There was also Henry, the protégée of Sir Christopher Wrenand his sister’s pride. Guy felt foolish to resent him, but at times it was hard not to. Henry commanded her maternal instincts every bit as their sons did, those beautiful boys who were more hers than his, although Guy’s patient nature told him that might change over time.
Then there was the rakish, hero soldier, Aaron Woulfe, another possessor of the dazzling family good looks, who idled his days away at Court, with no more ambition than to regain the already established riches of his father’s estates.
Guy had always been aware his fate lay in his own hands and worked hard to prove his abilities. He stared around at his opulent room with quiet pride, recalling how he had strained against the restrictions of the house in King Street, with its dingy, smelly back yard, rough, narrow staircases and small, oppressive rooms.
Helena had never complained, but he had hated the long hours of physical work she endured there, especially when she was further burdened by the discomforts of pregnancy.
He had built this house for her, not only to impress her, but to show her friends how aptly she had chosen a husband. Helena acknowledged all he gave her with mild surprise, but without the excitement he sought, accepting but not enthusiastic, as her hastily hidden grin attested when he announced he had named it, “Palmer House”.
Her mild contempt still rankled.
In quiet moments, Guy wished Aaron might continue to be unsuccessful in his quest to regain Loxsbeare. The lost family manor, which to listen to his wife and brothers-in-law reminisce, was the perfect place on earth. Somewhere a lowly goldsmith like Guy Palmer could barely imagine, let alone aspire to.
However, if the scheme he and his Huguenot friends had formulated for a national bank proved a success, Guy hoped he might finally gain the position in society and his wife’s heart he craved.
In his imagination, he saw an even grander Palmer House, in Hampstead perhaps, where he would magnanimously offer a home to the hero of Sedgemoor, whose life had never regained momentum after the tragic death of Lady Elizabeth and the unexplained fate of Sir Jonathan Woulfe.
With these satisfactory images circling in his head, Guy drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
July 1689, Palmer House, London – Helena
When Helena woke the following morning, Glover informed her Guy had already left for Hatton Garden. Reluctant to question the servants, and even less inclined to put Glover in a position where he would have to lie, she faced a day of nagging uncertainty.
Unable to concentrate, she spent the day in restless inactivity, until a footman announced Aaron awaited her in the salon.
He jumped up from the sofa to greet her when she entered, the sight of his dazzling smile bringing the prick of tears to her eyes. The arrival of the tea tray afforded an opportunity to disguise her emotions by busying herself with the dishes.
She studied him surreptitiously while he made light conversation, from his peacock blue coat, to the crisp cambric at his throat and wrists and the ornamental buckles on his heeled shoes. He dressed like a fop these days, albeit an exceedingly attractive one
He wore his long-bottomed wig a few shades lighter than his real hair, although he was too vain to have his head shaved like many men. He spent his days in leisure and gossip when he was not performing his duties at court. Lately, she detected a disinterested look in his eyes and wondered if he no longer found being an acolyte of the king to his taste.
“I’m sorry, Aaron, what did you say?” Aware she had snapped when he glanced up quickly, his cup halted halfway to his mouth.
“I was merely remarking on the new baby prince, a sickly little thing and hardly likely to last a day longer than any other of the Princess Anne’s children.” His final grunt made it sound like a personal insult.
The teapot clattered against a cup and Helena glared at him, shocked. “That is so harsh, Aaron. The poor princess has lost many babies, how unworthy of you to dismiss this one so casually. If you knew what a woman went through to give birth, you would not be so cruel.”
He blinked, his tea dish held in mid-air. “My sincerest apologies, I don’t mean to sound heartless. But so much fuss and celebration is being made about this infant, it seems precipitous when they have no idea if he will live.”
“Have you seen the child?”
“Briefly. He has a big head for such a small baby.”
“Don’t be unkind, Aaron, all babies are out of proportion. What I meant was, does he look ill or particularly weak?”
He shrugged, the subject evidently of little interest, and then launched into a colourful account of the recent siege in Ireland. “The first relief expedition for Londonderry was turned back. Its Protestant defenders have been reduced from seven thousand to almost half that number.”
“When will it end?” Helena felt sympathy for the determined Irish who were fighting for their right to be Protestants. It reminded her of the plight of the Huguenots all over again.
“Not too much longer I should think.” Aaron helped himself from a plate of small cakes. “James Stuart’s men are sorely ill equipped and lack discipline under a rabble of inexperienced officers. They have so few weapons or supplies, they often have to revert to living off the land.”
“You don’t really think the Irish will put James Stuart back on his throne?” Helena’s hand shook and she tightened her grip on her dish. Images of the riots on the night she had given birth came back to her vividly; though since she became a mother, any talk of fighting unsettled her, no matter how far away. “Not a hope of it.” Aaron laughed and bit into an almond cake. Chewing, he regaled her with King William’s plans for somewhere called Newton Butler. “Which I hope shall save Ulster, and—”
“Aaron,” Helena fought down her irritation. “I don’t wish to hear about Ireland just now.”
“Is something amiss, Ellie?” He popped the remainder of the cake into his mouth before selecting another.
Before she could change her mind, Helena blurted, “I saw Guy yesterday with a woman.”
Aaron’s hand stilled on his cup, and his eye flicked up and met hers.
“They were together in Guy’s carriage.” She twisted her hands together, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, I must sound ridiculous. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Instead of teasing her out of her foolishness as she had expected, he set down his cup with agonizing slowness. He refused to meet her eyes, which told her he knew something. Strangely, she felt relief that her judgment was not flawed after all.
“She’s of no importance, Ellie.”
Helena froze. In that one brief phrase, he had acknowledged the woman’s existence, and his own culpability.
“No importance? To whom?” Her anxiety hardened to slow-burning rage.
“To you, and all this.” Aaron waved an arm to encompass the elegant room. “This - person is not part of your marriage or your life.” He made a show of brushing crumbs from his immaculate coat, not meeting her eye.
“Does this -person have a name?”
He blinked, startled. “Why do you need to know?”
“Her name, Aaron.”
He blew air out between his lips in a gesture of defeat. “Poll Harker. Guy keeps her in lodgings close to… Oh, it doesn’t matter where.”
“My husband has a mistress?” It was more a statement than a question. She fought to remain calm, but her cup clattered to the table, spilling tea onto the turkey rug.
Aaron made a tutting sound and reached down to dab at the stain with his kerchief. “Mistresses are hardly unusual, Ellie. I have one myself actually. A pretty thing I met at the Playhouse.”
“You’re not married!” Helena spat through gritted teeth, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Was I to be told?”
“To what purpose?” He relaxed back in his chair and stared at her, both arms lifted. “The code is discretion, of which Guy is well aware. He would be embarrassed in the extreme if he knew you had
actually seen her.”
“He would be embarrassed!” Helena slapped her skirt andbegan pacing the floor.
“Forget her, Ellie.” The light-hearted Aaron had disappeared and his jaw tensed. A look she knew well.
“I don’t know if I can.” Pushing herself off the fireplace with one hand, she swung round on a swish of silk and marched to the other side of the room.
“If you are ever to be at peace again, you must.” He tucked the square of linen into his sleeve with deliberate slowness. “You are his wife. Your position is strong. She is merely a temporary distraction he will grow tired of in time.”
Helena paused in her pacing to stare at him. “You cannot even say her name, can you?”
He gave a nervous laugh. “I wish I had not revealed it at all.”
A diversion he will grow tired of. For a moment, Helena felt almost sorry that any woman could be regarded so lightly.
“Ellie, your duty is to produce children.” Aaron inhaled slowly, adopting an expression he might use for a recalcitrant child. “That can be a great burden for women, the demands a man makes can be…well, arduous.”
Helena’s harsh laugh filled the room. “Are you saying Guy has taken a mistress to lighten my wifely duties?”
His face brightened, her sarcasm evidently lost on him. “Exactly! A man has needs, Ellie.”
“What of my needs?”
The hand carrying a cake to his mouth halted in mid-air. “Oh…er…as to that!” He dropped the morsel onto his plate and pushed it away.
“Guy must give her up.” Helena resumed her pacing, but even to herself she sounded unconvincing. She wanted to throw something, anything, but Aaron’s calm presence restrained her.
“He will not welcome your interference, Ellie.”
She halted beside his chair, stunned, unable to decide who angered her more: Guy for his betrayal, or her brother’s easy acceptance of it. How long had this liaison been going on? Did he pay for all this woman’s needs? Her clothes, her food? The questions dried on her lips. To voice them aloud would only damage her pride further.
“More illustrious women than you have tried to interfere in such matters, only to fail.” Aaron sipped from his dish of tea, his unease obvious. “King Charles’ Queen Catherine refused to have Guy’s own kinswoman, Barbara Palmer for a lady in waiting because she was his mistress, and was ultimately forced to accept her.” He held up a hand as if something occurred to him. “Why, even King William has a mistress, and he’s the most morally conscious monarch England has ever had.”
Helena clutched a hand to her bodice as if she could force away the hurt constricting her chest as every word Aaron uttered cut into her.
He rose to his feet, gathering himself in a prelude to leaving. “You won’t say it was I who revealed her name, will you, Ellie? Guy would never forgive me.”
Incredulous at his cruelty, Helena couldn’t summon an appropriate response, but he hadn’t finished. “I must go. I lent Bendinck a rouleau and intend to collect my fifty guineas tonight.” He embraced her stiff shoulders and turned away. At the door he raised a hand. “I shall bring Hendrick De Groot with me next time I call. He always has the ability to divert you.”
“Just go, Aaron,” Helena muttered darkly.
The click of the door closing behind him acted like a release, and she slumped down on the sofa, everything safe with her life swirling away from her.
She wasn’t a child. She knew men were unfaithful. But not in marriages like theirs. She and Guy chose to marry, not for a title, position or wealth, but because they cared for one other. She stopped short of telling herself theirs was a love match, for although Guy had often professed his devotion, she tended to dismiss him with a laugh or change the subject.
She ripped her lace kerchief into shreds, discarding it. “That’s no excuse,” she railed into the empty room. She still shared his bed, or more accurately, he would cross the landing to share hers. She ordered the household to his instructions, had borne him two healthy sons, but was apparently not entitled to his fidelity.
Humiliation burned Helena’s cheeks at the knowledge that her own brother, a man Guy had known a mere few months, knew about the woman. Did that mean others knew too?
Helena’s instinct to confront Guy rapidly receded as she conjured the closed look he always adopted when she ventured into areas he decreed did not concern her.
Aaron was right; he would simply disregard her and continue as he wished.
Helena stared unseeing at the turkey rug at her feet, a rug Guy repeatedly told her had cost him an inordinate amount of money. A perverseness in her gloried in the fact she had spilled tea on it, the small, brown spots staring up at her accusingly.
Bright afternoon turned into a warm evening as she continued to sit, immobile, a breeze circulating from the windows to the terrace. The smell of summer flowers and the slap of a bird’s wings floated on the air. At one time she would have relished everything about her home, but now it was reduced to an empty cage, with everything in it tainted. The details of her life obscured by a prism of glass, with distorted shapes and blurred colours.
Helena had no idea how long she sat there, but when she looked up, evening shadows had crept across the rug and the tea stains were no longer visible. Whatever love she felt for her husband began to shrivel and die in the face of his duplicity.
Installing her in her own apartments was Guy’s idea, but something she would now take up and make her own. Having demonstrated his ability to live apart from her, she would follow his example.
Anger and grief for something lost forever fought for precedence in her head until one thought overruled all others. She still had Jonathan and Edmund. From now on, she would live for her sons.
Chapter Fifteen
June 1690, Lambtons Inn, London – Helena
The main dining room at Lambtons had been festooned with swathes of gold and white cloth, draped with white roses in honour of Phebe and Hendrick’s wedding.
“Phebe looks positively triumphant,” Guy observed, nodding toward a bride in a burgundy velvet gown with the palest green underskirt. Her elegant frontage of ribbon bows fastened to the crown of her head rendered her diminutive beside her towering, fair-haired husband.
This time, Celia’s confinement was, successful and she was the proud mother of a healthy baby girl. She sat at the side of the room on a long chaise, her loose mantoe draped round her. “Confinement or not, I insisted the ceremony be performed here, as I was determined not to miss her wedding.”
“We’ve named the baby, Eleanor,” Ralf announced proudly. “After our own dear Ellie.”
“Your name isn’t Eleanor,” Aaron whispered at her shoulder. “That was our Grandmother’s name.”
“It’s close enough.” Helena nudged him into silence.
Robert eased toward them through the press of guests, bestowing proud smiles on everyone. “I’ll have to warn the Dutchman what a manipulative little baggage my daughter is,” He said when he reached them. At Helena’s arched brow he seemed to reconsider, adding, “No, you are right. Let him find out for himself. It’ll serve him right.” He moved off toward another group of guests, still muttering under his breath.
“I hope he won’t always refer to Hendrick as ‘the Dutchman’,” Helena murmured to his retreating back. “By the way, Celia, why did he call Phebe manipulative?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Celia leaned forward conspiratorially. “Papa refused his permission for them to marry, so Phebe persuaded Hendrick to appeal to King William, who was only too happy to give his blessing. Even Papa couldn’t object then. Mama was sent into a panic when she received their summons from the king to attend him at Hampton Court. She even employed a seamstress who worked for three full days on a new gown.”
“Although I cannot think why she bothered,” Celia said, when Helena remarked upon it. “She was not in the Royal presence above four minutes.”
Helena held up her glass in silent salute. “Bravo Phebe
. She told me once she would choose her own husband.”
From beside her, Guy gave a small, false sounding cough. “I…ah…I’ve an appointment this afternoon I cannot afford to miss. I shall have to take my leave.” At Helena’s astonished look he continued, “don’t feel you have to quit the party, my dear. I’ll send the carriage back for you later.”
Before she could react, he moved away through the press of guests to where Robert and Alyce stood. A brief conversation followed, accompanied by Guy’s shaking his head before bowing over Alyce’s hand.
As he moved out of sight, Helena speculated whether his “appointment” had red hair. Her hands shook and she found herself alone in the middle of the room, convinced everyone was watching her.
Helena spun around to find some diverting amusement to cover her nerves, when she caught William looking at her from beside the fireplace, one foot braced against the fender and an elbow on the mantel.
The sheer masculine strength of him exuded through the room, compounding her embarrassment. She searched nearby faces for one she could pretend she had been about to approach, but there was no one in hailing distance.
William pushed himself away from the mantle and strolled towards her with the loose limbed walk of someone confident of his welcome. He bowed from the waist and offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn around the room, Mistress Palmer?”
“Why not?” Feeling daring, she laid a hand gently on his sleeve, the fabric hot beneath her fingertips.
“It was a happy wedding, don’t you think?” Helena blurted in an effort to conceal her sudden nerves.
“I’m glad for my sister. She has achieved exactly what she wants. Would we could all be so fortunate.” Unsure how he expected her to respond, she stayed silent. “Were you aware I spend much of my time at Court these days?” he went on, his rich voice flowing over her. She shook her head, and he continued, unfazed by her silence. “I admit it’s an unconventional career for a man, and indeed, not one I saw for myself.”
The Goldsmith's Wife (The Woulfes of Loxsbeare Book 2) Page 12