Virtue's Reward

by Jean R. Ewing

  She felt overwhelmed, desperate, as if she were drowning.

  A footman was still hovering.

  Richard spoke to him. “This is my wife, Manners. Have her shown to the appropriate suite.”

  The charming companion of the journey was gone. Richard’s face was set as still and hard as that of Apollo on his dais. It chilled her like a frost.

  He turned absently to Helena. “We eat at nine. Put on whatever is the grandest thing that you have.”

  And leaving her standing alone with the servant in the hallway, he strode away.

  Moments later, a maid ushered Helena up the right-hand staircase and into an echoing chamber, dominated by a four-poster with blue velvet drapes. More maids in starched caps and aprons bustled into the room. Her luggage was delivered and unpacked, and several of her things whisked away to the laundry to be washed or pressed. She was brought a tray of tea. A copper tub followed and was filled with steaming water. Helena was undressed and bathed without mercy for her modesty, and dried in a capacious towel.

  The woman who came in next had obviously been trained as a lady’s maid. She sorted through the handful of dresses Helena had brought from Trethaerin.

  Helena knew immediately that she had nothing grand enough.

  “Have you nothing but this?” the lady’s maid said, holding up Helena’s best blue silk with the silver flounce.

  Helena shook her head.

  The woman sniffed. “I suppose it will have to do.”

  She dropped the dress over Helena’s head and fastened the ribbons.

  An older woman in black stalked into the room. “I am Lady Acton’s personal dresser, ma’am,” she said stiffly. “I usually touch no one’s head but her ladyship’s, but she directed that I attend you. The curling iron, if you please.”

  This last comment was addressed to one of the maids, who scurried to obey.

  “You are most kind. But please leave it!” Helena stepped over to the dresser and took up her own brush and comb. “I am content to dress my hair in my usual way.”

  “But it is positively countrified, ma’am!”

  “Yes, indeed,” Helena said. “And so am I. Now, please leave me be.”

  The woman bobbed a small curtsy and signaled the other maids. They all sailed back out of the room, leaving Helena alone.

  She took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her color was high and her eyes shone with indignation. Her blue silk might not be all that grand, but it was elegantly cut and the color had been her father’s favorite. With deft fingers she brushed out her hair and twisted it into her usual style. If she was presentable enough for Cornish society, then she was good enough, just as she was, for the Earl and Countess of Acton.

  But how could Richard have sprung all this on her with no warning? She had married a stranger, indeed! Good heavens, she could never be a satisfactory countess.

  At that moment she heard a gong, and a manservant appeared to show her to the drawing room. She was about to meet Richard’s family. If the thought had seemed enough to strip him of his good humor, what on earth could she expect? Helena threw up her chin. Whatever his reasons, Richard Acton had married her and rescued her from Garthwood. She wouldn’t disgrace him.

  “Come, Helena,” she said aloud in front of the startled footman. “Strike a blow for Cornwall!”

  The man left her in front of a white-painted doorway, where another footmen stood rigidly at attention. Beyond must be the drawing room. She gave the man a small nod and he began to open the door.

  Helena stepped forward as if to enter, when she heard Richard’s voice. Instantly, she was rooted to the spot.

  The footman froze also, with the door slightly cracked and his hand still on the knob.

  “Yes, you heard me correctly the first time, my lord. I am married.”

  “For God’s sake, sir! Who the devil is she? Trethaerin? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Pray, calm down, Acton.” They were the tones of a woman. “Richard has married only to please us. Heaven knows you have been after him to wed for long enough.”

  “Yes, into a suitable lineage. Not to some unknown girl! What the hell was wrong with the Salisbury daughters? Does this creature have a family? Did she bring property? A dowry? Answer me, by God!”

  Richard’s voice was the only one that was calm. “The answer is no on all counts, sir.”

  There was the sound of the rapid fluttering of a woman’s fan. It must be Richard’s mother.

  “You must admit the unknown bride is a clever one, Acton, to ensnare the eldest son of an earl.”

  There was an edge to her voice that almost expressed amusement.

  “God’s teeth, sir! Don’t tell me you have been caught by a fortune hunter?”

  “Miss Trethaerin did not know who I was, my lord. She thought herself wed to plain Captain Acton until today.”

  “She has cozened you, Richard.” The sound of the fan stopped as its owner spoke again. “Is it appropriate that I have hysterics?”

  “Mama, I pray that you will not. Helena comes from a perfectly respectable home, but is orphaned. It is only through an accident of fate that she is left without property.”

  “Not an entail?” the Countess of Acton said with considerable sarcasm.

  The older man’s voice cut her off. He was almost shouting. “Damn your entails, ma’am! How could she be left without fortune? The girl is obviously a brazen hussy. What on earth possessed you to marry the wench, sir? Why not set her up in a place in London like your other mistresses?”

  “Acton! Pray, remember the presence of your lady wife! I declare, I shall have the vapors.” The fan began to vibrate again.

  “She is the cousin of Sir Edward Blake, my lord, of Friarswell in Cornwall,” Richard said, his tones like ice. “A fellow officer who died in France for his country. She is a lady.”

  “Devil take me if I ever thought you would be carried away by a seductive smile attached to an empty purse, sir! Am I to have no control over your precipitate actions? You have set yourself against me ever since you were in leading strings. In every godforsaken corner of the world you have exposed yourself recklessly to danger and vice. When travel palled, you went into the cavalry, risking your worthless neck as if you were a younger son instead of my heir. You have responsibilities to England, sir, and to your name. Is this what your mother and I deserve? You can be certain to inherit my title, sir, but if it wasn’t for the entail on the property, damn me if I wouldn’t strike you out in favor of Henry.”

  Richard’s voice seemed entirely unconcerned. “I am well aware of your feelings, sir. However, I am of age. I have married Helena Trethaerin. I would ask that you treat her with the courtesy due the future Countess of Acton.”

  And the footman opened the door.

  Richard spun around, and Helena saw his eyes widen into dark pools as he gazed at her. He looked splendid and completely unruffled. His tall frame was clothed in the most impeccable and sober of evening clothes that fit his broad shoulders like a second skin. His golden hair caught the firelight, shining as bright as gold sovereigns.

  The two other occupants of the room fixed her with hostile intensity.

  Had Richard not at that moment given her a smile, Helena’s courage might have failed her, after all.

  “Lady Lenwood,” the servant announced.

  Helena felt her feet step forward and she was in the room. Richard was instantly at her side and had taken her hand in his.

  “Mama, Father, this is my wife, Helena. My dear, I would like you to meet the Earl and Countess of Acton.”

  Speechless, she sank into a curtsy.

  “You are late, young lady,” the earl said. “We dine at nine o’clock sharp. Please remember in future.”

  There was no time for further conversation. Dinner was announced and they filed into the dining room. Richard escorted his mother. Helena was obliged to lay her hand on the earl’s arm and allow him to lead her to her seat.

&nbs
p; The dining room was vast and paneled in oak. A table long enough to accommodate thirty held court over two long ranks of chairs emblazoned with what must be the Acton crest in the back of each. Silver candlesticks, exquisite plate, fine linen napkins, innumerable sets of cutlery, rosewater finger bowls; all were ranked like soldiers on the cloth.

  Thank goodness she had attended the young ladies’ seminary in Exeter and practiced everything that was considered correct!

  Helena did not speak a word as the courses were served and removed, since not a word was addressed to her. Instead, she surreptitiously studied her host and hostess.

  The countess was small and dark and drowning in jewels. Helena immediately surmised that she must once have been a great beauty. Her skin was still flawless and her black eyes magnificent: Richard’s eyes.

  The earl, on the other hand, was a typical big, rawboned Englishman, his face florid beneath a thatch of pepper and salt. He made Helena think of a portrait she had once seen of Henry VIII. From him must have come the fair hair, but she could see nothing else of Richard in his father.

  She watched Richard as he talked calmly and politely with the earl, while Lady Acton added the occasional acid comment. The candlelight warmed his coloring to honey. Helena had known since their first meeting that he was extraordinarily good-looking. Now he shone like a jewel in its setting, absolutely the aristocrat, totally secure in his birthright.

  And she had married him without recognizing that, a distinctly uncomfortable thought.

  At last the countess gave a small nod and rose, and Helena followed Richard’s mother from the room. When the excuse was offered that she must be fatigued from the journey and would perhaps wish to retire early, she happily took it and went up to her bedroom.

  The stream of maids instantly reappeared to remove her blue silk, comb out and braid her hair, put her into her plain muslin night rail, and fold back the covers. Had she not climbed into bed herself, no doubt they would have picked her up bodily and put her between the sheets.

  There were still two maids in the room, efficiently putting everything exactly to rights, when a door at the side of the chamber opened and with blushes and curtsies the girls made a sudden exit.

  Richard stood in the doorway. He had already removed his dinner jacket. His fine muslin shirt glowed amber in the dim light.

  Helena instantly pulled the covers up to her chin with both hands.

  “Am I disturbing you?” he asked blandly.

  Helena gulped. Surely he didn’t intend—?

  “No, of course not,” she said.

  He came into the room and tugged at his cravat. The elaborate folds collapsed into single strip of cloth, and he opened up his shirt and rubbed at the back of his neck. His skin gleamed smoothly in the firelight.

  “Who is Lady Lenwood?” Helena asked. She must make some ordinary conversation. “The footman announced her.”

  Richard stopped. The black eyes filled with amusement.

  “I only want to talk to you. You may relax and let go of the covers.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I have treated you shabbily, haven’t I? You are Lady Lenwood, because I am Viscount Lenwood. It’s a courtesy title always given to the oldest son. I had some wish to be judged solely on my merits, perhaps, by my comrades in the Peninsula, so I became plain Captain Acton. Though Wellington knew, of course, and my friends discovered it in due time, the habit stuck.” He reached for her dressing gown and held it out. “Here, let’s sit by the fire. It’s distinctly uncomfortable to talk to a lady who is lying in bed.”

  Helena thrust her arms into the robe and slipped from the four-poster. She didn’t know how to tell him, but it was also distinctly uncomfortable to talk to a gentleman dressed in nothing but her night attire. But, of course, he was her husband. He had a right to be there.

  She joined him at the fireside and he pulled a chair close to the flames, but he did not sit down opposite her.

  “I hope I didn’t disgrace you this evening,” she said calmly.

  He gave her a surprised look and began to pace on the Oriental rug.

  “No, of course not. You have a natural dignity and in spite of refusing the services of my mother’s dresser, you looked more beautiful than I had any right to expect.”

  It was small comfort. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He stopped and turned to her. “My name is Richard.”

  Helena gave a wry smile. “I already knew that, Captain Acton. It is the rest of the name that I am discovering in bits and pieces that disturbs me.”

  “You know it all now or very nearly: Richard Arthur Lysander Acton, Viscount Lenwood. And so I am heir to King’s Acton and the accompanying earldom. Isn’t that enough?”

  “More than sufficient. I just wish it had occurred to you that it would have been only kind to forewarn me.”

  He shrugged. “You coped admirably. I knew that you would.”

  She choked back her emotions. How could he be so casual about it? There was no reason for him not to have told her his true identity. Yet perhaps if she had known, she would not have married him? If so, that had been a risk he was not prepared to take. One day he would be an earl, one of the handful of men who directed the nation. So why was an oath to a dying comrade enough to make him marry a nobody?

  “I did not exactly feel welcome,” she said.

  “Nobody ever feels welcome at King’s Acton. It is more like attendance at an inquest and a visit to a mausoleum in one.”

  Helena tried to regain the light tone that had slipped away. In this mood he seemed almost dangerous.

  “At least I didn’t drink the water out of the finger bowl, or drop butter on my unfashionable skirts.”

  She was relieved when he smiled, but it was the polite smile of the drawing room. Something must have occurred since dinner to upset him deeply.

  “You will have to get some dresses eventually, of course, but the blue silk became you very well.”

  At least he had noticed her dress. Should she be pleased?

  “Surely you didn’t get me from my bed to talk about gowns?”

  He walked back to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel, his hair a bright halo above the strong lines of his throat.

  “No, I didn’t. I came to tell you that we aren’t going to London at all.”

  She thought for a moment. Of course, he had never said that they were. She had just assumed that a bachelor would have lodgings in town.

  “Whatever you say.” She looked down at her hands. Pray that they weren’t going to stay here! Anxiety made her voice a little sharper than she intended. “If there are dreadful skeletons in the family closet, I should like it if you would tell me that, too. You seem to know my complete family history. I think you owe me a little of yours.”

  “My father fancies himself as a bully and he prefers my brother Henry to me. My mother has been more proficient at producing children than in caring for them. I should say we are a very commonplace family.” His tone was quite casual.

  Helena looked up. “Why, really, did you marry me? I had no idea you were other than an ordinary gentleman, but you’re an earl’s son. Surely any number of more suitable young ladies would have been only too happy to wed the heir to all this?”

  She waved her hand around the sumptuous chamber.

  “Exactly,” he said. “But it is you I have married, so now we must both live with the consequences.”

  Her heart turned over. Oh, Lord. Was this it? Had he come to demand his marital rights? She felt her color rise and her pulse start pounding.

  “And what are those consequences? I am to be kept in the dark of every circumstance of our lives, while you continue to spring surprises on me as it suits you? If you had not insisted, I would never have done it, but I am your wife. Don’t you think you owe me common courtesy, at least?”

  “I don’t believe I have shown you anything else. For God’s sake, I plucked you from disaster!”

  “A
nd I am to be grateful forever?”

  “You seemed agreeable enough at the time.”

  “You were able to rid yourself of an obligation to Edward, but it wasn’t a bargain for which he had thought to consult me.”

  She knew it was cruel and unappreciative, but the full significance of what she had done was only just beginning to sink in. And he must have had other motives. What were they?

  “Damnation, Helena! I thought we understood each other.”

  Helena gulped. She understood nothing. Why on earth had he kept so many secrets from her?

  “Then where do we go next? Surely you don’t live here?”

  He looked as remote as the moon. “I do have a place in London, but now that I am wed, I have come into a house at Acton Mead that belonged to my grandmother. We go there tomorrow.”

  She felt the breath stick in her throat. “Acton Mead?”

  “It’s in the Chilterns. Quite respectable.”

  “What do you mean, now that you are wed?”

  “Grandmama left Acton Mead to me in her will to become mine the day that I married.”

  Helena leaped to her feet. “So you married me for a house?”

  “If you like. Isn’t that why you married me? For a roof over your head?” Suddenly, the vertical line marred his forehead as his brows flew together. “For God’s sake, Lady Lenwood, please don’t pretend that we married for affection!”

  And with a curse, he strode from the room.

  Chapter Five

  The letter arrived at Trethaerin House the next morning. Nigel Garthwood had no hesitation at all in opening it, although the battered cover was addressed clearly to Helena. It had apparently lain in some officer’s effects that had only now arrived in England.

  Out of curiosity, Garthwood turned first to the signature at the end. As he suspected, it was from Sir Edward Blake, written all those months ago, before his pitiable cousin had breathed his impetuous last. No doubt a pathetic love letter from beyond the grave.

  Garthwood almost tossed it aside unread.

  It was not an amorous missive. In fact the tone was light, almost brotherly. Yet after a couple of pages of scattered news, Edward had turned serious.