Julia Justiss (24 page)

Deeply disturbed, after arranging instead to meet the ladies once she’d changed out of her habit, Helena went to her room. It appeared, she mused as Nell helped her into a morning gown, she would have to abandon her vague plan for using the attraction between them to try to induce Adam to break his engagement. Though she couldn’t imagine a man like her father expending a moment’s thought about humiliating Miss Standish or staining his own honor, the Adam Darnell she loved would do neither.

If, at least at the moment, she could think of no honorable way to prevent the match, she would have to try to tolerate Miss Standish with as good a grace as possible. Despite the girl’s continued hostility.

A resolution which, she suddenly realized, she would have to put into practice immediately. Yester
day’s tumult had made her forget until this moment that she would encounter Miss Standish on two occasions today.

The first meeting had been scheduled two days ago, when the Darnell ladies called on Princess Esterhazy and found Miss Standish and her mother also present. To Helena’s surprise, Miss Standish had made her way through a knot of Helena’s admirers to her side.

Entering the conversation during a pause in the entreaties of the gentlemen trying to extract Helena’s agreement to race her black against them, Miss Standish said, “I’ve heard so much about your horse, Miss Lambarth! What a pity he is so unsteady you cannot ride him during the promenade hour, so we might all admire your skill.”

“I believe Pegasus could be induced to behave himself even then,” Helena replied, keeping her tone cordial with an effort. “But I prefer a gallop to the slow pace one must maintain in the park in the afternoon.”

“I agree! Schooling a horse to a walk is much more difficult than giving him his head,” Miss Standish replied.

Though Adam’s fiancée was entitled to her views, Helena couldn’t help but think her remarks were more an attempt to disparage Helena than a statement of opinion.

Before she could reply, one of the gentlemen hooted and said, “Well, Miss Lambarth, that sounded like a challenge! Why not ride Pegasus in the park and show just how well you can manage him?”

“Miss Lambarth, if you think it possible, I would be
delighted if you could ride with my cousin Francis when Darnell next drives me to the park. With you disdaining so many social events, I haven’t had much opportunity to get to know you better. Darnell speaks so highly of you.”

Seeing no polite way out of it, she’d reluctantly agreed, and the outing had been set for this afternoon, prior to the Darnells’ dinner at the Standish mansion—another event Helena did not anticipate with much enthusiasm.

At least Mr. Dixon had promised to lend his presence to the first excursion. Since at the most recent musicale she’d attended, she’d been compelled to rake her nails over the hand Francis Standish had placed on her derrière, she was glad of any company that spared her having to give her full attention to Miss Standish’s odious cousin.

So that afternoon, gowned in her favorite scarlet habit, Helena met Mr. Dixon and proceeded to Hyde Park a bit in advance of the fashionable hour, that they might run the horses before she would have to confine Pegasus—and herself—to the boredom of a walk. They’d completed one full circuit of the park before she spied their party.

Sighing, Helena put on a smile and slowed Pegasus to the pace of the Standish landau.

During the general greetings, she could not keep herself from looking at Adam—or feeling the rush of awareness his presence always triggered, deepened now by an intense swell of affection. He smiled back, his eyes warming, until Miss Standish, glancing in the
direction of his gaze, tapped his sleeve to reclaim his attention.

Affection changed to an ache as she watched them, trying to stifle again the sadness that his handsome countenance and sterling character were to be bestowed on Priscilla Standish. A sharp, venomous irritation Helena feared must be jealousy deepened her regret.

So distracted was she by this tangle of emotions that when Mr. Dixon excused himself to ride on and speak with a friend and Francis Standish suggested they dismount and walk apace with the carriage, she absently agreed.

“Well, Miss Lambarth, I must admit I’m impressed,” Priscilla said, reluctance in her tone. “Your Pegasus appears better behaved than I was led to believe. Or did you have a gallop around the park to tire him first?”

More amused than annoyed now by the girl’s continual attempts to belittle her, Helena said evenly, “We cantered one circuit around the park, but he is still vigorous.”

“I’m sure he is,” Francis said, leaning close to Helena as he stroked Pegasus’s neck. “We gentlemen do so appreciate a passionate creature,” he murmured, so near she felt the warmth of his breath against her ear.

While Helena stepped away, wishing she might remount and catch up to Mr. Dixon, Adam sent Priscilla’s cousin a warning look, to which he smiled blandly.

“Won’t you both join us in the carriage?” Priscilla
asked. “You can tie your horses behind. We could converse more easily—don’t you agree, Adam?” she said, making a show of tucking her hand under his.

The cozy familiarity of that gesture made Helena want to snatch Adam’s arm away. Under no circumstances did she wish to sit opposite the couple while Priscilla demonstrated her ownership of Adam—if such were her intent. Neither did Helena trust her restive mount to behave if tied close to another horse with no rider in control.

“Thank you, but Pegasus is unlikely to trail us like a docile pony,” she said at last. “And I do prefer to ride.”

“Yet I understand you intend to buy a carriage,” Priscilla said. “Surely not a high perch phaeton, as I’ve heard! Though challenging enough to show off a gentleman’s skill, Francis tells me controlling one would take more strength than a
lady
could hope to possess.”

Meaning, Helena thought, that if she chose a phaeton, she must be both ill-bred and a show-off. But before she could master her irritation to frame some innocuous response, to her surprise, Adam pulled his hand from under Priscilla’s and frowned at his fiancée.

“Though it would not, as a general rule, be advisable for a female to attempt driving one, a lady who possessed sufficient expertise should have no more trouble with a phaeton than she would handling a curricle or a gig—which, Miss Lambarth, I believe you once mentioned you used to tool about in quite competently.”

Warmed by Adam’s praise—and the flash of disapproval in Priscilla’s eyes at Adam’s defense of her—Helena said, “Yes, I drove often as a child. However,
Miss Standish, I do intend to take instruction before I attempt a phaeton.”

“So intrepid a rider as Miss Lambarth must be fretting herself to flinders, poking along as we are,” Francis interjected. “What say you, Miss Lambarth? Shall we take the side trail up ahead and let the horses trot?”

As loath as Helena was to accept the escort of Francis Standish, even on horseback, she was hardly happier to be trapped here while Priscilla tossed little barbs at her—annoying Helena and disturbing Adam.

Before Helena could reply, Miss Standish said, “Miss Lambarth has already admitted Pegasus is not docile enough to be trotted now that the park is crowded, Francis. If she dare not tie him behind, ’tis wiser that you walk the horses and keep pace with us.”

Enough, Helena thought, her small store of patience exhausted. Crowd or no, she was confident she and Pegasus would be able to outride Francis Standish and circle back to find Mr. Dixon. To avoid looking at Adam, whose quelling gaze directed at Standish a few moments ago seemed to indicate Adam didn’t consider the man a very trustworthy escort, she turned to Priscilla’s cousin. “Yes, Mr. Standish, I should like to ride ahead,” she replied, confident she would not suffer his company for long.

She ignored the leg up offered her by the smirking Francis, electing instead a groom’s assistance. Anxious to get away, she vaulted into the saddle, Pegasus sidestepping and snorting as she shifted her
weight against the pommel. She’d scarcely gathered the reins in hand when he reared up, neighing loudly, and exploded into a gallop.

W
ITH
P
EGASUS NEIGHING
and bucking as if possessed by demons, for the first few seconds Helena devoted all her attention to maintaining her seat. Once sure of her balance, she leaned low over her mount, talking into his ear to try to soothe him while she used reins and heels to slow his flight.

She’d just managed to get him under control when she heard hoofbeats thundering behind her. Worried the approaching horse might cause Pegasus to panic again, she half-turned to wave the rider off—and saw it was Mr. Dixon.

“We’re all right!” she called. “Keep your distance.”

He slowed his mount to close the gap between them at a more gradual pace. “Are you injured?” he demanded.

“No, I’m quite unharmed.”

“Thank heavens! Did Pegasus graze a branch when he bolted past that last tree? He’s bleeding.”

“I don’t think so,” Helena said, concerned. As soon as her horse, blowing and sidling, slowed to a walk, Helena jumped down. “Where?”

“There—” Mr. Dixon gestured, dismounting and
coming to take her reins “—at the corner of the saddle blanket.”

Still murmuring to the horse, Helena gently ran a hand up under the blanket, then gasped as she pricked a finger.

“Hold him still!” she commanded. Working the edge of the blanket free, she pulled it up to reveal the wound—and the large, wicked-looking thorn at its center.

After ripping the ruffle from her cuff, carefully she pulled the thorn free, wiped the blood from her horse’s flank and wedged the linen strip back under the blanket against the still-oozing wound.

She turned to see Dixon frowning. “No wonder the animal bolted. I don’t recall riding through any briar patches on our way here, so someone must have inserted that thorn intentionally. As pranks go, I don’t find it very funny.”

Helena heard more hoofbeats approaching and looked up. Only then did she notice that on the crowded carriage path a hundred yards away, all traffic had halted. Ladies and gentlemen leaned from their carriages, staring and gesturing, while several riders had set off across the field toward them. To her shock, she realized that the rider now closest to them was Adam, apparently on a borrowed mount.

“I see we’ve provided quite a spectacle,” she said dryly. “Though not as amusing as it might have been had Pegasus managed to unseat me.”

“Amusing?” Dixon retorted. “You might have been killed! If I ever get my hands on—”

Just then Adam reached them, reining in his horse and leaping down from the saddle. “Please, say nothing!” Helena said to Dixon in an urgent undertone. “Let me handle this in my own way.”

He had only time to give her a reluctant nod before Adam ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” he demanded urgently, fear and anger in his voice as he looked her up and down. “The devil take that horse! If I had a pistol, I’d shoot him where he stands.”

“I’m unharmed, so you mustn’t malign poor Pegasus. But I don’t wish to ride him home.” And compound the injury the animal had already suffered, she added silently.

“I should think not! A groom will see to him. Come back in the carriage with us. Miss Standish will be relieved to see that you’ve sustained no injury.”

I’ll just bet she will,
Helena thought, resolved to walk rather than share a carriage with Adam and Priscilla. “Can I prevail upon you to lead Pegasus home, Mr. Dixon?” she asked. “You will know what to tell Johnson when you get him to the stables.”

“I will indeed, Miss Lambarth,” Dixon said grimly.

Several other riders reached them then, exclaiming and offering assistance. After declining them all with thanks, Helena felt a guilty pleasure at allowing an insistent Adam to take her arm while Mr. Dixon followed with the horses.

Far too soon, they reached the carriage and Adam let her go. “Miss Lambarth, are you unhurt?” Miss Standish cried. “Adam, help her in! She has had such a fright! I was near to fainting myself, just watching.”

Anger flamed in Helena that someone had callously injured her horse in an attempt to embarrass her—perhaps this girl. But though Helena now suspected the invitation to the park had been offered in the hope of putting her riding skills to the blush, unless Miss Standish were a better actress than Helena could imagine, the girl’s pale face and trembling lips argued that she had no role in arranging
this
part of the adventure.

Helena had a sudden memory of Francis Standish leaning over to pat Pegasus. He had been close enough to insert the thorn, which would then have rested harmlessly beneath the saddle blanket until she’d remounted, driving it into Pegasus’s tender side.

Francis Standish, who was nowhere to be seen. Was this how he’d decided to repay her for rebuffing his insolent advances the other night? Though she couldn’t prove he was responsible, neither could she imagine any other way a thorn could have gotten where it had. She would have to think carefully about a suitable retribution.

“I am fine,” she assured Priscilla. “Nor would I wish to soil your gown, riding with you in all my dirt. Mr. Dixon, would you summon me a hackney?”

“Yes, and follow you home.”

To her surprise—and delight—with his fiancée and the interested crowd still looking on, Adam reclaimed her arm. “I shall escort Miss Lambarth to the hackney and return in a moment, Priscilla.”

“Really, Adam, I’m sure Mr. Dixon can—”

“Miss Lambarth is my responsibility,” Adam said curtly, cutting her off.

Color rose in Miss Standish’s cheeks. “You might see to your cravat before you return, then,” she said stiffly. “You’re looking most untidy.”

As Adam tucked her hand firmly under his arm, Helena savored his solicitude as much as his touch. After she’d said her good-byes, he led her away.

Once they had distanced themselves from the crowd, however, he grasped her hand to stop her. “Are you sure you’re all right? There’s blood on your cuff.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“You’re certain?” When she nodded, he exhaled an explosive breath. “Praise Heaven! But what a fright you gave me! I thought you were going to…” He swallowed hard.

“But I didn’t,” she said softly, loving the feel of her fingers entwined with his and compelled by the tingling force between them to look up into his eyes.

Gazing back just as intently, Adam lifted his free hand to her face, as if to stroke her cheek. Even as her eyes drifted shut, anticipating his touch, he stopped, clenched his fingers into a fist and thrust his arm back at his side. With a small sigh, he urged her forward.

Disappointed to have the moment cut short, Helena walked silently beside Adam to the hackney stand, where he engaged a driver. After giving the man instructions, Adam cast a glance back over at his shoulder toward the carriage trail, where a doubtless impatient Priscilla awaited him. “I must return to Miss Standish now.”

“Of course you must,” she agreed, no less regretful for acknowledging that truth.

Adam handed her into the carriage, not letting go of her elbow until the last possible moment—as if as reluctant to release her as she was to send him back to his fiancée.

He gave her a smile that looked forced. “Try not to run off with this carriage before it can convey you home.”

She smiled back. “I shall try.”

“As for what happened with your horse…we will talk about that later.”

Not until I’ve decided what I mean to do about it,
she thought, returning a noncommittal murmur.

Adam shut the door and the vehicle lurched off. Helena caught one last glimpse of him standing by the road, watching her as the coach pulled away.

Shaking her head, she tried to dissipate the lingering effect of his sensual spell and regather the thoughts his nearness had scattered. She needed to consider the circumstances of Pegasus’s injury—and Francis Standish’s probable role in it. Since she was almost certain to encounter Priscilla’s cousin at dinner tonight, she had best decide what she wanted to do about it quickly.

A
S THEY ENTERED THE
dining room that evening, Helena was satisfied to discover she had been seated beside Francis Standish. Since she knew Priscilla would not have done her the honor, she wondered if this were an attempt by Priscilla’s father to allow his heir to try to charm her and her wealth, or whether Francis wished to see up close the effect that had been wrought by his trick in the park.

Whatever the reason, she thought, setting her lips into a determined line, she trusted that by the end of dinner she would have induced in Francis Standish a firm resolve to avoid her permanently.

As she had been avoiding Adam. Expecting he would have checked with his groom upon arriving home and thus be even keener to discuss the incident in the park, she had delayed leaving her chamber until the carriage had been brought around, then sidestepped his attempt to speak with her in the parlor before dinner. Tempted as she was to fling in his face this evidence about the true character of his betrothed and her cousin, if Adam were barred from severing the engagement, she would rather spare him the distress of learning of their behavior from her.

Priscilla had evidently recovered from her momentary concern for Helena, for as soon as the company was seated, she said, “May I commend your fortitude in rebounding so quickly from your ordeal this afternoon, Miss Lambarth. How fortunate Mr. Dixon was able to bring your horse to a halt! I only wish you had allowed Adam to choose your mount.” Smiling at her fiancé, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sure he would have found a more suitable one.”

“My papa always warned me reckless behavior leads to a fall,” Miss Standish’s friend, Lady Cordelia, added from her seat opposite Francis Standish. “Though we are all glad, of course, that you did
not
fall, Miss Lambarth!”

To Helena’s surprise, Adam removed his fingers from his fiancée’s grip. “Far from falling, she controlled the
horse magnificently—with no need of assistance from Mr. Dixon. ’Twas a marvelous display of horsemanship.”

Priscilla’s smile faltered and Lady Cordelia’s smug look faded. Before Helena could respond, Lord Blanchard looked up from gazing adoringly at Charis to add, “I only wish I’d been present to see it! Her sangfroid and skill were the talk of White’s when I stopped by this evening.”

In the short silence following Blanchard’s remark, Priscilla’s expression soured further. Having received so unsatisfying a return from her efforts, she turned and directed her conversation to her mother. At the other end of the table, while Mr. Standish monopolized his dinner partners, Helena was free to concentrate on Francis.

At first he seemed guarded. But after two courses during which she ventured only deferential replies to his occasional comments, he relaxed and began regaling her with anecdotes in which he played the principal role.

Finally the fruits, nuts and sweets were brought in. Selecting an apple and a sharp knife, Helena waited for a break in his monologue.

When Standish paused to fill his mouth with syllabub, she said, “Have you traveled abroad, Mr. Standish?”

Francis swallowed and gave her a patronizing smile. “I have not. Though some tout the improving nature of a Grand Tour, one has only to recall the rapacity of the French and the inability of other European nations to
prevent Napoleon’s rampages to know all the benefits of a superior culture are to be found here in England.”

“But such an amazing variety of civilizations exist in the world! I’ve read a number of accounts written by travelers to distant lands and find them fascinating.” She picked up the apple and began slowly paring off a long, hair-thin slice of the red peel.

“Too much reading burdens the mind, especially a female’s. You would do better to follow Priscilla’s example and let your thoughts be guided by gentlemen.”

“Ah, but one might miss so many…pointed details, were one to leave observation only to men. And one should always seek to discover the truth of what happens around one, do you not think?”

His air of assurance faltered a little. “I…I suppose so, Miss Lambarth.”

“But I was speaking of foreign cultures. Recently I read a mesmerizing account of travel among the
peaux rouges
of America,” she continued, paring off another slice. “It seems the savages have a barbarous practice of scalping their enemies, often sneaking up under cover of darkness to overwhelm their victims as they sleep. Is that not incredible?” She peeled another slice, cutting this time deeper into the flesh.

Francis’s gaze dropped to the slow work of her fingers and he swallowed hard. “Yes, um, incredible.”

She laughed softly as she continued paring the fruit. “I suppose it’s the fault of my sadly deficient upbringing, but I find myself rather in sympathy with the savages. If someone were to hurt some object or person
dear to me—a horse, for example—I should strongly consider taking just such a bloody revenge.”

Finished, she dropped the naked apple onto her plate beside the curl of peelings and gazed up at him. “London nights are so very dark, are they not?”

His eyes wide in a face gone suddenly waxy, Francis stared back at her. Then, dropping his napkin onto his plate, he sprang up, almost knocking over his chair.