Monday's Child (Heroines born on each day of the week. Book 2)

by Rosemary Morris

  The minuet ended. Langley bowed. Miss Ormerod curtsied. Enthusiastic applause sounded while they left the impromptu stage.

  The Ormerod’s eldest son, a copper-haired gentleman wearing brown velvet and cream, came onto the stage. “Alas,” be began, “I have few accomplishments so I shall recite the bard of bard’s famous words.

  “Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which when alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove.”

  Helen caught her breath. Shakespeare’s poignant words could have been written for her. She looked down at the silver net draped over her white silk gown. A spider’s web seemed to trap her. A hand clasped hers. Startled, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed. She doubted they had, for young Ormerod’s melodic voice still entranced the audience. The hand squeezed hers. She looked up at Dalrymple.

  “Could not have expressed my sentiments any better, Miss Whitley.” He released her hand.

  Two footmen carried a harp onto the stage. A third placed a chair for Miss Tomlinson who walked slowly to take her place.

  “Must we listen to an amateur playing?” Dalrymple complained.

  “Don’t be cruel. When Miss Tomlinson plucks the strings, I daresay we shall be delighted by her accomplishment. If so, she may entertain her future husband and his guests.”

  “I can think of better ways to entertain her husband,” Dalrymple muttered.

  “Shush!” Helen exclaimed, aware of the colour spreading over her cheeks. Without doubt, as the vulgar saying went, the captain was ‘hot for her’. Helen sighed. She hoped for a happy marriage but did not know if she would welcome his attentions in the marriage bed, whatever they might be.

  The first notes of a half-remembered Bach sonata rippled like a gently flowing stream, sweeping Helen into another world. At the end, she burst into spontaneous applause while Miss Tomlinson curtsied, then, with maidenly modesty, hurried off the stage followed by the sound of thunderous appreciation.

  “I take my words back,” Dalrymple said. “You see a chastened man at your side.”

  Helen moved her foot awkwardly and caught her toe in the hem of her gown. As she extricated it, the net ripped. Embarrassed, she made her way along the row of seated guests on her way to the ladies’ withdrawing room to repair the damage.

  She held her skirt a little higher than usual to prevent the torn net dragging on the floor. With careful footsteps she ascended the stairs. On the landing, she heard sobs. Someone needed comfort. Entering a small boudoir, she found Miss Tomlinson seated on the edge of a chaise longue, her shoulders heaving, and her hands covering her face.

  Helen coughed to announce herself before she spoke. “Forgive my intrusion; I could not ignore your tears.”

  Heedless of her expensive gown, Miss Tomlinson wiped her hands on the skirt. She sniffed. Helen withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule. “Take this.”

  Miss Tomlinson accepted the white linen square, edged with broad lace. She mopped her face and blew her nose. “You will not tell my grandmother you found me in tears, will you?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Everyone gossips in this hateful town. I want to go home to England; back north where I belong.”

  Helen remembered the nights when she and Georgianne were children who could not sleep for fear of the Corsican monster. “Are you frightened of Napoleon?”

  “A little, but Boney is not why I want to go home.”

  Helen hesitated. Should she or should she not mention she had seen Miss Tomlinson in the Parc Royale speaking to a man who had left her in obvious distress? She decided to refrain for fear of causing embarrassment. “Why do you wish to return to England?”

  “I miss my father and…and…. Oh, I cannot tell anyone!”

  Helen changed her mind. “I am not a gossip. Anything you tell me will be in confidence. Do you want to leave Brussels because of the man I saw you with in Parc Royale?”

  Miss Tomlinson nodded, her magnificent hazel eyes open wide.

  “Have you confided in your grandmother? Have you told her you are unhappy?”

  The lady shook her head so hard that a silk rose pinned in her hair fell onto her lap. “It would be useless. She would be disgusted if I told her the truth.”

  “Disgusted?” Helen repeated.

  “Grandmere has made her low opinion of me quite clear.” Miss Tomlinson wiped her eyes on the handkerchief. “On the morning you saw me in Parc Royale, I paid her dresser not to tell her, I would slip out of the house on my own. After the wretched woman took my money, she told Grandmere, who questioned me when I came home.” Miss Tomlinson straightened her back. “Of course, she demanded to know where I had gone. I did not tell her. Since then I have not been allowed to leave the house my father rented for us unless Grandmere accompanies me. To make matters worse, the diet she imposed on me has become stricter than ever. All she cares about is arranging my nuptials to a member of the ton. The bait, of course, is my dowry.”

  “I see.”

  “My father wants me to marry a nobleman who has a great estate. Grandmere despises him. She constantly refers to my mamma’s mésalliance, although Father is a dear man—even if he is stubborn.”

  Miss Tomlinson needed a knight errant who would snatch her up on his white charger and bear her away from the dragon of a grandmother.

  “In the eyes of Mamma’s world, she should not have married Papa but she did not care. Always too full of her own self-consequence, Grandmere never took proper care of Mamma.” Now that Miss Tomlinson’s flood gates were open, words flowed from her mouth. “I swear if Grandmere says another unpleasant word about Father, I shall scream. Father loved my mamma. I am sure they were happy. Moreover, he is the best of fathers.”

  “I see,” Helen repeated. “Now, do you want to explain what the man whom you met has to do with all this?”

  “I don’t know what you will think of me if I confide in you.”

  Helen patted Miss Tomlinson’s hand. “What does my opinion matter? Besides, I might be able to help you.”

  Miss Tomlinson half-turned to face her. “The gentleman, you referred to, is a scoundrel whose name is Mister Midhurst. I met him when I was sixteen, soon after I left school in Bath. I went for a walk with my companion, Miss Brent, to choose holly with the most berries to adorn the house for Christmas. My companion broke her ankle when she slipped on an icy patch. By chance, Mister Midhurst was on his way to the house with a report for Father about a mill for sale. When Mister Midhurst heard my companion cry out, he rode toward us.

  “He helped Miss Brent onto his horse and took her to the house. Confined indoors after Christmas while Father was away for two months, Miss Brent did not know Mister Midhurst visited me.” Cheeks scarlet, she eyed Helen. “I found him agreeable, so much so that I believed I loved him and often wrote to him. He is threatening to publish my letters if I don’t pay him one thousand pounds. That would ruin my reputation, because, although it is not true, they imply I lost my virtue.” She choked back a sob. “In short, the wretch is blackmailing me. If I give him the money, he says he will return the correspondence.” She gripped Helen’s hand. “I don’t have the money. Oh, I can’t bear it. Father will be so disappointed. As for Grandmere, I can’t stomach the thought of what she will say.” She burst into tears.

  Helen regarded her blotched face with sincere sympathy. “Shush! Even if you gave him the money, you cannot be sure he will return the letters.”

  Eyes wider than ever, Miss Tomlinson stopped crying. “Do you really think he won’t?”

  Helen nodded. “Yes. Have you heard the tale of the goose which laid the golden egg?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am afraid you are the goose Mister Midhurst expects to provide gold coins instead of an egg. I shall help you. When your grandmother calls on Georgianne, I will offer to show you my studio. You will accept. Before your grandmother can speak, follow me out of the dra
wing room.”

  Her face pale, Miss Tomlinson looked queasy. “How can you help me?”

  “Major, Lord Langley is a good friend to my family. I shall ask him to find out where Mister Midhurst is putting up so that he can retrieve your letters.”

  Miss Tomlinson shook her head. “Oh, no, please don’t. What would he think of me? Besides, he is the gentleman Father wants me to marry.” Some colour returned to her cheeks. “Although he assured Lord Langley’s father I would agree to the marriage, I refused!”

  “Why?” Helen asked, her curiosity aroused by the vehemence in Miss Tomlinson’s voice. She patted the distraught lady’s hand. “I am sure Langley will sympathise with a young girl who became a scoundrel’s victim. He is a gentleman who would never betray a confidence. I shall speak to him this evening.”

  A maid entered the room. Helen indicated her torn net. “Please pin this up for me,” she instructed the woman, while Miss Tomlinson washed her face.

  Helen returned to the salon in time to watch Miss Carruthers dance the saraband, but her mind was still occupied with Miss Tomlinson’s predicament. Oh well, she trusted Langley. More than likely, he could help the unfortunate girl.

  “May I escort you?” Captain Dalrymple asked.

  “Where to?”

  “The supper room.”

  Helen stood. “Yes, you may.”

  After a brief word with Georgianne and Cousin Tarrant, she followed Dalrymple to the adjoining salon. She looked around at the paintings of Egypt, wooden replicas of sphinx and pyramids on stands while the captain guided her to a table.

  “Wait here for me,” he said, after she sat down, “I shall serve you.”

  The captain made his way to a large table, where dishes and platters of cold food were spread on a linen cloth decorated with swags of greenery, and blue and white delft vases filled with daffodils.

  Where was Langley? Gentlemen were never at hand when they were required. Ah, there he was, speaking to a lady gowned in primrose yellow who nodded in response to something he said.

  Helen beckoned to a footman. “Please tell Major, Lord Langley, I wish to speak with him in the library after the other guests have returned to the soiree?”

  The footman stared at her with obvious surprise at the impropriety of her request.

  She ignored it. “Where is the library?”

  “It is the last room on the right at the end of this corridor.”

  “Thank you. Now deliver my message.” How could she ensure his silence? “Not a word of this to anyone. It is a matter of life and death. If murder is committed, you would be held responsible.”

  The footman’s eyes widened. “I’ll say nothing about it Miss. Gawd save me if I break my word.”

  She sat down again, moments before Dalrymple returned. He put the contents of a tray, on which were two glasses of white wine, two gold-rimmed plates laden with lobster patties and tiny curd tarts, and two smaller plates heaped with little cakes and sweet pastries on the table. About to sit, he remained on his feet when Cousin Tarrant and Georgianne joined them with General Makelyn and his wife, Lady Anne. If the arrival of his commanding officer discomposed Dalrymple, good manners prevented him from revealing it. He left to fetch more refreshments and wine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  3rd April, 1815

  Helen glanced along the corridor to make sure she was unobserved before she entered the room illuminated by the faint radiance of a dying fire. Would Langley come soon?

  Careful not to bump into anything, Helen made her way to the fireplace. She reached up to the white marble mantelpiece. Her hand brushed against a piece of china; she steadied it to prevent it falling to the floor. She stood back peering through the dim light. Ah, a candlestick complete with a beeswax candle. Helen picked it up and stooped to touch the wick to a glowing ember in the hearth. Within moments she lit more candles in a candelabrum.

  With tongs, Helen replenished the fire with coal from a conveniently placed iron-banded wooden bucket. She applied a poker to encourage the fire to blaze. How long would it be before Georgianne sent someone in search of her?

  The door opened. “Langley,” she said, appreciative of his handsome appearance.

  He walked across the large room until he faced her. “What?” he asked in a level tone, “is so urgent that you must summon me to a clandestine meeting which, if it became known, would ruin your reputation?”

  Although Langley’s words reproached her, his dark eyes, glinting by candlelight, did not. She stared up into their depths, her heart full of deep feeling it would be unmaidenly to express. “Yes my conduct is shocking, but I must consult you on a matter to be handled with discretion.”

  A smile played around his well-shaped mouth. Theatrically, he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Never tell me you played cards and cannot meet your debts. Or are you going to confess you stole those magnificent diamonds you are wearing? No, I think not. I daresay you borrowed them from Georgianne.” His eyes, which were full of suppressed merriment, widened. “Perhaps you wish me to caution a beau who is too ardent, but that is Rupes’ task not mine.”

  “What a poor opinion you have of me.” Amused by his play-acting, she smiled.

  “To the contrary.” The mirth fled from his eyes, “I am sure your admirers pay you so many compliments that you need none from me.”

  “Yours would mean more to me than any others,” she replied in a small voice.

  The viscount’s breath rasped in his throat before he spoke. “Miss Whitley, I fear you are a hardened flirt. I shall not add to your vanity.”

  She pressed her lips into a firm line, for fear she should call him a fool for not believing she would treasure even a single word of admiration from him.

  Langley scrutinised her face. “If you would be so good, please, tell me why you asked me to meet you here.”

  “An acquaintance of ours is being blackmailed.”

  Langley whistled low. “Who is the victim?”

  “Miss Tomlinson.”

  The expression on his face hardened.

  “No, my lord, please don’t poker up, and please don’t refuse to help her unless you wish to lose my good opinion of you.”

  Langley sighed. “Heaven forbid I should forfeit it.”

  “There is no need to be sarcastic.”

  “You misjudge me.” Langley reached out to catch hold of her but did not. He shook his head as though admonishing himself. “I hope your request will not foster either Miss Tomlinson’s or her father’s wish for me to enter the parson’s noose.”

  “You are not in danger; she does not want to marry you. She loves another man.”

  Langley looked steadily at her, the expression on his face inscrutable. “I once said—it seems somewhat foolishly—I am your servant. No, don’t smile at me thus, my girl, you have not got the better of me.”

  She glanced down at the toes of his black evening slippers.

  “There is no need to pretend to be demure after you tempted this poor fool to have an assignation with you, only to find out you want me to help a lady, who, in spite of my father’s acute displeasure, I have refused to wed.”

  She resisted the temptation to ask why he had said no to the proposal which would have solved his father’s financial problems. “In my opinion, my lord, you are an officer and a gentleman, so honour binds you to help Miss Tomlinson.”

  “I am an officer, though when I look at you I am not sure my instincts are those of a gentleman.”

  Puzzled she stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Langley shook his head as though bemused. “Please ignore my words before I say something I will regret, and also do something disgraceful.”

  “You could never act disreputably.”

  He looked away from her at the regiments of books which lined the shelves. “Thank you for your good opinion of me. Please tell me how I can serve you and Miss Tomlinson.”

  “I knew you would help us.” Impulsively, she reached up to put her gloved
hands on his shoulders. His hands clasped her waist; he bent his head. Oh, how she hoped he would kiss her. If Langley did, he would be obliged to ask for her hand in marriage without delay. Of course, she would accept, despite Mister Barnet’s words of caution.

  Langley released her, removed her hand from the epaulette on his left shoulder and stepped back. “If you tell me why Miss Tomlinson is being blackmailed and who the blackmailer is, I shall try to help her.”

  “Thank you.” She related the facts in a flat voice.

  “If I find the scoundrel I will deal with him.”

  Completely at ease with Langley, Helen hugged him. “I knew it; I knew you would help.” She stood on tiptoe with the intention of kissing his cheek. At the same moment, he turned his head. Langley’s dark eyes smouldered.

  He squared his shoulders. “How green your eyes are. A man could lose himself in their depths as easily as he could in the sea.”

  She could scarcely breathe. The softness of his lips surprised her when he kissed her forehead. She wanted to ask him to kiss her on the mouth but could not bring herself to voice words she believed would shock him.

  “No!” Langley disengaged himself. “Miss Whitley, I hope to return the letters to Miss Tomlinson, and to have the pleasure of thrashing Mister Midhurst.” He raised his eyebrows. “However, please understand there can be nothing other than friendship between us.”

  “I shall treasure that, my lord.” She restrained her incipient tears over her dreams which would never become real. He bowed, turned and left the library.

  * * * *

  Langley walked swiftly along the corridor. Miss Whitley’s innocence meant she did not understand the effect her embrace would have on any gentleman. How he had summoned the iron will not to kiss her passionately he did not know. Yes, he did. He loved Helen too much to take advantage of her. The sooner she accepted a proposal from Dalrymple or some other pleasant young gentleman, the better it would be.