The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (4 page)

After dinner, Helena and Arthur departed for Folkestone. The night was warm and the coach comfortably sprung, and they arrived in due time. Entering the spacious assembly rooms, Helena looked about for her friend Mrs. Honeysett, and seeing her across the room, made her way to her side.

“Helena, my dear!” cried Mrs. Honeysett, giving her a warm hug. “It has been far too long. You must come stay some nights with me; Mr. Honeysett has gone to London on business, and I miss him dreadfully. I could use your company.”

“That sounds delightful,” responded Helena. “Perhaps when the first hay cutting comes in I can join you.”

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Honeysett turned to Arthur, who was standing by Helena’s side, looking a bit nervous. “You have brought your brother! How charming it is to see you, Sir Arthur.”

Arthur bowed over Mrs. Honeysett’s hand a bit awkwardly, while she beamed at him. A year younger than Helena, Damaris Lindon, the daughter of a Viscount, had startled her parents by insisting on marrying Mr. George Honeysett, a man some years older than her. He had great wealth and impeccable antecedents, but was untitled and considered by most to be a rather sober gentleman.

His wife, in contrast, was lighthearted and sunny, always drawing the people around her into conversation, her vibrant wit sparking conversation wherever she went. Her dark ringlets, elegant figure, and fine blue eyes matched her pleasing disposition. Despite the difference in their temperaments, she and Helena had become fast friends immediately upon meeting; they found in each other a similarity in taste and humor that kept them endlessly amused in each other’s company.

“May I have the first dance, Mrs. Honeysett?” Arthur inquired politely.

“How sweet of you! Of course you may. I can think of no one I would prefer to dance with,” replied Damaris with a warm smile. “But first, give me a moment with your sister.”

Arthur bowed politely and moved away, and Helena turned to Damaris, shaking her head.

“I fear my little brother has fallen for your charms. He seems to be quite foolish over you.”

“It is ridiculous, is it not?” said Damaris. “I promise not to break his heart, however. He will soon find a younger woman—and then perhaps my heart will be broken!”

“Since I know how fond you are of Mr. Honeysett, I feel no pity for you,” observed Helena.

“Dear George,” sighed Damaris. “How I miss his—company.” She shot Helena a laughing look.

“You are shameless,” laughed Helena.

“Only to you—and to George—because only the two of you understand me,” said Damaris. “If the world knew what a contented wife I am, why I would never be gossiped about again. And how could I tolerate that?”

“I fear that your nose will soon be put of joint, for the county will have a new source of gossip soon,” warned Helena. “The scandalous earl has come to visit.”

“So I have heard!” replied Damaris, clasping her hands together. “We are all in a tizzy and can scarcely wait for our first sight of him!”

Helena looked at her fondly. “You are ridiculous. But I will tell you—and only you—that I have already seen him.”

“You have stolen a march on us all—I quite hate you.” Damaris moved closer and lowered her voice
conspiratorially
. “What is he like? Is he dissipated beyond measure? Perhaps with a limp, or a patch over one eye? Or, even better, a dueling scar on his cheek?”

“Do they indeed say all that?” asked Helena, diverted.

“Oh, my dear, you are far too isolated at Keighley Manor. I have heard that he has a peg leg, that he returned with a low-born mistress from the Americas, and that the smugglers that plague us of late are his creatures! You have no idea of the iniquities laid at the poor man’s door! So you must enlighten me—I am nigh on hysterical with curiosity.”

“It would serve you right if I refused to tell you,” teased Helena.

“If you do not, I will—I will engage myself to ensnare Arthur!” threated Damaris melodramatically.

“Well, I cannot have that, so I suppose I must tell you,” said Helena in mock alarm. She looked about, and then put her head close to Damaris’. “He rode to Keighley Manor this afternoon and came to the stables to find me.”

“What does he look like?” demanded Damaris.

“Tall, not heavily built, but strong, with blonde hair, and a very pleasing countenance,” said Helena fairly. “He looked much as he did before he left England, but some years older.”

“No scar?” asked Damaris, disappointed.

“No scar, no patch, no limp—and no mistress, at least none in sight.”

“What a pity,” sighed Damaris. “If he is a mere mortal gentleman, then we shall have nothing to discuss hereabouts. Why did he seek you out?”

“I believe he is here because I wrote to his sister, complaining of the smugglers’ use of Wroxton lands. I have no doubt he meant to discuss the matter with me.”

“Why did he not do so?”

Helena glanced around and lowered her voice further. “I was dressed to help Macklin in the stables and he thought I was a servant girl,” she murmured.

“No!” Damaris was fascinated. “I presume you disabused him of this notion.”

“I was about to,” said Helena slowly. “But then he kissed me.”

“What?” squealed Damaris.

Several people in their vicinity turned to look at them, and Helena stepped away from her friend, attempting to appear unconcerned. Damaris grabbed her arm and pulled her back against the wall.

“You cannot leave it at that,” she said. “What did you do?”

“I—I pretended I was a serving girl,” revealed Helena. There was a slight pause. “He gave me a guinea.”

Damaris’ shoulders shook with laughter. “And you tell me that I am shameless!”

“I have no idea what I shall do when I meet him properly,” confessed Helena.

“A touch of hauteur would appropriate, and your very best chilly stare. Don’t deny that you have one, for I have seen you terrify any number of men with it,” said Damaris. “You certainly look nothing like a serving girl now, so he may not recognize you.”

“Perhaps,” responded Helena doubtfully.

The musicians chose that moment to strike up their instruments, and Arthur appeared, eagerly claiming Damaris’ hand. As the two of them moved off to join the dance, she cast a laughing glance over her shoulder at Helena.

As the sister of a baronet, Helena was slightly above many of those present in class, which, along with the faint aura of scandal that clung to her, and her unmarried status at the age of twenty-five, left many gentlemen uncertain about approaching her. A few gentlemen asked her to tread a measure, but she was not in great demand on the dance floor. Thus, when the Earl of Wroxton and Mr. Stephen Delaney arrived, Helena was standing by the wall, chatting with Mrs. Cuthbert, a kindly but voluble neighbor of the Honeysetts.

“Gracious,” she said, looking up. “That must be Wroxton. It’s been many years since I’ve seen him, but he has a great resemblance to Lady Rowena—or the Countess of Brayleigh, I should say.” Helena looked towards the door as Mrs. Cuthbert spoke.

The previous dance had just ended, and the room suddenly grew quiet as every eye turned towards the door. Immediately a babble of talking began, and the word ‘Wroxton’ could be heard passing from person to person. Helena was relieved when the musicians struck up the next tune, for it seemed that her neighbors could not be making a good impression on the earl. She eyed his lordship critically. No fault could be found with his appearance; his evening clothes were impeccable, and his expression was open and friendly. It was a pity, she thought, that he should be so irresponsible, when so many depended upon him.

Stephen paused by the door, somewhat taken aback. “Blast it, Mal, does this have to happen everywhere you go?’

Malcolm shrugged easily. “I’ve grown used to it. Recall also that I grew up here. These people have a particular interest in me.”

“I’d say they do,” agreed Mr. Delaney. He glanced around the room and grimaced briefly. “Now I remember why I seldom visit the country.”

“Don’t be a snob, Del, it’s not so bad,” said Malcolm cheerfully. “We’ve plenty of bumpkins in London as well, and there’s no malice in these people.”

“Perhaps no malice, but I’ve no doubt there are a bevy of mothers here who would like to introduce you to their daughters,” teased his friend.

“To be sure. But I won’t be here long enough for any of them to catch me in the parson’s mousetrap. I’ll just take a look around the estates, make sure the smugglers are driven away, placate Miss Keighley, and we’ll be back in London in no time. Which is just as well, for the mothers will have an interest in you as well.”

Mr. Delaney shuddered at the thought, and Malcolm laughed. “I will do my best to make the acquaintance of the redoubtable Miss Keighley, and with any luck will be able to charm her out of her sulks. Then we’ll dance a bit, and you can repair to the card room. It will not be a fashionable evening, perhaps, but you should be able to tolerate it.”

Mr. Delaney gave him a speaking look, but had no response, as the master of ceremonies bustled up to them, beaming. It gave him a great deal of pleasure to receive such illustrious visitors, and so he informed them.

“Will you gentlemen be dancing tonight?” he asked. “I can present you to some delightful young ladies.”

Mr. Delaney blanched, but Malcolm nodded. “To be sure, we mean to dance. I was told Miss Keighley would be here tonight; I would very much like to make her acquaintance.”

“Ah yes, Miss Keighley is indeed here, with her brother. It is always a pleasure when she graces our assemblies. No doubt you will wish to engage her for a dance.”

“No doubt,” said Malcolm dryly. He allowed himself to be led across the room, Mr. Delaney following in his wake. The crowd parted before them as if by magic, some people openly staring at the earl as he passed by. He took it in good part, keeping a smile on his face.

The master of ceremonies swept up to Helena where she stood with Damaris, who had only recently been released by her last partner, an elderly gentleman who had been much inclined to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Damaris was regaling Helena with some of his words, and the women presented a pleasing picture, their heads close together as they laughed. Malcolm viewed them with a sense of complacency; he was reasonably sure of his ability to charm the ladies. Then, as he looked more closely, he realized the taller of the two, the one with the rich auburn hair and milky white skin, seemed familiar. He stiffened, and grabbed Stephen’s arm.

“Del, that’s the serving maid,” he said under his breath.

“Where?” demanded Stephen, looking about.

“In front of you, dressed to the nines. The redhead.”

Stephen looked confused. “Why would a serving wench be attending an assembly?” he asked plaintively.

“Clearly, Miss Keighley will be a bit of a handful,” said Malcolm.

Malcolm had no opportunity to say anything more to Stephen, as the master of ceremonies stopped in front of Helena and Damaris, greeting them politely, before turning to indicate the gentlemen he accompanied. “Miss Keighley, may I present the Earl of Wroxton?” he said. “He is most desirous of making your acquaintance.”

Helena, startled, turned towards Malcolm, her dark eyes still twinkling with merriment. She looked directly into his lordship’s face, and saw with a sinking sensation that he clearly recognized her. There was a brief silence.

“I am delighted to meet you, my lord,” she said, her cultured voice betraying no hint of a rustic accent. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

Malcolm bowed over her hand punctiliously, and then straightened and looked her full in the face. “I am likewise delighted. But surely we have met before?”

“Certainly, many times when we were much younger,” said Helena lightly. “I was a friend of your sister’s—I am afraid that you did not have much interest in me.”

“How remiss of me,” Malcolm replied politely. “Surely everyone must have an interest in Miss Keighley. I have heard much about you.”

Helena flushed, and Damaris, who had been eyeing them curiously, stepped into the breach. “How pleasant of you to visit us here in the wilds of Kent,” she said. “I have no doubt you will be dreadfully bored, as we have none of the amusements of London.”

Helena gathered her composure. “My friend, Mrs. Honeysett,” she murmured. Malcolm smiled down at the buxom matron, well pleased to meet what he judged was a kindred spirit. In turn, he presented Mr. Delaney to the ladies, and Helena took the moment to regain her composure. When Malcolm looked at her again, her eyes were clear of emotion, and she held his gaze calmly.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Keighley?” Malcolm asked. His voice brooked no refusal, and, while Helena pondered it briefly, she realized it would not be fair to lure him to the assembly and then refuse to cross swords with him.

“Thank you, I would be glad to,” she said coolly, and placed her hand in his. His fingers closed over hers, and he led her towards the dance floor.

“At least you play fair,” he observed.

Helena glanced up at him. “My lord?”

“Don’t be disingenuous; it doesn’t suit you. I suppose I should feel lucky that you did not continue your little charade, but instead have deigned to dance with me.”

“I am not being disingenuous,” snapped Helena. “Although I rather wish I was at this point.”

“Did you truly think I would not recognize you?”

“I scarcely know what I thought. Do you kiss every serving girl you meet?”

“Do you invariably pretend to be a serving girl?” responded Malcolm.

“Of course I do not. I scarce had a moment to draw a breath before you were—you were upon me,” said Helena.

“You might have said something to stop me.”

“You might not have taken such liberties.”

The pair glared at each other for a moment, and then it dawned on Malcolm that they had reached the set they intended to join. Schooling his features, he led Helena to their places. The dance began, and, as the ranking couple, Malcolm and Helena led. Despite his simmering annoyance, he was forced to admire the grace with which she moved, while she had privately to allow that he cut a dashing figure.

When they reached the bottom of the set, they stood for some moments, Helena staring fixedly at a point on the wall above Malcolm’s shoulder, and Malcolm feigning a great interest in the actions of the couple currently dancing. The silence grew more fraught, and Helena eventually succumbed.

“It will not do for us to appear to be uncivil to each other in front of so many of our neighbors,” she said.

Malcolm turned his head to look at her. “I suppose not,” he agreed reluctantly.

“I imagine we can find it possible to make some unexceptional conversation,” said Helena.

“Do begin, please,” said Malcolm pleasantly.

Helena searched her mind for something to say that did not reflect on their previous meeting or his shameful neglect of his estates. “Did you enjoy your trip from London to Kent?” she finally asked.

“The weather was pleasant and the roads were dry. I did indeed enjoy it.”

“I am happy for it.”

There was a pause, and Helena raised her eyebrows at Malcolm. “Is it my turn?” he asked. “Ah, I see that it is. What lovely rooms these are, and so finely proportioned.”

“I believe they are much admired, though I’m told those in Dover are finer,” replied Helena.

There was another pause. “Really, Lord Wroxton, is it that difficult to talk to me?” asked Helena abruptly. “I rather thought you came here for that purpose.”

“I thought I did as well,” said Malcolm. “However, I did not expect to find I had encountered you earlier in the day, and that you had deceived me.”

“I deceived you?” Helena felt herself flushing with annoyance. “You--you attacked me without a moment’s opportunity to explain!”

“On the contrary, you denied that—that you—were about. You purposely misled me, for what purpose I can only imagine. Perhaps you wished me to kiss you.”

Helena gasped. “As though I would wish for such a thing!”

“You thought to entrap me somehow,” persisted Malcolm, not sure why he was pursuing this line of conversation. “I had no idea you were such a hoyden.”

“I am not a hoyden!” Helena hissed fiercely, glancing at the pair standing next to them. “’Twas you who behaved improperly. As though I should have expected anything less from the Wicked Earl!”

Malcolm’s lips twitched involuntarily. “The what?”

Helena blinked. “The Wicked Earl,” she repeated.

“Is that what they call me?” asked Malcolm, diverted.

“Certainly,” Helena assured him. “We talk of little else hereabouts.”

“You do?”

“I do not,” Helena hastened to assure him. “I find the topic tedious. But surely you can understand why so many of my neighbors have an interest in you.”

“I understand that many uninformed individuals find my story romantic,” allowed Malcolm. He regarded her closely. “Why do you find it tedious?”

“Truly, I have no idea how you could have done something so stupid,” said Helena. “Gambling away a family heirloom, feuding with another gentleman, and then becoming accidentally involved in a murder plot. It hardly seems something an intelligent person would do.”

“Think you so?” retorted Malcolm, stung. “Then perhaps I should ask you about your own situation; tell me how did your intelligence aid you when you were found in a compromising situation?”

Helena turned pink. “How dare you say such a thing! I was sorely deceived.”

“As was I. I fail to see why your situation is more worthy of sympathy than mine.”

“I was not drunk in a gambling hell!”

“No, you were kissing Denby in an anteroom,” said Malcolm bluntly.

“I was doing no such thing!”

“No?”

“No.”

Malcolm glared at her and she met his furious gaze with her own, her complexion heightened with annoyance. He could not help admiring the forthright way she met his eyes, and the challenge in her own. He realized he had gone too far, and that Miss Keighley was hurt and embarrassed. Why, he wondered, had he allowed her to provoke him so? It had been many years since a woman had managed to rouse him to anger.

“Forgive me,” he said abruptly. “It was wrong of me to speak to you in that manner.”

“It was unforgiveable.”

“You did call me stupid,” Malcolm observed.

“The facts of your case are well known,” said Helena flatly. “For you to mention my circumstances, which you do not understand, was ungentlemanly of you.”

“It was indeed. I can only plead my annoyance at being constantly gossiped about, although it doesn’t excuse my lapse.”

“No, it does not.” Helena’s voice was icy.

Their turn had come again, and they spent the rest of the dance in a grim silence. Despite Malcolm’s attempts to cajole a remark out of her, Helena refused to speak to him, and when the dance wound its way to a close, she looked up at him, clearly still furious.

He took her arm in his, and she reluctantly allowed him to escort her to a chair.

“Come, Miss Keighley, you must at least pretend to forgive me, for I have come here at your behest to assist you. If you do not speak to me, you cannot tell me what I need to know about the smugglers.”

“If you wait on me tomorrow—at my home, not in my stables—I will speak to you about the smugglers,” she said angrily. “And only about the smugglers.”

“I will be there,” he promised. “Perhaps I can convince you I am neither unintelligent nor ungentlemanly.”

She shook her head. “Please, do not make the effort. It is not as though we will ever spend much time together; your opinion of me can hardly matter, and I’m sure you don’t give a fig for my opinion of you.”

Malcolm looked down at her solemn face, and mentally kicked himself for insulting her. It was a bad way to begin, insulting the sister of the local baronet, when he had meant to show the county he could be responsible. Her poor opinion of him rankled, though he had no idea why.

“I will be there,” he assured her. “Perhaps we can put today behind us and begin again.”

“Perhaps,” she answered, but her tone was forbidding.

As Malcolm bowed solemnly over her hand, Arthur approached them, his face alight with curiosity.

“You looked lovely dancing, Helena,” he said.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. She turned to Malcolm. “Lord Wroxton, my brother, Sir Arthur Keighley.”

“How do you do?” An easy smile came to Malcolm’s face as he shook Arthur’s hand. “We are neighbors—perhaps you would be willing to ride out with me and show me the countryside some time soon.”

“I would be delighted.” Arthur glanced at his sister. “Though Helena has been managing the estate for some years; she should come with us.”

“No, there is no need for that,” said Helena hastily. “You will soon be taking care of your own land; you should accompany Lord Wroxton.”

Arthur beamed, and the two men fell into a comfortable conversation about horses. Helena stood by for a moment, inwardly fuming, and was relieved when her partner for the next dance claimed her. She looked back over her shoulder to see Malcolm laugh and clap her brother on the shoulder, and her annoyance with him only grew.

Malcolm stayed in the ballroom for an hour, leading out Damaris and several other ladies, and Mr. Delaney manfully did his duty, dancing with both Helena and Damaris. Eventually the two men repaired to the card room, where they were found by the other gentlemen to be very pleasant, and not at all high in the instep. By the end of the evening, the general opinion of the Wicked Earl was that he was a pleasant surprise, and it was a great deal too bad that such iniquities had been visited upon him in the past.

After the fifth person had commented to Helena how delightful Lord Wroxton appeared to be, she discovered she had a headache, and, deciding it was time to go home, looked for Arthur. He was not to be found, however, and she realized he was very likely in the card room with the earl. She contemplated pursuing him there, but she would then encounter his lordship again, an eventuality which she fervently wished to avoid.

“Whatever are you thinking, dear? It is rare for you to be Friday-faced,” said Damaris, coming up beside her. “Is the evening not to your liking?”

“I have a headache, I’m afraid.”

“A headache? Or an aversion to the Wicked Earl?”

“Both,” said Helena with a laugh, glad her friend understood her so well. “A headache caused by my aversion to Wroxton.”

“What a pity that you do not care for him. He’s quite handsome, and he dances very well.”

“Damaris, he not only kissed me this afternoon, he insulted me on the dance floor as well,” protested Helena. “You cannot expect me to like him.”

“He insulted you?” asked Damaris. “He was perfectly charming to me.”

“He—he mentioned Denby.”

“Ah.” Damaris considered her thoughtfully. “That was rude indeed.”

“It was,” agreed Helena.

“Did he do this for no reason at all? He simply began to speak of Denby?”

Helena bit her lip. “I may have implied his troubles were his own fault.”

“Helena, you did not! The poor man has been exiled from his home and family for more than a decade!””

“You know my wretched tongue runs away with me when I am angry,” said Helena. “Besides, he would not have been exiled had he only been a bit more circumspect. He was a wild youth and is doubtless not much improved.”

“How severe you are. I suppose you told him that.”

“Are you laughing at me?” asked Helena.

“You seem very angry, and I am not sure why,” replied Damaris. She waved her hands as Helena opened her mouth. “I allow it was very wrong of him to kiss you, but he did not know who you were. It seems as though you might forgive him that.”

“I will not be forgiving Lord Wroxton his impertinence,” said Helena firmly. “Really, Damaris, you are like all the others here, thinking him a model of perfection.”