Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 16

It had been some months since Helen had set foot in this house, but she saw straight away that the broken hallway chair was still propped against the wall. An air of faded elegance imbued the vestibule of the Goodes’ residence much as it did the interior of Westlea House. Walters, the family’s old retainer, closed the front door behind Helen before turning to give her a stump-toothed smile.

‘Miss Anne will be pleased to see you, Mrs Marlowe.’

‘I … actually, is Mr Philip Goode at home?’ Helen asked. ‘It would be nice to see him too whilst I am here.’

‘He is at home, Mrs Marlowe but he has an important gentleman with him at present.’ The information was imparted with a hint of confidentiality and a twinkle in the eye. Walters was plainly impressed by the fellow’s identity if not about to reveal it.

‘Helen! It is good to see you. Is Charlotte not with you?’

Helen twisted about to see Anne Goode flitting down the stairs. ‘Charlotte is indisposed … a slight headache, but nothing to worry about,’ Helen quickly added as Anne showed concern. ‘Perhaps I ought come back another time as you have company.’

‘No, please stay!’ Anne urged. ‘Come to the drawing room. Philip will like to see you.’ She linked arms with Helen. ‘I had just slipped away from there for a second to change into my best shawl when I thought I recognised your voice.’ Anne gave an absent stroke to the lustrous silk swathing arms that were lightly freckled. ‘I think our distinguished visitor is only planning to stay a short time. Do come and say hello for it might delay him. I’ll wager he is too mannerly to take his leave soon after someone new is introduced.’ Anne gave a little giggle. ‘It is hard to credit that we are related to such a grand family. In fact, it is so long since Goodes socialised with Hunters that I had quite forgot our connection.’

‘Hunters?’ Helen’s tone held sharp enquiry.

Helen abruptly halted and Anne was jerked about to face her, for their arms were still entwined as they took a promenade along the hallway. Being so close Anne spontaneously hugged Helen in excitement.

‘Sir Jason Hunter is visiting us. We are distant cousins, you know,’ she proudly informed her.

A startled tenseness shaped Helen’s features on discovering the identity of the eminent guest.

‘Do you know the Hunters?’ Anne asked on a frown.

Helen managed to execute a jerky nod. ‘Sir Jason and my brother, George, were friends when younger. When we lived in Surrey our house was quite close to Thorne Park.’ The explanation was brief and abstracted—already Helen’s mind was attending to the consequences of what she’d heard.

She had promised Charlotte that she would relay a message to Philip today, but she needed an opportunity to be alone with him. With Jason Hunter present there would be even less chance to engineer a private conversation and discover if her sister was to have her heart broken.

But there were other issues besides Charlotte’s happiness rotating dizzily in her mind. When she had left Westlea House this afternoon her first task had been to take to the post a letter for Jason Hunter. In it she conveyed her regrets at Mr Drover’s conduct, but its proper purpose was to ask him to again visit her. She was reasonably confident that her phrasing and his sophistication would ensure he understood her objective.

Infuriatingly, the two gentlemen with whom she had pressing business were in the immediate vicinity, yet nothing would be gained by seeing either of them now.

It seemed an odd coincidence that Jason Hunter should have recently renewed his acquaintance with her and also with distant cousins he had not seen in an age. Helen felt inclined to ponder if it was connected to the association between Charlotte and Philip.

Charlotte had defiantly told their brother that she would marry Philip despite his objections. George did not like to be thwarted and could bear ferocious grudges. The roses, put in Helen’s cheeks by her brisk walk, faded away. Her reasoning veered between possibility and probability. Had George stooped to enrol Jason’s help in ensuring Philip stayed away? There was no love lost between her brother and Jason Hunter, but she had bitter proof that they could successfully deal together in business.

‘Are you well, Helen? You look very pale,’ Anne said anxiously.

Helen reassured her friend with a smile.

‘Will you come to the drawing room and join us? You need not feel overawed by Sir Jason,’ Anne advised helpfully. ‘Indeed, he is terrifyingly distinguished and handsome.’ A little shiver of delight accompanied that observation. ‘But he is not at all uppity.’ Anne inclined her head to whisper, ‘I think I have a crush on him already and he has not been here above half an hour. I know his brother Mark is handsome, too. I’ve heard that Emily Beaumont has quite a hankering for him.’ She sighed. ‘It is a shame that Mama is gone out. She will be distraught to have missed him.’

Gently Helen disengaged her arm from her friend’s. ‘I shall not stay, Anne.’ The idea that she might manage to politely converse with Jason in company, knowing that her explicit summons was even now on its way to his door, was enough to make her complexion flood with blood.

Anne skimmed the back of her hand over Helen’s cheek. ‘Heavens! First you seemed too pale now you look very flushed. I hope that you and Charlotte have not taken a chill.’

‘I shall be on my way, Anne. I only called in as I was passing this way to go to the library.’ It was a little fib that she could make truth by entering that establishment on her way home. ‘Charlotte is on her own, so it would perhaps be best that I do not tarry.’

Once back in mellow sunshine Helen descended the stone steps and turned in the direction of home. As she passed the phaeton at the kerb she hesitated. Belatedly she recognised it and chided herself for having overlooked it when she arrived. Twice recently this very vehicle had been idle outside Westlea House. She glanced at the young groom holding the reins of the fine chestnut horses as she walked swiftly on.

Jason accepted more tea from Walters and wandered to the window with it. He glanced down at the street scene, half-aware that Anne had returned and was bestowing on him another coquettish smile. His mouth tilted in response as his cup travelled upwards. Short of its target the vessel hovered, then was replaced softly on its saucer. He turned fully to gaze through the glass at the girlish figure skipping quickly down the stone steps. The young woman lingered by his phaeton, long enough for him to clearly identify her, before hurrying away.

In Anne’s absence he’d had an enlightening conversation with her brother. By calling on them today he’d finally broken the ice that had been set half a century ago by their warring kin. He’d remained an acceptable amount of time. Now he was ready to take his leave.

* * *

Helen had been walking quickly, her face lowered against gusts that whipped her hair into her eyes. She had slowed her pace to pick away the irritating tendrils and clear her vision. Now, as she raised her head, she glimpsed him just in time to compose herself.

The phaeton had drawn to the kerb a little way in front of her and Jason was leaning against the shiny coachwork, watching her approach.

Helen felt her stomach somersault at the sight of him. There was no doubt that Anne was correct: Jason Hunter, despite his casual stance and his dark fringe blown awry by the breeze, was terrifyingly attractive.

She remembered that she had planned on looking sophisticatedly groomed the next time they met. She knew the rudiments of applying cosmetics and could make an adequate job of tinting her lips and complexion. She had also been rather pleased with the way her thick tresses had been teased into a stylish coiffure when she had practised with the tongs earlier in the week.

With a wry inner smile Helen acknowledged that today she looked simply bedraggled, whereas he looked ruggedly windswept. But her steps didn’t falter as she brushed the black tangles from her white skin and neared him.

He was watching her, a slant to his mouth, and she knew he was amused to see how she would react to this unexpected meeting; whether she would stop and talk or simply nod and walk on by. But then he had not yet received her schematic note and had no idea that, in fact, a meeting between them was exactly what she wanted. It was merely the time and place that were wrong.

Her chin tilted and she boldly traversed the pavement to stand before him. ‘Good day to you, Sir Jason. How are you?’

Jason inclined his head. ‘I’m very well, thank you. And how are you, Mrs Marlowe?’

‘I’m well, too, sir, thank you.’

‘And the weather seems quite fine for this time of the year,’ he added smoothly. Slate-grey eyes skimmed the perfect oval of her face as she attempted to gather the loose strands clinging to her complexion. ‘Though it is perhaps a little too windy.’ It was a murmured observation.

Helen felt her face burn where his darkly humorous gaze lingered.

‘Why did you not stay longer at the Goodes?’

‘Anne mentioned to you that I had called?’

‘No. I saw you leaving from the drawing-room window.’

‘Oh …'Helen caught her lower lip in small perfect teeth. She settled on being honest. ‘I … I wanted to speak privately to Philip about something, but it didn’t seem that I had chosen an appropriate time.’

‘I thought perhaps Anne mentioned my name and you sped away to avoid seeing me.’

‘Yes, she did. But, no, I didn’t … run away, that is. Actually, I have wanted to see you and have today sent you a letter.’ Helen abruptly pressed her lips together. She had not meant to so boldly disclose that fact. But he had guessed correctly her evasive action, and it had nettled her into rashness. She strove to limit the damage. ‘I … I wrote to you because there is something on my mind … but please don’t ask me to explain now,’ she quickly besought as his eyes became narrow with interest.

‘Perhaps I can guess what it is,’ he softly said. ‘You want to know what ulterior motive prompted me to settle your grocery bill. Is that it?’

He was not quite correct, but his thoughts were certainly travelling in the right direction. She backed away a step, said in a strangled tone, ‘It is not a good time or place to talk, sir.’ She glanced about, noticing that people passing by were sliding inquisitive looks at them. No doubt they were wondering why an elegant gentleman, in possession of an expensive equipage, would be in tense conversation at the side of the road with an unstylish young woman. As Helen noticed two plump matrons give her a scandalised stare, then put their heads together, a shocked breath filled her lungs. Surely nobody thought her to be soliciting! The thought that next jolted into her mind crushed her indignation and her pride. Procuring this man’s protection was exactly her intention; she had simply hoped to proposition him out of sight of prying eyes.

Jason’s head tilted so he might study her lowered face. ‘If you have taken the trouble to write to me about your concerns, they are obviously important.’ He held out an arm to her. ‘Come, if you will allow me take you home, we can talk there—’

‘No …’ Helen swiftly interrupted, her eyes glancing on his. ‘Charlotte is at home today and I would rather not …’

‘I understand. I’m sure I can find a place en route to Westlea House that is neither too secluded nor too public. A drive through the park is sure to turn up a quiet spot. We can stop there and look at the view without attracting attention.’

Helen needed little persuasion to agree. As soon as he returned home he would have her note … and her measure. It would be best to surge ahead with what she’d started. If she had misjudged his interest in her, and her forwardness irritated rather than pleased him, she might never see him again. She knew that he found Diana Tucker desirable and, Heaven only knew, she was as far removed in face and figure from her as a woman could be. As Helen took his arm to be courteously assisted aboard his phaeton, she drove down any regrets at having despatched the letter at all. The deed was done, and done after much inner debate that had kept her restless throughout last night.

She had been expecting that, once on the move, he would immediately try to prise some snippet from her. But she was wrong. It was several minutes later that Helen abruptly broke the silence. She had become far too conscious of a muscular thigh encased in fawn fabric close to her hip. Feeling flustered by his proximity, she slid a few inches away on the seat before angling to face him. Briskly she marshalled her courage and her thoughts. She might just as well open proceedings and contrive to lead their conversation towards revealing herself … as a brazen hussy. Quickly she blurted, ‘I know that you are related to the Goodes, sir; forgive me for asking, but what prompted you to visit them after so long an estrangement?’

Without losing speed, Jason skilfully manoeuvred a path between two weighty coaches. Once the road was clear he reined back the plunging horses and gave her a glance. ‘Are you asking whether the friendship between your sister and Philip Goode might have spurred me to go there?’

There was very little hesitation from Helen before she owned up to that. ‘Yes, sir, I suppose I am.’

Jason smiled his appreciation that she’d not prevaricated. ‘I suppose I could say I simply thought a family feud of some decades’ duration had run its course, and it was time to extend an olive branch.’

‘But?’

‘But it wouldn’t be the whole truth.’

Emboldened by his honesty, Helen continued to probe. ‘Did you know that Philip has been quietly courting my sister, Charlotte?’

‘I had heard something of the sort.’

‘From George, I take it.’ Her spontaneous response was curt enough to make Jason frown.

They had passed through the gates of Hyde Park. The earliness of the hour and the buffeting wind ensured that few other people were about to enjoy the spring sunshine. Jason drew the phaeton to a smooth halt in a quiet avenue. Soft afternoon sun filtered through swaying branches to lightly gild them.

‘I first learned of it from my brother, Mark,’ he eventually answered her.

‘Your brother?’ Helen echoed in surprise.

Jason turned on the seat to face her. He leaned back against the side of the vehicle. ‘Mark witnessed a rather unpleasant scene in this park. It involved your brother and sister and our cousins. Mark interpreted what he saw as George displaying disapproval of Philip Goode squiring your sister.’

Helen looked at her gloved fingers, regretting having spoken snappishly before. ‘That is exactly what did occur and Charlotte was mortified by the incident. She told me that George made a spectacle of them all in front of passers-by. You have confirmed our fears that gossip might ensue.’

‘And are you about to confirm my fears? I get the impression you think I might have today gone, at George’s behest, to tell my cousin to stay away from your sister.’

‘George is determined to kill their love and find Charlotte a wealthy man. He will do whatever it takes to achieve that.’

‘And you think I might help him in his ambition?’

‘You do business together,’ Helen said crisply, unwilling to appease the anger she sensed in him. They were being truthful with each other and she had no wish to deviate from that.

‘I don’t consider my cousin’s courtship to be my business. But Philip and Anne Goode are kin and I take against their being made to look ridiculous. Mark was annoyed at what he saw and was tempted to intervene.’

Helen winced at the grit in his voice. ‘I’m sorry if I have jumped to a wrong conclusion, sir,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad that your brother did not become involved. It would undoubtedly have resulted in more of a rumpus.’

‘Indeed,’ Jason agreed drily. ‘Mark felt exactly that way.’ He gazed upon her sculpted profile for a moment, fighting down an urge to reach out and feel beneath his fingertips skin that looked pale and pure as alabaster. Abruptly his gaze sought the horizon. ‘Today I let Philip know I’d heard about the incident and that I deplored Kingston’s conduct.’

Helen immediately swerved her golden eyes to him. She might not have had an opportunity to speak to Philip, but perhaps she could discover what Charlotte wanted to know from another source. ‘Is Philip still feeling humiliated? He has every right to be angry.’

‘He seemed philosophical. If you went there today to discover if he still carries a torch for your sister, the answer is that he certainly does,’ Jason told her softly.

A small sweet smile from Helen displayed her gratitude at knowing it. ‘Charlotte will be very happy. She was sure George had succeeded in destroying Philip’s devotion.’

‘If he had, perhaps it was infatuation and not worth having.’

‘Oh, it’s true love, I’m sure,’ Helen said earnestly. ‘But even so, I wouldn’t blame Philip for giving it up as a lost cause. He needs George’s consent to a betrothal and you’ve no idea how abominably rude our brother can be to him.’ Helen smiled ruefully. ‘A stoic temperament and an unflinching love are minimum requirements for a gentleman of limited means wishing to wed a sister of George’s.’

‘Was Harry Marlowe just such a man?’

‘Indeed, he was, sir.’ Helen felt a surge of shame that her beloved Harry be mentioned at such a time. What would Harry think of her wanton plan? A moment later she said briskly, ‘Of course, my brother was then much younger and much different.’ She suddenly realised that they had not yet touched on the subject of the note she had sent him.

‘Are you going to tell me what is in your letter or would you rather I read it?’ Jason asked as though his thoughts were in tune with hers.

Despite willing herself not to, Helen sensed a blush stain her cheeks. ‘I can tell you the gist of it.’ She drew in an inspiriting breath. ‘First I must apologise for Mr Drover’s behaviour. It was unforgivable of him—’

‘But understandable. If he spoke honestly, he has been a patient man.’

Helen nodded her acceptance of that truth.

‘Have you eaten well since?’

He was awaiting her reply as though her nourishment was of serious concern. ‘Yes … thank you, sir, we have eaten very well. The house is warm, too.’

Jason nodded and was absently looking over parkland when he murmured, ‘Good.’

‘The comfort you have provided is what prompted me to write to you.’ Her opening gambit was out, if uttered in an unsteady voice.

Jason picked up the leather reins from where they had rested on the seat and idly transferred them from hand to hand. ‘I’ve explained, Mrs Marlowe, that George is due a payment from me following our recent business. Any sums I settle on your behalf will be deducted from his account. That is all there is to it. You don’t owe me a damned thing.’

He was obviously irritated by this conversation to have used strong language in front of a lady. Or … perhaps he had guessed she was about to disclose she wasn’t a lady. Helen drew in a breath and blurted, ‘I don’t think that is absolutely true, sir.’

‘What is true, then?’ It was a terse demand that terminated on a laugh that sounded hollow and humourless.

Helen knew it was time to choose between acting the jade or the coquette, but unplanned words just tumbled out. ‘I.I think that you have been generous to us because you have a liking for me. My reason for writing to you is … I want you to know that I have no objection to your interest. In fact, I should like to encourage it.’ Her proposition ended on a soundless sob of relief that it was done.

She felt her heart thundering and inwardly she blenched—she knew her solitary attempt to win a protector had been extremely amateurish. He seemed unimpressed, too, for he remained silent, studying the leather reins crossing his palms for some while before replying.

‘Perhaps if I tell you something else, Mrs Marlowe, you might reconsider some of what you’ve said. During our talk today I learned from Philip that he is seeking a position. I know of an opportunity in the city that might suit him. In short, if he takes up the offer, his prospects ought to improve enough for him to take a wife.’

‘I am very pleased about that,’ Helen said huskily, with some understatement, for her heart was soaring. ‘But still I am prepared to—’

‘Put yourself at my disposal?’ His tone veered more to anger than irony.

‘No …’ Helen finally turned to look directly into his eyes. In their profound blackness she discovered a glow that calmed her. She managed a shy smile. ‘No …’ she repeated softly. ‘I am prepared to shun modesty and propriety. Virtue has its merits, but not for someone like me; I shall not regret its loss.’

She prayed that enough was now established between them for him to take over and allow her some pride and gentility. But her hopes were dashed.

‘I’m not about to make this easy for you, Helen. If it’s what you want, ask me….’