Phebe smirked. “It was Lubbock. He’s been hovering at doors all morning hoping to be the first to spread the good news.”
“Ah! A far more reliable source.” Helena smoothed down her skirt and tucked her journal into a pocket.
Phebe linked their arms as they crossed the hallway, accepting Lubbock’s low bow at the door of the salon. “Have you seen my brother, Lubbock?” Phebe asked, drawing Helena to a halt. “He should be here to join in the festivities.” She leaned closer to Helena, whispering, “…and to kick himself for having missed his chance with you.”
“Phebe, really!” Helena snapped, though an uncomfortable heat flood into her face.
“I saw the young master a little while ago, Mistress Phebe,” Lubbock regarded her down his long nose. “I informed him of Mistress Helena’s recent news, but he seemed somewhat, well, disconcerted.”
“He wasn’t drunk again, was he?” Phebe sighed. “I swear he’s getting worse of late. He almost started a fight with Guy Palmer the other day when-” she broke off and patted Helena’s arm. “Listen to me I’m as bad as Mama.”
Lubbock coughed into a fist before answering. “No, Mistress he was not. However, he did say something about going to the coffee house, and that the prospect of His Majesty’s Navy had begun to appeal.”
“He was jesting with you, Lubbock. Can you see my brother on board ship?” Phebe erupted into high-pitched giggles.
Suddenly numb, Helena trailed at Phoebe’s elbow, the prospect of never seeing William again engulfed her in a cold, almost panicked sweat.
“Are you happy, Helena?” Phebe asked suddenly, pausing in the doorway.
“What a strange question.” Helena looked at her askance. “I am to be married. Is that not a cause for any woman’s happiness?”
Images of William in uniform filled her head, followed by visions of vast, empty oceans with dangers, threats, storms and pirates. Her stomach hurt. Even if nothing awful happened to him and he came home, it would not be for years.
“Not so strange.” Phoebe’s penetrating stare reminded her of like Alyce. “It depends on whether it was a rehearsal, or the real thing.”
“You are an odd one, Phebe.” Helena’s laugh sounded unconvincing even to herself.
Chapter 23
Preparing for bed that night, Helena gave an annoyed groan when she saw her last remaining candle had guttered to a stub. She had already dismissed a yawning Chloe, but did not wish to finish her toilette to an accompaniment of scratching from the rats behind the skirting. With only a loose manteau over her nightgown, and her hair falling loose over her shoulders, she managed to reach the deserted hall unseen. She knew fresh candles were kept in a box beneath the hall table.
With a supply safe in her pocket, she had gained the first landing on her way back upstairs, when she heard footsteps descending from the flight above.
A low male voice murmured something, and a woman giggled in response, their voices growing louder as they drew nearer.
Helena smiled. Someone had been entertaining a lady in one of the upper rooms. Aware suddenly that they were bound to pass her, and with no time to cross the landing before they reached her, she ducked back into an alcove and waited for them to pass.
A man and a woman swayed into view, his arm encircling her waist as they giggled together and half-staggered down each step. They reached the landing window, through which moonlight shone onto the woman’s face, her chin tilted to her companions while she laughed throatily into his eyes with a look of total infatuation.
The couple turned the corner about to descend the last flight of stairs, when the man must have heard something and swiveled his head toward the alcove where Helena stood.
Helena froze as her gaze met William’s, and held it.
Surprise lit his eyes, followed by embarrassment. Helena stared him out, nursing a small triumph that he was far more uncomfortable than she.
In response to the woman’s whispered enquiry as to what he was looking at, he merely turned and swept her down the steps in front of him.
Once he was out of sight, Helena eased out from her hiding place and fled back to her room. Clicking the door shut as firmly as she could without slamming it, she hurled the candles across the room and launched herself onto the bed.
“I was right about him all along,” she muttered, punching her pillows into submission. “He’s a shallow, dissolute rake, with no thought for anyone but himself and his own pleasures.”
The idea she might have considered William, for even the briefest of moments, as a prospective husband, made her burn with shame. She stared at the canopy above her bed until well after the watch called two of the clock, her bed uncomfortably rumpled, before she finally fell asleep.
* * *
One particular sultry day, Helena visited the New Exchange, taking Chloe with her. Helena enjoyed wandering the stalls at her own pace, without having to listen to Phoebe’s constant prattle, or having to wait for her when she stopped to chat to acquaintances every few yards.
With no parents on either side to make the arrangements on their behalf, Robert insisted their winter wedding would be held at Lambtons. Even with such a small celebration, there was still plenty of shopping to do. Helena located the shoemaker Alyce had recommended on the upper concourse, whose proprietor became particularly attentive when the name of Devereux was mentioned. A thin man who looked as fragile as if he might snap in the middle at the slightest pressure.
His peruke was the colour of dirty ash, and he kept dipping his head whenever he spoke. Having spotted several pairs of heeled shoes with decorated lappets, she strode to the far side of the shop to examine his work more closely.
“Are they for a special occasion, Mistress?” he asked, bobbing forward.
“My Mistress is to be married,” Chloe answered for her, blushing guiltily at Helena’s annoyed frown.
“In that case, I insist I make you bespoke ones myself.” His ferrety eyes sparkled and he measured her feet with spidery fingers, scratching figures on a page.
Once the process was complete, he bowed her to the door again with repeated assurances. “I will have them delivered to Lambtons in a little over a sen'night, Mistress Woulfe.”
Helena emerged from the shop onto the balcony on the upper concourse, from where she caught sight of a man in a brocade long coat and curly brown periwig, at a stall a little way along. He twisted a polished cane in one hand as he bent over a tray of men’s” gloves on the stall.
Helena froze as recognition slammed into her like a blow. She halted mid-stride, causing Chloe to collide into her back, the parcels she carried littering the floor at Helena’s feet.
“Oh, Mistress, I do beg your pardon,” Chloe dipped and collected the parcels as she spoke. “Are you quite well?” she asked righting herself. “You’ve gone quite pale, whatever is…”
Helena lifted her finger to her lips. She hauled a ragged breath into her chest, staring fixedly at on the man’s back. Hatred welled up inside her in a hot rush, and she ground her teeth, mentally reciting every insulting name she could summon.
He had yet to notice her, but just then his head swiveled in her direction and he gave a start.
Raising himself slowly to his full height, he lightly swung his cane lightly in one hand as he closed the gap between them, ignoring the protests of patrons forced to move aside.
“Mistress Helena Woulfe,” he drawled, offering her an inadequate bow that bordered on the insulting.
“Lord Blanden,” Helena replied in a voice calmer than she thought possible.
Lifting her chin, she returned his arrogant stare. His expression was not soft or ingratiating, as it had been when she was his future daughter-in-law. This man was self-satisfied, leering even and his thin lips formed a sneer as his gaze flicked insolently over her.
The noise and bustle of the “Change went on around her, but Helena’s ears were filled with a roaring sound as she stared back at the hard face of the man she had hoped ne
ver to meet again.
* * *
“How opportune that fate has decreed we should meet thus, Mistress.” Blanden arched an eyebrow, his wry smile transforming into a disparaging smirk. “I came to the city with the express purpose of seeking you out.”
“Me, Lord Blanden? What could you possible want from me?” She schooled her expression into an aloofness Phebe would have applauded, though the sight of man’s face made her nauseous.
He stared around at the bustling “Change as if he had not heard her. “I have business at the Court of St James. Did you not hear I have been made one of his Majesty’s Commissioners?”
“I did not, sir.” She inclined her head. Nor did she care.
Her apparent disinterest seemed to anger him, and he stepped forward, bringing the cane up in front of her face. “I know what Ffoyle did for you and that whelp brother of yours.” His voice was laden with menace.
“I see my father’s assessment was correct. You are no gentleman,” Helena replied, refusing to show him weakness, though she could barely breathe.
Chloe uttered a small cry beside her, but Blanden ignored her.
A party of well-dressed women brushed past them like ships in full sail, their laughter ringing round the hall. Blanden didn’t move out of their way, forcing them to circumnavigate him.
“Those houses in the Magdalen Road should be mine, as well as the warehouses on the quay,” he spat the words as if he had waited a long time for this confrontation. “And don’t think I don’t know Samuel Ffoyle’s flock of sheep trebled last summer, too.”
Helena swallowed. “Wasn’t my Father’s house and his lands enough payment for your treachery, Lord Blanden?” She dragged out his name as insolently as she dared.
“I’m not answerable to you, Mistress.” His low growl brought curious stares their way, but no one intervened. “I have nothing to feel guilty for. I did my duty by our Sovereign and my reward,” he lifted his fleshy chin in defiance, “will be to attend the king’s birthday ball this autumn.”
Helena’s grip on her fan snapped one of the bone spars between her fingers, the sharp edge cutting into her skin.
“I hear you are living in Lambtons alehouse.” Blanden gave a cruel laugh. “More than a traitor’s brat should expect, in my view.” His rodent eyes slid over her again. “Although I have to admit you look exceedingly prosperous for it.” He sounded almost disappointed.
His eye caught the diamond pendant at her throat, and his eyes widened. He tapped her neck lightly with the cane. “Was that your mother’s?” he sniggered. “It’s part of the estate, I think, as are all her jewels.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, which made her skin crawl. “I’ll have those, too.”
His taunt acted on Helena like cold water, her fury replaced her fear, and a retort sprang to her lips. She bit back her boast of Hendry’s career and her forthcoming marriage. Why give the man more ammunition? Instead, she expelled a steady breath. “I’m sure it will not surprise you if I express no delight at this encounter, Lord Blanden. So I’ll bid you good day.”
She stepped past him, but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip. Helena tried to look away but she was enthralled by a tiny bead of spittle on his lower lip. “I will ruin Ffoyle, as I ruined your father, and he will wish, instead of your mother, it was he whom you sealed in that vault in St Mary Arches.”
“Do not imagine there will be no reckoning with the Woulfes, Lord Blanden.” Helena dragged the last two words out in insult, her cheeks blazing. Her fingers itched to slap him hard across his face with all the pent up anger of the last months. “My brothers are young yet, but they will make you pay for your cowardice.”
Raw shock crossed his face which told her that despite Aaron’s letter having done the rounds at The Ship Inn, Blanden did not know her brother still lived. Blandness hold on her arm loosened, increasing her confidence. “I would be grateful, My Lord, if you would oblige me by not dying too soon, and thus deprive them of their revenge.”
She rolled her shoulder out of his grasp and marched away, Chloe bustling behind her.
Half way along the concourse, Helena’s legs weakened. A tiny cry emerged from her lips, but she gathered her courage and pushed on. Not daring to look behind her to see if Blanden followed, she concentrated on the summer sun that flooded through the multi-paned window at the end of the concourse, drawing her forward.
Chloe caught up with her as she gained the walkway outside. “Mistress, oh, Mistress,” she gabbled breathlessly. “I never thought you could…I mean, the way you…”
Helena steadied herself against the wall with one hand. “Go and tell our driver where I am, Chloe. Now!” The maid clamped her mouth shut and scurried away.
Helena stood alone amongst the crowds entering and leaving the “Change, some so close she could smell their sweat and the powder on their faces. Her heart hammered and she felt the tell-tale prick of tears.
Long minutes passed, during which she expected Lord Blanden to appear and renew his taunts, then the coach rolled to a halt beside her and with sobbing relief, she clambered inside.
Helena stared unseeing out of the window. How dare Blanden insult her after all he had done? And why would he want to hurt Samuel? He got what he wanted, although by his threats it seemed he was not satisfied. How he must have hated the Woulfes. But why? He and Father were friends once, before King Charles died.
Her stomach lurched, and she chewed the base of her thumb, relieved Chloe had finally stopped her chattering.
Helena had been going to marry his son. Could Lord Blanden do what he threatened, and claim the remainder of the estate? If he succeeded, she and Henry would have no income whatsoever. How would Henry continue with his training as an architect, or Aaron remain in The Hague, if Samuel was unable to send him money? Would Guy Palmer still want to marry her if she had nothing?
A tiny groan escaped her and inwardly she cursed Miles Blanden. The summer’s day was ruined; her pretty parcels and the shoes she had ordered for her wedding were engulfed into a world where evil men instilled their insidious dread.
Helena’s first instinct had been to pour out her distress to Robert, and rely on him for an immediate solution, but when the coach pulled up outside Lambtons, she had changed her mind.
She couldn’t spend her life relying on others. This was something she had to sort out for herself. She was determined that Blanden would never hurt her or her brothers again.
* * *
Helena had heard no further word from Lord Blanden with regard to his threat, though in some ways, his silence was worse. If the man took some sort of action, she could devise a strategy to fight him. Was he simply bluffing, in order to frighten her? Or was he serious about seeking the rest of the Woulfe estate? There was no way of telling. Whatever his intentions, she wished he would simply get on with it.
One afternoon, Helena found herself alone at home. Robert had taken Alyce and Phebe to visit Celia at Saffron Hill, an outing Helena had declined, having pleaded a headache. This wasn’t a complete lie, for she was in no mood for Celia’s chatter or Phoebe’s barbed remarks about her forthcoming wedding.
The shoes had finally arrived that morning with apologies from the shoemaker for their lateness, despite Helena having sent the first pair back because they did not fit well enough. On her way up the stairs to her room, she heard a hard voice growling at Lubbock.
Helena turned to where Lord Miles Blanden stood below her in the entrance hall. It was too late to retreat. All she could do was stand perfectly still, watching him shrug off Lubbock’s offer to take his sword and gloves. Appraising him when he had not yet registered her presence was a strange feeling. If she did not hate the man so much and her flesh didn’t crawl when he was near, she could even say he was handsome. A little taller than herself, and though stickily built, he was all muscle, with a little extra weight. His heavily lashed brown eyes showed intelligence, and his skin was unblemished, with the light tan of a born countryman. His jaw sagged, but onl
y slightly, and certainly less than expected of a man in his late forties.
He glanced up and caught her gaze, then smirked. “Good day to you, Mistress Woulfe,” he drawled, instilling more insult into his voice than propriety. He took in his surroundings, raising thick eyebrows in surprise, as if he did not expect such opulence.
Helena’s knees buckled. She fumbled for the balustrade and gripped it hard, then raised her chin, determined not to stumble.
He extended a hand, but she remained three steps above him, her arms at her sides so he was forced to drop his. Nor did she reply to his greeting, but waited, her heart hammering with terror. At the same time she was furious he had dared to come to her home like this, unannounced and uninvited.
Three serving men traversed the hall bearing laden trays. A group of patrons who had recently arrived were clustered at the entrance darting looks at them and muttering. Lubbock also hovered close by, a look of suspicion mixed with concern on his face. When she gave him the tiniest of nods, he backed away, but she knew he would remain within earshot and felt slightly reassured.
“I was not aware you patronised Lambtons, Lord Blanden,” Helena said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I dine at Pontacks, Mistress Woulfe.” His second sweep of the room displayed contempt. “However, I have gone out of my way on this occasion. I wished to inform you that I have lodged my petition for the rest of Sir Jonathan’s estate. I expect a favourable answer directly.”
With difficulty, Helena remained calm, her voice light with unconcern. “You can lodge as many petitions as you wish, sir, but you can prove nothing.”
His reaction was no more than a flash of his eyes as he took a step forward, switching his ubiquitous cane from one hand to the other. His calm demeanour struck her as more threatening than if had he blustered and shouted. He was far too sure of himself.
The Rebel’s Daughter Page 26