Julia Justiss (14 page)

“So I shall come only then. Do you prefer your phaeton to riding—or are you not an early riser?”

He turned to gaze into her eyes, his own darkening with something of the look Darnell’s had possessed as he’d stared at her in his library. “I could be…if the spectacle were sufficiently arousing. Do you keep country hours?”

Feeling more uneasy under Dixon’s intense scrutiny than she had at Adam’s, Helena’s cheeks heated. She was almost certain her escort was referring to more than a morning ride. Perhaps Charis had been right when she’d said Helena elicited a passionate response from gentlemen.

Not sure what she ought to do about it, Helena kept her response strictly mundane. “’Tis not fashionable, Aunt Lillian told me, but I fear I do rise very early. I’m a rather restless soul, as I suppose you’ve noticed. Despite the slow pace of the drive, ’tis wonderful to be outside again after being tethered to the house for weeks.”

“You spent much of your youth out of doors?”

Into her head flashed the image of the barred room, the airless, lightless priest’s hole. “Not enough. I was often…constrained to be indoors and vowed that someday I would spend as much time driving and riding as possible.”

“Adam tells me your home is on the coast? I expect the weather often forced the ladies indoors. Were you condemned to take your exercise strolling the Great Hall under the disapproving eyes of your ancestors?”

Since there was little she could or wished to say about her home and upbringing, she replied instead, “My mother’s passion was raising thoroughbreds. As she was the foremost horsewoman in three counties, I sat a pony before I could walk and practically grew up in the stables. I can’t wait to begin riding again.”

If he noted her evasion, he did not comment on it. “Then as we progress at our shamefully slow pace, you must point out the horses that interest you.”

For the next half hour they exchanged observations on the points of the various bays, bloods and grays under saddle of the passing riders. They had nearly finished their first circuit of the park when a congestion of horsemen and vehicles gathered about one carriage brought their already slow progress to a complete halt.

Seated in the central carriage was a woman with white-blond hair wearing a scarlet gown and pelisse with the lowest décolletage Helena had ever seen. At this distance she could not ascertain the color of the woman’s eyes, but her lips and cheeks were so arrest
ing a rose, Helena knew she had to have resorted to a rouge pot.

“Who is that lady?” she asked her companion—whose enthralled gaze, she noted, was fixed on that very subject.

As if startled, Mr. Dixon turned quickly back to her, his fair skin flushing. A guilty look in his fine blue eyes, he cleared his throat as if uncertain what to say.

“Is she one of the pleasure women?” Helena asked. As Mr. Dixon’s face flushed even redder, she waved off his garbled response. “I suppose she must be. My apologies! Charis did warn me I should not mention such women.”

While her escort remained speechless, Helena shook her head and sighed. “I must say, it seems there are a great number of interesting topics one is ‘not supposed’ to discuss. But I have embarrassed you, so I promise to at least pretend to avert my eyes and return the conversation to more proper channels.”

Though, Helena thought as she made a show of primly directing her eyes straight ahead, she might have to figure out a way to meet the woman. Ladies of that class were probably the only members of her sex with either the willingness or the experience to discuss the fascinating topic of men, women and desire.

The knot of carriages moved apart and they were able to ease past the vehicle. She turned to find Mr. Dixon’s frankly assessing gaze on her. When she lifted an eyebrow inquiringly, he chuckled and shook his head. “You are a remarkable lady, Miss Lambarth,” he said, the color in his cheeks beginning to recede. “Gen
tlemen do not discuss certain…topics with ladies to spare their more delicate sensibilities. However, since you appear more curious than embarrassed, I hope that, despite my reaction a moment ago, you will feel free to ask me any question you wish.”

“Even on ‘forbidden’ topics?”

Though his cheeks colored again, he replied firmly, “Especially on forbidden topics. I greatly admire individuals who think freely, not meekly accepting rules simply because Society dictates them. Ask me anything.”

Studying him and deciding his offer was genuine, Helena nodded. “I shall do so, then. Is that not the entrance we came in? I expect we can return now.”

“So soon?” He looked startled. “Have I been that poor an escort?”

“You have been charming,” Helena assured him. “’Tis just that, due to that restless nature I described, if I’m forced to endure this maddeningly slow pace much longer, I fear I may leap from the carriage and run screaming out of the park—a scene that would have to embarrass you as much as it would distress Aunt Lillian. To avoid so dreadful a prospect, would you take me home? I shall not return to the park unless it is deserted enough for me to ride as fast as I wish.”

“I hope you’ll allow me to accompany you.”

“But you said you prefer not to rise early.”

“I said I’d come out early for the right reason.”

She grinned. “You believe you can keep up—once I’m mounted on the excellent horse you shall find for me?”

He returned another of those heated, hungry looks. “I believe I am up to the challenge.”

“
Ventre à terre,
the complete circuit?”

Mr. Dixon put his gloved hand over hers and turned to look into her eyes, his own smoldering with intensity. “I shall look forward to it with utmost anticipation.”

She was struck again by how much the heat of his gaze resembled the look in Adam Darnell’s eyes that night in the library. But instead of being mesmerized, Helena had to resist the urge to move away. Gently removing her hand from his, she replied, “Very well. So, what is your opinion of the dissolution of the Italian states?”

Tacitly accepting her retreat, during the drive back to St. James Mr. Dixon talked with her about the recent initiatives put forth in the international discussions. By the time they reached the Darnell town house, as impressed by Mr. Dixon’s knowledge as she’d initially been by his charm, Helena hoped he would indeed turn out to be the friend he showed promise of becoming. He left Helena with a pledge to inspect the current offerings at Tattersalls for her.

She had just arrived in her chamber, where Nell waited to take her pelisse and bonnet, when after a short knock, Dickon rushed into the room and skidded to a halt.

“Miss, I be so terrible sorry!” he cried, wringing his hands. “I never meant to mull things up so.” Turning to his sister, he added, “I’m sorry for you, too, Nell!” With that, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Exclaiming with alarm, Nell gathered the weeping lad into her arms. Before she could extract any infor
mation from him, there was another knock and Charis entered.

Her face distressed, she came over to Helena. “Is it true, what Harrison told Bellemere? It upset her so, she suffered another of her spasms.”

Casting a glance at Helena’s two servants huddled together in the corner, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you really hire Nell and Dickon out of a workhouse?”

A
FTER HER CALL ON
his stepmother, Adam had driven his fiancée to the park—where he had the dubious pleasure of seeing, at a distance, his best friend so absorbed in chatting with Miss Lambarth that he failed to notice Adam.

The other gentlemen riding or strolling about had certainly noticed Miss Lambarth, her pale oval face luminescent as a pearl above the emerald satin of her gown, displayed as upon a stage in that ridiculously high excuse for a carriage. The progress of Dix’s phaeton seemed to Adam to have created nearly as great a stir as that of the Divine Alice, a Fashionable Impure whose great beauty was exceeded only by the high cost of her upkeep.

His disgruntlement was not eased when Priscilla patted his hand and said she thought it very bad of Mr. Dixon to show off Miss Lambarth almost like a man would flaunt…another sort of creature. Perhaps Adam ought to put a word in the ear of Lady Darnell or his friend, since the poor untutored girl obviously didn’t realize that riding about in such a vehicle, with only the gentleman’s groom as a chaperone, might make her appear quite “fast.”

That probably wasn’t reason enough for him to feel so tempted to knock Dix’s teeth down his throat, but Adam was too irritated to want to examine the impulse any further. Impatient to go home and make sure Dix had taken her straight back to St. James Square, he had to force himself to calm down and accept Priscilla’s offer of refreshment.

He had just taken a seat beside his fiancée in the Standish parlor when a footman entered, bearing a note from his stepmother. From what little he could decipher of the wildly crossed lines, Lady Darnell implored him to Return Immediately to Deal With a Matter of Grave Import.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla, but I shall have to beg off. Something has arisen that requires my immediate attention.”

“That phaeton! I hope there hasn’t been an accident.”

Alarm flashed through Adam before he recalled that, unstable as the phaeton might be, with Dix at the reins an accident was most unlikely. “I trust not, but Bellemere implores my assistance, so go I must.”

“Of course you must! You will report back later and set my mind at rest? Dear Lady Darnell will be my mama-in-law soon, and I am most concerned for her welfare.”

Although Adam balked at the idea of “reporting” to anyone, he could hardly fault his fiancée’s concern. Curbing his irritation at the wording of her request, he agreed to return when the problem was resolved.

Wondering what could have set off his volatile step
mother this time—and despite his instinctive resentment of Priscilla’s assessment, grimly certain that it must have something to do with Helena Lambarth—Adam collected his curricle and drove home with all speed.

His stepmother, when he begged admittance to her chamber, practically fell into his arms. “Oh, Adam,” she cried, leaving off weeping into her handkerchief as she ushered him to a seat, “I can scarcely breathe, I am so upset! You must talk with Harrison and discover the Truth.”

“The truth of what, ma’am?” he asked, but his stepmother did no more than open her lips before another sob shook her. “I cannot speak of it! Talk with Harrison, I beg you.”

Had that rascal Dickon done something truly awful this time? Adam asked himself as he left his stepmother’s chamber. He’d dismissed the lad’s previous escapades as the follies of a boy with too much imagination and too little employment, but if the child were causing more commotion, he would have to go. Returning to his library, he summoned the butler, who managed in a few terse sentences to convey the essentials of the dilemma.

Small wonder the staff was in an uproar, Adam thought, astounded by the news. He stood speechless while Harrison continued, “When the lad mentioned by chance that he’d lived in the workhouse, I immediately tasked him about it, then confirmed the truth of what he’d divulged with his sister and Molly. I have failed you, my lord, by not inquiring more particularly
into the references of employees brought into this house. If you feel you must dismiss me along with them, I shall understand.”

“I’ll have no talk yet of dismissal,” Adam replied, trying to reason his way out of the coil. “Have the pair given poor service? Done shoddy work? Thieved?”

Harrison shook his head. “On the contrary, my lord, their work has been exemplary. If they both had not affirmed the truth of it, I never would have believed they came from such a place.”

“So they did not deny or dissemble when you taxed them about this? Their honesty speaks in their favor. What would you recommend about their continued employment?”

Distress was clearly written upon Harrison’s normally impassive countenance. “I’ve grown fond of the lad, I admit. But the staff is most upset, and I cannot have the household disturbed. The two entered under false pretenses and I suppose they must go.”

“Would there be a disturbance if they stayed?”

“I—I cannot say. I suppose it would be better if they left. I’ll see to the lad’s references myself.”

“You would give the boy references, yet you want him dismissed?”

Harrison waved his hands helplessly. “I shall do as you direct, my lord.”

Could no one make a decision? Adam wondered with exasperation. But since his stepmother was incapable of confrontation and the butler clearly wished to avoid it, as head of the household he would have to settle this business himself. So, much as he would
prefer to avoid Helena, before he did anything, he ought to discuss the matter with the person who had introduced this problem into his house.

“Will you send Miss Lambarth to me, please?”

“At once, my lord,” Harrison said, obviously eager to leave the solving of this imbroglio in his hands.

’Twas bad enough that his stepmother’s ward had cut up his peace. Now she had disturbed the tranquility of his household. What rubbed most, he thought sardonically as he waited for Miss Lambarth to appear, was that he might be forced to admit to Priscilla that she had been correct in the concern she’d voiced the first night she met Helena—that the girl’s lack of breeding could cause difficulties for his family. An opinion that at the time, reading into it a criticism of his stepmother, he had fiercely resented.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see in Miss Lambarth’s face when she answered his summons—Embarrassment? Shame? Penitence? He was definitely not prepared for the rigidly upright figure who stormed through the door, her whole being radiating angry defiance.

Instead of the siren who’d enticed him, she now appeared a Valkyrie ready to do battle. He wasn’t sure which guise was more arresting.

Given the girl’s agitation, Adam decided it might be best to avoid a direct confrontation. Trying instead for a wry, half-humorous tone, he said, “Well, the cat is among the pigeons now. I suppose the news is true?”

Apparently she’d been expecting hostility in return,
for the mildness of his remark seemed to surprise her. Her wariness dissipating a trifle, she said, “Yes, it’s true.”

“How did you come to hire employees in a workhouse?”

“I told everyone from the start that I didn’t want a proper dresser who would look down on me. From remarks made by a clergyman traveling on the mail coach, I guessed that a girl from the workhouse, if she were honest and willing, would be grateful for employment and work more diligently than someone Harrison deemed ‘suitable.’ And so she has! Have you heard a word of complaint about Nell or Dickon since they came here?”

Adam thought of the grooms’ protests about the mischievous boy. “Not really, but—”

“Doesn’t Dickon practically worship Harrison and do whatever he bids the instant he commands it, always trying to do more to win his favor? At this moment, the child is hidden in my wardrobe, weeping his heart out knowing that the man for whom he has been toiling has rejected him. Knowing his disclosure means he and his sister will be forced to leave the place he has just now begun to think of as home. And why? Because he was idle or encroaching or dishonest? No—for the sin of having been orphaned.”

“That makes you angry,” Adam said, impressed by the fierceness of her loyalty to and concern for the boy.

“It makes me furious! But I expect that’s merely my ‘unconventional’ background, which instilled in me more respect for what a person does than for his
position in the world. I
am
sorry for upsetting Aunt Lillian and disrupting your house. But I am not in the least sorry for hiring Nell and Dickon, nor do I have any intention of letting them go. Since that apparently will cause problems here, I will have them go elsewhere until I can obtain other lodging for us, a search I shall begin immediately.”

It was a golden opportunity to send the girl packing and put an end to his struggle to resist her—but he couldn’t make himself seize it. “You would abandon Bellemere, after all the care she has given you?” he asked, pulling out that argument to mask his own reluctance to see her go. “It would break her heart!”

For the first time her defiant expression softened. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful and I…I should miss her, too. But what else can be done?”

Relieved, he gave her a wry grin. “I expect she intended me to convince you to let Nell and Dickon go. Ah, Miss Lambarth, it truly would have been easier on everyone if you’d just let Harrison handle the hiring of your maid.”

In an instant she changed from angry to imploring. Stepping forward to seize his hand, she cried, “My lord, if only you had been there! Seen how diligently they labored in the workhouse laundry! Their father died for England, their mother from overwork trying to provide for them. Stranded and alone with no family to take them in, they had no choice but the workhouse, though it meant giving up what little hope they had of finding employment elsewhere.”

Her gaze dropped and her voice faded almost to a
whisper. “I know what it is to be shut away, shunned by good Society, with no hope of assistance.”

She stared into the far distance, seeing memories he could only guess at, while the hand she seemed to have forgotten seared his palm and sent heat through every nerve. But before he could think what to say—could bring himself to detach those slender fingers—she looked back up and, to his relief and regret, pulled her hand away.

“Once I saw Nell and Dickon and learned the facts of their situation, how could I
not
help them?”

He had come prepared to echo Harrison’s advice and, at the least, finagle her consent to the firing of her unsuitable employees. But a wave of compassion for Nell, the boy—and for her—overcame him. How many years had Helena existed, shut away after her mother’s flight? Feeling, with good reason, abandoned by the world and betrayed by those who should have cared for her.

It hadn’t been right—not for her. Not for the two unfortunates she’d chosen to rescue. Perhaps his years in the army, where he learned to judge men not by birth but by actions, had instilled in him, too, a share of her “unconventional” opinion, but he had seen vagrants who enlisted for a shilling become outstanding soldiers, and pampered sons of the nobility bolt at the first sound of the guns. It wasn’t fair to dismiss Nell and Dickon, whose service in his household had been exemplary, for the misfortune of becoming orphaned.

And so he found himself telling her what, ten minutes earlier, he never would have imagined saying.
“Don’t leave, Miss Lambarth. Bellemere and Charis would be much more distressed by your going away than they could ever be by knowing that your maid came from the workhouse.”

She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “But…but what of Harrison? Cook and the housekeeper? I won’t keep Nell and Dickon here because
I
wish to stay, only to have them shunned by the staff.”

“I shall inform Harrison that, having judged both of them valuable employees despite their origins, I want them retained. As we both know, he has a fondness for Dickon and, I suspect, will secretly rejoice not to have to discharge him. As for the rest, I expect my staff to treat each other with respect and will tolerate nothing less.”

“You would do that? Why?”

He gave her a smile and shrugged. “Because you have convinced me ’tis right.”

She stared at him a long moment, as if not sure whether to believe him. Then, when he was on the point of telling her she could leave, a brilliant smile lit her face, transforming her already arresting features into a beauty that stole his breath.

“Thank you, my lord. I promise you will never regret showing mercy.” Her smile turning roguish, she added, “And I will earnestly try to cause no more havoc in your house! Now, I will go prostrate myself before Aunt Lillian and beg her pardon, too.” After a deep, straight-backed curtsey that would have done honor to the queen’s drawing room, she rose and swept out the door.

As if she’d cast a spell over him, Adam stood immobile for several moments after her departure. In the lawyer’s office he’d pitied her. In his library that night he’d desired her. Now in these last few minutes she had reached him on yet another level. Bypassing his irritation over the problem of his lust and dispelling his resistance to thinking well of her, she’d brought him to a profound admiration and respect for the girl who’d fought isolation and captivity to find freedom. The girl who, even at the cost of giving up her home with the aunt who loved her, was ready to fight just as fiercely for the unfortunates in her care.

He’d never met anyone remotely like her. He was beginning to fear he would never judge any woman her equal.