A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

“Have you a waltz left on your card, Miss Lloyd?”

A flush of adrenaline raced through her body as she recognized the voice behind her. She whirled around to see James, looking boyish and handsome in fawn-colored pantaloons with a matching vest and bottle green jacket. She took a deep breath as he bent over her hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Walker. Indeed yes, I do have dances left on my card. But as for the waltz, you shall be forewarned that I have only just learned it this week, and Sir Henry will testify that during the lessons I trod on his toes more than once.”

He squinted over her dance card. “Seeing as he has bespoken one himself, I daresay he must believe the pleasure of dancing with you is well worth a few crushed toes.” He scrawled his name next to the supper dance and a quadrille later in the evening.

“May I compliment you on your appearance this evening, Miss Lloyd?”

She blushed at the intense look in his eyes, but was prevented from responding when a youth rushed up to claim her as his partner for the next dance. Shrugging apologetically, she left him to follow her partner to the dance floor.

Mr. Walker danced with several pretty young ladies while she made her way through a succession of charming young men, but she noticed that his gaze was frequently directed toward her. She was enjoying herself so much that her inhibitions seemed to fly out the window. It seemed as though nothing could spoil her mood, not even when Marcus Newsome approached her for a dance.

“Of course,” she said, allowing him to scribble his initials on her card. After all, what could he possibly do on a dance floor in full view of his betrothed and future in-laws? And when he claimed her for their dance, he seemed a thoroughly different young man, apologizing profusely for his behavior and begging her not to distress his fiancée by relating the incident to her.

“I do care for Miss Hill, in spite of what I said to you,” he confessed. “She believes me a paragon of virtue, and I suppose I was feeling the pressure to live up to her expectations. Of course,” he hurried to say, “that is no excuse for my shabby behavior to you. I hope you will see yourself clear to forgive me and believe me when I say that I intend to be a worthy and faithful husband, as my father has been.”

Helena smiled and nodded. “I understand,” she said. “But I do hope in future you are honest with your wife about such things.” She laughed at his startled expression. “You will fall off your pedestal soon enough, Mr. Newsome. But if you truly love each other, you’ll learn to trust each other with the truth. Keeping secrets only leads to trouble later on.”

Marcus’s brows drew together. “Do you really think so, Miss Lloyd? I should think there are some things a wife need not know about her husband. For her own protection, of course.”

Helena’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Two hundred years later, that same pretext, that of “protecting” the woman from unpleasantness, was still used by men to keep the females in their place. She opened her mouth to say something, but was prevented from doing so when James Walker approached them in the middle of the dance floor.

“Is anything wrong, Miss Lloyd?” He glared at Marcus, as if to accuse him of importuning her again.

Marcus drew away, his face the image of confusion.

Seeing that they had become the subject of attention in the room, Helena put her hand to her brow. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, “just a slight headache. Perhaps some fresh air?”

James took her arm and led her off the dance floor, followed by the younger man.

“Could I get you some ratafia, Miss Lloyd?”

“No thank you, Mr. Newsome.” Helena felt foolish for putting him on the spot like that. He was a product of his time, after all. He wasn’t Richard Earskine, who had much less excuse for his perpetual dalliances.

“I shall take over from here, Newsome.” James Walker’s voice was authoritative.

Helena’s feminist side wanted to protest, but something prevented her from doing so. Perhaps it was the desire she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, a lock of dark hair trailing boyishly down to his brow.

“The garden is just through here,” he said as led her out of the ballroom and down the lighted hall. “Not perhaps the most convenient place, but then, it
is
a Tudor castle, originally built to repel enemies, not enable social interaction.”

The garden was lit with Chinese lanterns, which flickered on the water from the lake beyond.

“It’s beautiful.” Helena breathed deeply of the fresh air as she took in the sight and aroma of the charming vista.

“We are not the only ones to think so,” observed James as feminine laughter drifted to their ears. “Let’s stroll down this path. Unless you’d prefer to sit after your exertions on the dance floor?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Truly I am.”

I’d be ever so much better if you would kiss me.

She cleared her throat. “The Wykehams have done a fabulous job decorating the ballroom.”

“I suppose so.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Although I must admit I haven’t seen anything but you since you made your entrance, Miss Lloyd.”

Her breath quickened.
It's the same with me.
“Call me Helena,” she said breathlessly.

“I’m James,” he said as he tightened his grasp of her upper arms and drew her closer. “Would you be shocked to know that I want to kiss you, Helena?”

“Not terribly,” she responded, as she raised her lips to his.

Their lips touched lightly at first, and then with more pressure as his hands moved down to caress her back. Her nerve endings tingled, wanting more. She clasped her hands around his neck and opened her mouth for his seeking tongue. She was close enough to hear the rapid beating of his heart, and yet it wasn’t close enough.

Breaking away, he clasped her head in his hands and gave her a searching look before he took her lips again, not tentatively this time, but with the force of possession. Warmth radiated through her body. All inhibitions faded away in her hunger to merge her body with his.

“Lucinda!”

Startled at the interruption, they drew apart and looked at each other in bemusement.

“Unhand her, young man! Lucinda, you know better than to cavort with young men in the shadows. I daresay your father will be furious when he finds out!”

The luckless Lucinda followed her mother out of the garden, and Helena made an effort to repair her hair.

“I suppose I should apologize,” James began, and then stopped when he saw the confusion on Helena’s face.

“You are under my friend’s protection, Helena. No doubt he would expect a proposal of marriage if he knew that I treated you dishonorably.”

Helena felt her ire rising. “It was a kiss,” she said shortly. “I kissed you too, remember? I don't recall Sir Henry being present at the time.”

What was I thinking? I can’t get involved with him. Even if I wanted to stay here and marry, how would I ever explain how I got here? He’d send me packing to the insane asylum first chance he got, and under the circumstances, I couldn’t blame him.

His nostrils flare. “You've been kissed before,” he drawled.

“I’m twenty-seven years old,” she bit out. “Did you think I’d never kissed anyone else?”

And more. But he doesn't need to know that. He's not for me. This is nothing but a passing fancy.

“Ah,” he said shortly. “Does Sir Henry know about your-er-kissing experience?”

Helena wanted to throw something at him. “Why should he? He has no authority over me.” Too late, she realized her mistake.

James started at her incredulously. “Has he not?”

Helena swallowed. “Well, he does, of course, as I am his daughters’ governess. But as far as kissing is concerned—that is my own private business.”

James backed away. “I’ve never known a governess to have such a permissive attitude. Is it possible that I have placed my daughter in the care of a woman who is—unchaste?”

Helena was so angry she could spit. Instead, she stepped forward and slapped him. Hard.

Let that be a lesson to her. She could never live in this antiquated time period with its obstinate, narrow-minded inhabitants. Never. Not in a million years. Not even if she were so brainless as to fall in love with one of them.

Fall in love? Not likely. She stalked off toward the castle, resisting the urge to look back and see his face. What was she doing in this place anyway? She hadn’t come here to play the leading role in a romance novel. Her mission had nothing whatsoever to do with James Walker.

She determined to write to Lady P and ask her to make haste in finding the permanent governess. As fond as she was of the girls in her charge, she’d been neglecting her primary purpose.

W
hat a bloody nasty day
!

After spending the night in his study half-passed out from the brandy he’d consumed following his return from the ball, he’d thought a good morning ride might clear his head, only to be stopped at the door by a loud clap of thunder. Since then, it had been raining like cats and dogs. The expression
she
had used that day on the gardens at Leeds Castle.

Bloody hell! Why couldn’t he get that blasted woman out of his mind? She was—well, he wasn’t sure exactly
what
she was—a loose woman, a freethinker, a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft, or something else entirely—but one thing he
did
know was that she was not for him. Even if he were in the market for a wife—and he definitely was
not—
it wouldn’t be someone like Helena Lloyd, an opinionated, bad-tempered, odd-speaking, American harridan.

Nothing else signified, not the way she’d felt in his arms, the softness of her lips, the angry sparks flying from her green eyes as she’d struck him and strode away. He’d been left standing there, furious, indignant, scandalized and—bereft. He’d stood there for quite some time, long after she’d disappeared from view, attempting to sort out his emotions. By the time he’d returned to the ballroom, he’d nearly convinced himself that he’d done nothing wrong and didn’t care in the slightest about Helena Lloyd. However, all the time he danced with other ladies and chatted with his friends and neighbors, he found himself searching the ballroom for a certain green-eyed governess who was conspicuous by her absence. When she did not appear for their scheduled supper dance, Lady Sarah, in response to his inquiry, apprised him that Miss Lloyd had been stricken by a megrim and been returned to Newsome Grange by carriage. He’d sent his best wishes for her recovery and spent the remainder of the evening in the card room, where he’d drunk too much and lost nearly ten guineas too, which was not at all like him, after having sworn against gambling.

“Might I get you some coffee, sir?”

Mrs. Fenwick regarded him anxiously from the doorway.

“Your morning meal will be served shortly in the morning room, but since you are—" she swallowed as she recognized his formal attire from the previous night’s ball—“awake so early, I thought perhaps a wee cup might be welcome?”

“Coffee. Yes, Mrs. Fenwick, that would be most welcome." The very thought of food made his stomach roil like the storm that raged outside and also in his head.

When she returned, his head was on the desk. She cleared her throat to alert him as to her presence, and then set the tray before him.

“Is there anything else, sir?”

James started to shake his head, and then he rubbed a hand over his temple. “Perhaps there is something after all. Mrs. Fenwick—Eliza—please take a seat.”

He opened a drawer and took out a pile of papers.

“These are all letters from applicants sent to me by the agency in London. I have read them all, but find myself reluctant to trust my own judgment. After all, I did believe Miss Ledbetter and all the others were good choices, and not a single one lasted more than a few weeks.”

He walked over and handed them to her. “I wonder if you would do me the favor of looking these over yourself, Eliza. Perhaps you have a better instinct when it comes to these matters.”

Gathering the letters with one hand, she rose and squeezed his arm with the other. “Sir, if I may be frank, what you need is not a governess so much as—a wife.”

James stiffened and his eyes were stormy, but his housekeeper was not finished with her advice.

“Yes, I know I've mentioned this before, but the young miss needs a mother. And you, sir, need a wife!"

The color rose in her cheeks, but she soldiered on. "I know you were disappointed in your first marriage. You were both young with unrealistic expectations and—well—it was a sad tragedy what happened with the young mistress. But you are older now, and more mature, and there’s no reason to suppose you cannot find a suitable wife at this stage of your life.”

Mrs. Fenwick risked a glance at James’s furious face, and continued. “Forgive me for speaking to you like a mother—I knew your own mother well and I’m certain if she were here it’s what she’d be saying, so I’ll have my say and hope it doesn’t cost me my position here, because I care deeply for you, Mr. Walker, and dear Annabelle too. It’s a helpmeet you need, someone you can trust to manage your household and your daughter, someone up to your weight, not a silly young miss with stars in her eyes.”

An image of Helena came to his mind, smiling across the breakfast table at him, skipping rope with Annabelle, strands of shiny golden hair slipping down from her coiffure, her lovely face brightened by exertion. Helena greeting him in the hall after a hard day’s work on the estate, holding her in his arms, ascending the stairs arm-in-arm to their bedroom at the end of the day, making her his in every possible way.

Then another face came to mind. Another pretty face, lighter hair, darker green eyes, facial structure curiously similar, figure tighter and smaller than Helena’s. Anne, the woman he’d failed. These feelings for Helena must stem from her resemblance to his late wife. She was all wrong for him. He’d forget all about her once she returned to America or wherever she came from.

In the meantime, he’d seek a wife elsewhere. He wasn’t titled or wealthy, but after years of scrimping and saving and working hard, he was financially stable and connected—however distantly—with the Melbournes. Mrs. Fenwick was right—he was older and much better able to choose a wife, with his head and not his heart this time.

He’d go to London for the Little Season and find a suitable wife and mother for Annabelle, and Helena Lloyd would fade from his mind forever.

Relieved, he laughed shakily and bent down to impulsively hug his housekeeper.

“Mrs. Fenwick, you’re a genius! Whatever would I do without you?”

“
A
re
you sure this is safe?” Helena asked skeptically. “I feel like I’m about to fall off.”

“Don’t be silly,” Theo said, rolling her eyes. “It’s really quite simple. Your right leg goes around the pommel and your left foot in the stirrup. Like this.” She demonstrated the position—again—and guided her horse forward.

“Can’t I hold on to something? I feel like I’m going to tumble to the ground the moment the horse begins to move.”

Theo laughed. “You need your hands to control the reins, of course.”

Helena took a deep breath and slapped the reins lightly to urge her horse forward, and squealed in near panic when it did, causing the horse to stop suddenly and nearly throw her off.

Theo snorted and her older sister glared at her. “You’re not helping, Theo. Why don’t you go on ahead and let us help Miss Lloyd?”

With a toss of her head, Theo cantered off, followed by the groom assigned to accompany them.

“Old Sally is quite gentle, but she can still be skittish if you startle her. Stroke her like this and show her you’re her friend, and she’ll settle down.”

Emily and Annabelle stroked their horses and cooed to them, and Helena forced herself to relax, taking slow and easy breaths as she caressed the old brown mare.

“We’ll take it slowly today, since this is your first lesson, Miss Lloyd.” Emily’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement at the change in their roles.

The other two on either side of her, Helena gingerly led her horse into the meadow. They had decided to ride only to the folly and back—a distance of perhaps a half mile each way. The girls were accustomed to much longer rides, but their mother had cautioned them not to do too much on Miss Lloyd's first day on a horse.

The thought of Lady Sarah reminded Helena of the riding apparel her employer had lent her, a redingote
à la hussar
, a coat made of navy blue velvet with gold epaulets trailing from top to bottom. Although the early morning air was cool, Helena was already beginning to perspire beneath all the layers of her outfit. Sweating was not new to her—having grown up in Florida—but at least there one could dress appropriately in shorts and tank tops when the temperatures skyrocketed.

And ride astride if they wished to, which made a whole lot more sense than this sidesaddle nonsense.

“Do not ladies ride in America?” Annabelle inquired.

“America?” Helena hastened to gain control of her thoughts. “Oh yes. Yes, of course. It’s just that I grew up in town. Where we had public transportation,” she added. And automobiles, but she couldn't mention those.

“Public transportation?”

“Er, when you pay someone to drive you,” she said quickly, unsure if the word “taxi” was used in the Regency era.

“Oh, like a hackney cab in London,” Emily said, the look of puzzlement clearing from her face.

“Yes, a cab,” Helena agreed with relief.

“So you never went into the countryside?” Annabelle inquired. “To see all the trees and hills and fish in the lakes?”

“And flowers,” Emily added. “But perhaps things are different in America.” She screwed her face up and looked Helena with interest. “Did they have Red Indians where you lived, Miss Lloyd?”

“Red Indians?” Annabelle’s voice rose with excitement. “Have you ever seen one, Miss Lloyd?”

Helena shifted in her seat. Questions such as these required fast thinking, not to mention fibbing, and she was always afraid that at some point she’d mix up her lies and get caught.

“Oh look! We’re almost there! Shall we race to the folly?”

Emily gave her a suspicious look, but urged her horse forward after Annabelle’s. Helena had no intention of trying to win, but she did manage to stay seated when old Sally speeded up to a trot. Leaving the horses to graze in the tall grasses in the nearby field, they walked around the miniature stone temple, eventually settling on the steps.

While Emily and Theo expounded on the history of the folly, Helena allowed her thoughts to wander. She knew from Annabelle that James had departed for London the day before, stopping by Newsome Grange briefly to inform his daughter that he would be missing their daily rides for awhile. Annabelle’s dejection at having been left behind was the impetus behind Helena’s suggestion that the girls teach
her
to ride.

Surmising from Annabelle’s account that the trip had not been planned in advance, Helena wondered what its purpose was and if it had anything to do with their quarrel on Saturday night. Surely not, she told herself. He wasn’t a man who would allow a mere governess to cut up his peace. No doubt he had business there, friends to see, or even a mistress to visit.

The image of him locked in the embrace of a beautiful courtesan made her nauseous. Clutching at a pillar for support, she swallowed hard at the realization that she was envious of a nameless, faceless woman who could kiss and caress him freely without being chastised as unchaste and a whore.

Perhaps the courtesans had it right, she reflected idly. They could enjoy a man’s favors without having to be ruled by him, and as soon as he became tiresome, they could throw him away and move on to another. Like men did, even men in the twenty-first century, or at least men like Richard Earskine.

But no, she didn’t want that either. As often as she had proclaimed her desire for independence and self-sufficiency, the truth was that she’d always yearned on who she could depend. She’d found it briefly with her adoptive mother, only to find herself alone once more after Mrs. Lloyd’s death. Since then, she realized, she’d been searching for roots. A family. Perhaps even… a husband?

She leaned back against the pillar and closed her eyes, imagining herself smiling at James across the breakfast table as he smiled back with that heated gaze that made her melt inside. Was he a man whose wife would be a partner, and not a possession? What had his first marriage been like?

Her chin trembled and she swallowed to keep the tears away as she recalled his reaction to her plain speaking at the ball and realized that he would never accept her as she was—a feminist time traveler who would never be a meek, biddable wife.

“Are you all right, Miss Lloyd?”

Annabelle peered up at her with anxious eyes. “I feel sad sometimes too. Papa promised to take me to London if I were diligent with my lessons. I
was,
wasn’t I, Miss Lloyd? I did all my lessons and even made a drawing of Emily’s garden for her birthday next week. But he still said I couldn't come.”

Helena bent down and hugged her. “You’ve made excellent progress, Annabelle dear. I’m very proud of you, and I’m sure your father is as well. No doubt he had unexpected business to take care of this time and that is why he couldn’t take you with him. He’s kept his promises to you in the past, hasn’t he?”

Annabelle bit her lip. “I think so. But not to Mama. She cried a lot and shouted at Papa that he was a liar.” Her lip trembled. “Papa’s not a liar, is he?”

Helena squeezed her hand. “Of course not, Annabelle. Mothers and fathers sometimes have disagreements and say things they don’t mean. You were a tiny tyke and must have misunderstood.”

“Emily and Theo’s parents don’t argue like that. They’re always kissing and hugging.”

Helena grinned. “They are, aren’t they?”

“If I had a mama like Lady Sarah, would Papa still love me?” Her eyes were troubled.

“Of course he would!” Helena reassured her. “Why would you doubt it?”

“I heard him tell Lady Sarah he was entering the marriage mart. Doesn’t that mean he’s looking for a new wife? What if she doesn’t like me? And then Papa won’t like me anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabelle! Your papa will never stop loving you! As for a new mother: of course she’ll love you. What’s not to love about
you?”

As she hugged the girl tightly against her, Helena felt her heart begin to shatter into tiny pieces.