by L G Rollins
“Nonsense.” She slammed her teacup and saucer back onto the low table between them. “You should go.”
“I’m serious, Mother. It’s too late—”
“Go.” She lifted a single eyebrow as though challenging him to defy her.
His father may have never explained the intricate workings of female expressions, but one thing he had made exceedingly clear was that Fredrick was never to defy his mother.
Fredrick shook his head and slowly stood. “If that’s what you wish, I will leave.” Perhaps she just needed some peace and quiet. A few minutes to herself. It was the only logical reason he could come up with for her sudden dismissal. She’d all but bodily tossed him from the room. He thought she’d been enjoying his presence. Apparently not.
He moved down the corridor. He didn’t care to try and join the group outside now. He was sure he’d only show up in time for everyone else to declare themselves too cold and intent on returning. His steps slowed as he reached the landing. With everyone else outside, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
Placing hands on hips, he turned slightly. He could always return to his bedchamber, but nothing more interesting than well-painted walls awaited him there. He slowly turned back, his gaze crossing over an open library door.
Or, he could get a new book. Lord Andrews had assured him he was welcome to any books inside, and he had finished Tom Jones two days prior. Perhaps if he ventured to read that book his sisters were always speaking of, he’d understand them better. What was it called? Sense and Sensibility, that’s what it was. It wouldn’t hurt to read a few passages at the very least. He strode forward and through the open door. The smell of old books rushed to greet him.
The wall directly to Fredrick’s left was covered floor to ceiling in books, as was the wall in front of him, save the very center which was reserved for windows. The center of the room was full of furniture. Chairs by the fire, a settee beneath the window—all things that were comfortable and well-suited to reading. This had been a good choice. He strode into the room; something small resting against the nearest chair caught his eye. It appeared to be a dark blue ribbon.
He stepped around the chair and found a bonnet discarded upon the seat, a matching pelisse resting beside it. The floor creaked along the other side of the room. He wove between chairs and tables toward the far wall. Like the left side of the room, the right wall was floor to ceiling books. Only, he couldn’t see who, or what, had made the sound.
Finally, he stepped around a large wingback and discovered Miss Spencer, kneeling on the floor, pulling book after book off the shelf. She already had nearly half a dozen tucked up close to her, balanced by one arm. She added first one and then another as he watched.
“Seems we had the same idea,” he said.
Miss Spencer jumped, a squeak escaping from her. The book tower in her arms tumbled all around, books smacking against the floor and flopping open. Miss Spencer reared back, lost her balance, and landed hard on her seat.
Fredrick hurried forward. “I am so sorry. I had no intention of startling you.” He reached out a hand and she slipped hers into it. The same heat he’d felt when she’d placed her hand on his arm several days ago returned. Though they both wore gloves, he could feel the pressure of her palm, and it sent his skin tingling.
The moment she was standing and had righted herself, he pulled his hand away. What was happening? Whatever it was, it had to stop. Nothing could ever happen between them; he’d nearly ruined her life as it was.
Miss Spencer was busy brushing herself off and shaking out her skirt, allowing Fredrick a moment to compose himself. Several curls hung loosely about her face and down the back of her neck, probably pulled loose when she’d removed her bonnet. She stood straight once more, and their eyes met. He’d always been rather partial toward green eyes.
“Please accept my apology,” Lord Chapman said with a proper bow.
Helena was more than willing to forgive him; if only her heart would calm down long enough for her to collect herself and speak coherently. He’d startled her soundly.
“Poor form, Lord Chapman,” she teased. “First you make me lose at chess, and now you nearly give me a heart attack.” She tsked softly, even as her heartbeat finally eased.
“You’re right. I guess I have a couple of things to apologize for.” He smiled, that same slight tip of the lips that had made her stomach flip earlier. Bending down, he gathered up the spilled books.
Helena shook herself then knelt down to help.
“You know,” she said, “I used to believe I was quite proficient at chess. But then I started playing people who were not my father, and I quickly learned otherwise.”
He chuckled. “I used to feel the same way about being a gentleman.” With the books shared between them, they stood.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
His smile turned a bit sad. The sight pulled on Helena’s heart. “I used to believe I was quite good at it, and then my father passed. Now that I’m the Earl of Chapman, I feel far less competent.”
Helena placed her stack of books down on a small table, situated between two large wingbacks with lion-paw feet. She spoke of her father often enough with Emma, but her friend could never fully understand. “It’s a hole in one’s chest, is it not?” Helena sat down in one of the chairs.
Lord Chapman placed his books on the table beside hers. “I’m beginning to wonder if it ever goes away.” His voice was as heavy as she felt.
“Maybe it will someday. But if it does, I haven’t reached that point yet.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” he said, sitting in the matching wingback and giving her a melancholy smile.
“No, I suppose not.”
They held one another’s gazes for a moment. It was a sad sort of conversation, yet one she was so very happy to finally have with someone who understood.
Lord Chapman tipped his head to the side and looked away. “There are so many things I wish I could ask him.”
Helena nodded. She could relate to that.
“Like how to see to multiple estates at once,” Lord Chapman spoke on.
“How to know if there is a way to invest a small sum of money, and turn it into enough to secure one’s future,” Helena added.
“Or how to handle dissent in Parliament.”
“How to handle saying goodbye to a houseful of servants, pack up one’s life, and move in with a friend.”
“How to care for an aging mother, or how to properly guide one’s sisters.”
“How to plan a funeral.” The room began to blur around her. Helena blinked several times, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
A hand wrapped around hers. “I should not have spoken on so.”
“Are you apologizing again, Lord Chapman?”
His chuckle was far more dry this time. “It seems to be the only thing I ever do where you are concerned.” He pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “I keep thinking that one of these days, I’ll hear his name, or he’ll be brought up in conversation and I won’t be reduced to a watering pot.”
“Someday you will. But if today isn’t that day, that’s all right, too.”
Helena felt the tightness in her chest ease. Gracious, but it was so nice to speak with someone who understood. Someone who didn’t grow uncomfortable at her blatant show of emotion. Father had always been that person for her. As she now knew that she wasn’t actually good at chess, she also now knew that having a father who was both a financial support and an emotional support was not common. She only wished she’d appreciated him more when he’d been alive.
“I swear most days I get through without a problem,” she said, “and then, it’ll hit me again, wholly unexpectedly, and every bit as overwhelming as if he’d passed yesterday.”
“Ah, blast,” Lord Chapman said, dropping his head into his upturned hands.
Helena looked up at him in surprise.
&nb
sp; He shook his head with a groan. “Of course. That’s why she threw me out.”
“Don’t tell me I’m not the only lady you find yourself in need of apologizing to.”
He ran both hands through his hair. “It’s my mother,” he said, lifting his head once more. Helena tried to suppress her foolish grin. He did look ever so alluring with his hair tousled and his sincere eyes focused on her.
“Not two hours ago,” he continued, “I forwent walking outside because she seemed lonely and out of sorts. I sat with her in her room, and I ordered us up some tea. I thought we were having a splendid time. Then, quite suddenly, she grew upset and demanded I leave.” He pushed against his knees and leaned heavily back against the chair. “That’s why I came in here in the first place.”
“You believe she’s missing your father?”
“It makes sense now that I think of it. She often grew out of sorts at the littlest things those first couple of months. She’s been better as of late, so I hadn’t even thought . . .” He sighed and shrugged.
“What used to help her?”
“Time alone. Or, at least, that’s what I gave her.” He threw his hands up. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not at all what she needed. But it always worked eventually, so I kept doing it.” He laughed derisively. “Some son I turned out to be.”
“I’m sure you’re doing a far better job than you think.”
“That would be nice to believe.” His gaze held hers. It was as though everything else—the room full of books, the house full of guests—all faded away. There was him, there was her. An easy conversation where she didn’t have to pretend or hide, where she didn’t have to worry about how he thought of her or what rumors might be circulating. His disheveled curls falling over his forehead. His hopeful smile and the way it warmed her heart.
Lord Chapman cleared his throat and twisted about in his chair, facing her more directly. “I feel I ought to avail myself of this opportunity and apologize for something else.”
The closeness which had enveloped them seemed to morph from comfortable to agitated. Helena had a good guess where this was headed.
“I find it strange,” he said, “that our lives have impacted one another’s so dramatically, yet this is the first time we’ve ever truly spoken.”
“It is a bit backward, is it not?”
“Indeed. Let me say now that I am deeply regretful for the happenings earlier this year. I sincerely apologize for the part I played.”
Helena turned and faced him as well. “May I be bold? It was never made clear to me exactly what part you did play. I know Lord Shakerley met with you, or perhaps a relation of yours? The details were never explained.”
“Ah, well, that explains the pepper in my coffee.”
Helena couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped. He gave her an answering smile. It was so nice to be able to laugh and smile, even during what, with anyone else, would have been a very heavy conversation.
“Perhaps after I hear your side of the tale,” she said, “I may need to apologize as well.”
“No. I still deserved it. The truth is this: my uncle, Mr. Baker, is the one who first spoke with Lord Shakerley. They formed the design all on their own. It was only after the contract had been written up that Baker spoke to me of it. I immediately rebuffed all talk of marriage contracts and demanded he end things with Lord Shakerley. At the time, my cousin, Alice, assured me that no one besides the few of us involved in the contract knew of the possible engagement and that nothing would ever come of it.”
It did help to know where he stood. She and Lord Shakerley got along well enough, but there was no close connection there, and she hadn’t felt comfortable pressing him for details. “Thank you for telling me.”
He reached out, placing a hand against her arm. “If helping you find a husband this Christmas is what you want, then I will gladly do so as my penance.”
It was too bad they were only just now getting to know one another. She could have used such a sincere friend these past several months. Emma was wonderful, but sometimes she got ideas in her head and forgot to listen to anything anyone else had to say.
“It isn’t so much what I want as it is a necessity at this point. But, it’s one I’ve resigned myself to. And I am having a jolly time getting to know new people.” But enough of that. “However, there is a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Lord Chapman leaned back, his demeanor calm and relaxed. “Ask away.”
“How do you tell Lady Christina and Lady Eleanor apart?”
Chapter Eleven
Helena sat atop Emma’s bed. It was a shame she couldn’t lie down. But her abigail had already finished her up-do for the evening and resting back against the soft coverlet and obliging pillow would only ruin her hair.
“I think Topper is growing quite fond of you,” Emma said from her seat in front of the mirror. Her abigail had been forced to redo Emma’s hair when Lady Shakerley had stepped in moments before and declared the style far too similar to last Season’s.
“Do you?” Helena answered, pulling her thoughts away from the soft bed beneath her. “He’s polite and attentive, but I don’t sense any partiality on his part.”
“He’s polite and attentive; what more do you expect?”
Helena shook her head. It was just a feeling, something in her stomach. “I think you are reading too much into it. I’ve seen him be polite and attentive toward every woman here.”
Emma let out an unladylike grunt and waved a hand over her shoulder at Helena. “You are being too particular.”
No, Emma didn’t understand. Helena was in no way expecting, or even wishing, to end the house party with an ardent declaration of love from any gentleman. However, didn’t a man show at least some partiality toward a woman he meant to pursue? Even when it was only with the idea of making a mutually beneficial match? Topper had been a fine partner at cards and the like, but she just couldn’t see him offering for her.
Perhaps she should have asked Lord Chapman yesterday afternoon when they had spoken in the library. He was the closest thing she had to a brother—closest thing she’d ever had to a brother.
Then again, the term ‘brother’ didn’t seem quite right. She somehow couldn’t see her stomach responding the way it did to Lord Chapman’s smile if he were her sibling.
“What of Lord Ellis, then?” Emma pressed.
“Oh, please, no.” One chess game had been enough to solidify her opinion of him.
“Beggars should be no choosers,” Emma intoned.
Helena was sorely tempted to finish the familiar phrase, “but yet they will”. She thought better of it. Based on the look her friend was giving her, Helena was fairly sure they were both thinking it anyway.
“Then,” Emma said, scowling at Helena through the mirror, “we shall have to focus our efforts on Lord Forbes. You could certainly do worse than being connected to his well-known deep pockets.”
Lord Forbes’s wealth was certainly often spoken of, and he was pleasing enough to look at, though Helena preferred Lord Chapman’s features. More still, she liked the way Lord Chapman had taken her hand when she was mourning her father anew, and how expressive his face became when he spoke about his sisters.
“I like that smile,” Emma said, standing. Her abigail must have finally finished. “I think Lord Forbes might be just the man for you.”
Helena wasn’t about to tell Emma that she’d been thinking of Lord Chapman and not Lord Forbes at all. Besides, whatever smile had been on her face was there because she was remembering the stories Lord Chapman had shared all about how Lady Christina and Lady Eleanor had pretended to be one another on ever so many occasions. It had nothing to do with a growing tendre for anyone in particular.
Even if she ever were to meet a man who drew her to him, how would it end? Though she and Emma hadn’t spoken of it, not a day at Hedgewood Manor had passed without Helena happening upon one conversation or another regarding herself. Sometimes they were most
ly innocent, as when she’d entered the back drawing room and overheard Lady Andrews.
“Just to look at her, I’m not surprised so many people wondered if she wasn’t cast aside because of some indiscretion, as beautiful as she is. That was, of course, before I knew her better.”
Other comments were less accommodating, such as Miss Wynn’s almost-whisper. “Have you seen the way Lord Ellis looks at her? I can’t tell if he’s dreaming up something awful and unseemly, or remembering.”
Emma placed her hand on Helena’s arm, ending the long train of disheartening memories. Emma looked at her with her brow creased. Helena shook her head and reassured her friend with a smile, but Emma seemed unwilling to believe that she was all right. Truly, the last thing Helena wanted was to have it out and explain all she’d heard these past few weeks. It wasn’t as though any of it was new. Before Emma could press her, Helena brought up a new subject.
“Emma,” Helena said, standing and moving closer to her friend. “If I wanted to see a man of business, to consult me on the small bit of money my father left me, do you believe your father would accompany me?” Uncle Scrooge had not responded to her letter. But she remembered, while speaking with Lord Chapman, that her father had once said that Scrooge was a well-respected investor. Since she didn’t want to admit to the Shakerleys just yet that she did, in fact, have a living relative, even one who refused to acknowledge any relation, this seemed a good excuse to go and meet the man in person. Of course, her father had also mentioned that Uncle Scrooge’s profession was what had caused the rift between him and Mother. But, perhaps it could also serve as the means Helena needed to see him in person.
Emma’s lips tugged to one side. “Didn’t he already offer to let you speak with his man of business? You won’t want to go to a stranger. Suppose this man cheats you out of everything? A woman cannot be too careful where her finances are concerned.” Though she didn’t say it aloud, Helena got the impression Emma meant “a woman cannot be too careful especially when her finances are so paltry.”
