Dangerous Decisions (4 page)

Two weeks later, Helena and Oliver rode through the familiar meadow in the grounds of Broadway Manor, beneath trees dappled with sunlight, and, slowing down their horses after the exhilaration of their gallop, gradually came to a halt. Oliver nodded towards an ancient oak, its branches spreading wide, the clearing beneath it quiet and secluded. ‘Shall we stretch our legs?' With his hands firmly spanning her waist, he helped Helena to dismount from her chestnut mare and then waited as she dusted down her riding skirt.

‘Isn't it a beautiful day,' she said.

‘It's a wonderful day.'

She glanced up to see an intense expression in his eyes that made her pulse begin to race. This could be the moment. Would he at last kiss her? She was longing to know how it would feel to be held in his arms. Surely he wasn't going to wait until he had proposed before he kissed her? Tomorrow people would be arriving for a weekend house party and there would be little time for any privacy at all.

She remained silent as Oliver led her over to the welcome shade of the stately tree, and Helena, leaning to rest against the rough bark of the gnarled trunk, looked up at him in anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, his lips came down to meet her own and as he drew away, he lifted a hand to trace the outline of her cheek. Smiling down at her, he murmured, ‘I think we'll do that again.'

This time he teased her slightly with his lips, tracing the outline of hers before their kiss became deeper than before, longer. She was finding to her delight that the experience was rather a pleasurable one. Leaving their horses to graze, they linked hands and began to stroll along the soft grass to the sound of birdsong and rustlings in the leaves above. ‘These past weeks have been perfect,' he said, smiling down at her, ‘but I suppose it couldn't last forever.'

‘I know. But Aunt Beatrice would think she was failing in her duty not to arrange some company and distractions.'

He squeezed her hand. ‘I'd prefer to spend the time alone with you.'

Being in Oliver's arms, feeling the warmth of his mouth against her own, had reassured Helena far more than all her hours of mental agonising. Then he was turning to her again, holding her close, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, and once more finding her lips.

And so she was in a contented frame of mind when they went back to the horses and returned to the main avenue that led to the Manor. As they trotted along, Helena waved at Annie who was trudging towards the entrance gates and, slowing down, said, ‘Hello, are you off home?'

‘Yes, Miss Helena, just for a few hours.'

Oliver was reining in his horse with some irritation. Really, Helena was far too familiar with the staff. It had been the same when they had visited the farms. In his opinion a nod and polite good morning was quite sufficient, but to his astonishment, Helena had seemed to know the names of not only the tenants, but also their families. In addition, each needed to be greeted and the children enquired after. She really should be more aware of her position and—

Just then the girl Helena was bending to speak to turned to look up at him, and the sunlight revealed a hideous scarring down one side of her face. His recoil was instinctive, even violent.

Helena, seeing Annie whiten with humiliation, her eyes full of distress, swung round to see Oliver's expression of sheer revulsion. The anger that swept through her was hot and full of shame. She said in a tight voice, ‘Please remember me to your mother, Annie.'

‘Yes, Miss.'

Once the slight, square-shouldered figure clutching a small wicker basket was some distance away, Helena turned in fury to an impatient Oliver. ‘What on earth was all that about?'

‘Who is she?'

‘Our scullery maid – she was burned in a bonfire accident as a child.'

‘And your father employs such a creature?'

Helena, horrified by the contempt in his voice, snapped, ‘Why on earth shouldn't he? Her father is one of our gardeners. As for Annie, she is not a “creature” as you so insultingly call her. Really, Oliver, you might show a bit more humanity.'

She saw his expression darken, his mouth become grim, and without even the civility of a reply, he urged his horse to canter swiftly away, leaving Helena, riding side saddle, to clatter a few minutes later into the stable yard only to find a groom leading the horse to its stable. Of Oliver, there was no sign.

Suddenly she was glad that her close friend Dorothy Powner was coming for the weekend and that she would be meeting Oliver. The daughter of a judge who had moved into the county when he bought an estate near Stafford, she had been delighted to find a companion approved of by her irascible and strict father, while Helena, then fifteen, had always longed for a friend near her own age. Helena had great respect for Dorothy's sound common sense; she might be outspoken but her opinion was one to be valued. Would she too find Oliver difficult to understand?

‘They've had a row, I'd put money on it,' Ida reported when that evening she returned from the dining room. ‘Miss Helena and Mr Faraday, I mean.'

‘Well I don't like him!' Annie called, coming in from the scullery. ‘He's not good enough for our Miss Helena. He'll bring her nothing but trouble, you mark my words.'

In a corner, Jack Hines put his
Sporting Life
down. His voice was quiet. ‘Why do you say that, Annie?'

‘They were both riding down the avenue when I was goin' home, and …'

‘He
saw
you?' The valet's voice was so abrupt that even Cook looked up from her task.

‘He saw me all right.' Annie's voice was grim. ‘Nearly came off his horse, he did. You'd think I was a freak or summat.'

Molly put down the cotton stocking she was mending and went over to her. ‘Don't take on, love. Some people can be very insensitive.' She watched Annie go back to her duties and frowned. ‘Is he like that, Mr Hines?'

But the valet had returned to reading his newspaper, and Molly sighed with exasperation. It was always the same every time anyone mentioned his master; the man just seemed to close down. Talk about being as ‘silent as the grave'.

Jacob Standish was well aware that something had happened between his daughter and his guest, and with Beatrice recovering from a cold and having a tray in her room, he was beginning to find the effort of keeping a civilised discourse over dinner rather a trial. He glanced at Helena. She was not a girl normally given to moods, but even he could sense that she was upset about something.

Helena was feeling utterly miserable. For Oliver to behave in such a way just because of poor Annie's scarred face, and then to respond like that to – in her opinion – a justified reprimand, after the wonderful romantic afternoon they'd spent together! And now, not once had his gaze met hers, and the coldness emanating from him …

But this had happened once before. Not so marked but it had been the time he had found her talking to Tristram – which had, for heaven's sake, only been a bit of light-hearted flirting.

Yet his appetite didn't seem to be affected; even after having eaten heartily of pigeon pie followed by sherry trifle, he was now enjoying his cheese. Were men always so unfathomable? Her father – as long as his wishes were adhered to – had never seemed to be so. Although she knew that her friend Dorothy considered her father to have so many prickles he ought to have been born a porcupine.

Jacob was coming to a decision. Much as he enjoyed Oliver's male company over their brandy and cigars, these two young people needed time alone to mend their differences, because until there was a proposal this whole enterprise could fall down like a house of cards. And for Oliver not to offer for Helena – after he had been so closely attentive for months – would be unthinkable and certain to be considered by society as a slight on the whole family.

With a frown, he gathered up his napkin and put it on to the table. ‘I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to, so if you'll both excuse me, I shall go directly to my study.' He turned to the butler who was standing in one corner of the room. ‘Bostock, perhaps you could leave the coffee in the drawing room for Miss Helena to attend to, and I don't think they will need you any further.' As he got up he added, ‘My apologies, Oliver.'

And it was only then, once they had moved to the drawing room and were out of earshot of servants, that Oliver at last turned to Helena. He had taken a seat beside her on the sofa and although she felt his gaze on her she remained occupied with pouring their coffee, determined that he should be the one to speak first.

‘Helena, do you think we could forget that trivial incident this afternoon?'

Her temper flared. Did he think it was trivial to show such distaste at someone's unfortunate appearance? Helena remembered how she had hurried to the gardener's cottage as soon as she'd heard of the bonfire accident, how she had held and comforted the ten-year-old Annie as she screamed with the agony of the painful burns. Beatrice too had come with salves and bandages, and her father had paid the doctor's bills. None of them had been so careless since as to show their horror at the girl's appearance, and Helena could only imagine how Annie had felt at the shock and disgust on Oliver's face.

‘I hardly think it was trivial, Oliver,' she said quietly. ‘I would have expected better of you.'

‘Helena, she's a servant, a mere scullery maid. It's of no consequence, and you must accept that I won't have my behaviour commented upon.'

She put down the coffee pot and turned to him. ‘Oliver, I may be a woman, and a very young one, but I'm entitled to my opinion.'

He looked at the flush of determination on her face and suddenly realised that if he wanted this girl to marry him and provide him with an heir then he needed to make amends, at least for the moment. Any temperamental differences between them he could deal with once she was his lawful wife, and judging by her delicious response to their kisses that afternoon, then perhaps his best option was …

Gently he took her hand. ‘Shall we agree on that point? Shall this be our first lover's quarrel?'

As Oliver raised her fingers and brushed them with his lips, Helena found herself softening at the phrase ‘lover's quarrel'. Had she exaggerated his reaction in her mind? She knew that an over-active imagination was a fault of hers; both Beatrice and her governesses had frequently told her so. For a few seconds she struggled with her resentment but then relief won. It had been hateful to have such an atmosphere between them.

‘Damn the coffee,' Oliver murmured. ‘We won't be disturbed, your father made sure of that.'

His hands were warm on her bare shoulders as he drew her towards him and she could taste wine on his lips. And then his mouth became more demanding, arousing within her a passion that drove all other considerations out of her mind.

The house party was proving to be a great success, and Helena was reclining on a garden chair with her feet raised, her face shaded from the sun by a wide straw hat. There was a doubles match being played on the tennis court, the relaxing sound of ball on racquet, the occasional shout of ‘Sorry!' and the umpire's call of the score. It was, she thought, a perfect English afternoon. Most of all she was enjoying the chance to spend long hours with Dorothy.

‘Come on,' she persuaded. ‘You've been here over a day so you must have formed some opinion of Oliver by now.'

Dorothy, two years older, was regarded by many as something of a bluestocking, even a born spinster. She was handsome, rather than pretty, refusing to curl her dark hair which she always wore in a chignon and preferred plain clothes and quiet colours. Instead of immediately answering the question Dorothy said lazily, ‘How did that brother of mine behave himself in London?'

‘Hugh behaved perfectly, to the best of my knowledge,' Helena told her. ‘Jolly useful too, because when he danced with me I could ask him who Oliver was.'

‘He may have known his name, but he seems to know little else about him.'

‘They probably don't move in the same circles.' Helena stretched. ‘I hope they won't be long with tea, I'm starving.' She twisted round. ‘You still haven't answered my question. I've given you the time you asked for – so again, what do you think of him?'

As Dorothy gazed at her, Helena could see a frown puckering her forehead.

‘You don't like him!'

‘I didn't say that. I think he is incredibly handsome, but Helena, I'm just not sure. I cannot fault his attitude towards you, nor his charm in general. But … I can't help thinking that there's another side to him. I find him a bit of an enigma. Still, maybe that's one of the things you find attractive.' She laughed. ‘Even I can see that it would be more exciting to marry a man like Oliver rather than Hugh, fond though I am of him.'

Helena's peal of laughter rang out. ‘You're just talking like a sister. Hugh's one of the nicest people I know.'

‘Maybe,' Dorothy said drily. ‘But he's hardly the dashing hero. Still, I'm sure there's some nice girl out there who will think he's wonderful. At least I hope so.'

‘But you can understand why I'm tempted, with Oliver?'

‘Who wouldn't be? All I can say, Helena, is that if you're looking for a tranquil marriage, then I suspect he's not the man to choose.'

Helena really hadn't wanted to hear this, not least because it echoed her own feelings, particularly after that ugly scene the other afternoon. And yet when Oliver held her in his arms she had longings she hadn't known she possessed. Sometimes she felt guilty, wondering whether she should be allowing him to kiss her before they were betrothed. Was her heart ruling her head, was that what being in love meant?

Dorothy was thoughtful. ‘Is your papa keen on the match?'

‘He has made no secret of it.'

‘And Beatrice – how does she feel?'

‘She thinks he's wonderful, and that I should consider myself fortunate.'

‘Don't let yourself be unduly influenced by family pressure, Helena. Mind you,' Dorothy glanced sideways at her, ‘he
is
quite a catch!'

‘You make him sound like a fish!'

They began to laugh again and Dorothy said, ‘Well if you do marry him, I shall expect an invitation to Graylings. I've never been to Hertfordshire.'

Helena was wondering whether to confide in her friend about the strong attraction she had felt to the dark-haired doctor during her time in London. Dorothy would approve of her intervention on behalf of the abused horse, but would she dismiss as romantic nonsense the fact that after all this time Helena still felt haunted by the memory of a man who was almost a stranger? While she was hesitating, Bostock and the maids came out of the house carrying trays and tiered cake stands to put on the white-cloth-covered table in the shade. When he rang a bell to summon guests from all corners of the garden and house, Helena felt a sense of relief, deciding it was wiser not to say anything after all. Cook's delicious lemonade accompanied by cucumber sandwiches, scones and other confections was just the distraction she needed.

Once everyone was comfortable in the drawing room that evening, at Jacob's request Helena seated herself at the grand piano. Oliver remained standing, leaning slightly against the wall in one corner. A parlourmaid had been in to light the oil lamps and in their golden glow Helena's expression was absorbed as her long, slender fingers rippled over the keyboard. Oliver, finding her sensitive interpretation of Beethoven's ‘Moonlight Sonata' a delight, closed his eyes. The room was silent, captured by the beauty of the melody, and Oliver imagined the same scene in the setting of the large music room at Graylings where the Steinway piano was surrounded by a circle of velvet chairs – the perfect frame for a lovely hostess.

Eventually the piano keys became silent, and Oliver opened his eyes to gaze directly into Helena's slightly quizzical ones. He gave a warm, appreciative smile and it was in that moment that he realised that the eighteen-year-old girl he had chosen to be his wife was going to develop into an exceptionally beautiful woman.

‘Jolly accomplished, isn't she?' Johnnie Horton said later as Oliver strolled over to take a seat next to him on the sofa.

‘She
is
a bit special.'

‘Topping, old chap. I must say I'm having a smashing time. I suppose I was invited because I introduced the two of you.' He glanced around the room. ‘I could have done with a bit more female distraction.'

Oliver laughed. ‘You're not enamoured of Dorothy, then?'

‘Too clever by half, and the other two girls are hardly beauties.' He lowered his voice. ‘I shall be visiting the luscious Cora when I get back to London.'

Oliver frowned at the indiscretion – this was hardly the time or place to speak of such matters.

‘Mind you,' Johnnie said, ‘Hugh's a decent sort.'

‘Indeed he is, so don't go leading him astray.' Oliver's comment was automatic; his interest lay in an intense conversation taking place nearby.

‘If you're really interested in standing, then you need to be putting out feelers now.' The man speaking, whose weather-beaten face looked like creased leather, was apparently an old friend of Jacob's. His rather stout wife was on the other side of the room chatting to Beatrice.

Jacob's tone was confidential. ‘I thought it might be a bit early.'

Geoffrey Blundred shook his head. ‘I don't think so. Jacob, I hope you realise what a minefield politics can be. There's a fair bit of skulduggery that goes on.'

‘I still think there's a place for an honest man.'

Oliver tucked the useful nugget away as Johnnie nudged him. ‘Are you listening, old boy? I was saying how well old Standish feeds us. That mutton was the best I've tasted and the salmon was excellent.'

In the Servants' Hall, everyone was exhausted. ‘I don't know why anyone needs eight courses,' Molly said. ‘I've never had more than a dinner and a pudding in me life, at least not at the same time.'

Cook was resting her swollen ankles. ‘I can't deny it's been hard work these past few days. I told you we would have to entertain. Mind you, at least there should be some tasty leftovers for the rest of us.'

‘I suppose that valet of Mr Horton's is packing, ready for the off tomorrow, same as Miss Dorothy's maid.' Ida flopped in a chair. ‘Gosh, I'm tired.'

‘Yes, well, tired or not,' Cook snapped, ‘I want this kitchen spick and span and ready for tomorrow morning. There's another full range of dishes to prepare for breakfast
and
kedgeree.'

‘I don't know where they put it all.' Annie was toiling at the sink. ‘They ought to share it out a bit. When I think how some people have to manage on bread and scrape …'

‘There's one world for us and one world for them. Surely you know that by now,' Molly said.

‘You know, Annie'—they all turned as the butler came into the kitchen—‘in some kitchens the scullery maid would be seen and not heard. You're far too fond of expressing your opinions.'

‘Take no notice, love,' Cook said once he had left carrying a bottle of Madeira. ‘He's just tired, like the rest of us. And once all this is over, it'll be even busier, in fact a flaming nightmare, what with having some of that new-fangled electricity installed.'

‘Just think, though,' Ida said, brightening up. ‘It'll be a lot less work for us, without so many wicks to trim and everything.'

‘Yes, well I still think the light from oil lamps was kinder. My sister says her employers got this electric and it shows up her wrinkles something rotten.'

‘I wonder what it must be like,' Ida said chin in hand. ‘To be one of them. You know, to go away for a weekend with everything done for you. Waited on and pampered, not even having to do your own packing.'

‘Nor having to pay a penny for your keep,' Annie said. ‘When we used to go and visit my granny we had to take our food with us – and a bit extra for her.'

‘The upper classes know nothing about real life,' Molly said. ‘I just hope the guests leave some generous tips when they leave, although I suppose the footmen will get most of them like what usually happens.'

Two days later, the excursion to Lichfield proved a great success. Jacob was absent, having had to attend a business meeting, while Beatrice, after her initial nerves, enjoyed being driven in a motor car into the small but historic town. The medieval cathedral's three graceful spires had been visible from some distance and Helena told Oliver that while locally they were known as the ‘Ladies of the Vale,' in reality they were a symbol of the Trinity.

The three of them stood for a few moments in the serene area before the cathedral to look up at the magnificent frontage, and then once inside, as Helena and Beatrice went down the centre aisle and slipped into a pew to pray, Oliver strolled around to admire the architecture, the ornate metal choir screen and beautiful stained-glass windows. The existence of God he dismissed as a fairy tale, but even he had to admit that centuries of prayer left their legacy in these ancient buildings.

He turned as Helena came to join him and slipped her hand into his. ‘There's something I want to show you.' She led the way to the South Choir Aisle. ‘It's called The Sleeping Children,' she whispered, ‘portraying two sisters who died accidentally in 1812.'

Oliver gazed down at the long marble sculpture and gave a brisk approving nod. ‘It is very well executed.' Startled, Helena glanced up at him. Her own emotion whenever she gazed down at the lithe sleeping forms, the younger girl with her arm around her sister's waist, was one of utter sadness at the loss of such young lives; Oliver seemed almost indifferent.

Beatrice came to join them with a slight shiver. ‘It's always so cold in these places. I think I'll go outside and wait for you there.'

‘I'll come with you,' Helena said, glad to follow her into the warm sunshine where, as they lingered, she tried to analyse why she felt so disappointed at Oliver's reaction. After all, how could he know that the sculpture had over the years become rather special to her? Yet surely, anyone seeing and reading of children dying would have felt some pity, not merely remark about the skill of the sculptor? Again, she felt that uneasiness she had tried so hard to suppress, but when Oliver came out to join them, he was in such an infectious light-hearted mood that after a while she managed to put the incident out of her mind.

Later, as they walked some distance to gaze at the large three-storey house where Samuel Johnson was born, Beatrice said, ‘I read somewhere that he described Lichfield as a “city of philosophers”.'

‘That's true,' Oliver agreed, moving a little to give her more space. ‘I'd also like to see the Nag's Head public house. Apparently he wrote some of his famous dictionary there.'

Helena, her large-brimmed hat held in position by a gauze scarf, was enjoying the slight breeze on her skin, but she sensed from the frown between her aunt's eyes that Beatrice was either beginning a headache or finding her feet painful. Helena reached out and touched her hand. ‘Are you tired?'

‘A little,' Beatrice said.

Oliver immediately offered his arm. ‘Then we'll leave the Nag's Head until another time. In fact, I think we would all appreciate a rest.'

As the car wound its way between the hedgerows on the way back to Broadway Manor, Helena began to look forward to the rest of the day with a delicious anticipation. She and Oliver now took every chance to be alone together, with Beatrice considering that it was unnecessary for her to be chaperoned within their own grounds. She turned to gaze at him seated before her beside the chauffeur, studying the back of his head, looking at the way his fair hair curled slightly at the base of his neck. This feeling she had for him
must
be love, otherwise surely she wouldn't be longing for them to be alone together? As for her lingering misgivings, she decided that she was merely proving her father right. Jacob had always professed that women were illogical.