The Baron and the Bluestocking (22 page)

“You must bring that up with your sister. She intended to keep teaching. That was one of the barriers we faced. I must live in London for part of the year while Parliament is in session, you see.”

Jacqueline smiled. “You may leave it to me, my lord.”

“You give me hope, Miss Whitcombe. You do, indeed.”

*~*~*

Mr. Blakeley met him in the office of the woolen mill—a utilitarian room with a desk and two wooden chairs. When Christian told him what he had uncovered in London, the man gave his report. “Delacroix is going through the motions of a man with a broken heart. It is especially hard to stomach. I will be glad when the Chief Constable takes him in charge so I don’t have to look at his face.”

“I feel sure that I will hear something from Yorkshire at the first opportunity.” Christian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I say, I hope you will forgive my impertinence in falling in love with the woman you thought to marry. Believe me, it was most unexpected.”

Samuel carefully moved a pen on the desk from the left side to the right. “Love can be that way. I have missed Miss Whitcombe-Hodge’s help with my speeches, but it has been a good time for me to learn to stand on my own, since she won’t be marrying me.”

“For what it’s worth, you will make a fine MP.”

“Shall you use her help in your speeches before the Lords?”

“I have been asking myself that question, as Miss Whitcombe-Hodge certainly will want to know before she consents to marry me. She and her sisters are a good advertisement for the pitfalls women can fall into through no fault of their own. The timing of her issues may be wrong now, with consciousness of the French Revolution still so high, but I have a feeling that there will be a time to broach her concerns in the Lords. As my hostess, undoubtedly, she will lose no time making her feelings known. I have the advantage of you, having a permanent seat as I do. No one can vote me down for my wife’s opinions!”

“I have decided that when the time is right, I will propose a bill for universal education,” Blakeley said. “When I thought Miss Whitcombe was dead, I determined to do it. Women are left in a very precarious position in society with little they can do to have control over their own lives unless or until they marry.”

“I agree with you.” Rising, he took Samuel’s hand and shook it. “I know that we will always be in touch.”

*~*~*

That afternoon, he sat down to compose a letter to Hélène.

My dearest love,

I am in hopes that the barriers to our marriage are swiftly being done away. I have just spoken with Blakeley and we have agreed that our views have changed in the area of women’s rights due to your example and that of your sisters. At some time in the future, when the events of the Revolution have faded to a greater extent, he and I intend to introduce a bill for universal education. I shall also look into other women’s issues that you may bring up.

As my wife, you would have a great deal of freedom at salons and political entertainments to air your views. Unlike what would be the case if you were to marry Blakeley, I cannot lose my seat in the Lords unless I am to turn criminal.

I know it is also a great concern that I treat you as an equal in our marriage. Any objection to that has long ago been done away. You have proved more than my equal—you have proved my superior, darling. I believe you were far more honest with yourself about your feelings for me than I was in mine for you. (Thus the Mr. Darcy speech! I know you will never let me forget it.)

I pray that you will be my wife, that you will be mine forever. And I pray that you will always be outspoken and keep me up to the mark.

Rest well, my love.

S.

Taking his letter, he went to call on Mrs. Blakeley.

“Oh, my dear Lord Shrewsbury. I am that distraught over this business with Hélène! How on earth did she come to be drowned? Surely that Lord Delacroix could have saved her!”

“I have come to tell you the truth of the matter, Mrs. Blakeley, and to ask, once again for your generous help. It is Lord Delacroix who threw our dear Hélène into the river, but, no thanks to him, she did not drown.”

“What! Lord Delacroix! But she is not dead? Oh do tell me!”

Christian related all of his beloved’s experiences and what was being done to find Delacroix’s motive in order that he could be arrested by the Chief Constable and tried with success in the House of Lords.

“Oh! What a terrible, terrible thing. I thank Providence that she has been saved. It can only be a miracle.”

“Now, I know it will be tempting to tell your friends, and the teachers at the school, but we do not want to scare off Lord Delacroix, so I must ask you to keep all this in confidence.”

“Of course, my lord. And in what way do you need my help?”

“Miss Jacqueline Whitcombe needs a chaperone so that she may go to her sister. I think her presence will greatly raise Hélène’s spirits. Would you be willing to travel with her tomorrow, first thing in the morning? And to think up some excuse for your excursion? I do not want the Mowbrays to suspect anything.”

“I will say I am taking her to Town to confer with the duke about her future.”

“Splendid idea!” he said. “Just one other thing. May I dine with you tonight? I do not think I could bear the company of the Mowbrays for dinner.”

“That would be splendid! You have yet to meet my fine husband. He has heard so much about you.”

*~*~*

Christian remained in a first class funk as he tried to entertain himself the next few days, while eluding either of the Mowbrays. He spoke to Miss Hilliard about having the Memorial Service held after Miss Blakeley and Jacqueline returned. He did this to give Lady Virginia and Lord Delacroix an excuse for staying in the neighborhood.

He received a letter from Hélène by return of post:

Dearest Christian,

I never understood until I met you what a frustrating, exhilarating, and confounding thing love would be. When I first met you, I challenged everything you stood for. Now, after fighting my own inclinations most strenuously, I am ready to surrender. I will always retain in remembrance those awful lessons I learned as a single woman with no prospects in the world, but I am resigned to entering the married state—for that is the only way I can be with you. When this time apart is through, I never wanted to be parted from you again. Cold, deadly water taught me that lesson.

My dearest Jacquie has told me of her scheme for teaching in my stead, and I think that is a very good idea. I realize that my opportunities to teach are not limited to Chipping Norton. We can open a school for unfortunate children (boys and girls) no matter where we live. There certainly are enough of them in the world.

I love you deeply, wholly, and forever,

Your Hélène

Christian was so elated by this letter that he took Blakeley out for a pint that evening, and together they waxed eloquent on the many virtues of Miss Hélène Whitcombe. They also worked on writing a speech for Blakeley to give in her honor about the rescuing and education of orphan girls from the East End. Falling asleep that night, Christian was endlessly grateful for the notion of the girl’s school that had brought him together with the prickly Miss Whitcombe, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

*~*~*

Finally, the letters he was waiting for arrived for him in care of Samuel Blakeley—a cautionary measure to keep them from falling into the hands of Delacroix at the White Hart.

The first he opened was from his father’s steward.

Dear Lord Shrewsbury,

I was shocked to receive your letter containing the assertions of Lord Delacroix, who has been a companion of my son’s since their days together at Oxford. I immediately questioned Arnold regarding them.

It was a difficult discussion. I learned that for several years, as my under steward, he has been diverting vast amounts of income from the estate into his own pocket. He made the mistake of telling Delacroix of this on his last visit here. The man threatened to tell you of his theft if he did not pay him a significant amount of money. I now see that what he intended, after the marriage of you to his sister, was to throw the blame on me, bring about my dismissal and secure the place of steward for himself. My son has been living in fear of both of us losing our places. The rents here are very reasonable, in fact very low. Arnold says that Delacroix intends to double the rents without telling you, and pocketing the excess monies. This would give him an income approaching yours.

I am hoping that you can forgive my son, whom I have dismissed. If you should desire to turn him over to the Chief Constable for his crime, I will understand.

I sincerely hope you will be able to apprehend Delacroix for his attempted murder and that we will never again see him in these parts.

Yours Sincerely,

Joseph Barton, Esq.

Christian marveled at Delacroix’s complex scheme to repair his fortunes. The man was indeed as devilish as he looked.

The Chief Constable’s letter showed his ignorance of the entire plot. Christian was very glad he had taken the step of writing to Barton directly.

He lost no time in delivering the letter to Chief Constable Wilkins. After reading it, the man said, “A complex, conniving, and devilish plot. Blackmail, escalating into attempted murder. We shall have the man now!”

Immediately, Wilkins clapped on his hat and followed Christian’s horse into town. He marched into the White Hart to find Delacroix writing letters in the private parlor.

“Well, my lord,” the constable said, producing a pair of manacles. “It is past time I arrested you for attempted murder of Miss Hélène Whitcombe.”

Delacroix leapt to his feet, looking back and forth between Christian and Wilkins like a trapped animal. Shoving the constable out of the way, he attempted to run, but Christian dove after him, bringing him down on the hard wooden floor.

“You are finished, Delacroix! We know of your blackmail, as well. Needless to say, you will never be my steward, you will lose your family’s home, and you will most likely be hanged.”

For good measure, Christian dealt the man his most skillful right hand punch, knocking him out cold.

Lady Virginia, evidently having heard the commotion, looked into the room. Her mouth formed a soundless “o.”

“My lady, accept my assurances that I will never be marrying you. At this juncture, I do not know how much you had to do with the attempted murder of my fiancée. A jury will have to determine that.”

Bringing out a separate set of manacles, Constable Wilkins placed them on the lady’s wrists.

“Murder? Of what can you be speaking?”

“Hélène is alive and recovering her health. We know of your brother’s attempt on her life. You are a scheming, noxious woman. Your name and that of your family is about to be dragged through the mud. I do not know what is to become of you, but knowing Hélène, she will doubtless take pity on your miserable circumstances. If you are not hanged beside your brother, that is.”

{ Epilogue }

IN THE DAYS OF HER BLACKEST DESPAIR, Hélène never anticipated that she would be a bride at all, and certainly not a giddy one! Here she was at Shearings, the duke and duchess of Ruisdell’s town house, ready to be wed from their ballroom in front of a packed house of Christian’s friends and at least half the Whig party.

Elise and Jacqueline fussed over last minute adjustments to her appearance. Her sister was tacking up the hem of her gown of gold tissue where she had trod upon it in her excitement. The duchess was clasping around her neck Christian’s gift of a golden locket containing miniatures of both Hélène’s parents which he had commissioned with the duchess’s help. They had rescued a bridal portrait of the vicar and his lady from the attic at the Ruisdell Park vicarage. Hélène had wept when he gave it to her, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness in providing her with this family memento on this day when she was missing Papa so dreadfully. For so long, she had held him at a distance in her heart, blaming him for her situation. Her mother now sat across the room from her, beaming.

“I always knew this day would come,” she said in a contented voice. Her arm was around her youngest daughter, and Monique sat by her, leaning against her arm and holding the veil she and Jacqueline had embroidered with golden roses for Hélène’s dark head.

Her sisters and mother would all stay with the duke and duchess until Hélène and Christian returned from their honeymoon in Italy, whence he was taking her to meet Sophie and Frank in Florence. After spending a season in town at the splendid mansion they had purchased near Shearings, the party would remove to Yorkshire, spending the summer months at the estate, where Christian intended to become more than an absentee landlord and Hélène planned to open a school for the farmers’ children.

Her heart was so full, Hélène alternated between tears and laughter.

“I think we should play a May game with Christian. Instead of this beautiful gown, I should be married in my black serge uniform!”

“Take pity on the man, Hélène,” Elise said. “You have a whole lifetime to torment him. Give him some illusion of control on his wedding day!”

All at once, Hélène was sober. “Poor Mary Woolstonecraft. She was so confused by her passion. She was tormented by it.”

“And you are not?” Jacqueline asked.

“Not in the least. Feeling the whole spectrum of your feelings is empowering. Love is a far more effective motivator than bitterness.”

“I cannot imagine you ever becoming complacent in your happiness, dearest,” Elise said.

*~*~*

An hour later, her veil down over her face, Hélène walked down the aisle, between the chairs in the ballroom, on the arm of the duke. Christian stood next to the priest, his face alive with anticipation. She sent a prayer heavenward that she had survived her moments in the black, swirling waters of the Evenlode. They had brought her to this moment of complete capitulation of pride and stiffneckedness.