On the other hand, maybe she should ask Dalrymple for advice. For a second or two she considered Langley, who had retrieved Maria’s letters from the blackmailer. Efficient Langley, six years older than her betrothed, and therefore more experienced, would be the gentleman to deal with this. Helen castigated herself. What reason did she have to think Dalrymple might not be capable of dealing with the matter?
She made her way to Madame Dumont’s small shop where shelf after shelf of exquisite pillow lace lined the walls.
“For a special gown?” Madame asked, after Helen explained she wished to purchase lace sufficient for a pair of long sleeves.
“Yes, my wedding gown.”
“Congratulations, Mademoiselle.”
“Thank you.”
Madame’s eyebrows arched. “Have you decided on the fabric for your gown? If you have, it will help me to decide which lace to show you.”
“I have chosen lily-white silk.”
“Ah, the contrast between that and Brussels’ famous lace will be magnificent. Your jewellery, Mademoiselle?”
Of course, she would wear some from the suite Mister Barnet gave her. “Diamonds set in silver.”
Madame clapped her hands. “Magnificent.” She indicated chairs set around a table. ” Please sit down.” She gestured to a high-backed wooden chair on one side of the door. “Your attendant may sit there.”
“Thank you.” Georgianne appreciated her consideration toward a servant. It would be a pleasure to purchase the lace from Madame Dumont.
Madame fetched two parcels of lace wrapped in paper. She spread the first across the table. “Point Duchesse,” she breathed. “See the pomegranates, a symbol of fruitfulness intertwined with vines and leaves.”
At the mention of fruitfulness, Helen blushed.
Madame rolled the lace up and handed it to an assistant. “Or perhaps you prefer Point Anglaise.” She removed it from the paper, flicked the length open and laid it out on the table.
Helen gazed at the spider’s web of fine threads linking roses and leaves to each other. If she decided to have puffed sleeves edged with scallops, there was also enough for a bodice, which, for modesty’s sake, would be lined with cambric and silk.
Madame displayed more and more lace, but Helen selected the Point Anglaise because its pattern of roses reminded her of the blooms in summer which filled the gardens of her childhood home with sweet perfume.
“An excellent choice,” Madame Dupont complimented her, all smiles.
“I think so,” Helen murmured, thinking of the sketches she had made. She beckoned to her dresser, who walked across the well-polished floorboards to her side.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Please carry the parcel.”
Helen sighed. While she made her choice, the question of what to do about the theft of Mister Barnet’s ivory replica of a Chinese boat remained at the back of her mind. Her eyes opened wide. The silver snuffbox edged with tiny diamonds which framed a mother of pearl moon and stars! Of course, she first saw it amongst a collection in a glass display case in Mister Barnet’s drawing room. Anger boiled in her. How dare Greaves, or—to give him the benefit of the doubt—some other person steal from the nabob? The sooner she acted on Mister Barnet’s behalf, the better. Perhaps the thefts should be drawn to the attention of the British Ambassador.
In the street, Helen took several deep breaths. She hoped Dalrymple would find time to call on her. If he did, she would give him the snuffbox and tell him someone had robbed Mister Barnet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
10th May, 1815
For four days, Helen wrestled with the problem of whether or not to inform Hempstead about the thefts from Mister Barnet’s house. The matter weighed heavily on her mind.
“Is something troubling you?” Georgianne asked.
“I am a little tired.”
Cousin Tarrant had looked up over the edge of the most recent copy of The Times to be delivered to him from England. He shook his head in mock reproof. “Early morning rides, hours spent painting, visits to Mister Barnet, dancing until almost dawn and I don’t know what else must be exhausting. I fear you becoming a mere shadow of your former self before I hand you over to the Captain on your wedding day. The roses will fade from your cheeks and he will cry off.”
“Tarrant, stop teasing my sister,” his wife scolded indignantly.
* * * *
“How is Mister Barnet?” Helen asked Greaves.
“I am told he is the same as ever since he took to his bed.”
Should she have a word with the secretary? Yet suppose, only suppose, Hempstead was involved in the thefts.
Helen sat with Mister Barnet who retreated into the past, speaking of his childhood among the gentle folds of the Cotswolds, his kind nurse, and his first pony, a dapple grey called Merry. After a half hour, or a little less, he closed his eyes. Certain he slept, Helen took the opportunity to leave.
* * * *
On the ground floor, Greaves sent for Pringle, who as usual waited for her in the servant’s hall.
Thomas responded to a knock on the door. To Helen’s astonishment, Maria burst into the entrance hall.
“Miss Whitley!” she shrieked and embraced her.
Helen emerged from Maria’s arms, her nostrils filled with the bride’s strong perfume.
“Oh, my dearest Miss Whitley, I intended to visit Mister Barnet to thank him for his hospitality, but shall return later. Come with me. You shall ride home in my carriage.”
Pringle came into the hall and pursed her mouth at the sight of Maria.
Well she might, thought Helen, dazzled by the bride’s bright pink gown worn beneath an apple green pelisse and an Angoulême bonnet adorned with green feathers and artificial rosebuds.
Helen allowed Maria to lead her out to a carriage drawn by a pair of matched sorrels. “In with you, Miss Whitley,” Maria said. “Your woman—what-is-her-name?—may walk, so we may have a comfortable coze in private.”
Maria shepherded her into the carriage. “Rue Royale,” she ordered the coachman. “How kind Mister Barnet is. I’ll never forget his generosity.”
“His health does not improve.”
“I’m sorry.” Maria seized her hand. “You can’t imagine how agreeable it is to be a married lady.”
With a tinge of envy, Helen laughed. Maria had defied her father, her dragon of a grandmother, and convention, to marry the man she loved. “I am happy for you, but I assumed you and your husband were in England. Why have you returned to Brussels?”
Maria clasped her hands together at her breast. “Oh, it is extraordinary. Only imagine Grandmere spoke to Father on my behalf?”
“I cannot envisage it.”
“Well she did. Grandmere told my father that until the day she dies, she will regret the rift with my mamma. She told him to consider whether he would ever be sorry for the gulf between us.”
“Really.”
Maria nodded so vehemently that the feathers on her bonnet bobbed up and down. “Yes, she did. Of course, she reiterated she never approved of their marriage. However, she believed mine would do well enough for a granddaughter whose aristocratic French blood is diluted by a commoner’s.”
“Good gracious!”
“Much struck by her opinion, but indignant by her words diluted blood, Father invited us to visit him. My angel, Monsieur Lamont, is so tactful and deferential that my father soon treated him as a son. Father has not quite forgiven me our elopement, but he declares that if he had known my affections were engaged, he would not have tried to force me into marriage with Viscount Langley.” She shrugged. “Of course, that is nonsense, but Monsieur Lamont persuaded me to allow Father to colour the truth to avoid an argument.”
“I am pleased to hear all is well with you.”
“Yes, it is.” Maria nodded so emphatically that the feathers embarked on another vigorous dance. “What of you, Miss Whitley? Are you still surrounded by beaux at every ball?”
�
��If I say yes, you will think I am conceited.”
“So, you are.”
“I have a single beau,” Helen murmured, in an attempt to be modest
“Never tell me,” Maria cried out, “you are betrothed to the viscount.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“I’m not blind. Whenever the two of you are in the same room, the viscount doesn’t blink when he watches you. He is spellbound.” She cleared her throat. “There’s no need to colour up. I suspected you love his lordship. Please accept my congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
Helen clenched her fists so tightly that her gloves might split at the seams. “You are mistaken. I am betrothed, but not to Viscount Langley.”
“Oh, please forgive me. I apologise for my assumption.” Maria twisted the end of one of the bright-pink ribbons which anchored her bonnet beneath her chin. “To whom are you betrothed?”
“To Captain Dalrymple.”
“Ah, the officer whose looks resemble those of Lord Langley.”
Her throat, too choked for her to speak, Helen nodded, well-aware of the similarity between Langley and Dalrymple’s appearance.
Maria patted her hand. “Are you certain you wish to wed him? I speak as a happy bride, who can imagine nothing worse than the choice of the wrong husband.”
Helen jerked her hand away. “I am sure,” she said, although her previous uncertainties returned. She peered sideways at Maria, across whose face a shadow seemed to have fallen while the carriage drew to a halt. “I am sure,” she repeated.
“Then I’m pleased for you,” Maria replied, her tone of voice gentle.
“Will you come in to partake of refreshment?”
“No, I think not. Since my marriage, I’m no longer a part of your world.” No, don’t protest. Of course, I shall always be grateful for the help you and Viscount Langley gave me. If I can ever reciprocate, never hesitate to ask.”
Helen scrutinised the young matron. “Thank you, Madame Lamonte.” She stepped out of the carriage. “Good day to you.”
With slow footsteps, Helen went up the steps. A footman answered her knock on the door.
“Is Mrs Tarrant at home?” she inquired.
“Yes, Miss, she is in her parlour.”
A cheerful rat-a-tat sounded on the front door.
Helen turned around to see who had arrived. She forced herself to smile, her sensibilities still overwrought by Maria’s assumption that she would marry the viscount. “Dalrymple, here you are, I hoped to see you soon” she said with forced cheerfulness.
The captain stepped inside. “My apologies for not calling on you for several days.”
“Don’t look so worried, I promised not to reproach you when duty commands.”
Dalrymple’s eyes glowed. “What have I done to deserve an angel like you?”
At the memory of Georgianne’s amusement when she said she doubted Tarrant wanted an angel for a wife, Helen choked back a chuckle. “Don’t deceive yourself, sir. You have yet to discover my faults.”
Dalrymple smiled while he tucked his black busby under his arm. “I doubt you have any, but I hope you will tolerate mine.”
She seized the opportunity to be alone with him and give him the snuffbox. “Please come with me.”
“To the ends of the earth and beyond if you insist.”
A giggle escaped her. She led him up the stairs to a small drawing room, where the family gathered before they dined on the rare evenings when they did not entertain guests.
Helen stripped off her cream pigskin gloves, removed her hat, and tossed them onto a chair upholstered in hyacinth-blue and white-striped heavy silk which matched the curtains. “Please be seated.”
Instead, he stood. His intense scrutiny made her toes curl
Unaccountably nervous, she withdrew the small red box from her reticule. A little shy, she offered it to him. Would he like it? “I had something made for you.”
Dalrymple pulled off his gauntlets, removed his busby from under his arm and put them next to her hat and gloves.
* * * *
Dalrymple’s hands quivered when he opened the box. Although he had referred to Helen as an angel, he wanted to worship her in an earthly manner. The words of the marriage service drifted into his mind. With my body I thee worship. At his image of Helen naked in their bed, her nightcap removed and her thick hair loosened, red-hot lava seemed to flow through his veins.
Helen drew closer to him. He wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss her forehead, her eyes, her mouth, her neck…no, he should not think of such liberties. She was his future wife, not a mistress.
“Dalrymple, I hope you will like it.”
What could be inside the box? She took the trouble to commission a gift to mark their betrothal so, whether he liked it or not, he must show his appreciation. He tipped the snuff box into his hand. Speechless, he stared at it.
“If it is not to your taste perhaps you would prefer something else.”
He shook his head while he traced the design with his forefinger. “It is exquisite. I shall treasure it for as long as I live.”
She took another step toward him. “I am so pleased you like it. I insisted on the exact shade of red for the Glory Boy’s uniform.”
Their bodies almost touched. He breathed in her cologne, an intoxicating blend of what? Roses and lilac combined with something sharp—a fragrance he would always associate with her.
His past dalliances faded from his mind. He believed Helen reciprocated his love. By now, the gentleman she once wanted to marry could be no more than a distant dream. Otherwise, she would not have taken so much trouble over his gift. Besides, why else would she have agreed to marry him? He did not have a title, and his means were modest.
Dalrymple put the snuffbox on a nearby table. He encircled her with his arms. Although Helen gasped, she did not attempt to escape him. He gazed into the brilliant green eyes of the only lady he had ever wanted to marry. Helen trembled. He did not want to frighten her so first he kissed the smooth silk of her forehead. She sighed. He kissed her satin soft cheeks, then the place where a pulse beat fast in her neck. Although she still trembled, he tightened one arm around her. With his free hand, he cupped the back of her head. Helen was his, all his to love and make love to. They belonged to each other.
Dalrymple paused to look at her face. Since she agreed to marry him, he had longed for this moment. With pent up passion, he kissed her mouth, which remained closed. So, was this her first kiss? In spite of her many admirers, it seemed she had kept them all at a distance and reserved her favours for the gentleman she would marry.
With the tip of his tongue he first traced the outline of her lips. Helen breathed fast. Delighted because she did not shrink from him, he knew he would lose control of his desire if he did not release her. With reluctance he freed her. Helen’s eyes opened. Her breathing slowed. Her full breasts no longer heaved. He clenched his fists to prevent himself cupping them while she returned from wherever he had transported her.
“I never knew,” she whispered, her eyes soft.
“What?” he breathed
“That my first kiss would be so wonderful,” she whispered, her cheeks poppy-red.
His heart pounded. He had won a prize beyond compare. Helen would not be a reluctant, missish bride.
This time he sat on the sofa when Helen asked him to be seated. He patted the space next to him. Without a moment’s hesitation, she sat beside him. What should he say to his intelligent wife-to-be, now that he had mastered his urgent desire to possess her without delay? He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I am glad we are to be married soon.”
“So am I.” Her half smile hinted at shyness. She looked down at the hyacinth-blue and jade-green carpet. “But there is so much to do before our wedding day.”
“Yes, I know, for I remember the preparations for my sister’s marriage. I shall never forget the endless discussions about the bridal gown, and her trousseau, sufficient to last her for a year.”
“Ah, you understand. I have chosen fabrics my modiste will have made up in accordance with my sketches.”
“Oh, you design your own clothes. That is why you are always so elegant. I am fortunate to be betrothed to so talented a lady.” A vision of Helen in an exquisite nightgown on their wedding night, popped into his mind. He took a deep breath and did not resist the temptation to slide his arm around her waist. If only he could feel yielding flesh instead of rigid stays.
Although Helen did not seek to escape from his possessive hold, to his surprise, she did not respond to his compliment. Instead she frowned, the expression in her eyes grave. “I have matters other than my bridal clothes to consider; in particular, one which concerns Mister Barnet. He is too ill for me to tell him someone is stealing his treasures.” Helen’s eyes smouldered. “Mister Barnet is gentle and generous. I cannot bear to think of him being robbed.”
Dalrymple frowned. If someone was stealing from the nabob, the culprit must be caught. He removed his arm from around Helen’s waist, stood and walked up and down the room. After a minute or two, he came to a halt before her. “I agree that if you are right, it is shameful to fleece an old gentleman. It is even more so in Mister Barnet’s case, for he has no relative to depend on. I am glad you confided in me, but before any action can be taken, what proof of burglary do you have?”
“When I collected your snuff box, I saw one which seemed familiar. Later, I remembered seeing it at Mister Barnet’s house. I also saw an ivory replica of a Chinese boat in a shop window. Both items are distinctive. I think both unique items were stolen.”
“I shall visit each shop and question the proprietors. It will go ill with them if they don’t furnish me with descriptions of the culprits. The next step is to inform our Ambassador—whose duty is to protect His Majesty’s subjects. You may be sure the thief shall be brought to justice with the least possible delay.” He frowned. “Do you suspect anyone?”
Monday's Child (Heroines born on each day of the week. Book 2) Page 24