The Weary Heart

by Lancaster, Mary

  Poised for flight, she regarded him with odd fascination. “Sir, we all make our own beds and must lie in them. I am sorry for your marital difficulties, but they are not my concern. Good day.”

  In panic, he seized her arm as she turned to go. “But, Helen, my proposal!”

  She stared at his hand until without quite meaning to, he released her. Then she raised her eyes to his face.

  Although she was nowhere near as tall as he, she contrived somehow to give the appearance of looking down at him. “Your proposal, sir, is insulting. I should not have to put my thorough rejection into words. But to be clear, my answer is and will always be, no.”

  With that, she walked out of the room, leaving him totally perplexed. Frowning, he sat down again and wondered what on earth he should do next.

  Oddly enough, it was his wife who told him.

  Walking into the coffee room only a few minutes after Helen had left it, she sat down beside him and said abruptly, “We need to get rid of that woman.”

  “I’m sure she’ll go soon,” Philip said with a weary shrug. “Her daughter is on the mend, and she must worry the magistrate will summon her son any day.”

  “Not that woman,” Phoebe disparaged. “Mrs. Robinov is no longer the danger, if she ever was. It’s my belief her engagement to Dain is a hum, probably to give her boy more standing. Either that or Dain is quite brazen in his affairs.”

  “Affairs with whom?” Philip demanded. “Certainly not with our Anne. I really think you need to rethink that whole idea, my dear, for he is not remotely interested in her.”

  “He likes her well enough,” Phoebe said impatiently. “Or did before the wretched governess distracted him.”

  “Governess?” he blurted in shock. “Are you saying Helen Milsom is the object of his desire?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” Phoebe retorted. “It’s not as if he could be forced to marry her.”

  “I don’t know,” Philip said worriedly, thinking of Helen’s too quick rejection of his own generous offer. “It’s not the thing to go around ruining governesses. Gentlewomen, you know. Vulnerable. Dependent. But if you’re right, and he doesn’t mean to marry Helen, then he can still marry Anne.”

  “She’s distracting him,” Phoebe said, scowling. “I watched them during luncheon, little secret looks, smiles when they imagined no one was observing, lots of small but private conversations. There is an intimacy there I don’t like. Not only will he not look at Anne, it’s conceivable Anne will dig her heels in harder if she knows he’s pursuing her friend the governess.”

  “I think it’s the boy Kenneth you should be worrying about more.”

  “Oh, we’ve dealt with him. Her affection is childish and will quickly pass. We can make Anne do what we wish. We can’t make Dain. We can only put her in his way, and as long as the governess is around, he doesn’t even see Anne.”

  “Then we should find some other rich man for her,” Philip said wearily.

  “Oh, no,” Phoebe said. “We’ve spent too much time on this to give up now. We need the money, Philip, and quickly.”

  He sighed. “Then what the devil do you propose we do about it?”

  “Ruin the governess,” Phoebe said.

  Philip blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ruin her, get her dismissed. Lady Overton will have her out of the house before you can blink. After that, we’ll have to act quickly—perhaps force a compromising situation between Anne and Dain, so that he is honor-bound to marry her.”

  “While he’s engaged to Mrs. Robinov?” Philip said doubtfully.

  “It will present a fine excuse for him to break that engagement to a woman whose son is a thief. No one will blame him. And Anne will be his wife. We will have settlements to pay creditors and live. And Dain, our golden goose, will keep laying.”

  Philip regarded her with some distaste. “You really are quite vulgar, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t call me vulgar,” she said with a crooked smile. “You’re the one who’s going to ruin the governess.”

  “How?” he asked, although his own mind was already coming up with answers. Ruined, Helen would have nothing but him to fall back on. That cozy little house, with her always waiting for him could still be reality for him. Especially with Dain indirectly footing the bill. The scheme had an elegance he liked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carla was awake when Helen went in to say goodbye, smiling at something Marcus had said. Kenneth was grinning, too.

  “You’re leaving,” Carla said with flattering dismay, no doubt observing that she wore her cloak and bonnet and carried her serviceable carpet bag.

  “Returning to Audley Park. But I hope to see you again soon, only well and lively.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Carla said, taking her outstretched hand. “Thank you for helping my mother and me. You are a kind lady, and I can see why Sir Marcus likes you.”

  Helen could not prevent the blush rising to her cheeks, though she muttered, “It is Lady Overton you should thank for releasing me. But I’m very glad to see you looking so much better. Goodbye!”

  She shook hands with Kenneth, too, before Marcus took the bag from her and followed her out of the room.

  He closed the door, and they stood a moment in the empty passage. “I was looking forward to driving you to Audley Park myself.”

  “So was I,” she said ruefully. “Instead, I must endure the Marshalls for the journey.”

  She did not tell him about Philip’s proposal, knowing he was more than likely to knock Philip down and cause a scene none of them could really afford. Besides, she was sure she had nipped that in the bud quite effectively. His expression of astonishment at her rejection had been almost ludicrous, only none of this was quite funny. The dread she had felt on seeing the Marshalls here had not quite evaporated.

  “I’ll call tomorrow,” he said. “And perhaps I can persuade the Overtons to be my guests here for dinner. That way, Dorothea would not have to leave Carla.”

  “What a good idea.”

  He bent and softly kissed her lips. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow,” she whispered back. It sounded like a promise.

  They walked sedately downstairs where Mrs. Robinov and Philip waited.

  “Goodbye, my dear,” Mrs. Robinov said, taking both her hands. “Thank you for everything. You have been invaluable, in fact, quite wonderful these last two days, and I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You would have managed admirably,” Helen assured her. “But I thank you for your kindness.”

  Mrs. Robinov grabbed a letter from the table at the door and gave it to Helen. “For Lady Overton, expressing my gratitude for lending you to us. Now, off you go before I cry.”

  Helen laughed. “Goodbye, ma’am. But I hope to see you again before too long.”

  Reluctantly, Marcus gave up her bag to Philip, who conducted her outside to the waiting carriage and handed her in.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, finding it otherwise empty. “Where is Mrs. Marshall?”

  “Just coming,” he assured her, and in truth, it was some comfort that he stayed on the ground with the door open, waiting for his wife.

  Both Phoebe and Anne Marshall hurried out of the house and into the carriage. They sat opposite Helen, facing the horses. Philip leaped in after them, closing the door, and the carriage set off.

  Anne smiled at Helen.

  “I didn’t know you were coming back to Audley Park with us,” Helen said, rather glad of the company.

  “Oh, I’m not,” Anne said.

  “She’s coming with me to Finsborough,” Mrs. Marshall explained. “Since she is in need of a few things. We’ll alight in town, and you may go on to Audley Park without us.”

  “Oh, no,” Helen blurted. “That is, I don’t mind waiting for you.”

  “I do,” Philip said. “Dashed boring hanging around while they argue over fripperies.”

  “I am happy to look at fri
pperies,” Helen assured Mrs. Marshall with fading hope.

  Anne looked delighted at this idea, though her mother’s eyes were cold.

  “That will not be necessary,” Phoebe said with disdain.

  There was little Helen could do, short of throwing herself out of the carriage after them at Finsborough. But since she had no real fear of Philip and hoped, in fact, that he wished to apologize to her, she did nothing so dramatic.

  Traveling in a closed carriage alone with a man not of one’s family was not considered respectable for an unmarried female. However, they were unlikely to be seen by anyone except the Overtons who would surely regard her age and position as quite different to that of a young girl.

  For the first half-hour after his wife and daughter left them, Philip made small talk, largely about art and his own painting experiences and ambitions. Very little was required of Helen except making occasional expressions of encouragement and congratulations—until she realized they were back on the coast road.

  “We’ve missed the turning to Audley Park,” she said in dismay. “I would have thought your coachman would remember the way by now. You had better tell him to turn and go back.”

  “There is no need,” Philip said with inexplicable calm. “We are not going to Audley Park but to Brighton.”

  “Brighton?” she exclaimed. “I cannot go to Brighton!”

  “Of course, you can. I have a little house there I want to show you. It is most pleasant and discreet, and I’m sure you will come to regard it as home very quickly. You shall have everything of the best, everything you want.”

  Dear God, he had heard nothing she’d said to him at the inn. He was still pursuing this insanity, even having just bidden a cheery farewell to his wife and daughter.

  “What in God’s name is the matter with you?” she raged, jumping up to knock as hard as she could on the carriage ceiling.

  “Nothing,” he answered complacently. “And you might as well sit down again. There is no point in knocking. He is under instruction not to stop before Brighton unless I tell him to.”

  “Then tell him this instant,” she insisted. “Do you not see that you will ruin me with this folly?”

  “Ruin you for governessing,” he said with distaste. “You were never meant to be a mere servant.”

  She stared at him. “You believe I was meant to be your mistress? I am a gentleman’s daughter, sir, not some poor creature you picked up from the opera house or off the street. You will accord me the respect I deserve and take me to Audley Park immediately. If you do,” she added with fresh inspiration. “I will say nothing to your wife.”

  To her astonishment, Philip laughed. She wondered if he was actually insane.

  “I told you, Phoebe does not care,” he said with just a trace of bitterness. “But in this case, our desires accord. She believes with you out of the way, Dain will look again at Anne.”

  “Dain never looked at Anne!”

  He regarded her, frowning. “I hope the fellow hasn’t been annoying you.”

  “Annoying me?” She shook her head. “No. You are annoying me. If you will not give me the respect I deserve, then at least respect your wife and daughter.”

  “Phoebe does not notice such things. In fact, she is a little…unbalanced.”

  Helen searched his face. “In what way?” she asked with fresh dread.

  He shrugged impatiently. “She told me to abduct you, even roped Anne into accompanying her to Finsborough so that it does not seem odd of her. She is amazingly single-minded”

  At that, quite suddenly, everything fell into place. “It was Phoebe, wasn’t it?” she said. “She stole those things from Steynings and from Audley Park and planted them in Kenneth’s trunk to incriminate him. Just to be rid of the Robinovs because she imagined it would clear Anne’s path to Sir Marcus. It would be funny if it were not so wrong!”

  “You are right, of course. In some ways, she is quite mad. So, you see what I have to live with? A managing, almost insane woman who denies me her bed and spends money like water, so that without Sir Marcus’s generosity we are undone. You must take pity on me, Helen, comfort me, care for me, be the companion to me we always dreamed of.”

  He lunged, trying to wrap his arms around her. Without thought, she stamped hard on his toe and slapped his face.

  “Ouch!” he howled, reaching instead for both stinging parts of his body.

  Helen used the opportunity to throw herself onto the opposite bench and drag the hatpin from her bonnet. “Do not,” she said intensely, holding it before her like a dagger, “come near me again.”

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Helen!”

  “I do not take pity on you,” she uttered, hoping her voice did not shake. “You chose her. Be a man, live with her and help her rather than giving in to her outrageous behavior. As for any dreams of sharing companionship with you, mine died ten years ago and I am heartily glad of it. They could not revive if you were the only man left on this earth.”

  His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.

  “Now that we understand each other,” Helen pronounced, “you had better instruct your coachman to return to Audley Park.”

  She was forceful, and the habit of submission was clearly strong in him, if only for a peaceful life. And Helen was promising the opposite of peace. She almost won.

  And then his eyes hardened, and his lips thinned into a petulant line. “No,” he said with all the stubbornness of a weak man. “We are going to Brighton, and you can never return to Audley Park or to any other respectable, deadly dull position. Face it, Helen, you are already ruined.”

  *

  Less than half an hour after Helen had left with the Marshalls, a horseman rode up to the inn, leading a second, smaller horse.

  “Well met!” said young Richard Maybury cheerfully, encountering Marcus and Kenneth in the yard, dressed for riding. “Are you about to go out?”

  “Come with us,” Kenneth invited, reaching up to shake Richard’s hand.

  “Can’t,” Richard replied with clear regret. “I’m charged with bringing Miss Milsom home, providing your mother no longer needs her.”

  Marcus, striding toward the stables, paused and turned back. “Who gave you this charge?”

  “My mother.” Richard flapped his hand toward the second horse. “I even brought a horse for Miss Milsom.” He frowned at Marcus’s scowl and added hastily, “But if Mrs. Robinov still has need of her, that is fine, too. How is Miss Robinov?”

  “Doing much better,” Marcus said. “But we understood your mother had sent Mr. and Mrs. Marshall to bring her back. She has already gone with them in their carriage,”

  “Drat them, it was decided with perfect clarity over breakfast,” Richard fumed. “They said nothing then about coming here, only going to Finsborough.”

  “Well, they must have changed their minds,” Kenneth said. “Anne went with them, too. It’s a pity you rode over for nothing, but untie the mare and come with us now.”

  Kenneth was right, of course. Marcus had no reason for the unease sweeping through him. Richard would have left home well before Helen could have got there, and if the Marshalls went via Finsborough, perhaps it was not so surprising they had not met on the road.

  Of course, Marcus hadn’t liked the possessive look in Marshall’s eyes when he regarded Helen. The man was clearly a selfish hedonist who cared for nothing but his own comfort and pleasure. But surely no one who meant to seduce or otherwise harm a young lady would take his wife and daughter with him!

  He hesitated, wanting very much to laugh at himself, but anxiety won. “You two go without me,” he said abruptly. “Take my horse if you wish, Maybury, and rest your own for the return journey. I believe I will stay here for now.”

  Leaving the younger men, he went back into the inn. He wandered into the coffee room where Lily Villin was serving a couple of passing merchants who’d nabbed the chairs nearest the fire. Marcus didn’t want anything and had no reason for being there,
but threw himself on to the bench nearest the door to think.

  On her way out, Lily paused beside him. “What can I bring you, sir?”

  “Oh, nothing, just thinking.”

  “Away from your friends,” Lily pointed out.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “My friends would call me stupid to worry.”

  “And so, you’ve come here to work out if they’re right before you put your problem to them or not?”

  “Something like that,” he admitted.

  Lily hesitated, almost walking away. Then she said abruptly, “You’re not a stupid man, Sir Marcus. Trust your heart as well as your brain.”

  He stared at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she knew, what she thought of Philip Marshall, but it was an unfair question to put to a girl in her position, and whatever she answered was unlikely to change his own view.

  He rose abruptly. “You are quite right,” he said and strode back outside, yelling for the ostler and his own servant to ready his curricle. All he could do was drive to Finsborough and pray he was wrong.

  However, he had just stepped into the vehicle and taken the reins when Mrs. Marshall and Anne walked into the yard. His stomach twisted.

  “Hold the horses,” he instructed his servant abruptly and jumped down again, striding to meet the newcomers. “Where is your carriage?” he demanded.

  Mrs. Marshall bridled, but Anne, who had grown used to his curtness, clearly saw no reason not to answer. “Papa has it. He took Miss Milsom on to Audley Park while Mama and I went to Finsborough market. We finished there very quickly. Perhaps they should have waited for us after all.”

  This was not right. Not right at all. “Hardly proper,” he snapped.

  “She’s only the governess,” Mrs. Marshall said with a hint of deliberate scorn. “But if you’re so worried, why don’t you drive to Audley Park yourself?”

  It was exactly what he meant to do, but the barely veiled malice in the woman’s eyes stayed him. He stared, searching her face. “But no,” he said slowly. “That would waste my time, wouldn’t it? They have gone somewhere else entirely.”