A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (15 page)

But she could tell
partial
truth. “My parents died—or at least, my mother did.” And she told them an abbreviated version of the tale, omitting the foster homes to focus on her adoptive mother.

“So you don’t know where your father is?” Emily asked, lying on her stomach with her hands propping up her head.

Helena blinked. “No, I don’t. I may well never know. I knew that when I came here, but your grandmother—Lady Pendleton—has been kind enough to make inquiries for me.”

“When you find him, will you stay?” asked Theo. “Or will you go back to America?”

Helena shrugged. “It all depends,” she said. “While I’d love to have a father, I can’t be certain he’ll be equally delighted to have a grown-up daughter thrust on him. I believe I’d be satisfied just to know the truth about what happened.”
And then I can go on from there. Whatever that means.

Annabelle’s brow furrowed. “I remember my grandmother telling me about my aunt's stolen baby. At Christmas, when she was talking to me about my mother and how much she missed her. She said at least she’d been able to see her little girl grow up, where my Aunt Mariah didn’t even have that. When I asked if the baby died, she said no, someone stole her away and they never saw her again.”

She grimaced. “But that can’t be
you,
can it, Miss Lloyd? Because your mother died in a carriage accident.”

Helena pressed her palms downward on her thighs to keep herself in check. But her heart was racing wildly. Annabelle's aunt could not actually be her parents. But it
was
an intriguing coincidence. She wished she could meet them and compare their images to the man and woman whose images were painted in her locket. “What were—are—their names?” she asked in a trembling voice.

Annabelle leaned back and frowned. “Gibson. My mama was a Gibson before she married Papa. Aunt Mariah and Uncle William.”

Gibson. Where had she heard that name before? It was that young man at the inn. The one Izzy said had mentioned her resemblance to his cousin. Her muscles went weak. Was it
Anne
who was his cousin? And if the lost child of the Cranbournes was really Helena…
she
was Anne's cousin as well!

Helena tried to quiet her racing thoughts.
It's impossible. Coincidences like this simply do not happen to ordinary people like me.

But they did. What about the portrait—her initial attraction to it, the prompt encounter with two people who resembled the images on it—so soon after her arrival? Coincidence? Or Fate?

She stood and brushed the grass from her blue morning gown. “All right, that’s enough play time,” she said after a deep breath. “Gather a few more flowers and we’ll have Mrs. Morton find a vase so we can admire them in the schoolroom.”

She wasn't sure how she managed to contain the adrenaline rush that accompanied this latest discovery, but finally, after dinner, she was able to pour it all out in a letter to Lady P. How she wished she could pick up a phone and be able to compare notes on their separate findings. It was maddening to feel so close to the truth and still have to wait days or weeks for the confirmation.

And if it was true that she had been the baby stolen from her parents, how in the world would she be able to prove it, without DNA testing? Likenesses could be deceiving and they would, of course, be skeptical. Add to this the whole time travel imbroglio… it was likely they'd have her tossed out of the house, assuming they'd agree to see her in the first place.

But at least she would
know
that her parents hadn't tossed her away. And have blood relatives, like Annabelle and her mother. Was
that
why the portrait had reached out to her? Because she and the headless lady were blood relatives?

Of course, that didn't explain her immediate attraction to the figure of Annabelle's father in the portrait. Or why her dreams these days seemed to be fixated on him…

L
ondon was a dead bore
.

Except for that brief period when he’d met and courted Anne, he’d always found it so. Anne was at her element in London, basking in the glamour of the balls and parties and the feminine fripperies. He found the social rounds extravagant and superficial, and the clubs even more so. On one of the few times he’d accompanied Sir Henry to White’s, he’d been horrified by the expression on a young cub’s face upon comprehending that he had gambled away his entire inheritance. As for the betting book—it appalled him to see what silly things gentlemen found to bet on. Lord Alvanley had lost three thousand guineas on a bet to see which of two raindrops would reach the bottom of the bow window first. Egads! Three thousand pounds! When James considered how long it had taken him to earn that much through hard work and dedication on his own manor, the absurdity of it all made his temperature rise.

So why was he seeking a wife in London? Because the "Marriage Mart" was where all gentlemen went to find wives? As though eligible ladies were all lined up like dolls on shelves in a shop. Choose the prettiest one, have her wrapped up in a costly wedding dress, and take her home. Unlike a doll, however, you couldn't take her back to the shop if she turned out to be unsuitable.

His courtship—if you could call it that—of Mrs. Rhodes was beginning to wear on him. In spite of this ambivalence, he'd been roped into agreeing to join the Henley party at Drury Lane on Friday next for a performance of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
What he was
not
ambivalent about was the distaste he was beginning to feel for her ramshackle Henley cousins. They had been waiting at the door when he’d returned her after a drive in the park, invited him in for brandy, clapped him on the back and addressed him by his first name, and before he knew it he’d agreed to join them for the evening in their rented box. He wondered if there had been something in the brandy, because normally he would have been able to come up with
some
excuse.

Frankly, they seemed rather
too
eager to drag him into a leg-shackle, which was suspicious in itself because he had no title or fortune to make him a matrimonial target. Gentlemen farmers were not in such great demand in the
ton.
He began to suspect that they had some underhanded motivation for trying to promote a quick wedding to the first man who showed interest. But he wasn't about to fall into anyone's trap. No matter how much satisfaction it would give him to return to Kent with a wife to manage his household and his daughter and give him something else to think about besides his fascination with the unsuitable Miss Lloyd.

Thoughts of Miss Lloyd recalled to his mind his encounter with Lady Sarah and her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Miss Hill, on Bond Street where they were making last-minute purchases for the upcoming wedding. Lady Sarah had mentioned how much Annabelle missed their daily riding sessions. The recollection of his daughter’s face when she laughed and looked at him adoringly with those big hazel eyes gave him a lump in his throat, and caused him to be aware of how much he missed her. His sudden homesickness had everything to do with Annabelle and fresh air and being home where he belonged and absolutely
nothing
to do with Helena Lloyd, although the image of her angry face in the garden at Leeds Castle when she’d slapped him was impossible to erase from his mind. The feel of her breasts against his chest when she’d leaned into him for their kiss made him yearn for more, and cause him to question his behavior toward her.

Mrs. Rhodes always behaved with the strictest of propriety, but she bored him to near-tears. When he was with Helena, he was anything but bored. He’d begun to question his belief that a practical marriage was what he needed. Since Helena—Miss Lloyd—insisted she was not in the market for a husband, it seemed pointless to keep thinking about her. In any case, both women had secrets, which he was determined to uncover before too much more time passed.

That was when he made a rare, impulsive decision to return to Kent and surprise Annabelle. He longed to see the expression on her face as they romped together in the hills and dales. What he really needed was to clear his mind. Surely being with Annabelle back at Melbourne Manor would do the trick.

Of course, this decision had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Miss Lloyd again. Certainly not.

T
he wheels
of the golden carriage rolled over the fine gravel drive through the grand metal gateway, passing under a bower of stately oak trees toward the magnificent palace. Helena peered out the window to admire the lavish beauty of her future home with its crenellated walls and tall turrets and the colorful flags waving in the breeze. A multitude of common people lined the entrance to the castle, cheering and calling out, “Welcome home, Your Royal Highness!” and “The Princess has returned! Long live the Princess!”

Shaking with excitement, Helena waved eagerly at her subjects, wishing she could descend the carriage and embrace them all for their warm welcome.

Home. Yes, she was home. After a lifetime of being lost in a world that was not her own, she was finally returning to the place where she belonged, to the parents out of whose arms she had been snatched by an evil witch. But that nightmare was over now. She would soon be reunited with her very own parents, who had been relentlessly searching for her for decades.

Her parents. Dressed in magnificent robes with jewels sparkling from their crowns, they eagerly waited for the carriage to stop and the door opened to reveal their long-lost daughter. Happy tears clouded Helena’s vision, but she imagined their faces to be older versions of the miniatures on her locket.

The cheering intensified as the footman opened the carriage door, snapped the metal step ladder in place, and held out a hand to assist her in alighting from the carriage. Once on the ground, she smoothed out the folds of her silver-threaded gown, and waved to the cheering crowd before turning to ascend the staircase to where her parents awaited.

She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths to keep herself from rushing toward them like a lunatic. Could this really be happening or was it some incredible dream from which she would awaken and find herself alone once more? She’d never dreamed she could be so happy. Or that
anyone
could be so happy. The world just didn’t work that way, at least not in
her
experience.

Only a few yards away, they locked eyes on her, and suddenly her mother shrieked and crumpled in her husband’s arms.

“How can this be?” she sobbed. “It is too cruel to torment us in such a manner!”

The king—her father—glared at her, nostrils flaring.

“Where is our daughter?” he demanded. “Our
real
daughter? Our little Helena who was cruelly taken from us.”

Helena fell on her knees before them. “But I
am
your daughter. I’ve grown up, you see. I’ve been gone more than 26 years! Surely you don’t expect me to be a baby still!”

The queen straightened her back and scowled at Helena. “Do you think us fools? We could not possibly have a daughter as old as you. You are nothing but yet another imposter!”

And Helena saw that it was indeed true—her parents looked exactly as they had in the locket; they had not aged at all since the miniatures were painted.

“But I
am
your daughter!” She cried and pleaded until her throat grew sore. The crowd around her had turned hostile, yelling “Imposter! Imposter! Off with her head!"

“I am Helena! I am your daughter! Not an imposter! You must believe me!"

“Miss! Wake up, miss! You’ve missed breakfast already and the young misses are asking for you.”

“Wh-a-a-t?”

Helena opened her eyes and sat up on her elbows, scoping the room to gauge her surroundings. Upon recognizing Izzy, she knew that she was back at Newsome Grange, and the fairytale-turned-nightmare reunion had been nothing but a dream. Which was a relief, but also a disappointment. She wiped away real tears with the back of her hand.

“Izzy,” she said weakly. “I was having a dream. What time is it?”

“A nightmare more like,” Izzy commented. “Must have been a whopper for all the screamin'." She shook her head. "Makes a person wonder where the freakish things come from. Tricks o' the mind, I expect."

She helped her mistress to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and handed her a cup.

“Brought you some bread and butter to go with the chocolate. It’s about half-past eight, and Miss Emily and Miss Theo have finished breakfast and playing with their dolls in the nursery.”

Helena took a sip of chocolate while she reviewed in her mind her plans for the day. “Annabelle?”

“Mr. Walker is here to take her riding. Fanny is helping her into her riding habit.”

Helena nearly choked on her chocolate. James was here? Would she see him? Would he want to see her? Or—was he here to inform Annabelle of his betrothal to that—Mrs. Rhodes? Her heart was beating furiously, and she suddenly felt she had to find out, couldn’t wait a moment more.

“The pink one will do, Izzy. Don’t bother pressing it. It’s fine. Just help me with the laces. I’m late already.”

Once dressed, she turned toward the door, only to be halted by Izzy’s confused voice.

“Your hair, miss. Surely you don’t mean to go out with your hair down!”

Helena pondered a moment, and then picked up a hairbrush and ran it quickly through her red-blonde curls. “I think I’ll wear it down today, Izzy. Thanks anyway.”

And then she took off for the nursery, leaving the maid open-mouthed in her bedchamber, only to find that Miss Annabelle had just departed to meet her father in the drawing room.

As she rushed down the stairs, Helena forced her to slow down and consider what she should say when she walked in. What excuse could she give for her presence? “I’m concerned about Annabelle missing lessons” was feeble. “Did you enjoy your trip to London?” was presumptuous. “Are you still angry with me?” was simply pitiful.

The door to the drawing room was slightly ajar, and Helena couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

“Is it true you are courting some lady in London, Papa? Theo heard the servants gossiping in the kitchen.”

James coughed. “There is a lady, poppet, but I wouldn’t say it’s reached the courting stage yet. I’ve escorted her to a few events, that’s all. Her family invited me to join them at the theatre on Saturday.”

Helena’s chest tightened. He
was
seeking a wife, and it had reached the point of social interactions with her family! She moved to back away, but instead paused to hear Annabelle’s response.

“Oh Papa! You just arrived and you are leaving again so soon? I miss you so much when you’re gone!”

“I’m sorry, poppet. I miss you too, you know. In fact, I came down here specifically to see
you!
London is a splendid place, of course, but it’s nothing to country, where you can gallop across the fields in the fresh air with the best six-year-old horsewoman in the county!”

Annabelle giggled. “You mustn’t ever say that when Theo’s around. She's six as well, you know. And she always has to be the best at
everything!
”

“Did you need something, Miss Lloyd?”

Jerking her head around, Helena saw Mrs. Morton regarding her with an expression of bewilderment.

“Er-no. I was just looking for Annabelle. It’s time for class to start.”

“Well, well, it’s Miss Lloyd. A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lloyd.”

The door opened and there he was in all his elegant splendor, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Relieved to see that his hostility toward her seemed to have disappeared, she swallowed and moistened her lips.

“Mr. Walker, what a surprise! We thought you were in London.”

He leaned forward and kissed her hand.

“I was. I found myself craving the company of my pretty daughter and decided a respite from the madness of London was in order.”

Annabelle beamed. “Papa, I shall have a new gown for the wedding.”

“Wedding?" His brow furrowed, and then cleared. "Oh, the Newsome wedding. Of course. A new gown? Of course you must have one, poppet.”

“I
have
one, Papa! Or shall have, when Mrs. Edwards finishes it. It is ivory with pink flowers and there will be pink slippers and satin ribbons for my hair.”

He turned a questioning glance at Helena, who explained that she had taken it upon herself to see that Annabelle had a new gown as fine as those the Newsome girls were having made.

“How kind of you, Miss Lloyd! Of course, I should have thought of it myself if I hadn’t so much on my mind lately. You shall be reimbursed, of course.”

“No need,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I had the modiste put it on your account.”

They stared at each other for a moment, until Annabelle pulled on her father’s arm. “Let’s go, Papa. Pierre and Brutus are waiting for us.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, still staring at Helena. “I wonder-er-it’s such a fine day, would you like to accompany us, Miss Lloyd? With Emily and Theo, of course.” Then he flushed. “But I forgot—you don’t ride, do you? Perhaps we could have a picnic lunch at the lake instead?”

Annabelle squealed. “We can do both, Papa! We taught Miss Lloyd to ride. She isn’t very good, but she hasn’t fallen off yet.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll fetch Theo and Emily.”

“Wait,” her father ordered. “Miss Lloyd hasn’t agreed to have her classes interrupted for the day. What do you say, Miss Lloyd? Are you willing to exchange the schoolroom for the countryside today?”

Helena felt herself growing warm under his gaze. “Well, I suppose we can play hooky for one day. That is, missing one day of school is not a tragedy.”

Annabelle jumped up and down with excitement and rushed off to find her friends.

James grinned and continued to gaze at Helena with such heat that she was overcome with joy.

“I’ll check with Cook about the picnic lunch,” she said weakly, as she sped off to the kitchen. Spending the best of an entire day with James and the children? She couldn’t believe her good fortune. If this was a dream, she hoped never to awaken.

A
dmit it
. You rushed down here
ventre à terre
because you wanted to make things right with Miss Lloyd.

Helena. Her name flooded him with warmth. Hearing her voice in the hallway had triggered a tingle in his nerve endings, and he’d dashed to the door with the speed of lightning to catch a glimpse of her face and discover whether or not she still held ill-feelings against him. He was intrigued to see how beautiful she appeared with her rose-tinged hair cascading down her shoulders. She’d been flushed and a bit taken aback—had she indeed been listening at the door?—but her enchanting green eyes held no sign of antipathy at the sight of him—quite the contrary, in fact. Was it possible that she had missed
him
as much as he’d missed
her?

And when she’d moistened her lips—he’d been nearly overwhelmed by a desire to crush her to him and kiss her senseless, without any concern for the presence of others. Indeed, had it not been for Annabelle tagging along at his side, he might have given free rein to his impulses, Mrs. Morton or no. For his daughter he could control himself. For awhile at least.

And now he had the whole day with her, with the children as chaperones, of course.

He and Annabelle waited at the stables while Finn and Jem saddled the additional horses and Miss Lloyd and her other two charges changed into riding clothes. Annabelle chattered away happily about the events he had missed during the past week, and it gave him a warm feeling to see how she basked with happiness in his presence.

Miss Lloyd, when she appeared, her porcelain skin flushed with excitement, looked fine indeed in her blue velvet riding habit, which, although it appeared to be a bit on the tight side, showed off her curvaceous figure to great advantage. When he offered his hand as a mounting block, she smiled warmly, thanked him, and shook her head, sheepishly admitting that she only knew how to mount one way and wasn’t quite ready to learn another just yet. She succeeded—albeit awkwardly—with the mounting block, and once properly seated on the horse, was a captivating picture indeed.

She laughed when he said so. “I do fine when the horse is standing still, but when he moves, it’s a different story altogether.”

He complimented her apparel, and she confessed that it was Lady Sarah’s.

“I didn’t think to have a riding habit made up since I had no intention of riding. I would have borrowed trousers to wear instead, but Lady Sarah found that unacceptable.” She chuckled. “I suppose she feared that her governess riding around in trousers might scandalize the neighborhood.”

They were riding at a slow pace commensurate with her skills, while the girls had raced on ahead. She peered at him with a impish gleam in her eyes. “Would it scandalize
you,
Mr. Walker?”

It did, of course. But not as much as it once had. Miss Lloyd's peculiarities were beginning to seem… normal. For her, at least.

“James,” he said, with an easy grin. “Undoubtedly, Miss Lloyd. But then, I’m finding I quite enjoy being scandalized by you.”

The cautious side of him protested his imprudence, but he tamped it down. It was a rare lovely day in Kent, his daughter was flushed and animated, and he had a lovely lady at his side. Such delights had been almost non-existent of late. Why not throw caution to the wind for a change?

The color in her cheeks deepened. “I find that hard to believe, Mr.-er, James. You made your disapproval of my behavior quite clear on the evening of the ball." She pulled her lips together into a slight grimace. "But after considering the matter in a calmer frame of mind, I find I cannot blame you for your assumptions. You are a product of your ti—, er-society, after all."

James narrowed his eyes. "Are things
so
much different in America, then?" Were young ladies expected to be looser in their morals across the pond?

Helena darted a glance at him. "N-No, I suppose not."

They rode in silence for a minute or two, and then she gave a deep sigh. "Have you ever considered, Mr. Walker, that it's one thing to expect innocence from an eighteen-year-old fresh out of the schoolroom than a fully-grown woman who has had time to make her own decisions and form her own opinions?"