‘No…no. Actually, I do feel a little unwell,’ she said. ‘I think that perhaps I shall go to my room…’
There was certainly no way she could sit through dinner, watching him carry on as though nothing had happened between them, when she felt as though… Oh, the only way to describe it was as though she was dying inside.
It was not long before her aunt came to join her. Helen had undressed and got into bed, though she was not sleepy. She saw no point in sitting up, brooding. She wanted to pull the blankets over her head and will the day to end. It was sure to hurt less in the morning.
Wasn’t it?
‘What is the matter, dear?’ her aunt enquired, laying her hand upon her forehead. ‘You do not seem to have a fever.’
‘No, it is not a fever,’ she sighed.
‘Then what is it? What can I do to make you feel better?’
There was nothing anyone could do to make her feel better. She suspected she was not going to feel any better for some considerable time. She had thought earlier on that she could not possibly open her heart to Aunt Bella, but there was nobody else. And her aunt deserved some sort of explanation for why she was missing her dinner.
‘Aunt Bella, have you ever been in love?’
Her aunt looked at her sharply. ‘Ah, so that is it after all. Sally said you had fallen for Lord Bridgemere. The fellow has played fast and loose with your feelings, has he?’
‘No,’ sighed Helen. ‘He asked me to marry him. And I refused.’
Aunt Bella looked completely confused. As well she might.
‘Have I done the right thing?’
Aunt Bella pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. ‘I do not know, Helen. I am not the best person to talk about romantic love between a man and woman, if that is what ails you. I have no experience of it myself. And from what I have observed in others it brings nothing but pain and disillusion.’
‘So you would say it is better not to marry if you are not sure…?’
‘Oh, unquestionably. A woman is better alone.’
Alone. The word tolled like a death knell in Helen’s heart. She would always be alone. She would never meet another man who would match up to Lord Bridgemere.
‘That is what I thought. Only it does hurt so…’
And finally Helen burst into tears. Tears she had been holding back since the moment she had reached her decision.
‘H…he does not l…love me, you s…see,’ she sobbed. ‘So of course I c…could not marry him, c…could I?’
‘Not if you have any sense of self-worth, no,’ said Aunt Bella prosaically.
For a while Helen just wept, while her aunt patted her on the back.
‘In time I expect the pain will ease,’ said Aunt Bella, offering her a handkerchief when Helen began to weep a little less bitterly. ‘People do not really die of broken hearts. Not sensible people, at any rate. I could tell, really, I suppose,’ she admitted, ‘that you fell hard for him the moment you clapped eyes on him. You have never been able to hide what you are feeling,’ she said, gently brushing a strand of hair from Helen’s tearstained cheek. ‘Did he try to take advantage of you? Is that what upsets you so?’
Helen shook her head furiously. ‘No! It is because he said I should be a comfortable wife!’
Aunt Bella’s brows shot up. ‘You? Comfortable? Are you sure?’
When Helen nodded, Bella clicked her tongue. ‘The man’s an idiot. Only a grand passion would induce you to marry. And there is nothing comfortable about that sort of relationship, I should not think.’ She frowned. ‘You would not have wanted to upset me by marrying for anything less. I have always been so scathing about the institution, have I not? Have I been utterly selfish? I have worried recently that I did you a great wrong by not taking you to London and introducing you to some eligible men. Just because I never wished to marry, there was no reason to assume that you would not.’
‘Oh, Aunt Bella, no! Please do not think that. I never wanted a Season. Besides, I am certain that had I said I wanted one you would have gone along with my wishes. You always let me have whatever I wanted.’
Aunt Bella looked a little mollified.
‘And,’ Helen continued, ‘this week, mixing with the kind of people we would have run into in London, has shown me that I should not have enjoyed it all that much. I do not regret anything about the way you brought me up, Aunt Bella. Please do not think so!’
Aunt Bella produced another handkerchief and blew her own nose on it. ‘And yet if you had married someone you would not now be obliged to go and work as a governess. Be reliant upon strangers. We know nothing of these Harcourts. I worry that—’ She broke off and dabbed at her eyes. ‘You have been so brave about it, but this week I confess I have often felt so uncomfortable about the way things have turned out that I have actually been avoiding you. Sticking my head in the sand, I suppose you would say. Because every time I am with you I—’ She broke off again, on a little sob.
Helen knelt up in bed and put her arms about her aunt. ‘Please do not worry about me. You have taught me to be strong and resourceful. I have appreciated the way you have brought me up even more this week, after renewing my acquaintance with General Forrest and his wife. I shudder to think what I would have ended up like had I stayed with them!’
‘And yet you refused Lord Bridgemere. When most women would think marrying him would be far preferable to going out to work for a living. Helen, what have I done to you?’
‘Taught me to have pride,’ she said. ‘The man is still in love with his first wife, Lucinda. If I married him he would expect me to simply accept what is left over—like a beggar taking crumbs from his table!’
Aunt Bella frowned. ‘Lucinda? In love with her, was he? I should not have thought it myself.’
‘Wh…what do you mean? Lady Thrapston said—’
‘That woman! Twists the facts to suit herself, she does. Lord Bridgemere could not have been much more than seventeen when he married Lucinda Ellingham. She was of much the same age. The match was arranged by their families.’
‘Oh?’ Helen had a peculiar cold sensation in her insides. Had she just made the most colossal error? ‘B…but why did he shut himself away from everyone after she died? Lady Thrapston said his heart was buried with her in her grave.’
Aunt Bella flung up her hands in annoyance. ‘What a piece of melodramatic nonsense! Honestly! Does he strike you as the sort of man who would care that much about any woman?’
That remark did not help Helen as much as her aunt had probably intended. Though it might be some consolation to hear he had not been so enamoured of his first wife as she had been led to believe, it still did not bode well for any relationship they might have had.
‘S…Swaledale said—’
‘Helen, if you have been listening to the tales those two have been telling, then I despair of you. Surely they contradicted each other on every conceivable point?’
Now she came to think of it, they had. Lady Thrapston had said Lord Bridgemere was a man with a broken heart. Whilst Swaledale had implied he had a guilty conscience.
‘So…are you saying he did not love her?’
Aunt Bella shrugged. ‘That I cannot tell you. It was a long time ago, and I have never been that close to him. Does it make so much difference?’
Helen’s shoulders slumped. ‘Probably not. He does not love me, and that is the main reason I could not accept. I sat down and really thought about marriage for the first time today. And I saw that the kind of match I want would be the kind my parents had. The grand passion, as you so rightly said. They were so very much in love, my mother and father.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Bridgemere I think admires me a little. But he does not love me the way I need to be loved. He would have made me miserable.’
‘I expect so,’ said Aunt Bella tartly. ‘That is what men are best at. Making women miserable.’
Helen could not help smiling weakly at that remark.
‘That is what Swaledale said. T
hat Lord Bridgemere would make me miserable. According to him, Lord Bridgemere has a dreadful temper. And, what is more, he implied his first wife’s death might not have been an accident. He said that nobody ever dared question Lord Bridgemere too closely about the incident, as though there was something sinister about her death that he wished to keep quiet.’
Aunt Bella snorted contemptuously. ‘Well, from what I recall of that time it would have been no surprise if Bridgemere had lost his temper with Lucinda. She acted like a spoiled child instead of a wife with a position in society to live up to. But as for implying he had anything to do with her death—why, that is absolute nonsense! He may have blamed himself for not being here to curb her excesses perhaps…’
‘It happened here?’
‘Yes. She fell down the grand staircase and broke her neck. During one of the riotous parties she liked to throw. The rumours that came my way were to the effect that she was intoxicated. Not that Bridgemere had anything to do with it. And if Swaledale implied otherwise I should say that it stems from spite, because he feared what he could see was going on between you and His Lordship. That young man must be terrified of being cut from the succession.’
‘I…I never thought of that…’ Helen whispered. Oh, Lord, what had she done? She shut her eyes and wrapped her arms round her waist.
But it did not take her long to realise that it made no difference what had gone on in that first long-ago marriage, even though it had cast such long shadows over his life. The reason she had not accepted Lord Bridgemere’s proposal was that he did not love her now, today. Not because of anything that might or might not have happened in his youth.
‘Shall I send for a supper tray?’ said Aunt Bella, dabbing at her eyes and sitting up straight. ‘It is bad enough that the wretched man has upset you so much. I see no reason why we both need to go hungry on his account as well.’
They were not going to discuss the matter any further, Helen could see that. Aunt Bella disliked emotional scenes of this sort. They had made their peace with each other, dealt with Lord Bridgemere’s proposal, and that was the end of that.
Helen blew her nose one last time, knowing the subject was closed. When Aunt Bella drew a line under any topic there was no point in trying to revisit it.
Helen woke next morning with a throat that felt raw from weeping quietly into her pillow and eyes that were heavy from lack of sleep.
It was her last day at Alvanley Hall. And she did not know how she was going to get through it. He would be somewhere near all the time. She might see him unexpectedly at any moment. And every time she saw him it would be a like a fresh blow. To know she might have married him if she’d had less pride. To know that because of it she would likely never see him again.
Oh, how she longed for the day to be over, so that she could leave tomorrow and start to get on with the rest of her life without him. To begin to allow her wounded heart to heal.
This must be what purgatory was like. Neither one thing nor the other. Just enduring the present punishment for a decision she was bitterly regretting even though she knew it had been the right one.
For once she had no wish to go up to the nursery. Children were perceptive. They would be bound to ask her what was the matter. Or Reverend Mullen would enquire after her health. She was afraid that she might start to cry again, and upset them. As well as drawing the kind of attention to herself she desperately wished to avoid.
But she had no wish to sit in her room moping all day, either.
Fortunately she knew exactly where another pair of willing hands would be welcome, and that was at the barn on the home farm, where the tenants’ ball was to be held tonight.
As she had suspected, Mrs Dent welcomed her with open arms, and promptly handed her a broom. Once Helen had finished helping sweep the floor she went and stood with the village girls who had also come up to help, and had a drink while they all watched the men setting up trestle tables along one wall. From then on her feet hardly touched the ground. There were cloths to spread, garlands to make, wreaths to hang and, to the accompaniment of much giggling, kissing balls to fashion from mistletoe and hang in as many strategic locations as possible.
Much later she went to the nursery, to take an early tea with the children since she was feeling a little shaky. She could not say she wanted to eat anything, but she knew there was a lot of the day left to get through, and the last thing she wanted to do was faint away and ruin the children’s big moment on stage.
She helped them into their costumes and handed Charles, swathed in silk as the angel Gabriel, the supply of ginger snaps which she had fetched on her way up through the kitchens, so that he could bribe the little angels to behave themselves. Then she helped Reverend Mullen and the nurserymaids to get them all downstairs and into their cart for the short drive over to the barn.
Their party was the last to arrive. The house guests were sitting on benches directly in front of the raised platform on which the band would later play music for the dance, and the villagers, dressed up in their Sunday best, were standing behind them.
There was an empty seat next to Lord Bridgemere, on the front row. He got to his feet the moment he saw her and indicated that she should come and sit beside him.
Helen’s heart sank. It was further proof, as if she needed any, that he had not a grain of sensitivity. How could he think she would want to sit so close to him when her whole being was grazed red raw from rejecting his proposal?
Yet how could she refuse his invitation with everyone watching? It would look as though… She grappled with the possible interpretations the others would put on her actions, then gave up, too weary to take any thought to its logical conclusion, and sank onto the seat beside him.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ he murmured as she took her seat. ‘You did not take dinner last night.’
How could he think she could have sat through another interminable meal with his family when her heart had felt as though it was breaking?
‘I feel…’
She felt dreadful. And sitting so close to him was not helping. If she should reach out, just a little, she would be able to touch him. When she knew that really he was forever out of her reach. For two pins she could throw back her head and howl with misery. She had to bite down hard on her lower lip, to stop it quivering.
‘Hush,’ she said, keeping her face fixed straight ahead, for she dared not look at him lest he see exactly how much she was hurting. ‘The children are about to start.’
Something inside Lord Bridgemere had settled when she took her place beside him. He had been worried about her all day. He had upset her somehow by proposing marriage. Though he could not tell why. He had thought she liked him. But last night in his study she had looked as though she could not wait to get as far from him as possible. She had not been able to look him in the face from the moment she’d entered. Had run from the room positively bristling with indignation when he had decided he might as well put a period to that embarrassing little scene.
But at least she did not have such a disgust of him that she could not even bear to sit beside him now.
Strange how badly he had misinterpreted her. He had thought he could always tell exactly what she was feeling. He had caught her looking at him sometimes with what he had thought was her heart in her eyes. He would have sworn she would leap at the chance to marry him.
Instead she had turned him down. Had run from the dining room the second he’d entered it as though she could not bear to so much as look at him and gone without dinner rather than endure another second in his presence. And she had clearly been avoiding him all day. He’d respected her wishes, leaving her to her own devices though he would much rather have made the most of this last day they would ever have together. But he was too much the gentleman to trample all over her feelings.
Whatever they were. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked as though she had slept as poorly as he had done. The feeling of numbness that had descended over
him when she had turned down his proposal had stayed with him through the night. He just could not believe she would walk away from him when she could be his wife. Why? he had wanted to shout when she had stammered through that painful little rejection speech. Why could she not stay with him? Did he mean nothing to her at all? He had lain in bed all night feeling…empty. Completely empty.
But she was sitting next to him now.
He barely restrained the urge to reach out and take hold of her hand.
Reverend Mullen had done a masterful job of coaching the children, who acted out the story of the nativity quite beautifully, even if several of the tiniest angels could clearly be seen munching biscuits throughout. To end the performance the whole audience joined in with a heartfelt rendition of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, then the seated guests applauded the children’s effort politely, while the villagers whooped and cheered.
When the applause had died down, all the seated spectators got up and made their way to the exit, intent on returning to the chilly grandeur of the big house. Instinctively Helen made a move towards the children, intending to help their nurses wrap warm coats over the tops of their costumes for the ride home.
‘Miss Forrest,’ said Lord Bridgemere, putting his hand on her arm to stay her.
‘Please, don’t go.’ His heart was hammering so hard it was a wonder she could not hear it. There was so little time left. Mere hours before the coach would come round and carry her away. How could they waste them sleeping? Or in his case pacing his room, wondering what he could have done to make her accept rather than reject him.
Her heart leapt within her breast. Was he asking her to reconsider? Had he, on reflection, decided he could not bear the thought that she was leaving tomorrow?
‘It is your last night here,’ he said. ‘Your last night of freedom before you have to try to behave with propriety all the time, as befits a governess.’ He tried to make a joke of it, so that she would not hear how close he was to begging her to spend the evening with him.
A Countess by Christmas Page 19