Miss Prestwick's Crusade (12 page)

"Yes,” replied Artemis shortly. “Quite a few additions, actually. Although ...” She halted, eyeing Helen narrowly. “Where do you purchase your gowns?"

Helen stepped back, startled. “Why, everything I own was made in Portugal.” She smiled. “Like you, my sister and I relied heavily on the
Ladies Magazine
and
La Belle Assemblee,
but we used a local seamstress for most of our needs."

"Still,” said Artemis thoughtfully, “you look reasonably well put together."

Laughter bubbled in Helen's throat. “Why, thank you."

Artemis flushed. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean—that is—well, coming from a place like Portugal, after all..."

Helen relented. “You are quite right. Evora was hardly a center of fashion, and I used to lend Senhora Marquez a hand, just to make sure the finished product would be wearable."

Artemis's blue eyes widened. “You mean you did some of the sewing yourself?"

"A little. And I usually made some minor changes in the patterns to make them more becoming."

"Really? Well, that accounts for"—Artemis stopped short, her golden curls quivering—"Mama and I were just saying last night that while the gown you wore yesterday was not precisely a la mode, it was obviously well designed and well tailored—and quite elegant."

"Why, thank you,” Helen said again, .this time with more sincerity.

Artemis shifted her burden thoughtfully. “I wonder . . . I must select three or four gowns for our journey to London in a few weeks. I must have something to travel in, as well as an ensemble or two to tide me over until I can get something made up by Madame Phanie, our modiste in Town. Would you consider looking over these with me? Mama would help me, of course, but her taste is so—so deedy, if you see what I mean."

"Yes, of course I do, “ replied Helen gravely. “Mothers have so little comprehension of what it means to be
le dernier cri."

Artemis giggled. “Yes, that is it, precisely."

A few moments later, the two stood over a table in the Library, its surface littered with fashion publications. Conversation was lively, featuring the merits of merino trim over more severe braiding and the efficacy of beading in concealing certain faults in one's figure.

"Not that you have any problem there,” concluded Helen admiringly. “Your figure must be the envy of all your acquaintances and certainly needs no enhancement."

Not surprisingly, Artemis took this compliment with graceful condescension. By the time the ladies had made several choices, she was obviously far more ready to accept Helen as, if not a family member, at least a guest to be accepted with courtesy. Helen made several suggestions concerning adjustments that might be made to each gown, with the result that, at the end of the session, Artemis was in high good humor. She gathered the magazines into a pile.

"Now, if only Edward doesn't make a fuss,” she remarked as they left the room.

Helen could almost feel her ears lift. “Does Edward dispute your purchases?” she asked casually. She watched for a response to her use of Mr. Beresford's first name, but Artemis was apparently oblivious.

She snorted. “Dispute is not the word. He usually refuses flatly every time I go to him with the tiniest request. He rants on for hours about how he is trying to redeem the family fortune from the ghastly mess Father and Chris made of things. It's my belief he simply likes to see everyone around him as miserable as he is."

"Really? Miserable? He does not strike me as being unhappy."

"Well, perhaps not precisely miserable. I mean, how could he be, having achieved his life's dream? He simply never appears to have any fun. He hates parties and balls, never goes to hunts, or to Bath or Cheltenham to take the waters. All he does for enjoyment is read books. He's such a—stick.” Helen smiled but returned to the first of Artemis's statements, which had immediately gripped her interest.

"His life's dream?” Goodness, she wished she could elicit information without repeating Artemis's words like a demented parrot.

Artemis nodded so vigorously that her curls once more flew around her cheeks. “Of course. He's been jealous of Chris since they were boys. He's always resented everything about Chris—his charm, his good looks, but mostly the title, I guess."

Helen's heart sank. “You have heard him say this?"

"Oh, no. Well, he wouldn't, would he? Actually, he and his father came to visit fairly frequently when Edward was younger. I was still in the nursery then. Later, I never saw much of him—until he came to take over here. He fairly swaggered in the door and began issuing orders almost immediately. I do know that he treated Chris dreadfully when he visited here as a youth. Why, once he locked Chris in a cupboard and he had to stay in there for
hours.
Oh!” she exclaimed, remembering suddenly. “And he killed Chris's puppy!"

Helen gasped in horror. “He
what?
You saw him?"

"Mm, no. That happened before I was born—but Chris told me."

"I see.” Helen felt engulfed by an almost physical chill. Was it possible this man with the laughing eyes could have behaved so cruelly as a child—or was this one of Chris's calumnies? And Artemis had said he behaved harshly to his new family. She was not altogether sure the spoiled young miss was a reliable source, but her words filled Helen with dismay. Who was she to believe?

She wished she didn't feel the need to discern Edward's true character. She must be prepared to protect William, of course, if the man turned out to be a villain, but she was acutely aware that it was not wholly on William's behalf that she so earnestly wished Artemis to be proven a false witness.

"I am going for a turn in the garden before luncheon,” said Artemis brightly. “Would you like to come with me?"

"I should like that very much, but I want to visit with William for a few minutes."

"Oh, that sounds much more enjoyable! I shall come with you."

Helen suppressed a sigh, for she felt that, despite her wish to gain the goodwill of William's family, she had had quite enough of Artemis's company for one day. “That would be very nice,” she said cordially, and the two ladies progressed arm in arm up the stairs.

Later, at luncheon, the atmosphere was markedly more cordial than on Helen's previous encounters with the family. Lady Camberwell kept up a steady stream of innocuous chatter, the main theme of which was William and his maternal background. She seemed determined to discover the history of every Prestwick born in the British Isles since the Conquest.

"It seems to me I went to school with a Mirabelle Prestwick. She was quite a bit older than I, so I don't remember her well, but I think she lived in Northumbria or some such godforsaken place. Would she be—?"

"I don't think so,” replied Helen, repeating her response to the last fourteen or fifteen queries. “As I told you, my father's people were from Sussex, and I believe they had resided there for some time."

"And your mother. You say her maiden name was Firmenty? I don't recall ever knowing anyone of that name. Was her family from Sussex, as well?"

"Yes, and as far as I know, her family were also residents of that county for generations."

"Mph. Well, where does the duke come in?"

Helen stared in puzzlement. “The duke?"

"Yes. Didn't you say your mother was a connection of the Duke of Brumford?"

Helen choked on her cold beef. “Yes, that's true. I did say it was a distant connection. Her grandmother was the duke's third daughter."

"Hmm.” The dowager frowned consideringly, and Helen was sure she was mentally rearranging these facts for the best presentation to her friends. “But you are the great-granddaughter of Viscount Haliwell."

Helen sighed. “Yes, ma'am."

"Well,” declared the dowager fretfully. “I can't say as I've ever heard of him, either, but I suppose he will have to do."

Helen suppressed an indignant retort. In the next moment, a chuckle rose in her throat. How absurd the countess was. Lifting her head, she caught a responsive spark in Edward's eye. How strange, yet how warming to have a friend who entered so wholly into one's thoughts. It was hard to believe she had known him for such a short time.

From his seat at the dowager's right, Mr. Welladay harrumphed. “I understand you have been poking about in our art collection."

Helen sent another glance, this one of startlement, to Edward.

"Yes,” Edward replied smoothly. “I took Helen on a tour this morning of some of Grandfather's loot."

Lady Camberwell stiffened at this use of Helen's first name, an expression of affronted surprise crossing her features. She said nothing, however.

"And did you find them of, er, interest, Miss Prestwick?” Mr. Welladay placed a peculiar emphasis on Helen's last name, as though he suspected it of being false.

Doing her best to ignore the man's naked hostility, Helen replied brightly, “Why, yes. I saw some wonderful works of art. Lord Camberwell was possessed of excellent taste."

"And I suppose you found many of them requiring your, ah, skills?"

Helen flushed. What was he insinuating? “Actually, for having been neglected so long, the paintings are in remarkably good condition, but many need a good cleaning. Some are in need of repair, and a few"—she turned to Edward— “in the rooms above the laundry have acquired touches of mildew that must be removed at once."

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing,” Mr. Welladay grumbled portentously. “I have put in a great deal of time and effort evaluating and sorting through the collection, and I would hate to see mice feet made of my efforts. In addition"—he twisted around to face Edward—"I am not one to talk out of turn, Ned, but I must say, I am much opposed to allowing a female dabbler—one of questionable motives, if I may make so bold—to muck about in our treasures."

Helen observed a reddening of Edward's neck just above his collar. “Uncle!” he began in a thunderous tone, but Helen intervened hastily.

"No, no, it is quite all right,” she said soothingly. It was nothing like all right, of course, and she would like to have skewered Uncle Stamford where he sat, but, resolutely, she put purpose above preference. “I understand your concern, Mr. Welladay, but I assure you I am quite competent for this undertaking. I hesitate to puff my own consequence, but I have repaired paintings for the Condes de la Verances and the Mercandores, as well as assorted grandees and other exalted personages. They were all highly gratified at what I accomplished for them and asked for my services on several more occasions."

Mr. Welladay looked as though he might reply, but Lady Camberwell said abruptly, “You worked for your father, you say?"

At Helen's nod, the dowager continued. “What in the world possessed him to allow you come to England alone— or just as good as?” She threw a dismissive glance at Barney. “Or to come here at all? Why was it not he who made the journey to present William's claim?"

Helen's pulse jumped, but she answered calmly. “Edward asked the same question, and my response is the same. My father intended to come, but he is much occupied with the press of business. It was only with a great deal of difficulty that I convinced him that I could represent William's cause—perhaps not as well as he, but with truth on our side, effectively enough."

She studiously avoided Barney's gaze during this somewhat pompous and wholly inaccurate speech but in the process made the error of encountering Edward's. His expression was one of puzzlement, mixed with that *spark of amusement that she found so unsettling. She went almost weak with relief when Artemis burst into the conversation.

"Mama, we must go into the village this afternoon. I have an order that must go to Mrs. Brinkson immediately."

The dowager lifted her bead questioningly.

"Yes, Helen helped me select several gowns that I wish made up before we start for London."

For a moment, the dowager stared at Helen, as though trying to decide whether or not to be offended. Her gaze reviewed Helen's gown.

"How very nice,” she said at last. “Now, Helen,” she continued, “I wish to know more about your mother's Brumford connection. You say her grandmother was the duke's third daughter. Whom did she marry?"

The rest of the luncheon conversation was devoted to an exhaustive discussion of the Prestwick and Firmenty family trees. It was deemed a pity Helen was not more knowledgeable about her own forebears, and the dowager announced that she would conduct her own search, relying on her own not inconsiderable resources.

As the group rose after their meal, Lady Camberwell spoke once more. “Oh, Edward, do not forget our dinner engagement on Tuesday. That's less than a week.” At Edward's blank stare, she sighed. “At the Gilfords'. I told you about it several days ago and reminded you again yesterday.” Her next remark was directed at Helen. “The Viscount Gilford and his family are our near neighbors and dear friends. Edward is betrothed to their daughter Elspeth.” At Edward's strangled gasp, she amended her words. “Well, all but. I expect they shall make it a formal arrangement at dinner on Tuesday."

Edward looked as though he was about to leap over the table to silence his aunt, but before he could vocalize a protest. Lady Camberwell had made another of her majestic exits, rather like a hurricane, unmindful of the chaos left in her wake.

Helen felt as though she had just been drenched in an ice-cold draft. It certainly made no difference to her if the faux Lord Camberwell was planning to marry; it was just that she had not considered that her arrival might have an impact on another life beyond that of the present incumbent. Edward caught up to her just as she made her exit from the chamber.

"Helen,” he began. Helen spun around and fixed him with the most brilliant smile at her disposal.

"Edward! You did not tell me you are to marry soon. Please accept my felicitations—and I look forward to meeting your fiancee."

Then, in an admirable imitation of Lady Camberwell, she swept away, leaving Edward to grind his teeth in frustration.

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helen dropped into a small tambour chair. Good heavens, what was the matter with her? At the news of Edward's impending betrothal, spurious or otherwise, she had all but gasped like a maiden in a bad play. She barely knew Edward, for heaven's sake. She liked Edward. She enjoyed Edward's company. And that's as far as it went. She had no interest in his nuptial plans. She had merely been startled at a piece of information that might well have a bearing on William's future. What that bearing might be, she had not fathomed yet. But one never knew, did one?