by L G Rollins
Miss Spencer clearly did not care to perform on the pianoforte—nor was she proficient—yet she had not hesitated to stand up so that her friend would not have to. And Lady Emma had been noticeably grateful.
Fredrick shut the door behind himself and tugged on his cravat. Her actions intrigued him, and he couldn’t help but respect her for it.
A knock sounded at his bedchamber door.
Who could that be? Fredrick turned and opened the door a slit.
Eleanor stood in the corridor. “Oh good; you’re not dressed for bed yet.”
“How could I be? There hasn’t been time.”
“Never mind that. Christina and I need your help.”
When did they not need his help with something? “Come morning, we can talk and I’m sure we can find—”
“No,” Eleanor whispered-yelled. “We need you to come now.”
A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He placed a hand against the door frame and pressed his forehead against it. “Must it be tonight?”
“Of course. We might be seen if we did this during the day.”
Ah, lud. This sounded like the trouble he’d been expecting. He could just push Eleanor and Christina—wherever his other sister may be at the moment—away, telling them he’d deal with their problem later. But Fredrick knew from harsh experience that they’d probably just go ahead with their plan without him, and that would inevitably make matters far worse.
“Fine.” He finished pulling off the limp cravat from around his neck and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?”
Eleanor took his hand in both of hers, pulling him down the corridor. “Just come and see.”
“Oh, sit down already,” Emma said.
Helena groaned and plopped down onto the iron bench in the orangery. “But why are we here? In the middle of the night?”
“And stop asking so many questions.”
“Very reasonable questions.”
Footsteps echoed from behind Helena.
“There you are,” Emma said, addressing the newcomer.
Helena twisted on the bench. It was Lady Eleanor—or Lady Christina. Helena still struggled to tell the twins apart. Surely Lord Chapman knew the secret of which was Lady Christina, and which was Lady Eleanor. It was rather a shame they hadn’t the type of relationship that permitted her to ask him.
“Where’s your sister?” Emma asked.
“Eleanor had something to see to. But don’t worry; she’ll be here shortly.”
So this was Lady Christina. Well, that was one mystery solved, but it did absolutely nothing to help her understand why Emma had asked her here. She probably would have said no, except she had not been looking forward to the darkness and solitude of her room. It was childish, but she hadn’t been able to dislodge the dread her nightmare had brought all day.
Lady Christina sat on the small bench beside her. “How are you?” she said to Helena. “I am certain I would have cried most ardently had Miss Wynn said such horrid things about me. I’d rather thought she’d gotten it all out of her system earlier today during cards.”
Helena lifted a single brow. If Miss Wynn’s comments during the spontaneous musicale were only a snippet of what the woman had been saying to all and sundry, Helena was more than glad she had paid the woman so little attention and had declined to sit with her at cards that afternoon.
“If Miss Wynn, or anyone, is speaking ill of me, don’t bother to enlighten me.” When her broken near-engagement had become known and the rumors had first begun, Helena had, naturally, been curious as to what was being said about her. Emma had only had to report a few overheard statements before Helena wised up and stopped asking. Soon, however, she couldn’t have ignored the slights even if she’d wanted to. By now, she was thoroughly fed up with rumors. Let people say what they would; she didn’t care to hear about it.
“You are so brave,” Lady Christina said with a sigh.
Helena studied the young woman beside her—her wide brown eyes, perfectly curled hair, and fashionable dress. Not many years ago, she’d been like this young woman. Eager to enter society. Excited to see the sights, to breathe in all that was diverting.
Then, Father had passed.
Then, she’d almost become engaged.
Then, society had deemed her unfit.
Suddenly, Helena didn’t feel brave. She simply felt old.
More footsteps sounded from behind her. Lady Eleanor, no doubt. Helena waited, except Emma’s face didn’t show pleasure. She stared at the newcomer, her eyes slightly wider than was natural. Helena once more twisted about on the bench.
It was Lady Eleanor, but beside her was Lord Chapman.
Helena felt the same crawl of doubt and apprehension across her chest that she experienced whenever he walked into the room. Though she wanted nothing more than an excuse to ignore him—they both were becoming quite good at doing just that—she couldn’t seem to look away, either. He was still attired in his evening dress, except his jacket hung unbuttoned and open and his cravat was missing completely. The combination highlighted how well he filled his jacket. It also brought a lick of heat to Helena’s cheeks. How had he ended up here?
Lord Chapman seemed to collect himself quicker than she was able. He pulled his gaze away from her and instead stared down his sisters. “Christina.” His voice was every bit as ominous as his glare. “Eleanor. I will have an explanation.”
Neither sister seemed to give his displeasure a passing care. Lady Christina quickly stood. “Thanks for bringing him,” she said to her twin. “Now we can begin.”
Each sister took one of his arms and all but dragged him over to the bench, depositing him directly beside Helena.
She scooted as far away as the small piece of furniture would allow. He did the same, pushing himself up against the opposite side. Helena looked up at Emma and leveled her own black look in her friend’s direction.
Emma squirmed a bit and had the audacity to look unsure and apologetic. “Excuse me, Lady Christina, Lady Eleanor,” she said, “But I had not thought . . .” She motioned toward Lord Chapman.
“We need a man’s perspective,” one of the twins said. Helena had already lost track of which was which. Hadn’t anyone ever told them they ought not to dress the same?
“He can be our informer,” the other added.
“This is Fredrick’s fault anyway. He ought to take part in remedying it.”
“No one would suspect him of helping Miss Spencer. It’s perfect.”
If Helena had any questions regarding the color of her face before, she was certain it was red now. “I don’t need Lord Chapman’s help with anything, thank you.”
The sisters shook their heads in unison. “You don’t even know of the plan yet,” one said.
Helena didn’t need to know; even her nightmares were starting to not sound too bad in comparison to this. Helena made to stand, but Emma stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Helena.” At some point since Lord Chapman had entered the orangery, Emma had left her uncertainty behind and was taking charge once again. “I insist you stay and hear us out.”
Helena sat back down. “Then speak quickly. It’s late and I wish to be done with today.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Chapman said too softly for anyone but her to notice.
Whatever Emma and the two sisters had cooked up, Lord Chapman was clearly as unwilling an accomplice as she was.
“Helena,” Emma said, drawing herself up, “it’s time you face the truth. Because of the”—she eyed Lord Chapman—“happenings of last Season, you are quickly being relegated to the shelf.”
More like shoved onto the shelf.
“It has become clear that with each passing month, the chances of you making a match are diminishing.”
“Please,” Helena said, dryly, “don’t bother sugarcoating it just for me.”
Emma puffed out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m sorry, but facts are facts.”
That may very well be true, but it wasn’t as though Emma was enlightening her of anything she didn’t already know. “Why are we here, Emma?”
“We have decided . . .” Emma paused as Lady Christina and Lady Eleanor scooted over beside her, making it clear who “we” included, “that this Christmas, we are going to find you a husband.”
Helena’s jaw dropped open before she could stop it. “A what?”
“And Fredrick is going to help us,” one of the sisters said, not bothering to answer Helena.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“It’s exquisite,” the other twin said. “There are ever so many eligible gentlemen present. One is sure to come up to scratch if only we apply ourselves.”
Lord Chapman stood. “Out of the question. I specifically said we were to have no drama this winter season.”
“You said we aren’t here to shackle a man to one of us,” the other twin said, “but that isn’t what we are trying to do.”
They were here to “shackle” someone to Helena. Grand.
Emma looped her arm through one of the sister’s, also staring Lord Chapman down. “This is your fault, you realize. I believe that, as a gentleman, you should not deny an opportunity to make things right.”
Helena’s head swam. As the three women standing before her argued with Lord Chapman, all she could do was put her head in her hands and ignore them.
Purposely chase down a man? Connive and contrive and all but beg to be wed? Who would ever agree to such a thing? She’d always imagined marrying a man for whom she cared, someone she, at the very least, respected. Then again, Emma was correct. She was beginning to realize that the longer she took, the harder it would be to prove herself worthy of high society. And the gentlemen here at Lady Andrews’s house party did all seem quite upstanding.
“Miss Spencer.” Helena looked up at Lord Chapman’s address. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he faced her fully.
“Your friend and my sisters make a valid point. Your situation is regrettable, and I am partially to blame.”
“Neither you nor I am to blame, sir.” Her voice sounded about as firm as melting snow and she couldn’t seem to ignore the hazy tingling spreading across her head, blocking out reasonable thought.
“Be that as it may, I would be honored to help you regain your good standing.”
Helena slowly stood, her gaze moving from him, to his sisters, and then on to Emma. She wanted to be polite, but the exhaustion of the day was heavy on her shoulders.
“While I am sensible to the generosity of your offer, I truly wish to simply let things lie. Emma, I promised you I wouldn’t cry off, and I won’t. Only, allow me to enjoy this Christmas, please, without worrying and fretting over what has been.”
Emma stepped forward and took hold of Helena’s hands in her own. “I wish I could. I wish more than anything you could simply prove to those in attendance that you are all that is good and lovely and that would prove the end of the rumors. But even if you convince those in attendance, once this house party ends, you will be right back to where you were before.” Emma squeezed her hands, and it had the strange effect of nearly squeezing a few tears out of Helena’s eyes. “I want you to be happy. Not only this Christmas but always.”
Helena looked past her friend at the other three. Both Lady Christina and Lady Eleanor looked sincerely willing to help her; they’d both impressed her these past few days with their sincerity and kindness. Then there was Lord Chapman. What must he be thinking? His gaze met hers. His look was a soft one—his dark brown eyes conveying both an apology for putting her in this situation and a genuine desire to help set things right. He, too, these past days, had impressed her with his sincerity and kindness. It seemed those traits ran strong in his family.
Still, asking them all to help her persuade a man to marry her? Was this truly what she wished for?
Then again, the alternative was likely a life of solitary days and lonely nights. Didn’t she want a family again?
“Very well, then,” she heard herself say. “I agree. Let’s find me a husband.”
Chapter Seven
Fredrick could only stare at himself in the mirror as his valet carefully crafted the perfect cravat. Had he really agreed to help find Miss Spencer a husband? The very woman he’d declined to marry himself? Gads, but a man could be compelled to do nearly anything when three headstrong women accosted him. That had been the night before last—Lady Emma had claimed she needed a day to strategize before they began in earnest. As of yet, nothing had come from his accession, but he knew the clock was ticking, and soon he would have to make good on the agreement.
Once dressed, Fredrick made his way out of the bedchamber door and slowly down the corridor. Lady Andrews had mentioned cards this afternoon, and Mother had mentioned, in a none too vague manner, that she expected him to join her. It wasn’t that he disliked cards, and he certainly didn’t dislike his mother’s company, but those few days holed up in his bedchamber had proved a nice respite. Now that he had no reason to avoid Miss Spencer and every reason to be out in company, he already missed his time of solitude.
“Don’t you look fine today,” Eleanor said, stepping out of her room and looping her arm through his.
“As do you,” he replied. He was glad she wore white today, trimmed in pink. Though he would never say as much out loud, seeing his mother and sisters all attired in matte black had only made mourning more dismal. He had no intention to press Mother to return to more colorful clothing, but he was relieved that at least his sisters were done with mourning and could dress in something other than black.
“Between you and me,” she whispered, “I believe I look far superior in white than Christina.”
Fredrick chuckled. “You realize most people can’t even tell you two apart.” Especially considering how they nearly always insisted on wearing the exact same dress.
“They may not be able to tell from day-to-day. But in the moment, I am certain I appear at the greater advantage dressed in white.”
“If you say so.”
“You know,” Eleanor tugged on Fredrick’s arm, pulling him to a stop, “while we are about the matchmaking business for Miss Spencer, we could always broaden our efforts to include you as well.”
Fredrick blanched. “No, thank you.”
“I’m serious. We all agree it’s about time.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” He was nearly afraid to ask.
“Mother, Christina . . . a few of our closer friends.”
Oh, lud. “I ask that you would refrain from speaking of my much-anticipated demise with anyone outside our immediate family.” He would ask his sisters and mother to stop speaking of it even amongst themselves, but he knew a futile request when he heard it.
“Demise? Must you always use such depressing words to describe marriage?”
“I’m serious, Eleanor. Besides, I absolutely cannot consider making a connection this Christmas.”
“I don’t see why not.”
He pinned her with a stare; he needed her to understand in no uncertain terms; anything less and he ran the risk of her doing something insane behind his back. “Because of Miss Spencer. How would it look if I were to suddenly become engaged at the very house party where my one-time-almost-intended was present? Think of the slight that would be.”
For Eleanor’s part, she did look appropriately humbled. “I see. That would be awful.”
“What would be awful?”
Fredrick and Eleanor turned. Lady Emma was only a few paces away and closing the distance quickly.
“Ah, nothing,” Fredrick quickly said before Eleanor could try to explain; no doubt, that would have led to a very awkward conversation. “We were on our way down to cards. Care to join us?” That sounded like a natural change of topic. He only hoped it would stick.
“Yes, I was headed that way as well, only . . .” She paused, glancing about the corridor. “I thought Helena was waiting for me here in the corridor. Sh
e was ready before I was but said she would wait so we could walk down together.”
“Perhaps she chose to go down and meet you in the drawing room?” Eleanor offered.
Lady Emma began to nod, but then her brow creased. “I must admit, I doubt she would have.”
“I shall go check,” Eleanor said, already moving away. “If she is with the others, I will come back and let you know.”
“Thank you,” Lady Emma called after her.
Fredrick took a step forward. “I shall go as well and—”
“Actually,” Lady Emma interrupted, “I was hoping to speak with you in private.”
He stopped, but remained silent, watching her warily. Last time he’d had a semi-private conversation with Lady Emma, he had been guilted into something he never would have agreed to in regular circumstances. Come to think of it, the only interaction he’d had with a Shakerley before today had been when her father had written up a contract for Fredrick to wed Helena without either of their say-so, without either of them having even met first. He was right not to trust a private conversation with anyone in the family.
“I have spent a great deal of time watching all the eligible bachelors present. I believe Lord Ellis, Topper, or Lord Forbes would each make a fine husband for Helena.”
In the back of his mind, the realization that Lady Emma hadn’t grouped him in the eligible bachelor category nagged at him a bit; was he not considered eligible? He’d always thought himself a fine gentleman. Then again, she was considering prospective husbands for Miss Spencer, which he certainly was not.
“That sounds like a fine list,” he said. “Surely one of them will take a liking to Miss Spencer. She is . . . I mean to say, she . . .”
