Too Hot For A Rake (5 page)

“I wouldn’t have had this happen to you for the world,” said the duchess, clasping Helena’s hand in sympathy. “But if it were meant to be, my darling, better by far for it to end before you wed Darlington.”

“I think Helena would be better off if she left London for a while, Mother. Do you agree?”

“Yes, I do. If she doesn’t, the
ton
will make her life a misery. Have you given any thought to where you might like to go, love?”

Helena wished she were anywhere but in this roomful of loving relatives, for their pity served only to make her spirits sink lower. Appealing visions of a dungeon without a door or a storm-tossed shack sinking into quicksand invaded her thoughts.

She tried to hide her resentment at their well-meaning concern. “India? America? A penal colony in Australia, perhaps? I don’t really care just as long as it’s as far away from London as possible.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense, Helena. Land’s End is far enough,” said Olivia, annoyed.

“Or the Isle of Scilly,” said Sebastian as he entered the morning room. He stopped to chuck his son Tony under his pudgy chin. “Unfortunately, both places may well prove to be a dead bore.”

“Oh, what difference does it make? My life is over anyway,” whined Helena between sniffs.

“Nonsense, my girl,” put in her father. “You’re only twenty. Eligible suitors will be hounding me for your hand once the news is out.”

“I’ll never marry,” said Helena, her voice tinged with tragedy.

The duchess ignored this foolish remark, for her mind had been occupied with the more practical task of finding a solution. “You know, Livy, your mention of Land’s End has given me an idea. My godmother lives there.”

Helena heaved an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re trying to help, Mother, but what has that to do with…with anything?”

Her mother went on as if Helena hadn’t spoken. “I last saw her when I visited some twenty years ago with my dear mother, rest her soul, but we still exchange Christmas greetings. She lives alone in a castle overlooking the sea. She would no doubt welcome a visit from you.”

“You can’t be sure she’d have me, Mother. What of the marquis? He might well object.”

“Her only son died last year, but her grandson has just returned from his travels to assume his father’s duties,” put in Sebastian.

“How do you know, darling?”

Sebastian looked at his wife and shook his head slightly as a warning to her to hold her tongue. “I made his acquaintance just this morning. The home secretary introduced us.”

“You won’t be in the way even if the new marquis is in residence, dear. It’s a very large castle. Besides, his grandmother will act as your chaperone,” persisted the duchess.

“As you wish, Mother.” Helena showed little interest in the rest of the conversation.

The duchess pressed on. “You’ll like it there, dearest. It’s near Sennen Cove, a charming little village where the English Channel meets St. George’s Channel.”

Upon entering the drawing room, the duke heard this remark. “That area has a bad reputation. It’s known as a hotbed of smuggling activities.”

“Not anymore, sir. There may be an occasional shipwreck in bad weather, but by and large, smuggling appears to have died out,” said Sebastian.

The duke appeared to be satisfied with this answer.

“If you crave anonymity, you couldn’t find a more suitable place to hide. No Londoner would be caught dead in such an out-of-the-way place, especially during the Season. But the decision is entirely yours,” said the duke.

“It doesn’t matter to me where you send me, Father. One place is as good as another.”

The duchess hastened to add, “I’ll write to the marchioness at once.”

“Good idea, Mother.” Olivia rose to ring for the baby’s nurse. “You’ll have to give the lord of this manor to me, Father. It’s time for Tony to feed and then to nap, two of his favorite pastimes. And while he does, we can dine in peace.”

Clinging to his grandfather, little Tony babbled in a language only he understood. “You’re welcome to the scamp, Livy. He’s had the audacity to wet my shirt.” But the duke didn’t seem to mind in the least, for he hugged the child and covered his face with kisses.

Dinner was a somber affair, due to Helena’s lingering melancholy. Afterward, the women withdrew so that the duke and his son-in-law might enjoy their brandy.

“What do you think of Land’s End, Sebastian? Is it a good idea to send Helena so far from her family?”

“Assuming the dowager marchioness agrees to it, I believe it to be an ideal solution.”

“I knew old Waverley,” the duke said. “A dour man. He held a seat in Parliament, but rarely made any speeches. He had a terrible row with his only son and the young fool ran away at an early age, I recall. Gossip had it that the lad led a wild life abroad.”

“Wild lads grow up and often mend their ways, sir.”

The duke chuckled. “I was a bit wild as a young whelp, too. Can’t fault a young ’un for that, can we? It’s how he behaves now that counts.”

“I met the marquis this morning, sir,” Sebastian reminded his father-in-law.

“What did you think of him?”

“I liked him. He was reluctant to return to England, you know, but when he learned his grandmother was still alive, he was quick to agree. He’s ready to assume his responsibilities, he told me. ‘I’m determined to bury the past and start again. I have only myself to blame for the way I have lived since I left England, but now I crave a better life. One that will restore my reputation and make my grandmother proud of me,’ he said. His sincerity impressed me, sir.”

The duke sipped his brandy. “Let us hope he really has outgrown his wild ways then.”

My Lord did not take the news of Waverley’s return from exile well.
After all these years! No matter. Harry Trasker will be as disappointed as I am. So much the better, for his mother’s all too eager for her son to become marquis. It may well work to my advantage.
He wrote a brief note and rang for his secretary.

“Sir?”

“See to it that this reaches Smith and Isley today.”

The dowager marchioness readily extended the invitation to Helena to visit and stay as long as she liked. In spite of this warm invitation, Helena drifted through her final week in London as though in a fog as thick as the one that habitually blanketed the city. She answered questions put to her with either a brief nod or a single word. Her abigail Amy saw to the packing of her clothing, but no amount of cajoling would engage her interest in the process of getting ready to embark on her journey.

“I’ve arranged for an escort to accompany you, Helena,” said her brother-in-law at dinner the night before her departure.

Helena acknowledged this with an indifferent nod.

“Sebastian went through a great deal of trouble for you, Helena,” said the duke in exasperation. “You might at least show some gratitude.”

“Thank you, Sebastian,” said Helena, her voice dull.

“You’ll come back for my debut ball, won’t you?” pleaded Georgiana, in a vain attempt to lighten the dark mood. “Please say you will, Helena. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.”

“I suppose I must, if it would please you, Georgie.”

The duchess put an end to the funereal atmosphere when she rose and said, “Come, girls. We’ll leave the gentlemen to their brandy. Don’t be too long, you two.”

“I’m bloody well damned if I know what to do for that ungrateful child,” exploded the duke after the women took their leave.

Sebastian turned to the footman serving brandy. “Leave us.” He waited until they were alone before continuing. “It’s best you say nothing to upset her, sir. She’s in mourning for her lost love as it were, but that will pass. She needs time, but she’ll come about.”

“The silly chit! I never liked Darlington for her, you know. Thought he wasn’t good enough for her. Turns out I was right. I only agreed to the match because she begged me for it. Women! Just wait till you have daughters of your own, Sebastian. When they grow up they’re bound to become a sore trial.”

Sebastian buried his grin in his brandy snifter. His wife Olivia was the duke’s eldest daughter. If his future daughters were anything like his beautiful, spirited wife, then he’d never find the time to be bored, for they would certainly enrich his already lively life.

“Helena will bounce back, sir. Mark my word. You are doing the right thing by sending her away for a time. She shouldn’t be subjected to the haughty stares and the cruel remarks of the London journals and the scandalmongers.”

“I certainly hope it’s the right thing. At any rate, she’ll be back in time for Georgiana’s ball.”

“Time enough for her to face the world with dignity once again. By then, the gossip will have shifted to a different scandal.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The duke hesitated.

“Something else on your mind, sir?”

“I’m concerned about Waverley’s reputation. Am I putting my daughter in another kind of danger?”

“I can understand your worry, but the marquis assures me he has turned over a new leaf. He’s pledged his word to me, sir. He’ll see no harm comes to her. Word of a gentleman.”

The duke drained his glass. “Word of a gentleman, eh? That’s good enough for me. Shall we join the ladies?”

Thursday, the Ninth of April, 1818

The rain added to the lingering chill of the April winds when Helena’s carriage arrived at the door. Her driver Casper nodded to milady from his perch while Dunston let down the steps and waited with an umbrella for her ladyship to enter, after she said good-bye to the family.

Olivia squeezed her sister’s hand as if to instill some courage in her. She handed her a small package. “I’ve a gift for you.”

“What is it?” asked Helena without a flicker of curiosity.

Olivia laughed. “Don’t go overboard with your enthusiasm, you goose. It’s a journal to help you while away the tedious hours of your long journey.”

“Sorry.” She hugged her sister. “Thanks, Livy. I’ll miss you.”

“No tears, mind. Time to say your good-byes to the rest of the family.” She gripped her in a fierce hug and whispered in her ear, “Be strong.”

“Make yourself useful to the marchioness,” admonished the duchess. She hugged her and stepped back to allow the duke to escort his daughter to her carriage.

“Well, Helena,” he began, but the words caught in his throat. He withdrew his handkerchief, blew his nose and composed himself. “Safe journey, my dear. Write to us, won’t you?”

“Of course, Father.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed her eyes to prevent the tears from escaping. “You have been the kindest, most understanding of fathers. You never once scolded me for having made the wrong choice. If nothing else, know that I’m proud to be your daughter.”

“See you at my ball,” said Georgiana cheerfully. “Order a beautiful gown for it, won’t you?” She kissed her and stepped back to make room for Mary.

“Bye, Helena. I’ll miss you,” said Mary.

“Me too,” said Jane. “Write me a letter all for myself. No one ever thinks to write to me, you know.”

Helena laughed at this. “I will if you promise not to eat so many scones.”

When Jane reluctantly agreed, Helena took her father’s arm and climbed the steps into the carriage. She fought back tears at being forced to separate from her family just when she needed them most.

She took the seat opposite Amy and wondered why they were not moving. At last, she rolled down her window. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t we under way?”

“We’re waiting for your escort, dear. Be patient,” said the duke. “You must have one, you know, to see to your safety.”

Helena sat back in the coach and closed her eyes, trying to still her rapid heartbeat. It was harder than she’d supposed to leave the only life she’d ever known. At last, she heard the sound of a horse stopping beside her coach.

“Ah, here he is at last. Safe journey, Helena,” said her brother-in-law.

She glanced out of her window and stiffened in shock. Her escort was the Marquis of Waverley.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said affably.

Helena reddened when their eyes engaged. Mortified, she nodded and turned her head away. Was there to be no end to her misery? She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Morning,” she mumbled.

He swept his beaver off and bowed to her. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Lord Waverley at your service.”

Helena’s heart played havoc as it knocked against her ribs. Of all the men in England, why oh why had
this
man—this
rake
—been chosen to be her escort? Didn’t Sebastian know of his reputation? Her father could not have known, could he? If he had known, he would never have allowed it.

How was she to bear his company for such a long journey when she couldn’t even bear the sight of him? When she longed to stop the carriage to wipe that idiotic grin off his face? When he was a painful reminder of the worst mistake of her life?

She was so engrossed in fury, her abigail had to touch her knee to gain her attention. “Are you all right, milady?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “What is it?”

“Well, milady, I’ve asked you the same question three times and you haven’t answered me,” said Amy in a trembling voice.

“Sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere. What is it?”

“Do you not think our escort handsome?”

“I hadn’t noticed. Beware handsome men, Amy, for they may be dangerous.”

“Oh no. Really?”

“You must protect me, Amy. Make sure the marquis doesn’t behave in an improper fashion.”

“I will, your la’ship. Don’t you worry about a thing. Your Amy will take good care of you.”

Helena’s smile was wan. “Thank you, dear. I’ll just close my eyes and rest a bit.”

But the luxury of sleep eluded her. She felt lost, cut off from everything she loved. Seeking some respite from her grim thoughts, she clutched the reticule holding her new journal. Helena had always wanted to travel, but not like this. Not running away from the vicious tongues of the London gossips whose whispers could infect an already festering wound.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, the humiliating scene of Darlington’s rejection flashed before her eyes. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she asked herself how she could have been so wrong about him. Had she forced herself upon him? She would never know the answer now. She knew only that he hadn’t loved her as she had loved him. Had Chris merely wished to wed the daughter of a duke to advance his diplomatic career? Helena sighed, searching for easier thoughts before the dismals sank her into madness.

To ease her mind, she turned to her abigail and said, “Tell me about Land’s End, Amy.”

“What would you like to know, milady?”

“That’s where you were raised, isn’t it? Did you live by the sea?”

“Near enough, milady. Me mum and me, we lived in the village of Sennen Cove. Me da, he owned Ship Inn, with rooms to let for travelers and an alehouse as well. Now me mum runs it wi’ her brother, me Uncle Tom.”

“Your father’s dead?”

Amy looked out the window and bit her lip.

“Forgive me, Amy. I didn’t mean to pry.” Helena reached across and patted her abigail’s hand.

“Oh no, milady. It’s just…well, I don’t know for sure.”

“Oh? How is that?”

“You see he was took up by the excise men near on ten years ago.”

“Oh,” said Helena. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes, milady. He was a good da and I loved him. Everyone in Sennen Cove loved him, no matter he was a free trader.”

A free trader?
Amy’s chatter did indeed distract her. “I’m so sorry,” said Helena. “You must miss him.”

Tears welled up in Amy’s eyes. She sniffed. “I know ’twas illegal what he done, but we loved him and we had such a fine life. Now me mum has to work hard just to make ends meet.”

“Tell me what you know of smuggling.”

Amy was much encouraged by the interest her mistress showed. “Free tradin’, milady. Me da warn’t no smuggler. That would be bad.”

Helena suppressed a smile, for Amy’s tongue was reverting to familiar Cornish dialect. “Go on.”

“There’s not much of free tradin’ going on as was before. Mostly, free traders don’t hurt nobody that leaves them alone and keeps their tongue between their teeth. But then there’s the outsiders—them’s the real smugglers, not us, milady. Mostly, they come from someplace else and they do bad things. Nobody likes them, but everyone’s afraid of them.”

“Doesn’t anyone try to stop them?”

Amy thought for a moment. “I don’t know about that, milady. We don’t speak bad of our own and we don’t speak bad of outsiders for fear. That scurvy lot might well murder us. Most of the time, when the excise men come round to ask questions, folk don’t see nothin’ and don’t say nothin’.”

Helena said, as much to herself as to Amy, “I’d always thought that smugglers and pirates were romantic.”

Amy’s eyes lit up as she warmed to her task. “Some, mayhap. When I was a wee mite, I saw Black Bart hisself. It was dark at night, and me da had gone out, ’cause the lantern on the bluff had blinked three times.” Amy leaned closer. “That’s the signal that a ship has hit the shoals in the cove. The alehouse cleared out and I was left alone. I couldn’t even see out the window, it was that thick with fog.

“Anyways, the door banged open and a tall man appeared dressed all in black. His cape swirled about him and his hat covered his face. Even though I was a child, I knew who he was right off. I lowered my eyes like I was taught, but he jus’ laughed and pinched my cheek. Right here.” Amy pointed to a place on her left cheek. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of hero worship.

Helena felt an excitement she lacked only moments before. She might put her journal to good use after all and try to write a tale about free traders. Perhaps she would become a famous author like Caroline Lamb. Her spirits rose.

“What happened then?”

Amy leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “And then…”

She was so engrossed in Amy’s tale, she gave a start when their carriage drew to a halt at a small inn in Reading on the road to Bristol.

“Change of horses, ma’am,” said Waverley when he opened her door. “We’ll stop once more to change horses, this time in Swindon, before we reach Bristol, but there we shall remain for the night. I’ve ordered a light repast here to sustain us until then.”

She had no choice but to take his outstretched hand. “Thank you, sir.” She stepped down and followed him inside to the dining room of a rustic tavern, for the inn lacked a private parlor. “My servants?”

“They’ll eat in the taproom. Be easy, ma’am. I won’t do you harm.”

He held out a chair for her and she took it, while a waiter served them wine, cold meats, cheese and fruit, but she could not find a word to say. Thus they ate in uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t bite, you know,” Waverley said in an attempt at humor.

“Forgive me, sir. I’m not the best of company, but it has nothing to do with you. I…I’m sorry I’m such a poor companion.”

“You’re forgiven, ma’am. Let us try for easier terms, shall we? It will make the journey less tiresome.” He sipped his wine. “You have a lovely smile, Lady Helena. I recall seeing it once. Do try to exercise it more often lest you lose the knack.”

She laughed at this, and relaxed. “You’ve scored a well-deserved hit, sir. I’ll try, I promise.”

Helena slept once they were under way again, the wine having calmed her ruffled nerves. She woke three hours later, when they reached Swindon to change horses again, but she didn’t leave her carriage, for the ostlers did their work quickly and they were back on the road within ten minutes.

By the time they reached Bristol, it was dusk. The courtyard of Arnos Manor, where they were to put up for the night, was lit by a full moon. The twin turrets of the baroque manor hinted of a Gothic past. No such thing, Helena learned when Casper helped her down. To the right of the front door, a bronze plaque read: “Arnos Manor, former home of the Hon. William Reeve, Bristol Merchant. Erected 1760.”

Waverley threw his bridle to the stable boy and dismounted. His boots landed hard on the cobblestones, sending pins and needles through his feet. Bloody hell, it would take at least a week before he would recover from the bruising jolts of the rutted road, one of the better ones in England.

The marquis observed Helena, already at the door of the inn. My lady’s abigail, a pert little thing, had her hands on her hips and was surveying her surroundings.

That lass is full of self-importance,
he noted with amusement as he watched her accost the landlord. “My mistress needs your best rooms and a private parlor as well, my good man.”

The landlord gave her a sly once-over. “And who might your mistress be, may I ask?”

“Lady Fairchild, from London, she is.”

The landlord nodded. “All’s ready, then. Been expecting her la’ship.” He bowed to Helena, noting with approval her elegant traveling costume, a cloak of rich, green velvet and a matching plumed hat. “Welcome, milady. His grace always stays here during hunting season. His grace sent word ahead and that’s a fact. Your chambers are ready.”

Waverley strode to Helena’s side. “Evening, ma’am. I’ll join you for dinner in one hour.” Without waiting for an answer, he bowed and entered the inn, nodding to the innkeeper as he passed.

“Milady,” asked the landlord, “shall I send a tub and hot water up for you?”

“Thank you, sir. Please do.”

An hour later, after Amy helped her bathe and change, Helena sat by the fire in the private dining parlor, staring at the flames. “Go down to the taproom for your own dinner, Amy, and see to it that Casper is fed as well.”

“I thought to remain here to serve you, milady.”

“There are waiters for that task. I won’t need you again until bedtime.”

“Yes, milady.” Amy walked to the door, but with reluctance.

Helena sighed, understanding that she had done something to upset the young woman. “What is it, Amy?”

“But who will watch over you? That man—Lord Waverley, I mean—told the innkeeper he would take his dinner with you.”

“I shall be quite safe, I assure you. I’ll send for you if I need your help.”

Amy chewed on her lip.

“Off with you, Amy,” said Helena gently but firmly.

Amy gave in at last, but she bowed herself out with the utmost reluctance.

She brushed past a maid who proceeded to lay the table. The waiter followed, carrying a tray heavily laden with covered dishes.

Helena’s eyes widened at the sight. “There must be some mistake. My abigail could not possibly have ordered all this food for me. There’s enough here for an army.”

The waiter looked up from his task in surprise. “Oh no, milady, ‘twas milord done the ordering.”

“I see.” Panic washed over her at the thought of having to dine with Waverley. She glanced frantically around the room, looking for a way out, ready to bolt. Only the one door and a window too small for escape kept her glued to her seat.

When the door swung open, Lord Waverley entered the dining room and made an elegant leg. He wore gleaming Hessian boots, fawn buckskin breeches, the kind that most men favored when traveling, a white linen shirt with an elaborately tied neck cloth and a blue superfine jacket over a yellow silk vest.

“You look startled to see me, ma’am,” he drawled. “Did you not expect me?”

“Of course I expected you. I had little choice in the matter. It’s just…your elegance has taken me by surprise.”