Mrs. Brown spluttered. “Why not invite the entire household down for tea?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Henrietta said before adding to Alexander, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to notify you of our whereabouts. You were gone when we had the idea to come down here.”
“Humph,” grunted the cook.
“I should have known you wouldn’t go too far afield.” He watched her closely, the same way he had earlier in the study. Yes, and he’d been frightened then, too.
Good Lord. He must have come home, expected to see his daughters, and panicked when he couldn’t find them above stairs. “Has something happened?”
“No, nothing new. I’ve questioned the servants, and no one else heard anything last night. What are you up to?”
“I thought the girls might have fun making something, so I brought them down here. Then they informed me they’ve never had an ice.”
He crossed to her and without a word nudged her. “Ice is an unheard of luxury in India. It has to be transported from the Himalayas at enormous cost. The Raja might serve it, but only on the most important occasions.”
Her hip warming at the contact, Henrietta stepped aside and let him replace her at the crank. She shook out her aching arm. “They could have their first taste if it would ever take.”
“Mrs. Brown?”
At Alexander’s question the cook let out an incomprehensible sound.
“Would you send someone for another block of ice?”
“Why certainly, my lord.” She dipped into an exaggerated curtsey that only emphasized her sarcastic tone. “It’s not as if I’ve anything better to do.” And yet, annoyingly enough, when Alexander gave the order, she obeyed.
“Francesca,” he said, ignoring the cook, “do you know what I just recalled?”
She removed her finger from her mouth again, and Henrietta suspected she’d been dipping it into the sugar. “No, Papa.”
“They have the most marvelous shops in London with goods from all over the world. Laces from France, cotton from Italy, wool from the Netherlands. But there’s one shop on Bond Street. Do you know what they do there?”
She shook her head.
“They make all those lovely things into clothing for wax dolls they import from Germany.”
Francesca hopped on her toes and let out a squeal. “Oh, did you bring me one?”
He laughed. “I haven’t been all the way to London. I thought I could take you to choose the one you like best.”
The entire time, he beamed at his younger daughter as if she were the only child in the room. Henrietta stole a glance at Helena, and her heart turned over. The poor thing was studying the floor of the kitchen as if it revealed the most fascinating of secrets to those who knew how to read the code patterned in the reddish-brown tiles.
Damn the man, did he not see his older daughter? Did she not exist for him? But then, if Helena took after her mother, as Henrietta suspected, perhaps the sight was too painful for Alexander. But that was no reason to ignore the girl. No reason to shut her out.
“I’m sure Helena would enjoy the outing, as well,” she said mildly.
“Oh. Oh, yes.” Alexander glanced in Helena’s direction, but Henrietta was certain he didn’t really see. “But you still have the doll your mama gave you last year, don’t you?”
She nodded. No doubt the girl could not bring herself to speak.
“Perhaps you might find a new dress for her.” If she was overstepping with the suggestion, Henrietta did not care. “Or even a whole new wardrobe. Would you like that?”
Damn it all, could the man not see his favoring the younger daughter hurt his older one? As long as she had to serve as the girls’ governess, she’d make sure Helena was treated equitably. If Alexander had a problem with that, he could bloody well take it up with her.
And if circumstances were different, you’d have been Helena’s mother. You’d have ensured her fair treatment. She shoved aside the insistent voice in her mind. Now was hardly the time.
Alexander kept on turning the crank, as if nothing were amiss. As if Henrietta had every right to make such decisions where his daughters were concerned. Or, perhaps in Helena’s case, he simply remained indifferent.
Another few minutes passed before Francesca returned to her litany of questions over whether the ice was ready. Alexander kept up his good humor at every chirp, while Helena maintained a stony silence.
Henrietta probed her imagination. What might she come up with just for Helena? Something special, away from her father and sister? But nothing came to mind. She couldn’t very well badger Mrs. Brown for more ingredients, and she didn’t wish to take Helena through the house, where they might run into Lady Epperley.
At long last, Alexander proclaimed, “I believe we might have something worth eating here.”
“It’s about time,” muttered Mrs. Brown.
He lifted the lid from the container to reveal a light purple concoction, not liquid, but not solid, either. “Now, if we had a spoon, we might just have a taste.”
Before anyone else could move, Henrietta grabbed a spoon, and offered some to Helena. She set her tongue to the glob of ice, before opening her mouth and eating the rest. Her eyes went round, and she smiled.
“Good?” Henrietta encouraged.
“It’s cold.”
“Of course.”
“It’s so odd.”
Francesca bounced on her toes. “I want some.”
“How does a proper young lady ask?” Henrietta prompted.
“I would like a taste, please.”
“Excellent.” Henrietta spooned up some ice for Francesca.
“It tastes funny,” she said once she’d swallowed the bite.
“Perhaps another time, Mrs. Brown will see fit to let us have some strawberries.” Henrietta glared over her shoulder at the cook, who was beating egg whites with a firm arm. The whipping of her whisk filled the kitchen, and Henrietta suspected, she was taking out her frustrations on those poor eggs.
“If not,” Alexander said, “I will see to procuring some myself.” He served some ice into a bowl and handed it to Henrietta. “See what you think of your creation.”
Henrietta tipped some of the confection into her mouth, all the while aware of Alexander’s eyes on her. The frozen sweetness melted on her tongue, leaving behind the sharper taste of the lavender. She quite agreed with Francesca—her mixture did taste more of herbs than sweetness. Yes, fruit would have been better for a first attempt.
“Well?” Alexander prompted.
“I think I’d prefer strawberry myself,” she admitted, “but since we weren’t allowed any, this will have to do.”
“I’ll take my kitchen back anytime you say,” Mrs. Brown said over her shoulder.
“We’ll just leave the washing up, then, shall we?” Alexander asked.
Henrietta suppressed a laugh as they ascended the stairs. “You realize the scullery maid will have to clean that up, not her.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t resist.”
She watched the girls scamper up the stairs ahead of them. “I wonder if we might go somewhere we can keep an eye on them from a distance.” Lord only knew she didn’t want to place herself in a position where Alexander might tempt her to lose herself in him. Not after last night’s encounter. “There’s a matter I should like to discuss with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You need to stop playing favorites.” Henrietta glared an accusation at him.
Alexander concentrated on the opposite end of the courtyard where his daughters played safely out of earshot. Helena had pulled a ribbon from her hair and was tempting a fluffy gray kitten with the length of grosgrain, while Francesca wove the stems of flowers into a crown.
“What on earth are you prattling about?” he replied.
“Your daughters. You clearly favor Francesca, and Helena resents it. You have to stop.”
“I do not.” Thank God that reply sounded like conviction. He damned well knew
he favored Francesca, but he could not have this conversation with Henrietta. Not when he might let slip the reason why.
“You do. I cannot believe you’re unaware of it. What’s more, Francesca expects it.”
“Helena’s mother”—Lord help him, but he couldn’t refer to Marianne as his wife. Not in front of Henrietta—“doted on the girl. She’s spoiled.”
Henrietta’s expression hardened to wood. “And Francesca isn’t? Besides, Helena hardly has her mother any longer.”
“No.”
What else could he do but agree to that statement? Not when any justification he could come up with was poor at best. He really had no excuse, and he didn’t wish to admit he’d never felt a true paternal connection to Helena. She’d come along at a time when he was adjusting to so many other changes—marriage to the wrong woman, the death of a close friend, the knowledge that he’d put Henrietta truly beyond his reach—and he hardly knew what to do with a newborn, other than allow the nurse to take care of matters. And really, what else did anyone expect of him? Still, a prickle of shame that Henrietta found him lacking heated the back of his neck.
“She needs you now more than ever,” she went on. “You really must find a way to show her you care for her. I believe they wouldn’t squabble so much if you learned to treat them with equanimity.”
“Equanimity?” He attempted to put her off with a grin. Anything to lighten the mood. “What is this, a game of seeing who can use the most fifty-pence words?”
“This is no joking matter.” She laid a hand on his arm, and he wondered if she even realized. God only knew he did.
“If you paid Helena a bit more attention,” Henrietta went on, “she wouldn’t have to compete for it. She wouldn’t have to find other ways to prod her sister, to make herself feel better. They might actually get along.”
“Get along? They’re sisters.” As he replied, he kept his watch on both girls and his tone low and even. No sense in attracting their notice with tense voices. Not if he wanted to put an end to this discussion, by God.
He’d hoped the courtyard would give the girls a much-needed breath of cool summer air and sunshine while he talked to Henrietta privately. This way, at least, they ran no risk of Lady Epperley surprising them alone. The harridan would no doubt produce her special license and demand he marry Henrietta on the spot.
A wail from the opposite end of the enclosure grabbed his attention. Several more kittens had materialized, all flocking about Francesca. She pulled the creatures into her lap and dangled a piece of grass in front of them.
Henrietta nudged him. “Here’s your chance to smooth things over.”
Part of him wanted to react the same way Helena did—by poking out his lower lip and fussing. But the rest of him knew Henrietta was right, even if he hadn’t the slightest clue how to handle the situation. Damn it all, but he had no experience in these matters. He trudged in the girls’ direction, as reluctant as a schoolboy faced with the promise of a solid caning.
Helena raised her gaze as he approached, and her spine stiffened. Her expression solidified to wood the same way Henrietta’s did at the mention of the girls’ mother. Blast it, if Henrietta wasn’t right. Helena had certainly detected his favoritism. Even now she expected him to rule in Francesca’s favor.
“What seems to be the matter?” He was careful to address his question to Helena.
She turned her head to one side and regarded him through narrow eyes. That look sliced through to the quick. The deuce take it, a five-year-old should never have to view the world with such suspicion.
“Francesca has all the kittens,” she replied tremulously.
“Indeed she does, but perhaps she’d be willing to lend you one or two.”
“I didn’t take them, Papa,” Francesca protested. “They came to see me because they like me better.”
In spite of himself, he glanced over his shoulder at Henrietta. She held back, observing from the opposite end of the courtyard. He could almost feel the force of her gaze piercing through him, just as cutting as any look Helena turned on him. Just as focused, just as precise, just as perceptive, as if she saw directly into his soul. The same Henrietta he knew from before he went to India, but the years of their separation had honed her. Pain and experience had sharpened her senses.
She gave him a slight nod. Go on. Finish it.
“I don’t think they’ve had a chance to make Helena’s acquaintance.” He hadn’t the vaguest idea where this inspiration came from, but as long as it was there, he’d snatch it up. “I’m sure they’ll like her once they’ve got a chance to know her, as well. Why don’t we see?”
He reached for a ball of gray fluff, half expecting Francesca to complain, but the girl lifted a shoulder and went on playing with the three remaining kittens in her lap. He placed the animal in Helena’s hand. She put out a tentative finger and stroked the kitten’s head. Ever cautious, as if she expected someone to swoop down and whisk the cat away at any moment.
“I’d wager these are Albemarle’s descendants,” he said.
“That’s silly,” Francesca chirped. “Albemarle’s a boy. Lady Epperley says so.”
“Lady Epperley calls Henrietta George.” Helena continued to run her finger through fluffy gray fur, while the kitten purred. “That’s a boy’s name. Maybe she doesn’t know the difference.”
Alexander tamped down a bark of laughter. “One does have to wonder sometimes. But perhaps, when we leave here, she’ll let you each have a kitten of your own, and you can call it whatever you like.”
Francesca scooped up one of the balls of fur in her lap. “I want this one.”
“Not so fast. I believe it’s Helena’s turn to choose first. Another time it will be yours.”
Helena’s eyes narrowed on Francesca’s kitten. Uncanny, that expression. It bode nothing good, as Alexander knew from hard experience. He’d seen the look often enough on Marianne’s father’s face, and that man had guarded his own as fiercely as any mastiff.
Before her sister could claim the animal, Francesca clutched the kitten to her chest and let out a wail. “She already has that one.”
“Papa,” Helena said evenly, “you said I could choose first.”
Not good. Not good at all. What he wouldn’t do for an easier problem, like sorting out Lindenhurst and Battencliffe’s differences, whatever those were. “That I did, but—”
“I want that one.”
“No,” Francesca moaned. “This one is mine.”
“I’m afraid that one is spoken for already.” Thank God Henrietta had crossed the courtyard and seen fit to step in. Heaven only knew he’d never find a solution.
“That isn’t fair,” Francesca argued. “Helena can’t have this one.”
“No, she cannot,” Henrietta agreed. “That one is George. Lady Epperley promised him to me. You may have your pick of any of the others, but only once Helena has chosen first. Now, both of you, run along and make your choices, but if you quarrel, we’ll just have to leave the kittens here. You must show you’re grown up enough to take on such a responsibility.”
The girls stared at each other mutely, while Alexander fought to maintain a sober mien. If he laughed, his daughters would never learn to take him seriously.
Helena considered the kitten she held in her hand. “I suppose I like this one well enough.”
“Oh, what will you name it?” Francesca asked.
At a pointed glance from Henrietta, Alexander eased away from the girls. When they stood at a safe distance, he held her gaze. “Thank you. Where have you learned to deal with children that way?”
You need her. The thought punched him in the gut with all the force of the truth, hard as any blow life had dealt him. His lungs cried for air. Henrietta wouldn’t solve all his problems, but she’d take the matter of the children into her capable hands, leaving him free to work out his financial difficulties. As to that, her very presence anchored him in a way he hadn’t felt in eight years. Not since he’d embarke
d for India. He may well need her, but convincing her to remain with him and his daughters was simply impossible. Impossible, entirely his fault, and far too dangerous to consider.
She shrugged and looked away, one hand clenched about the opposite arm. “It’s common sense, nothing more. They’ll vex each other on purpose, as long as they perceive you care more about one than the other.”
“I do n—” he began, but the protest was weak.
She turned to him. “I know you love your girls, but you clearly love one of them more. I only ask that you be aware of it. You’ve made a start now with Helena. If you can head off the worst of the squabbles, when they’re older they might just be happier with each other. They might help each other out in society.”
“What are you talking about, help each other out?”
She heaved a sigh. “You have never had to negotiate society’s maze as a young lady. It’s full of pitfalls. But if you have a sister or a good friend, she can help you avoid the worst obstacles. Surely your own sisters must have helped each other.”
“Not that I was aware.” But perhaps he should have been. He’d navigated his own form of social maze at school—but then, he’d made friends there to help him find the center. In India, he’d been out of his depth as well, until Harry and Marianne’s father had taken him in hand. A foot wrong there could kill a man. He’d witnessed as much.
“No, I don’t suppose men are aware of such things. Don’t you see? Men are allowed so much more latitude. They must maintain reputations, of course, but it’s not the same thing. They are expected to gain so much more experience of the world. This is even seen as desirable. While girls must be guarded at all cost and kept in ignorance and naivety. Perhaps if we allowed them a bit more latitude in that regard, rather than shut them away …”
“Latitude? Good God, what have you been—” He would have pushed forward, but a movement at the edge of his field of vision stopped him.
Hirsch hovered in the doorway leading back into the house. “Sir, you have a visitor.”
What a Lady Craves Page 15