A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (7 page)

Nor Sir Henry. His appearance did not jive at all with her image of a country squire—a short, rotund, slightly coarse man of sixty years or so who interspersed his speech with “Jolly good show,” and “Pip! Pip!” Leaner and a decade or so older than his friend, he was still agile and quite attractive. In manner, though, he was quite squire-like, with the genuine look of interest in his warm brown eyes as he greeted her and teased Mr. Walker about his need for a wife.

Helena’s jaw tightened as she recalled the utter look of horror on James’s face when the subject of marriage was mentioned. Feeling humiliated and oddly betrayed, she’d lashed out and nearly caused a scene with her vigorous condemnation of the institution of marriage. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass the woman who was so committed to helping her.

Control yourself. No one is going to force you to marry anyone.

Nothing could be further from her mind than giving herself to some man who would be legally entitled to beat her.

Why, then, had she felt so disappointed when the friendly attraction she’d seen in James Walker’s eyes had so abruptly turned to dismay at the mention of marriage?

She shrugged. Why did she care? She hadn't come to find romance. It didn't matter one jot to her if he turned out to be a womanizer, like Richard Earskine. She'd come here out of curiosity, to learn of her origins, see if she had any siblings or cousins, or perhaps even parents still alive.

Hunky Regency gentlemen didn't fit into her plans.

“
G
oodness
!” Lady Pendleton exclaimed after the gentlemen had left and Helena had apologized for her rudeness. “How on earth could you have taken such a dislike of Mr. Walker? No fortune, of course, but Henry tells me he's doing fabulously with his estate, which is saying something, since it was in sad shape when he inherited it. He's quite a catch for some lucky girl. Quite attractive, don't you agree? Doesn't gamble or haunt the fleshpots. Family connections too—he's a distant cousin to Lord Melbourne."

Helena frowned. "Your Ladyship…"

Lady Pendleton ignored her. "The daughter is a handful, from what I’ve heard, but that’s certain to happen when there’s no mother to take her in hand.”

She shook her head. “What he needs is a wife. I’ve told him so any number of times, but all he does is accuse me of meddling. I ask you, what does he expect an old lady to do if not meddle in the lives of others?”

Helena nearly choked on her strawberry tart. No wonder James had been so irritated at Sir Henry’s comment!

“A meddler? You?” she said, biting her lips to hide a smile.

Lady Pendleton grinned. “You young people don’t understand the advantages that age gives a woman, particularly a widow.” She sighed. “Not that I don’t still miss my dear departed husband George. He and I got on well once I learned how to properly manage him. That said, there is something quite wonderful about having the freedom to do what I want, whenever I want to do it. Not worrying so much about pleasing others. Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause a scandal that could have repercussions on my daughters and their families, but I’ve found I quite enjoy being labeled an eccentric. Odd behavior is exactly what they expect when they see me.”

Something about that struck Helena as familiar.

“Mrs. Herne,” she said thoughtfully. “Mrs. Herne said something similar. She hinted that she was—immortal. That she chose to stop aging in her fifties. Did you…”

Lady Pendleton's eyes widened, then she began laughing so hard she had to hold on to the arms of her chair with both hands.

“Oh my dear,” she exclaimed when she finally caught her breath, “are you truly asking if I’m immortal? Heavens, no! Nor would I wish to be. I enjoy dabbling a bit in traveling through the ages, but I am as human and mortal as you are.”

For some reason, Helena felt relieved. “And Mrs. Herne…”

Lady Pendleton frowned. “She’s called Madame Herne here, my dear. In all honesty, I don’t know what she is. A witch? A goddess? I have always had the feeling that she has what some call ‘an old soul.’ Superstitious folk will have nothing to do with her. Whatever she is, she’s always struck me as having a good heart. I trust her. I don’t really need to know anything else—and she wouldn't tell me anyway.”

The clock chimed four o'clock and the at-home was over. Lady Pendleton rang the bell for the tea things to be taken away, and the two women parted ways, Lady Pendleton to her study to work on her correspondence, and Helena to her room to read the novel she’d borrowed from her hostess's library, the first volume of
The Mysteries of Udolpho.

It wasn’t until later that she recalled something Lady Pendleton had said about James Walker… that he had a daughter. Helena idly wondered if she resembled the girl in portrait, but then rejected the idea as too far-fetched. Which made her chuckle as she considered the whole time-travel thing. Could anything ever again be too far-fetched?

Thoughts of the portrait and James dominated her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to get into Udolpho's mysteries. Finally, the book fell from her hands, and her dreams were filled with images of James Walker interspersed with the Mystery Man in the portrait.

“
N
umber One
: Wardrobe.” Lady Pendleton smiled across the breakfast table at Helena, who was wearing one of her new gowns, an apple green morning dress that enhanced her sparkling green eyes. “You do look lovely in that gown, my dear. I believe I like it even better than the rose pink.”

Helena hid a smile. She’d tried to veto the pink, believing it to be too “little-girlish” for a grown woman, but her benefactor had insisted. And in all honesty, she had been pleased with the result. The color brought out the reddish strands in her blonde hair and complemented her eyes, giving her the feeling of a fairy princess. While one part of her objected on principle—she did, after all, pride herself on being a strong, independent woman—there was another part of her that reveled in “playing dress-up” as she called it.

Although she had loudly objected to the size of the wardrobe Her Ladyship had deemed essential. The Season was over, after all, and she wouldn't be going to dozens of balls, or even Almack's. Would she even be there long enough to wear them all?

“Number Two: Manners.” She tipped her head and gave Helena an assessing glance. “You’ve made great progress, my dear. I’ve seen nothing exceptionable about your conduct on any of our calls this past week, and Lady Jersey herself was all compliments at her Venetian breakfast on Saturday. She thinks you might have a chance at a splendid match, in spite of your age and your mysterious origins.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed. “More matchmaking?” She felt like throwing her book across the room, but didn't, since it belonged to her hostess. "Can't I be a spinster or-or a bluestocking? Someone who's sworn off marriage for good."

Lady Pendleton put down her list and smiled. “Dear me, you are far too pretty for that." She cocked her head and pretended to study Helena's face. "I suppose we
could
powder your hair and add a pair of spectacles." She shook her head. "No, some men would find that even more appealing."

She gave Helena a direct look. "I assure you that no one here will force you to marry, Helena. But this is the way our society works, and it's something you will have to become accustomed to, whether or not you decide to remain. Mixing with the
ton
and asking discreet questions is the best way to discover the identity of your parents—if indeed they are noble, as I suspect from your locket.”

Helena shifted in her seat. “I know,” she said with a wry smile. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, my lady. Your generosity is beyond belief. It’s just that… it seems to be such a laborious process. Where I come from, I could get on the Internet and find a hundred leads in about three seconds. Whereas here, it’s been more than two weeks and we haven’t made any progress.”

Lady Pendleton shook her head and aimed a long-suffering look in Helena’s direction. “Young people are ever impatient.”

She took another sip of tea and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “And shortsighted. Think on this, Helena. Why are you here? If all you wished was to discover your origins, you might have begun by studying genealogical records, cemetery plots, or even DNA tests. But you did not. Given the opportunity, you decided to risk traveling backwards in time. And it
was
a risk. I know because I've had to come to terms with it myself. You can never tell where you're going to appear and what situation you'll find yourself facing. You must be prepared for anything, including the possibility of not being able to return."

She crossed her arms and gave Helena a searching look. "Why, Helena? Did you come here simply to find your family and then return to your old life that made you so unhappy? Or is it possible you came here with the intention of taking back the life here that you were born to?”

Helena’s mind raced.
Had
she been intending to stay when she made the decision to come here? The thought had been in the back of her mind, but events had happened so quickly that she hadn’t considered anything beyond discovering her true roots. If she did indeed find her family and a fulfilling life, would she be willing to give up all the modern conveniences and advantages of the twenty-first century? Planes, cars, good roads, computers, and yes, the Internet? Even worse, modern medicine. People died of things that could be cured by a pill or a simple laparoscopic operation in the world where she grew up.

“I-I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Of course you do not,” said Lady Pendleton kindly. “You have no idea what you will find when your family is finally located. You cannot possibly know whether or not they will welcome you as their long-lost daughter or discard you as an impostor. No DNA tests here, unfortunately. A younger sister may not welcome a stranger coming along to usurp her inheritance.”

Helena blanched. She’d considered there might be obstacles, but hearing the words was painful. She’d left one world that she’d never felt comfortable in. What if it turned out there was no longer a place for her
here
either?

Lady Pendleton reached across the table and patted her hand.

“Don’t worry, my dear. Things will work out as they should. My purpose in mentioning it is to advise you that if there is a chance you may elect to remain here, you
will
have to adapt to our ways. That may or may not include a marriage; you shall be the one to decide.”

She smiled encouragingly. “You’ve done quite well this week. I haven’t heard any complaints about the tight fit of your corset or the smell of the privy. I believe your speech has improved ever so slightly as well. Are you feeling more comfortable with our way of living, my dear?”

Helena gave a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I am, Your Ladyship.”

It was true. She no longer felt uncomfortable being dressed and undressed by a lady’s maid. In fact, she rather liked having someone do her hair. While there were times when she wished she could slip into jeans and a t-shirt and run freely through Hyde Park, she found she enjoyed the girly-girl stuff more than she’d expected. She demurred at some of the
ton’s
more ridiculous rules, like wearing gigantic hoops for a court presentation (thankfully, it wasn't the season for that) and eating a peach with a knife and fork, but she found herself appreciating the elegance and grace of the Regency more and more as each day passed. Was that because she’d found a wealthy benefactor or because she’d returned to the world where she belonged?

Lady Pendleton gave her a crisp nod and picked up the list on the table. “Number Three: Dancing. I believe you are doing well with Monsieur Arquette, particularly with the country dances. Of course, you must practice with more dancers. I believe I received an invitation from my cousin for a small, informal ball on Thursday night. I shall accept on behalf of the two of us. I believe you already know several of the young people who will be there.”

A ball? Helena swallowed. “How many guests might there be at a ‘small, informal ball’?”

“Only about one-and-a-half hundred or so,” responded her benefactor in a matter-of-fact tone. “Her ballroom won’t stand for more. It will be quite a crush as it is.”

One hundred fifty people? “I-I see,” she said weakly. “And you believe I am ready for a ball of that size?” She felt a tightness in her chest at the thought of having to remember her steps in a crowded ballroom.

Lady Pendleton waved away her misgivings. “An accomplished partner will do much to disguise any mistakes you might make. You don’t have the quadrille down well enough yet, but it’s so new you won’t be faulted for sitting out those sets.”

Her mouth dry, Helena took a sip of tea. Surely a girl with a master's degree could manage one ‘small, informal ball’!

“Number Four: Familiarity with the history of England.” She tapped her cheek with the end of the quill pen. "Your history degree does you credit, my dear, although it is a pity that your American bias is so conspicuous. Still, it is perhaps forgivable since you
are
American." She grinned. "I happen to be partial to them, myself."

Her gaze returned to the list. "Your social history is a bit lacking, however. Do take some time with Debrett's this afternoon and I shall quiz you at dinner.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship.”

“Oh, and Helena…” she added, “Do call me Agatha when we are in private. There are some who call me Lady P as well, and I am not offended. I am not so high in the instep that I insist on such formality with my good friends.”

Helena blinked away tears. “Yes, my l-, er, Agatha. I am honored.”

The older woman’s eyes looked suspiciously bright. “You’ve become something of a daughter to me, Helena. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having young people around.”

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to her list. “Now as for Number Five…”

F
our days
later

H
elena had barely had
time enough to change into her night clothes after the ball when she received the summons. Franklin Peters, the butler, still wore his nightcap when he knocked on Helena’s door and excused himself for waking her.

“Lady Pendleton wishes you to attend her in her bedchamber.” His normally flawless livery was slightly mussed, and no doubt he’d forgotten about the nightcap while hastily dressing to answer the door.

The light of dawn was just beginning to peer through her window at a quarter to four, and Helena was exhausted. The ball had lasted until the wee hours and Helena had a headache in addition to her aching feet. She’d met so many people, and it wasn’t until later that she realized the punch was spiked. Her benefactress had found her dance partners for every dance she had learned, and except for a few missteps in the beginning, she made a good accounting of herself.

But she hadn’t stayed up so late since her early college days, so she yearned to put her head to the pillow and sleep until noon.

“What is it, Peters?” she asked as they made their way to the master bedchamber.

“An express came just now, Miss Lloyd.” Seeing her confusion, he added, “Messages arriving at such an hour rarely bring good tidings, you know.”

Ah. Like phone calls in the middle of the night. She'd had one of those when her mom—her adoptive mother—had succumbed to cancer.

She found Lady P sitting at her dressing table, wearing a fuchsia-colored wrapper over her pink nightgown. Silk, no doubt, as Her Ladyship had insisted she have nothing but silk for her own nightwear. Her hair was loosely braided and her gray eyes flashed silver with excitement when focused on Helena.

Not
bad news, apparently.

“Helena, my dear, I’ve just had the most brilliant idea! You’re to go to Kent immediately. Izzy! Where is that girl? Surely she hasn’t gone to bed yet. We shall all be very busy packing to get you off as soon as may be.”

Kent? Helena put her hands to her forehead in an effort to stop the pounding. All she wanted to do was fall into bed.

"Why must we go to Kent? And why can't this wait until morning?"

“You can sleep in the carriage. Come with me and I’ll explain while we’re packing. Peters, we’ll need the trunks from the attic.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship.” Franklin straightened his clothing and Helena saw the nightcap was gone. He knew his mistress well enough to know further sleep would not be forthcoming.

Helena sighed.

“
M
iss Dray is
dead
?”

James stared incredulously at Sir Henry, who, for once, was not wearing his normal easy-going expression. Instead, he leaned against the mantel of the fireplace of his study, studying the grate as though there were a fire blazing in it.

“Good God, what happened? Is Annabelle all right?”

“She’s fine, James.”

Lady Sarah strolled through the doorway and into her husband’s arms. In spite of her words, she looked worn out. Strands of her blonde hair were falling out of her chignon, and he thought he saw the remains of tears on her cheeks.

“The girls are quite distressed, of course. They were fond of Miss Dray. As were we all,” she said with a glance at her husband, whose arm remained tightly clasped around her shoulders. “She was a dear thing, but very strict. The perfect governess. I don’t know how we shall go on without her.” Her voice broke and she buried her face on her husband’s chest.

“They found her in Abbey Wood,” Sir Henry explained. “Wednesday was her half-day, and when she didn’t return, we sent out a search party. No signs of foul play. The doctor says it was natural causes—her heart just gave out.”

His wife erupted in sobs again, and James decided he should find his daughter and leave the Newsomes to their grief, giving voice to that decision.

Lady Sarah turned to face him, accepting her husband’s handkerchief to dab her eyes with.

“Oh no, James, you needn’t do that. The nanny will manage until Mother can send us a replacement. Emily and Theodosia simply love having Annabelle around, and it will only distress them further if she leaves as well. And as for Colin, I’ve no doubt he thinks Annabelle’s his mother by now. She has a way with babies, it seems.”

James was not convinced. “Still, it takes time to find a governess.” He should know—the agency he’d consulted in London had yet to send him information on any potential candidates.

Sir Henry chuckled. “Have you
met
my mother-in-law?”

Lady Sarah smiled in spite of herself. “We sent an express requesting her aid. If I know her, she’ll come herself if she can’t find someone suitable to fill in until we find a permanent replacement.”

Sir Henry winked at him. “Perhaps she’ll bring along that pretty Miss Lloyd she has residing with her. I think she liked you well enough.” He chuckled. “Not looking for a husband, though. Or so she says.”

James frowned. He’d nearly succeeded in forcing the image of the forthright Miss Lloyd out of his mind, and now she had installed herself right back in again. If he were truthful with himself, he’d admit he wouldn’t be sorry to see her again. She
was
quite an eyeful.