It was not long before the warmth of the fire after their outing, coupled with all that hot chocolate and all those biscuits, made them drowsy. Their nurses returned to take them from her and put them down for a nap, and gradually a contented hush settled over the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire or a murmured comment from one of the older children, who were now sprawled on their tummies, imagining, Helen surmised from their rapt expressions, dragons, volcanoes, or firework displays amongst the glowing coals.
She had a feeling that Lord Bridgemere would have enjoyed being up here, witnessing this moment of utter peace and harmony, far more than being in the rather contentious atmosphere that would surely be prevailing downstairs.
As her thoughts inevitably turned to him, the remembrance of their last encounter up here, just outside the nursery door, shattered her whimsical mood. Even though she felt as though she was beginning to understand something of his views, he most certainly did not feel the same burning, physical ache for her that she felt for him. Or he would not have offered her a dowry to marry some other man. The fact that he had immediately thought of a financial solution to her problems showed that he did not really separate her in his mind from any of his other guests. Who were his family, after all.
And she was not even that.
She was up here practising being a governess. Thanks to Lord Bridgemere, she had grown more confident that she would be able to cope within the sphere of her new life. She had grown fond of these children, and fiercely protective of them, in the short time she had become part of their world.
But it was not her world. And Lord Bridgemere’s offer to pay her off showed her that she did not have so much as a toehold in it.
There was to be dancing after an early dinner that evening, in honour of the day. She was sure most of the other ladies would spend the entire afternoon beautifying themselves. But—she smiled wryly to herself—she would much rather be doing something useful than wasting hours in front of a mirror. She would have quite enjoyed joining the team who would be making the greenery up into garlands and wreaths, and helping Mrs Dent decorate the ballroom. But on the whole she thought she would get most pleasure from just staying up here with the children. They would be rehearsing their play again later, and she wanted to be on hand to put finishing touches to their costumes. And just be there, to support them as they got to grips with their parts. Junia was word-perfect already, but Charles, who was playing Gabriel, was still nervous enough to need all the encouragement he could get.
It took her, just as she had suspected, less than an hour to wash and change into her best gown, brush her hair and pin it up in the simple style she had perfected when they’d had to dismiss their maid. All she had to do then was fasten her mother’s amber beads around her neck, drape her evening shawl over her elbows, and she was as ready as she would ever be.
Which was not all that ready, she reflected upon entering the blue saloon. Everywhere she looked there were crisp ringlets, sumptuous satins and glittering jewels, casting her own plain bronze gown and simple string of beads into the shade. Making her even more aware that she did not belong here.
But it struck her, once they had all sat down to dine, that the amount of personal wealth on display had not brought any one of these people happiness. All round the table she could see one discontented face after another. Most of them never seemed to stop grumbling. It was as though whatever they had was never quite enough to satisfy them.
And the battle which raged between Lady Thrapston and her sister Lady Craddock created a maelstrom of tensions. Maintaining neutrality was hard, but since both ladies were influential in their own ways, risking making either of them an enemy by openly befriending the other made it by far the safest course to steer.
And that was quite apart from the rift that existed between Aunt Bella and her brother General Forrest, which had created still more eddies.
After dinner everyone went to the ballroom, which had been opened up and decorated for the occasion. It really looked magnificent, Helen mused. The floor had been polished to a high sheen, and every chandelier and wall sconce was festooned with ivy, while garlands of pine and fir had been draped over picture frames and mantelpieces. The staff must have worked really hard to achieve so much in such a short space of time. Particularly since there was to be a sumptuous supper later, to round off the evening.
The orchestra which had been hired for the event was still tuning up when Helen walked in. After swiftly examining the seating arrangements, she and her aunt went and took seats in a quiet corner, rather than on the front row of chairs which ringed the dance floor. She did not expect anyone would ask her to dance. The other guests either regarded her as one of the serving classes or somebody’s love child. Lady Thrapston, she suspected, given the way she studiously looked straight through her as she glided past, thought she ought not to be there at all.
Well, she was not going to stay for very long. Her aunt would probably move into the card room with Lady Norton as soon as they had watched the opening few sets, and when they made their move she would get to her feet too, say she was tired after the exertions of the day, and claim she needed an early night. There was no way she was going to sit here like a wallflower, watching other, more socially acceptable ladies dance!
The first set was drawing to a close, and her aunt and Lady Norton were shifting in their seats, plucking at their shawls and generally getting ready to leave the dancing for the younger ones, when to Helen’s surprise Lord Bridgemere threaded his way through the chairs until he came to a halt right in front of her.
‘The next dance,’ he said without preamble, ‘is to be a waltz. Do you know the steps?’
‘I…I do,’ she stuttered, her heart bouncing around inside her chest at the possibility he might be going to invite her to dance.
For a moment she wondered if he regretted whatever impulse had brought him over, as he just stood there, gazing down at her with a slight frown on his brow. But then he seemed to make up his mind. He held out his hand, and said, somewhat impatiently, ‘Come on, then!’
Both her aunt and Lady Norton dropped straight back down into their seats when she rose and followed him onto the dance floor. Though they could hardly be more surprised than she was!
Or anyone else.
She was very conscious of the hush that fell over the assembled guests as they stood in the very centre of the dance floor, waiting for the music to begin. She was convinced that everyone must be watching her with disapproval, though how they thought she had managed to get Lord Bridgemere to invite her to waltz with him was beyond her!
But she was blowed if she was going to let anyone, or anything, spoil this moment. Resolutely lifting her chin, she looked up into his face, willing the rest of the room to the edges of her notice.
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he saw what she was doing.
‘That’s it, Miss Forrest,’ he said, very softly. ‘Look at me, not at them.’
And, as if holding her to the challenge, he kept his own eyes fixed upon hers as the music began and he guided her into a set of basic steps.
She had never danced the waltz whilst looking deep into her partner’s eyes before. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. He filled her consciousness to the exclusion of almost everything else. The music seemed to come from very far away. It was the subtle direction of his hands, the angle of his body, that guided her through the figures of the dance. Once he had ascertained the level of her skill he began to introduce ever more complicated figures, smiling at her every time she rose to the occasion. It was exhilarating to find they were so perfectly matched. Before long she could anticipate his next move, so that she felt as though he was not leading her and she following, but that they were moving as one.
By the time the dance ended there were several other couples on the floor, though she had not noticed them joining in. She had been aware of nothing but the feel of his hand at her waist, the scent of his cologne fillin
g her nostrils, and the steady regard of his eyes, holding her to him with a power that felt stronger than bands of steel.
Lord, she would remember this night, this magical waltz, for the rest of her life! This whole day, in fact, would have a special place in her memory. For he had been at the centre of everything. Even when he had not been in the room with her she had felt his influence holding sway over all her pleasures.
She moved away from him with reluctance when he stood still, removed his hand from her waist, and bowed to her. The music had ended, she realised, and with it the magic. He turned to lead her back to her seat, breaking the eye contact which had held her in thrall throughout the waltz.
And then he brought her right back down to earth with a bump by saying, ‘I have made it a tradition to answer the petitions of my family by means of a note which they receive at the breakfast table on Christmas morning. But in your case, since I do not yet know what you want of me, I have requested that Cadwallader free up a quarter of an hour after breakfast tomorrow. I hope that will be convenient?’
Her heart abruptly plunged. The interview would truly mark the end of her time here. While she was helping with the children, or dancing in his arms, she could make herself forget for just a few moments that she did not truly belong here. That their time together was only temporary.
‘Of course,’ she replied, dropping like a stone onto her chair.
‘Until tomorrow, then,’ he said, and strolled away without a backward look.
Her aunt laid a hand on her sleeve and whispered, ‘Well, that was a surprise. You should have seen the look on Lady Thrapston’s face! The only person who looked more affronted was Lady Craddock!’
‘You have set the cat among the pigeons, Miss Forrest,’ said Lady Norton with glee from behind her fluttering fan.
Her suggestive smile made Helen feel horribly exposed. Did everyone here know she was completely infatuated with a man beyond her reach? What a fool she must look!
‘Oh, no, I am sure it was just a duty dance,’ Helen replied hastily. ‘He is the sort of man who would take pity on any unattached female who is not likely to have many partners. Even one who is destined to become a governess.’
‘Oh,’ said her aunt, her puzzled expression clearing. ‘Yes, I expect that must be it. In which case, since you will not be needing me to act as chaperon—’ she cast a quelling look at Lady Norton ‘—I shall be off to the card room. Will you come too?’
‘No, thank you,’ Helen said, drawing on the ready-made excuse she had prepared. ‘I was up very early this morning…’
It was more important than ever that she escape to her room. Waltzing with Lord Bridgemere had been delightful, but it must only have confirmed to the onlookers what they had already suspected.
She could not face anyone now! She wanted to slip away and go over every second of that dance—commit it all to memory, so that she could take it out and reexamine it at her leisure in years to come.
She gave her aunt a swift peck on the cheek, and quietly slipped away to the exit.
But Lady Thrapston had somehow managed to guess what she meant to do. When Helen left the ballroom, she was waiting for her in the corridor.
Laying her fan on Helen’s forearm, she said, ‘I warned you about making up to my brother. But I can see you have not paid any heed. Every person watching that dance must have seen that you have so far forgotten your station you have fallen headlong in love with him!’
‘Unfortunately, my lady,’ Helen said sadly, ‘my heart does not seem to have heeded the warning either you or I have tried to give it.’ She knew her case was hopeless. He could not feel much for her if he was prepared to pay some other man to marry her—which was what his offer of a dowry amounted to.
‘Then I pity you,’ said Lady Thrapston coldly. ‘For he will break it.’
‘Oh,’ said Helen with a wry smile, ‘you do not need to tell me that he is impervious to me as a woman…’
‘Far from it,’ said Lady Thrapston, with a shake of her head. ‘If I thought that, I would not have taken the trouble to try and warn you. It is my belief that he is, in his own way, quite taken with you. He has singled you out for the sort of attention he has not granted another woman for years.’
Had he? Helen’s heart, which had been so heavy ever since he had told her she ought to marry some other man promptly soared. And with it her self-esteem. She had not misinterpreted the heat she had sometimes thought she saw in his eyes. Especially just now, on the dance floor.
‘And if you continue to encourage him, you might even persuade him into indulging in an affair. I dare say,’ Lady Thrapston said with a contemptuous sniff, ‘he is ripe for one!’
Helen’s hopes plunged back down to earth. An affair. That was all a girl like her was good for. She had suspected the same thing herself at one point, before she had begun to think he did not reciprocate the physical attraction she felt for him at all.
‘But I do not think you are the kind of girl who would survive such an encounter. So I urge you to beware. For you will not succeed in dragging a proposal from him, no matter what you do!’
No, a man who had any honourable intentions towards a woman could not possibly offer to sell her on to another man.
Lady Thrapston went on. ‘Believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to see him married again and setting up his nursery. And to that end I have introduced a succession of gels to him who are far prettier and much more suitable than you—without success. Of late I have come to the sorry conclusion that his heart is buried in the grave with Lucinda.’
‘L…Lucinda? Who is…was she?’
‘His wife.’
The words sank into her brain like a stone dropped into a pond, sending ripples of shock vibrating through her. He had been married? And widowed? Why had her aunt never mentioned this?
‘When she died,’ Lady Thrapston continued mercilessly, ‘he was so heartbroken that he shut himself away from the world, and even now, all these years later, he can hardly bear to live without her. I have watched him year upon year, and I have to tell you that even when he forces himself to come out of his self-imposed seclusion in honour of this season he can hardly bear the celebrations without her.’
Now his behaviour made so much sense! She had wondered how he had got the reputation of being a surly recluse, but she could see it all now. He was a broken-hearted widower, who had only slowly and painfully pieced his life back together after the love of his life had died.
And as for Lady Thrapston’s attempts to get him to remarry! Well! She had probably been thrusting marital prospects under his nose with total insensitivity to his pain well before he was ready to take such a step. And not out of concern for him, either! No, it would all have been part of her ongoing battle with Lady Craddock. All Lady Thrapston was keen for him to do was—how had she put it?—set up his own nursery. So that Lady Craddock’s son would be cut out of the succession.
But if he really was attracted to her, as Lady Thrapston seemed to think… A sharp pain seared through her. She could understand now why at times he seemed to enjoy her company and then abruptly withdrew into stony hostility. Any tender feelings he might have would seem like a betrayal of his first love! He would resent them. He would resent her for making him feel them.
‘Thank you for telling me this, My Lady,’ said Helen jerkily, dropping an abrupt curtsey. ‘Unfortunately for me,’ she said with a grimace, ‘it comes a little late. Oh, do not worry—I have no intention of becoming his mistress. I have too much pride to allow any man to use me in such a fashion! I have honest work to go to. In fact I shall be leaving to take up my job in just a few days. I am sure,’ she said bitterly, ‘that once I have gone he will forget all about me.’
‘But you will not forget him, will you?’ Lady Thrapston’s face softened into an expression of pity.
‘No,’ replied Helen. ‘Never.’
That night she cried herself to sleep. The more she learned about Lord Bridgemere, the
more he tugged at her heart. And the further out of her reach he receded. She might have tempted him out of his customary isolation into a solitary walk, and a waltz which had shocked his family, but only the day before he had offered to buy her a husband. He evidently found her attractive, but would rather see her married to some other man than risk furthering their relationship in any way whatever. What more evidence did she need to prove that his heart was buried in the grave with his late wife? Oh, Lord, but there was nothing more painful than unrequited love. She sobbed. She hurt. She physically hurt inside at the knowledge that he did not, could not, return her feelings. That she had no hope.
She woke with a heavy heart on Christmas Day. She was dreading her interview with Lord Bridgemere, when she would ask for his assistance with her travels. When she would bid him farewell for ever. He might feel a little sorry she was leaving, if he had begun to feel some slight attraction towards her, but on the whole he would be relieved that the temptation she represented would be permanently removed from his life.
On Christmas morning it was the custom, she had been told, for everyone to gather for breakfast together. In years past she and her aunt had always exchanged gifts at the breakfast table too, so the day before she had given her gifts to Mrs Dent to place at the correct table setting.
When she reached the dining room she saw that there was a small packet beside each place setting. She felt a little perplexed as she sat down. Lord Bridgemere had told her that he gave everyone a note informing them of his decision regarding whatever petition they had made. But not that he enclosed with it a small gift.
Beside her, Aunt Bella suddenly burst out laughing. She had opened the present Helen had given her, which was a quarter of peppermint drops twisted into the set of handkerchiefs Helen had embroidered for her.
Helen was a little put out. They had agreed that they would only give each other small token gifts this year, considering the state of their finances. She had known peppermint drops were a particular favourite of her aunt’s and had thought the gift would please her. Not make her laugh out loud!
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