the Season. Is that not marvelous?”

  She looked prettier than ever at times like this when she was excited about something. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled like emeralds and she couldn’t keep her body still—waving her arms back and forth, bobbing, pacing, and finally, grabbing his arm and leaning in so that she could run her hands through his hair. He loved seeing her happy like this—except for the fact that they were nearly always followed by temper tantrums. He responded warily.

  “That is very kind of her, but you know that it is the planting season and I can’t possibly leave Hill and Farris to manage on their own.”

  She pulled away and looked at him imploringly. “But James… it’s a wonderful opportunity! I never had a Season because Papa’s living would not support it. Aunt says I am still young and pretty enough to be all the rage! And besides, someday Annabelle will have to be brought out into society, and surely it will stand in her favor if her mother has connections there.”

  James pursed his lips. “Our daughter is barely three, Anne. It will not matter to her if our London debut must be postponed for a few more years, when our income can stand it.”

  Her face turned stony. “You’ve said that for years, James! You never told me I’d be nothing but a farmer’s wife when I married you! Why, Mama told me that you would surely be taken up by the Melbournes, with all their pots of money and influence!”

  A moment of self-loathing came upon him. Had he indeed misled her? If so, it hadn’t been intentional. He’d never been terribly interested in society, especially after his father had run the estate nearly to ruin. He was perfectly content with his role as gentleman farmer, and it never occurred to him then that the lovely, impoverished vicar’s daughter he’d married might have loftier ambitions.

  “Anne, you know that I am only distantly related to the Melbournes. I could hardly expect them to subsidize my family's entrée into society!”

  She pouted. “How do you know? You never bothered to ask!” Then she perked up. “It doesn’t matter now. Aunt Esther is as rich as Croesus and she’s offered to outfit me—and Annabelle too—and both she and Aunt Mariah will sponsor me at Court.”

  James felt a tightness in his chest. “No.”

  She pursed her lips. “No? Is that all you can say? You won’t even discuss it? Just—no?”

  James hung his coat on the rack and moved toward his study.

  “Out of the question,” he tossed back. “I won’t be indebted to your family, Anne. We’ve discussed this before. Once I’ve managed to build the estate back up to profitability, I promise we’ll make our appearance in London. But until then—"

  “You promise!” she shrieked. “Your promises are worthless!”

  He ducked into his study before the vase could shatter on his head, but he could feel a headache coming on anyway. He wanted to grab her and hold her against his chest until the anger began to fade, but he’d been through these altercations before, and this one wouldn’t be so easily resolved. Normally, Mrs. Fenwick would calm her down with some willow tea and some of Cook’s lemon tarts, but the housekeeper was nowhere in sight, and suddenly he recalled that it was her half-day, and with the nursemaid off tending a sick mother, Anne had been left alone with the child.

  Where was Annabelle?

  “I’m going to London,” Anne shouted. “You can’t stop me!”

  As she ran to the door, James heard Annabelle wailing, and looked up to see the three-year-old standing precariously at the top of the stairs. Apparently, Anne had left her alone upstairs, and the angry voices from below had drawn her to the stairs.

  Sweating profusely, he hesitated only a moment before racing up the stairs two at a time to snatch up his daughter before she could tumble down them. With Annabelle bawling in his arms, he leapt down the staircase and rushed out the door after Anne. In an impassioned mood, she was unstable and a danger to herself and others. Farris, his stable hand who also worked in the fields, had turned from his walk home for the night and was running toward Anne, who had already managed to mount her horse—saddle-less and astride—and was urging it forward.

  James’s heart nearly exploded in his chest. He put Annabelle down, telling her to stay put, and he ran after his wife as quickly as he could. The horse was already
showing signs of panic. Why had he agreed to buy Anne such a high-strung horse? Because she’d begged and nagged and he’d just wanted it all to stop. But now it all seemed a terrible mistake.

  But before he could get there, the horse had bolted, and Anne was sprawled on the gravel drive, cradled in the skirts of her ivory-colored dress.

  He rushed to her side and knelt down, clasping her wrist to feel a pulse. Nothing. A trail of blood made a grim path toward his knee, and he saw that her head had hit a large stone. He tore off his shirt and tied it around the wound to stem the blood flow, but her eyes stared out at him, sightless, and he looked up at Farris in shock and grief.

  “She’s gone, Mr. Walker. I’m so sorry.”

  And James knew a grief so intense that he might have done something rash himself—except that Annabelle’s shrieking brought him back to reality, and he rose to collect his daughter and take her inside.

  * * *

  At that point, James awoke, and berated himself as he always did. Would it have been such a lowering thing to have allowed her aunts to sponsor her in London? Had he not married her out of the schoolroom, he was certain her ambitious mother would have finagled her well-heeled sisters-in-law into sponsoring her. Of course, in that case, as a diamond-of-the-first-water, she would have married a wealthy, titled man who could have given her the life she yearned for. She certainly would not have looked twice at him, and Annabelle would never have existed.

  He closed his eyes and mentally begged forgiveness for allowing his pride and distaste for society to get in the way of his wife’s happiness. Not only had he been the cause of her death, he’d also deprived his daughter of her mother, and her parents of their only daughter. They came once a year to visit Annabelle, and although neither had put their feelings into words, he could feel their disapproval, especially from Mrs. Gibson, who had apparently believed marriage to him would be a social triumph for her daughter. One that she could live vicariously herself, as she herself had undoubtedly expected more when she’d married the third son of an earl.