Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 15

‘What on earth is the matter?’

Helen had been attempting to compose a letter of apology to Jason Hunter while Charlotte was out. The scuffed leather surface on the bureau was littered with crumpled scraps of paper, testament to the difficulty of the task she’d set herself.

But now Charlotte was back and looking very dejected. Pushing away pen and paper, Helen swivelled on her seat. Charlotte was plucking at her hat strings with vibrating fingers. Once free of her thick tresses, the bonnet was forcefully discarded on to the sofa. Charlotte sank down beside it, her red-rimmed eyes concealed by her palms.

‘What is it, dear?’ Helen immediately went to her. She crouched by the side of the chair with an anxious frown crinkling her ivory brow. Charlotte’s hands were gently eased from her face and Helen comforted them with her own. ‘What has happened? Is Philip not with you?’ Helen glanced at the door. Philip invariably came in for a short while when he brought Charlotte home from an outing. ‘Have you argued?’ It was a doubtfully tendered possibility. Charlotte and Philip usually seemed a very harmonious couple.

Charlotte raised her watery brown eyes to Helen’s face. ‘Philip won’t ever come here again. He won’t marry me now. Why would he when I have such a hateful brother?’ she gritted out through small pearly teeth. Charlotte again hid her freshly streaming eyes with her fingers.

Helen sank forward on to her knees as an inkling of what might be ailing her sister put a guilty sigh in her throat. So obsessed had she been with dwelling on her fraught encounter with Jason Hunter and Mr Drover that she had neglected to give any more thought to a worrying incident that had occurred before either of those gentleman had arrived.

Helen cast back her mind a few hours. Charlotte had been from the room, collecting her coat, when George had cruelly curtailed Philip’s attempt to make formal his suit. No doubt Philip had felt injured enough by George’s churlish rejection to tell Charlotte of it.

Helen remembered, too, with heavy heart, that George had not been content to leave it at that. Once their sister had quit the house with the Goodes, George had more doom to deliver on the subject of the courting couple. Or rather, he had anticipated that she would do his dirty work for him. His curt dictate echoed in her mind: I do not want Charlotte seeing him any more. Make that clear to her or I will make it clear to him. And, as you have just noticed, I shall not stand on ceremony when I do so.

‘Was Philip annoyed that George was short with him? He had every right to be …’

‘What did he say to Philip?’ Charlotte interrupted, scrubbing the heel of a hand across her eyes. ‘Tell me, please! I sensed something unpleasant had occurred while I was getting ready to go out. Philip is too agreeable to make a fuss, but I guessed something was wrong, even before George came over and was horrible to us in the park.’

‘You saw George whilst you were out?’

Charlotte nodded. ‘I’m sure George only turned up in Hyde Park because he guessed we had gone there. Why does he hate Philip? He has never taken the trouble to get to know him.’

Helen tightened her grip on Charlotte’s shivery hands. ‘I’m sure he does not hate him,’ she soothed. ‘It is just that our brother is …’ She struggled to find words that might mitigate George’s boorishness. ‘I know our brother has an unfortunate manner at times,’ she lamely concluded.

‘Unfortunate manner?’ Charlotte shrieked and stamped a foot to emphasise her outrage. ‘He is a swine! He deliberately humiliated Philip in front of his sister and me! The park was quite crowded too and a lot of people witnessed what went on. A horrible fellow started laughing at us.’ Charlotte’s voice wobbled as she recounted, ‘Poor Anne was so upset she started to cry, although she pretended she just had a speck in her eye.’

Helen’s wide eyes revealed her astonishment at what she’d heard. Usually George sought to keep his shameful behaviour out of public display. ‘What exactly did he do?’ she demanded to know.

‘We had stopped by the lake to watch the swans and George just appeared with one of his cronies. George got out of his carriage and stormed over to us. With no more ado he ordered me home. Philip was startled by his rudeness, but took it in good part, I thought. I’m sure he knew George was slighting him because he doesn’t deem him good enough for me.’ She paused to wipe a hand across her feverishly flushed cheeks. ‘Philip offered to immediately bring me back, but George stared at him as though he was dirt beneath his shoe. He snapped out that he would directly take me safely home himself.’ Charlotte pulled a scrap of linen from a pocket. She furiously applied it to her glistening dark eyes. ‘Philip was … he looked so mortified when George made me get out of the gig. That’s when I heard his friend laughing.’ She gurgled a sob, then wiped her dewy nose. ‘I tried to reassure Philip that I was disgusted too by George’s behaviour. I said I would be pleased to see him again later in the week. But he avoided my eye and said, in a strange voice, that he didn’t think that would be possible.’ Charlotte blinked away fresh tears. ‘He doesn’t want to see me again. It is finished between us, I know it is.’

Helen shot to her feet. ‘George brought you home? Where is he?’ she demanded and flew to the window to peer out into the street.

‘He is gone. The whole way home he wouldn’t speak to me, even when I shouted at him that he was overbearing. When we turned into the Square he cast on me one of his black looks.’ Charlotte pursed her lips mutinously. ‘He said he would never give his consent to a man of Goode’s standing and I might as well get used to it. That’s when I told him he was the vilest man alive and I would marry whomever I chose and he might as well get used to it. After that it was as much as he could do to help me down from the carriage. He was so rough with me I feared he might pull my arm from its socket. Before Betty had let me in he’d set off up the street.’

Helen observed Charlotte’s distress and her heart went out to her. It was difficult to comprehend why any decent person would deliberately make a spectacle of a gentleman as inoffensive as Philip Goode. But then George, she reluctantly admitted to herself, had not acted very decently in a long while. Despite knowing it, she still felt lurking within her a sibling’s sadness. A corrosive resentment of the contented, and a grasping wife, were destroying the personable brother who once had taught her how to ride her first pony and fish the streams in the Surrey countryside.

Helen retraced her steps to the sofa and sat down close to Charlotte. ‘From what you have said it seems George has made himself, rather than Philip, appear ridiculous. It is George who needs our pity,’ she added gravely. ‘Perhaps if he had made a successful marriage he might not be so sour at life.’ She enclosed her sister in a hug and planted a kiss on her luxuriant, auburn tangles. ‘We are the lucky ones, Charlotte. You and I both have known what bliss there is in being cherished by someone we love. Poor George! I think at times he knows what he misses and is bitterly jealous.’

Charlotte rested her head on Helen’s slender shoulder. ‘I wish Papa was here. He would have liked Philip. He would have given us his blessing … just as he did to you and Harry.’

‘Yes, he would. Philip is very like Harry. I expect that is why I took to him from the start.’ With a wistful smile she looked down at her young sister. ‘But our papa is not here. Neither is dearest Harry.’ She put Charlotte from her and said briskly, ‘So we must look after ourselves and not let our brother scare the fight out of us.’

‘I do love Philip, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know. And that is why, somehow or other, you must marry him,’ Helen answered softly. She looked off into the distance with a slight frown drawing close her ebony brows. ‘I expect Philip wants very much to see you again, but fears sparking another ugly scene with George. And who could blame him for that?’ She gave Charlotte an encouraging smile. ‘The best thing will be for me to go alone and pay the Goodes a visit. I shall let them know that they are most welcome to call on us at any time. If George gets temperamental over it … well, he shall have me to contend with.’

‘Beg pardon, Mrs Marlowe, but he is back again.’

Helen peered over her sister’s tousled head at Betty. Her maidservant was, once more that day, stationed in the doorway with an apologetic look on her face. Helen sensed her heart falter and then a burst of terrified exhilaration made her feel quite lightheaded. In a breathy rush she demanded, ‘Who is it, Betty?’

‘Oh, not the gentleman, ma’am,’ Betty said with distinct disappointment. ‘It’s Mr Drover. He won’t say what he wants, so I’ve left him on the step this time.’

Within a moment Helen was briskly walking to the front door. ‘My brother is still not here, Mr Drover,’ she announced without preamble. ‘And I am not expecting him to arrive any time soon. I’m very sorry, but I cannot help you.’

‘I’ve not come about him.’ The grocer shifted on the stone step, fingering the brim of the hat that he was banging in rhythm against his knees. ‘I’m sorry for acting hot-headed earlier … end of tether, you understand.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The other gentleman settled my account.’ His tone was level, but a sly glance slanted up at her before he again meekly studied his shoes. ‘I’ve fetched over that order you sent with my boy earlier in the week.’

‘Sir Jason Hunter has settled the bill …’ Helen whispered. It was not really a question at all. Since Jason had been rudely petitioned to pay for her groceries, she had wondered if he might indeed do so.

Helen suddenly became conscious that Betty was hovering behind her. The young woman’s gaping mouth and bulging eyes indicated her great interest in the proceedings. Before Helen could dismiss her entranced maid, Samuel Drover supplied both women with another piece of riveting information.

‘The gentleman left cash on your account, too, so you’re not to fret on this load.’ He gave a sideways nod at his cart. After a silent few seconds he politely queried, ‘Shall I start to bring it in?’

‘Please do.’ It was a firm instruction from Helen, issued after only a tiny hesitation.

Mr Drover lowered his head and humbly backed away a step or two before setting about his task.

Helen proudly elevated her chin. ‘Please set fires in the parlour and the bedchambers. Then when the provisions are checked we will plan what to prepare for dinner.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Betty agreed in a buoyant tone.

Charlotte’s bright words, issued from the parlour’s doorway, reassured Helen that her sister had observed, if not heard, what went on. ‘Heavens! Do you think that George is feeling so guilty over his foul behaviour this afternoon that he has paid the bill at last and sent us some food?’

Helen subdued the sour laugh that scratched at her throat and limited her response to a wry smile. She did not intend to lie to her sister over the source of their improved fortune. But omitting to mention who was their benefactor might be wise until she had a notion of how to present it all to Charlotte.

Besides, Charlotte now seemed too embroiled in her own tribulations to bother with mundane domesticity even if a tasty meal and a warm bedchamber were finally in the offing. Helen could tell that her sister was again lost in her own thoughts as she fiddled with her hat ribbons and sighed loudly. ‘Why do you not go and freshen yourself, Charlotte? Put a brush through your hair and wash your teary cheeks before we dine.’

Charlotte sucked in a rejuvenating breath. With a little nod she turned towards the stairs. Halfway up the flight she pivoted towards Helen with a plea that proved her thoughts were indeed fixed on her beloved. ‘Will you promise me that very soon you will go and see Philip? Please tell him that I am so sorry and that—’

‘Hush!’ Helen interrupted Charlotte, but she gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I have said I will go there and so I shall.’

In a moment Charlotte had skipped out of sight and Betty had bustled into view with the coal scuttle.

Helen quite expected to hear the sounds of Mr Drover whistling and Betty humming a tune. She felt heat flood her complexion as she imagined what occupied their minds as they happily went about their business. The grocer and her servant had come to the same conclusion about what prompted the gentleman’s intervention in her domestic affairs. It had improved their attitudes enormously to think that she was paying in kind for her keep. Helen didn’t for one moment blame either of them for suspecting such an arrangement existed. Had she not already challenged Jason Hunter to clarify what motivated his benevolence? She had received no proper answer from him and was still unsure what prompted him to be generous. But the thought of accepting his charity or his pity was anathema to her.

She could, of course, leave the food on the cart and the coal in the bunker. Charlotte and she could swallow their pride and scrape an existence on Rowan Walk instead of in Westlea House.

Helen felt tranquillity trickle through her as an inner battle ebbed. In her mind it was settled, and there was nothing new or daring about her plan. A host of women before her had resorted to a discreet liaison to keep themselves and their families clothed and fed. He seemed honest and generous and there was nothing about his person that revolted her. quite the reverse. As to her part, she was sure that she could adopt a brazen attitude and willingness. She glanced at her dowdy appearance and gave a wry smile. Perhaps a little artifice with a needle and a rouge pot might not go amiss either.

A little breath caught in her throat as she contemplated the decision she’d made. She might try to be rational and practical, but there was no denying Sir Jason was a powerful and exciting man. What if her proposition was rebuffed, or worse, mocked? Helen felt a fluttering in her abdomen as she imagined dealing with the humiliation of his rejection. The feeling strengthened as she imagined dealing with his agreement to her suggestion! She felt heat seep into her complexion at the haunting memory of making love with Harry. Would she want to again have the sensation of a man’s hot skin welded to hers when, perhaps, he might not even like her very much? She quickly concentrated on Jason’s kindness to her, the intensity of his grey gaze when he looked at her. He liked her at the very least, she was sure of it!

‘It looks as though Bridgeman has forgiven George for not selling him Westlea House.’

Mark Hunter’s cynical observation drew his brother’s interest. Jason dropped the opera glasses from his eyes and turned to look to his left.

Colin Bridgeman and George Kingston were indeed looking very cosy together in one of the boxes. Bridgeman had his head tipped back and was guffawing. Of Iris Kingston there was no sign, although Jason had seen George and his wife arrive together. Jason’s coach had drawn up outside the opera house at the same time as had George’s. The gentlemen had coolly acknowledged one another with a nod. The ladies had exchanged disdainful summarising stares. Diana’s audible aside that a far superior harlot would be needed to put her in her place had made Jason inwardly smile as they proceeded to the stairs in the King’s Theatre.

The house had been scintillating with light and laughter as Jason and Diana took their seats in one of the green boxes just before the performance started.

Now the curtain had fallen on the first act and a buzz of conversation was again growing louder in the auditorium. The performance had been pleasing, but now the main entertainment had begun as people flitted from place to place to pose with friends and gossip over the latest on dits. Mark Hunter had moments ago ambled in to speak to his brother, leaving behind in his own box his current amour. The abandoned actress was with her gallants, yet her soulful eyes were constantly straying to Mark despite the fact that he appeared oblivious to her attention.

Soon after Mark had arrived in Jason’s box, Diana had left it. Jason had made no objection when one of his mistress’s young admirers had entered his domain. The fresh-faced boy had politely asked if he might escort Mrs Tucker to Lord Frobisher’s box where her friend Mrs Bertram was holding court.

The appearance of the eager young buck hovering behind him had started Jason reminiscing on his own youth. For the past few minutes he had been idly training his glasses on the pit to watch the boisterous gentlemen congregating there. Fifteen or more years ago it would have been he and his friends—George Kingston included—laughing and joking whilst fixing a lascivious eye on the elegant females up in the boxes. It had been a game amongst young bloods then, as he imagined it was now, to compete for a lady’s signal. Wagers had regularly been laid on who would be first to be beckoned by a society beauty to indulge in a little flirtation … perhaps more than that before the night was out.

Jason had been following, with some lazy interest, the interaction between Michael Langham and Lady Corbin. The ageing countess had finally given up on subtlety. Her bosom was spilling from her gown as she hung over the edge of her box, frantically jiggling her fan at the object of her desire.

But now Jason lounged back in his chair, bored with the mating rituals of the beau monde. His eyes narrowed on the two gentlemen to one side of him, still deep in conversation.

‘I’d not be surprised if George were negotiating some sort of deal with Bridgeman,’ Mark suggested with a quirk of a dark eyebrow. ‘Can’t be selling him his wife, though.’ He gave a coarse chuckle. ‘I hear Bridgeman’s had Iris for free.’

‘As have above half the gentlemen here tonight,’ Jason murmured on extending his muscular legs comfortably in front of him.

‘I saw those two together in Hyde Park yesterday. Kingston made quite a spectacle of his youngest sister, and the people she was with, much to Bridgeman’s amusement.’

Jason slowly drew himself up in his chair again and rested his elbows on his knees. He turned his face to Mark and gave him his full attention. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

Mark shrugged. ‘At a guess I’d say George was casting aspersions on the worth of the young gentleman taking his sister for a drive. I don’t know why, he seemed mannerly, and there was another lady present so the niceties seemed to be in order.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I was ready to intervene when I eventually recognised the poor fellow’s identity, but it would have simply prolonged the hubbub. We may not be close, but there is a family connection. Goode looked ready to explode with embarrassment and his sister, Anne seemed to be crying. Kingston can be damned insensitive.’

Jason stared at his linked fingers, then slanted a steady gaze at his brother. ‘Philip Goode was taking Charlotte Kingston for a drive?’

Mark gave a nod. ‘For the last time, I’d say, judging by Kingston’s reaction. If the lad had ideas above his station where George’s sister was concerned, I’d say he’s been knocked severely back into place.’

‘Which means that Kingston must have another candidate in mind or he wouldn’t stir himself to bother,’ Jason muttered. He took a thoughtful look at George Kingston’s box.

Mark read his brother’s mind. ‘I’ve heard that Bridgeman is in the market for a wife.’

At that point Diana swept into Jason’s box in a haze of cream muslin and gardenias. She pouted her thanks at her ardent gallant for safely returning her whilst keeping an eye on Jason to detect a reaction. The fact that there was none, and Jason continued conversing in a low voice with his brother, made spots of colour burn in her cheeks. She settled herself in her chair with much rustling and sighing.

The curtain began to open on the second act and Mark took his leave to return to his own seat.

Jason looked at Diana; she rewarded his indolent attention with an extremely seductive smile.

‘Mrs Bertram and I were just saying that the soprano sounds shrill tonight.’

‘Do you want to go?’ Jason suggested bluntly.

Diana’s lashes lowered to screen a sudden brightness in her blue eyes. ‘I’m not bothered if we do leave. I know you’ll always find us something pleasing to do. Are you bored? Have you something nice in mind?’ She whispered huskily.

Jason straightened his spine against the chair-back, then lithely gained his feet. Courteously he extended a hand to Diana. ‘Nothing in particular,’ he said lazily, his eyes on the dim outline of George Kingston’s box. ‘But I’ve seen enough….’