A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (10 page)

Awesome?

His puzzlement must have shown on his face because Annabelle grinned and said, “Wonderful, Papa. It means wonderful. It’s one of the new words we’ve learned from Miss Lloyd. She’s American, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” James’s brow furrowed. He’d met Americans before, and somehow Miss Lloyd’s eccentric manner of speaking didn’t strike him the same way.

She had secrets. And he was determined to find them out.

He helped Annabelle mount her horse, and followed suit on his own black stallion. “I thought we’d ride out to the Castle and see if Wykeham’s in residence. Think you can manage that far?”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “It’s only a couple of miles, Papa. I can do that distance in my sleep.”

James raised an eyebrow. More of Miss Lloyd’s witticisms?

“Well, dear child, I suggest you keep your eyes open or you might end up on your backside when we take that stream over there.”

He spurred his horse into action and he and Brutus leapt gracefully over the narrow stream and waited for Annabelle to follow. Her tawny eyes sparkled with excitement and strands of hair escaping from her hat looked cinnamon in the sunlight. How glad she’d been to see him! A wave of emotion poured over him as he realized that he’d been unknowingly keeping her at arm’s length, pushing her off on nannies and governesses because… Damnation! That infernal Miss Lloyd was right! His daughter was insecure because he’d been trying to avoid being her father!

But why? She was
his
daughter, damn it! She was smart and had the prettiest little cherubic face and loved him as no one else ever had. Certainly not her mother.

And that was the rub: she had the look of her mother, and whenever he looked at her he saw Anne, red-faced with rage, alcohol clouding her judgment, rushing out the front door screaming that she was going to London and he couldn’t stop her. Three-year-old Annabelle at the top of the stairs, wailing with fright at the angry scene, no nanny in sight. By the time James had rushed up the stairs and seized the child, his wife had already mounted her horse, and he could see by the horse’s skittish behavior that she was in danger of being thrown.

He’d replayed that scene in his mind so many times. Anne’s white face where she landed on the cobblestone drive. The blood streaming from the back of her head where it had hit the stone. The knowledge that he could have stopped her if he hadn’t chosen to rescue his daughter first. The guilt that he’d driven her to it because he hadn’t made her happy.

He took a sidelong glance at his daughter as they cantered side-by-side. She was deliriously happy, her eyes glowing with love for him. His heart melted for the little girl he’d fathered. He’d adored her from birth, but somehow, things changed after Anne’s death. Looking into her face reminded him of the guilt he carried about his ill-fated marriage and the horrific end of it. And, he realized, the thought that he could have saved her
if he had not stopped to attend to Annabelle.

By George, he’d been blaming Annabelle all this time!

A sudden coldness struck him from his core. This darling, adorable little girl loved him and needed him and he’d pushed her aside because she reminded him of his failed marriage. What a beast he’d been! She’d lost her mother and must have feared losing him as well.

His daughter needed needed
him
first and foremost. The nannies, governesses—yes, even the mother that everyone seemed to think he needed to give her—mattered little next to the all-encompassing love of her father.

Mrs. Fenwick had tried to tell him. And Miss Ledbetter too. And now the intriguing Miss Lloyd. And they were all right. Why hadn't he seen it before? Could it have something to do with his attraction to the pretty governess? He fidgeted in the saddle. Somehow he had to find a way to fight his interest in her. She wasn't at all the sort of woman for him. He needed a quiet, gentle,
biddable
lady who would be content being the wife of a gentleman farmer.

But he was not in the market for a wife, he reminded himself. For now it was enough to work on being a father to his adorable daughter.

“There’s the castle!” he said, pointing out the turrets in the distance. “Shall we race to the gate?”

The joy in his daughter’s face almost brought tears to eyes. “Give me at least six lengths,” she called as she raced past him. “Your horse is bigger than mine.”

He let her win, of course, but they both pretended otherwise.

The Wykehams were not there to greet them, but, upon encountering the steward on the way out, they were given permission to explore the grounds to their hearts' content. And when the Wykehams did return, later in the day, she sent out an invitation to tea for Annabelle and the Newsome girls.

And their governess, of course. He wasn't exactly
required
to accompany them, but he thought it would be the neighborly thing to do. The opportunity to spend time with Miss Lloyd had nothing to do with his decision. Or so he convinced himself.

“
T
here it is
! Leeds Castle!” Annabelle exclaimed, pointing out the turrets as they towered over the trees in the distance. “Papa and I had tea with Mr. and Mrs. Wykeham when we were here on Thursday.”

“I’m afraid the primary structure is still in construction,” James said apologetically. “The Wykehams live in the gloriette when in residence here, but they are willing to escort us through some of the rooms in the older, Tudor-style buildings.”

James had explained that the current owner, Fiennes Wykeham, had inherited the rundown castle from a distant relative and was determined to renovate it in all its Tudor splendor, the wherewithal obtained by selling the Fairfax family estates in Virginia.

“Leeds Castle is not the first of our historic buildings to be saved by American dollars,” James had said with a nod in Helena’s direction. “American heiresses are often quite sought after by those whose legacies turn out to be little more than a heavily mortgaged estate with a pile of stones on it.”

“Are
you
an American heiress, Miss Lloyd?” asked Theo, her eyes wide.

“I’m afraid not,” said Helena, stealing a sideways glance at James. If he had any ideas of enriching himself at her expense, she wanted them dashed
now.

Emily smirked at her sister. “Of course she’s not, silly. Heiresses do not become governesses.”

Theo scowled. “Miss Lloyd does not dress like other governesses.” She turned toward Helena. “You’re a friend of Grandmama’s, are you not, Miss Lloyd?”

Helena scrambled for an answer. “I am. I did not come here to be a governess, you know. But I
have
had the care of children before, and it seemed a good opportunity to visit the English countryside while I'm here.”

She was hesitant to mention the sudden need for a governess. Miss Dray's death was still an open wound in their tender hearts.

Mr. Walker's eyes narrowed, and Helena knew he suspected there was something more to the story. But he didn’t pursue it.

“Fiennes Wyckham is a political associate of my mother’s family, the Melbournes. She was a distant cousin of the current Viscount Melbourne, and Melbourne Manor, my estate, came to my family through inheritance.”

Helena’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t Lord Melbourne a Prime Minister at one time?” Immediately after saying it, she bit her lip, realizing that she’d gotten her dates wrong
.
Open mouth, insert foot.
She tried not to blurt things out like that, but sometimes they just came out.

James looked at her with narrowed eyes. But before he could comment, Emily broke in. “Goodness no, Miss Lloyd. Everyone knows Lord Liverpool is our Prime Minister.”

“And before that it was Spencer Perceval, but he got shot,” Theo chimed in.

“We’re here!” Annabelle shouted as the carriage crossed over the bridge to the largest of the three islands spanned by the castle and drew up to the main entrance.

Aside from the scaffolding and the renovations in evidence, Leeds Castle looked much the same as it had when she had visited it a few months ago on a weekend bus tour—in the future. It was a true castle, built for defensive purposes, not just to be some wealthy aristocrat’s fancy home. The two-story building had a crenellated roof and turrets, the largest of which framed the modest door at the entrance. No elaborate portico like many of the stylish homes she’d seen, no doubt because its original builders were more concerned with defense than welcoming guests.

The Wykehams came out to greet them, and guided them through the habitable parts of the castle, showing them Henry VIII’s banqueting room, which was being renovated as a ballroom, a fabulous library, a cozy sitting room that reminded Helena of a hunting lodge, and many other rooms with historical significance. On the way to the gloriette, which was an elaborate summerhouse on the center island with causeways connecting it to islands on either side, they passed a Tudor courtyard still being renovated.

“Queen Catherine of Aragon occupied primarily these rooms,” Mrs. Wykeham explained. “When we first arrived here, this structure was in ruins, but Mr. Baskett and his crew have done quite a creditable job with it, I think you will agree.”

The Queen’s bedroom had the same bottle green-draped walls and tomato-colored bed coverings as Helena recalled from her previous visit two hundred years into the future, but the colors were fresher and brighter.

“We've renovated the fireplace to its original design, a display of the royal arms entwined with lovers’ knots and the initials C and H,” Mrs. Wykeham pointed out. “There is a lovely drawing room here that looks out over the lake and the forest beyond. Do come and be seated. I’ve arranged for tea to be served here, and then perhaps you’d like to see the gardens.”

“Oh yes,” said Helena, “That would be lovely, Mrs. Wykeham. I’m sure the children would love to explore the maze.”

Noting the sea of blank faces around her, Helena swallowed, aware that she’d made another
faux pas
. “I-er-thought I’d heard of a maze being here, but obviously I am mistaken,” she said weakly.

Mr. Wykeham, a stout gentleman who, she'd been told, was the grandson of the notorious Whig politician, Charles James Fox, stroked his chin thoughtfully. “A maze, you say? Such as the one at Hampton Court? No, we haven’t one at present, but it seems a capital idea. I shall have to speak to Baskett about it…”

Before Helena could reflect on the effect of this thoughtless error on the space-time continuum, the butler entered with the news that Mr. Baskett was waiting to see his employer in the library, and Mr. Wykeham excused himself.

“A maze, Miss Lloyd?” said James, an eyebrow raised.

Helena wanted to fall through the floor. “I-I suppose I was thinking of some other castle,” she said, taking a quick sip of tea while she avoided James’s gaze. “I-we’d love to see the gardens, ma’am. Wouldn’t we, girls?”

Emily’s head shot up immediately. “Oh yes! I love flowers! I have my own flower garden at Newsome Grange, you know.”

Mrs. Wykeham smiled at her. “In that case, the Culpeper Garden will put you in alt. The flowers are in their best colors this time of year.” She turned her attention to the younger girls. “When my children were younger, they adored romping about in the Wood Garden. It was quite impossible to keep track of them! Lovely trees and hedges to hide in.” Turning toward Helena: “A maze would be a wonderful addition! How fortuitous that we met you today, Miss Lloyd!”

Helena swallowed nervously and pretended not to notice the amused twinkle in James Walker’s eyes.

She set her teacup down and wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. “I am equally interested in admiring your gardens, Mrs. Wykeham. It is so kind of you to treat us to such a first-rate tour. Do you not agree, girls?”

“Awesome!” said Theo.

At James’s raised eyebrow, Helena looked away hastily at Emily, who responded more properly, “Thank you for the lovely tea, Mrs. Wykeham. I adore strawberry tarts.”

“And the macaroons were delicious too,” chimed in Annabelle. “May we see the gardens now, Mrs. Wykeham?”

“You mustn’t be impatient, girls. At least give Mrs. Wykeham a chance to finish her tea,” Helena chided.

Mrs. Wykeham laid down her napkin and smiled at the girls. “Not at all,” she said as she rose from her chair. “I’m far too fond of sweets as it is. A stroll would be most welcome, I assure you.” She glanced through the window at some ominous clouds in the distance. “It’s best that we take advantage of the sun while we can, for it looks as though rain may be on the way.”

“
I
t was
the Culpepers who saved the Castle in the seventeenth century,” Mrs. Wykeham explained. “Sir Cheney Culpeper’s alliance with Cromwell kept it from being destroyed during the Civil War, and ironically, it was John, the first Lord Culpeper, who saved it again when he helped the Prince of Wales—that was Charles II, you know—escape. As a token of gratitude, the Culpepers were granted five million acres of land in Virginia, and in 1793, it all passed to my husband from a distant uncle. It is the sale of the land in America that made it possible for us to restore the Castle to its former glory.”

She nodded at Helena. “Our two countries may have their differences of opinion, Miss Lloyd, but it cannot be denied that we English owe a great debt to you Americans for providing the resources to maintain our crumbling edifices.”

Helena wanted to deny all responsibility—was her hostess implying that she was a wealthy heiress?—but she thought it impolite, so she gave a wavering smile and exclaimed over the vibrant colors. “I see roses and poppies, and—is that lavender? What are these?”

“Lupins,” Emily responded. And named a long list of Latin names that Helena didn’t recognize.

Mrs. Wykeham saw a kindred spirit in Emily, and the two strolled along the paths speaking a language only they could understand. James and Helena accompanied the younger girls in a path toward the Wood Garden, which boasted a river with a lovely cascade, a quaint series pier and—peacocks!