She had no brush, nothing of her own, not even stockings, but she would make do with the ones she was wearing.
Getting ready for dinner had the makings of a dream, like nothing Helena had known before. For the most part, Tom used the adjoining powder room to prepare himself, leaving the wash stand in the main room for Helena, but he reappeared in shirtsleeves and a magnificent cream waistcoat with cut silver buttons to stand before the tall mirror that hung between the windows and allow his valet to comb his hair back and secure it with a wide black velvet ribbon. After shrugging into a dark green corded coat braided with dull gold, he was ready.
Helena tried to follow suit, but she was not accustomed to a man watching her dress, particularly one who meant so much to her. Unaccustomed nerves attacked her when she tried to supervise the maid dressing her hair, until Tom took over.
“I confess I have always wanted to do this.” Pushing the wide cuffs of his coat back so the buttons would not catch in her hair, he took the brush and stroked it through her tousled locks.
Helena closed her eyes in bliss until she heard his low chuckle.
“You sound just like a contented cat,” he said. He pulled the brush through her hair in long, luxurious strokes, the bristles merely contacting her scalp, as he tamed the waves. “What happened to the cat you used to have in your room?”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.”
“Goodness.” But of course, so had she. She’d gone over and over every meeting in her mind until she was ready to run back to him barefoot. “The cat died in his sleep one night. He was a good age, for a cat, but I missed him.”
He put down the brush. “Are you sure you want to go down to dinner?”
“Yes.” Although she had not realized until he asked, she was beginning to feel quite hungry. A novel feeling, as she had not had hunger pangs for some time now. Ever since the day of her abduction. Leaning her head back, she breathed deeply, savoring the moment, an activity she rarely engaged in. She would ensure more times such as these, even if she did not have the luxury of having Tom perform the task.
“There. I would have you go down like that, but I fear my grandmother would have an apoplexy. As far as I know, we are not expecting company tonight. Emilia and Chloe wanted me to take them to a musicale later, but I will fob them off with William.”
“You should not. I will be perfectly fine here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I need to take care of you, sweetheart.” With a light kiss to her shoulder, he moved away, allowing the maid to move in behind her and dress her hair.
She used the same cap she had arrived with, a tiny circle of linen edged with lace, and she kept her own ruffles, but her gown and petticoat were borrowed. Since she had no jewelry save Tom’s ring, the maid tied a ruffle of lace around her neck, and she was done, except for a pair of shoes which Emilia had also lent her. Helena’s own shoes, delicate silk affairs, had been ruined in her mad dash through the streets.
Dressing well was second nature to her.
Although the Dankworths did not live too far from Brook Street, Helena would have run twice that distance if she’d had to. Anything to get away from her mother. Something inside her had broken when her mother had declared her intention of taking her daughter away, and she’d taken off like a bird in flight, hastening to the one place where she knew she would find sanctuary. Even her mother would not dare to come here.
When she was dressed, Tom took her hand and led her down to the drawing room. Candles were lit in the sconces either side of the fireplace, lending a golden glow to the formally arranged sofas and tables, not at all like the casual arrangement Julius preferred. But a lady of an older generation held sway here, one more accustomed to formality, and the style and setting harked back to an earlier time.
The family was gathered there, waiting for her. Helena had faced worse. Her presentation had been fraught with anxiety, but she had mastered walking backward in a gown with a train, so she could do this. Pleased to note her fingers held not a trace of trembling, she held her hand out to Lord William, who was forced to bend over it and murmur that she was a welcome addition to the household, when both he and Helena knew he hated her. But not because of who she was, but because of the family she belonged to.
“I trust you will leave your old habits behind,” he said with a smile. “You will become a supporter of the Stuarts now?”
Helena withdrew her hand gradually and bestowed Lord William with a smile. “I am, when all is said and done, an Englishwoman, and as such, I will support the strongest and best alternative for the country. I can do no less.”
“But is the country not personified in the monarch?”
“A quaintly old-fashioned notion.” She spread the fan Lady Emilia had sent her. A lady without a fan would find herself with nothing to do with her hands, and she had neglected to bring her own. This, she was relieved to see, did not hold any slyly political statements, but was a simple arrangement of flowers and greenery. “I thought we no longer believed in the divine right of kings? I do like the medieval concept of a monarch for the spiritual world and one for the temporal, but alas, the Holy Roman Emperor is but an empty title these days. Perhaps you were born in the wrong time, Lord William, and you would have preferred the Tudor era.”
The duke let out a guffaw. “He’d have lost his head in a week!”
The ladies Emilia and Chloe entered the room on their father’s jest. Emilia, a stately young woman with gleaming dark brown hair and a spare figure, granted Helena a gracious smile. Chloe, shorter and rounder, altogether more fashionable, her hair more red than brown, dropped a curtsey and, after a glance at Lord William, gave Helena a sideways smile and a casual, “I am not sure I will ever recover from the shock.”
“Of what, pray?” The duke, standing by the fireplace, asked. He sounded cold, and he did not wait for an answer from his daughter. “Helena is part of the family. Whatever she was before, she is now a Dankworth.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Helena said. “While I appreciate that is the truth, I am also a Vernon. I know this situation will be difficult, but I cannot cast off my family. Even if they abandon me,” she added, her voice smaller than before at the prospect of the people she knew and loved most in the world—one other person excepted—never speaking to her again.
“We are a civilized family,” the duke said, his deep voice filling the room. “We can allow cordiality, even if we will never be as close as others might wish. We have much to discuss, but perhaps tonight is not the right time. We have a marriage to celebrate.” He paused, his hand curling around the curved edge of the piece of marble. “We may discuss whatever we wish within the confines of family. However, as always, I will not tolerate any disagreements outside the front door. Our future depends upon our continued unity.”
That must be the way he had held the family together in the hard times they’d had recently. However, Helena could not help remarking the way the duke’s normally harsh expression softened when his attention strayed to his second son. His first son in actuality, because whoever had fathered Tom, it was not him.
Helena marveled that she had not noticed the differences between the duke and Tom before. Maybe assuming they were related when a long way toward noting similarities rather than differences. The duke’s eyes were a clear gray, a little small, and he had a great hooked nose, terrifyingly aquiline, and thin lips. Tom’s mouth was full, his lower lip rather more than the upper, and his eyes large and brown, while his face had a lean quality, his cheekbones more prominent than his father’s and set at a higher angle. Even the shapes of their ears were different.
However, father and heir had the same style of dress—good quality, but relatively plain—and they both favored darker colors. The duke wore a fashionable wig, which served to make many men appear similar, and until relatively recently, Tom had done the same.
But who was his father, since her father
could not claim to have done the deed?
When the doorbell jangled, Helena started, not as steady as she had thought herself. She barely restrained herself from taking Tom’s arm in a death grip and refusing to let go.
He must have seen something, the dear man, because he said firmly, “Nobody can take you away from me now.”
And nobody would, his tone proclaimed.
Male voices were raised, the butler shouting, “You cannot enter, sir!” before the drawing room door burst open and Julius strode inside.
One wild look around the room located his sister. “I had to ensure you were safe.” He crossed the room to her, heedless of anyone else. Taking her free hand, he pressed it, more emotion than she could ever recall seeing on him in public filling her heart. He cared. “If you wish to come home, you are welcome.”
Shaking her head, Helena gently withdrew her hand. “It is not my home now. This is.”
Julius flicked a glance at Tom. “You will make her the happiest woman alive, or you will answer to me.” He shook his head slightly. “The second happiest woman.”
Although obviously agitated, Julius was his usual magnificent self, dressed for dinner in shades of lavender and ivory. The clothes were part of who he was, and when Eve had described the plain ill-fitting coat and bob wig Julius had been wearing when she first met him, Helena had refused to believe it. For as long as she could remember her glorious oldest brother had been an arbiter of fashion, unafraid of even the most extravagant trend. Today he had taken care to change before he set out in search of her. She’d have rather he appeared in sackcloth and ashes, tearing out his hair in lumps, but she was glad he had come at all.
“I heard you were attending Lady Jermyn’s tonight,” he said. “I was going in search of you when Wilkins returned and told me where you were. I should have realized you would come here.”
That statement of brotherly love did much to assuage Helena’s agitated spirit. “You may call off the hounds. I am where I should be.”
“Yes, you probably are.” He glanced around the room and belatedly made his bows, first to the dowager, and then to the duke, and then to everyone else. Julius’s obeisances were the stuff of legend. In his own way, he could make the person he bowed to appear his inferior merely by the depth and elaborations he employed. He sighed. “Then I will take my leave.”
The expression in his forget-me-not blue eyes was so forlorn, Helena could have wept for him.
But the dowager took a hand in the conversation. “Nonsense! You will stay to dinner, Winterton. You may take Emilia in.”
Julius bowed and said he was very gratified. He apologized for his unexpected arrival, and the duchess declared that he would even out the numbers nicely. They processed to the dining room. Processed was exactly the right word. Even though they were en famille, with the exception of Julius, they went into the dining room according to rank. At least they did not sit the same way, and Helena could sit between her husband and her brother and feel somewhat protected from Lady Emilia’s coldness, Lord William’s antipathy, and Lady Chloe’s disdain.
The meal progressed in perfect amity. They limited discussion to society doings and books they’d read, since politics and family were more or less controversial topics from which people might not survive intact. The careful observance of civilized behavior was both a blessing and a curse. Polite conversation gave the diners time to digest a meal.
After they had eaten, Helena rose with the other ladies, but Tom touched her arm.
“Please stay. We have much to discuss, and since your brother is here, it should be now.”
Julius shook his head. “I had no intention of causing Helena further distress. I merely wanted to assure myself she was well and cared for. She is. If you will excuse me, I’ll return home to care for my wife.”
“Is she ill?” For Eve to go upstairs for a rest, something she had taken to doing recently, surprised Helena, but illness would explain the new habit.
“No.” A gentle smile curved Julius’s lips. “Not precisely. The nasty taste she complained of in the tea has been explained. Eve is expecting our first baby. We would prefer the news to remain in the family for at least another month, but it appears we are family—although not as close as we had supposed.”
Heedless of politeness or proper behavior, Helena sprang to her feet and flung her arms around her brother’s neck, smiling up at him, her heart bursting with delight. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am! Will you tell Eve, please, that I am well and happy, and she should be too?”
Julius unwound her arms, but not before giving her a hug in response to her impulsive action. “I will indeed. She has a queasy stomach these days, so I am anxious to see that she takes enough nourishment.”
“Tell the cook to bake some plain flat biscuits,” the dowager said abruptly. “Give her one or two when she wakes, before she even raises her head, and then before each meal. They worked wonders for me the last time I was increasing.”
Julius gave her a little bow. “I’m much obliged to you, ma’am.”
Pregnancy had increased Caroline’s ill tempers, but Eve was not of the same temperament. Still, Julius must be worried about her. As well as very deeply in love. As Helena was with her husband. That above all was paramount in her mind and her heart.
Julius promised to return in the morning with what papers he considered relevant. When Helena reminded him that she would not be shut out and he would have to expect her there, he grinned and told her he was perfectly aware of that.
“And the annuity—I’ll bring the details.”
“There’s no need for that,” Tom said.
Julius gave him a direct stare. “There is every need. I’ll also bring a marriage settlement. My father will sign it, of course, but he won’t object if I conduct the negotiations.”
“Is Papa speaking to me?” Helena tried to keep her smile bright, but the thought of her father, a distant but beloved figure, abandoning her brought a lump to her throat.
“Yes, of course.” He drew out his watch. “You were planning a visit to the theater, you said?”
Helena exchanged a look with Tom. “I was not planning to do so.”
“If you can bear it, do it,” Julius said. “I will return home, assure myself that Eve is resting, and join you there.” He took in the rest of the dining room. “I am convinced of the validity of the marriage, and I have no intention of cutting my sister. Tonight seems like a good time to appear in public. Let the gossips and the journals do the rest.”
Helena glanced down at her gown.
Julius grimaced. “I would not have put you in that shade of green, but it will serve to make you noticed. I’ll have your belongings sent around tomorrow, but you are not to think that I will shut up your room. It is always yours.”
“Perhaps we should stay with you for a night or two.” Helena did not miss Julius’s wince, instantly suppressed.
He kept his smooth smile. “Indeed you could.”
Although Tom was concerned for Helena, due to her distress earlier that day, she proved she could wind him around her finger by lowering her chin and gazing up into his eyes. Once he saw the winsome smile, he burst into laughter. “Only the main play, then, you minx.”
“I see the honeymoon is over,” she said, treating him to a mock pout.
“It has not yet started.” His voice was so low, throbbed with such intensity that heat rose to her cheeks and she was forced to look away. “There is an alternative to the theater, if you wish it.”
She lowered her voice, but feared everyone was listening. “Tom, it is barely seven!”
“You’ve had a busy day.” If she accepted his offer, she’d have a busy night, too. But she was not so shameless. Everyone would know why they were in bed so early, and it would not be to rest. Not initially, at any rate.
Trying to case his suggestion off with a merry laugh, she failed miserably, and caught a gleam in Julius’s eyes as he to
ok his leave.
At this time of year, the theater was not full. They took two carriages, Tom and Helena in one, and the duke, the dowager, Lord William, Emilia and Chloe crammed inside the other.
Tom took the opportunity of the darkness outside by ordering the coachman not to light the lamps inside the coach and taking Helena in his arms as soon as the vehicle jolted into motion. Before she could voice a protest— not that she was about to— he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her. As her mouth opened she groaned, sucking gently on his tongue. He thrust, withdrew and caressed her, tickling the roof of her mouth as he stroked along it with the tip of his tongue. Spreading his hand over her back, he urged her closer, pressing her body against his, silk and lace meeting brocade. He withdrew and then kissed her again. She rested her head on his shoulder as he dropped kisses down her neck and along the bare part of her shoulder. She tipped her head back, sighing at the shivering sensations rippling through her.
They had reached the theater almost without her noticing. Pulling away, he twitched the lace ruffle at her neck back into place and straightened the shoulders of her gown. “You see, you could have had all that if you were not so keen to see the play.”
When she opened her mouth to protest indignantly, he laughed. “I love to tease you. You rise to the bait so easily.”
“And I thought you a stern man.”
He had appeared intimidating in public, with his severe way of dressing and his aloof bearing, the impression increased by his height. But now, sitting next to her, he had the look of a naughty schoolboy, caught in mischief and delighted by his own wickedness. His dark eyes gleamed with promise. “I shall enjoy this. Do you know what the play might be?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. May we leave early?”
“Do you think that’s wise? We should plan a campaign of appearing in public, don’t you think?”
Only the innocent tone told her he was teasing her. His kisses had aroused her, reminded her that what they did was real and allowed. How strange to have their loving condoned, or at least considered respectable.
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