The Weary Heart

by Lancaster, Mary

  And that was when she saw Anne Marshall.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The shock left Helen floundering in unpleasant memories. Hastily, she jerked her face away from the window, shifting her chair so that she could not be seen from outside. Which was hardly fair when Anne had done nothing wrong. It was not the girl’s fault she had such vile parents.

  Forcing herself, Helen took another wary glance. Crossing the yard with Anne was none other than the Duchess of Alvan and a young man surely no more than twenty years old.

  Surely the Marshalls were not her guests at Mooreton Hall? Dear God, the duchess had even mentioned something about art—had she actually invited Philip to show his paintings? She could not imagine the duke, a cultured man who did not suffer fools gladly, putting up with the family for very long, let alone showing Philip’s rather average art as work he admired.

  And then she remembered that the duke had a younger brother. Oh, no. Is that Lord Julius Moore? Is he to be their next target?

  It was possible. A duke’s brother. And everyone knew Alvan was rich as Croesus. From Maybury family gossip, Helen was aware his sister, Cecily, had taken a fine fortune to her husband, and there was no reason to suppose that his brother was not equally wealthy.

  As she surreptitiously observed them approaching the inn door, Anne laughed at something Julius was saying. There was no doubt the young man was more congenial to her than Marcus had been. Since she didn’t know Lord Julius, she had no idea what his clearly friendly manners signified. In some ways, it would be an excellent match for Anne…and yet, she could not bear the Moores to go blind into such a match with such a family.

  Alvan was a highly intelligent man. Surely, he would not be fooled. Yet he was also a trifle unworldly, a little aloof from the hurly-burly of life. Would he really know? Would Henrietta have told her sister and brother-in-law about the Marshalls’ part in Helen’s downfall?

  She had no way of knowing.

  Holding her breath, she waited for the duchess’s party to be shown into the coffee room, both wishing to have opportunity to speak to her, and dreading the meeting with Anne. Perhaps the presence of the village boys, currently eating cake and grinning at the Carluke children, would put them off. But as two farmers’ wives left the coffee room, the duchess swept in with a pleasant nod at the women, who curtsied with more friendliness than awe. Clearly, they were not unused to seeing her here. And they had a special smile for the handsome Lord Julius.

  “Miss Milsom!” the duchess hailed her an instant later. “And small Carlukes!”

  They all rose from the table, and Helen got the girls to curtsey in a half-hearted way before they ran toward the duchess.

  Taking her by surprise, Anne Marshall all but threw herself into Helen’s arms. “Oh, Miss Milsom, how glad I am to see you again! Please, please don’t hate me for my parents’ terrible misunderstanding!”

  “Of course I do not,” Helen managed, patting her awkwardly.

  Anne released her, smiling happily. “I had no idea you were to be here!”

  “I have a new post,” Helen explained. “As governess to Mr. and Mrs. Carluke’s daughters.”

  “Oh, they’re adorable,” Anne said, instantly distracted by children as usual.

  While the duchess introduced them to her, the young man turned to Helen and held out his hand with casual courtesy. “Julius Moore,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “You must be Miss Milsom, the famous governess. Delighted to meet you at last.”

  “Famous?” Helen repeated warily. “I’m not sure I care for that, though to be sure it’s better than infamous.”

  Julius grinned. “All will be restored,” he said cryptically.

  Looking hunted, the two village boys bolted with another piece of cake crammed in either hand, remembering to thank Helen over their shoulders as they went. The Carluke children looked torn between running after them and hanging around the duchess, so Helen solved the problem by commanding them to finish their tea so that they could return home. To prove her seriousness, she did not sit back down, but picked up her cloak and the girls’ things, too.

  Anne and Julius sat down with the children, but the duchess soon detached herself and drew Helen a little apart where they would not be overheard.

  “Sorry to take you by surprise,” she murmured. “Perhaps I should warn you that my family is here, too. But don’t worry, none of them will be so rude as to cut you or otherwise cause trouble.”

  “I don’t expect to come across them often.”

  “Hmm,” the duchess said doubtfully. “But if you receive a message from my sister in the next day or so, asking to meet you, you should probably go. She will be in no danger.”

  As Helen struggled to take that in, she realized the duchess was about to return to the table. “One moment, Your Grace,” she blurted, and the duchess turned back with an amiable smile. Helen drew in her breath. “Please don’t think me rude or presumptuous, but are Miss Anne Marshall’s parents among your guests?”

  “Indeed, they are.”

  “Forgive me, I don’t know how much you are aware of what happened in Sussex, but you should know that the elder Marshalls are not…honest. In fact, they may steal from you and abuse both your hospitality and any friendship forming between their daughter and Lord Julius.”

  The duchess smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about Julius. Or us. You have to get up early in the morning to pull the wool over Alvan’s eyes. And I am well aware of what they are. Ah, the girls are ready to go, I see. I look forward to seeing you in a couple of days! Goodbye, girls, Miss Milsom.”

  *

  It was a curious encounter, and Helen kept going back to it in her mind, recalling the duchess’s somewhat cryptic utterances. And when the Carlukes’ maid handed her a note the following day, she was not entirely surprised.

  Until she saw the childish handwriting and realized it was not from Lady Sydney as she’d expected, but from Eliza.

  My dear Miss Milsom, the child had written. I hope you are well. We miss you. We are with Charlotte at Mooreton Hall. Please meet us in secret at the folly on the edge of Ingolby woods at two o’clock today. Your loving Eliza.

  By coincidence, this was, in fact, Helen’s free afternoon, which was as well, for she could not have taken Sarah and Sophia to meet with anyone behind their mother’s back. In fact, it went against the grain to meet Eliza in such a way, but the duchess had more or less commanded her to. She had even declared that her sister would be quite safe during such a meeting, which made more sense now.

  Accordingly, having discovered from Nurse how long it might take to walk through the woods to the border with the Duke of Alvan’s lands, she set off, following the directions Nurse had given her.

  The day was cold and sharp, the sky clear blue. Normally, Helen enjoyed walking in such conditions, the frosty ground crunching under her feet, but she was too anxious to appreciate it today. Eliza was a slightly odd child, and this request to meet, surely without her parents’ knowledge, worried her.

  The boundary with Alvan’s land was not marked by fencing or hedges, at least not at the edge of the woods, but by a bizarre gothic tower wrapped in ivy. Helen approached it with some trepidation, but could see no sign of anyone.

  Until she walked around to the front and found that the massive wooden door stood wide open.

  A small figure launched itself from inside and slammed against her. Eliza. As Helen’s arms closed around her, she saw that one reason she had no need to worry about the child’s safety was that she had brought her brothers with her. Horatio, George, and Richard all emerged, grinning. Richard held Spring on a leash, but the dog kept bouncing with excitement.

  After them, even more surprisingly, came Lord Julius Moore, and finally…

  Her heart lurched uncontrollably.

  Sir Marcus Dain strolled out and leaned one shoulder against the door, watching the boisterous greeting with a faint smile playing on his lips. The man who had asked her to marry him
. The man she had rejected. The man she loved and longed for.

  But Eliza’s grip was loosening, and Helen ruffled her hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t come and say good night to you. Your mama thought it best.”

  “I know.” Eliza grinned. “Mama can be silly sometimes. Like about Charlotte. But I’m glad you came today! We have lots to tell you.”

  “So I see.” She glanced around Eliza’s brothers. “Are you not meant to be at school?”

  “Papa fell out with the headmaster,” Richard said carelessly. “To be honest, it wasn’t a very good school, but all we could afford when we came back to England.” He wrinkled his nose. “We’re to have a tutor over the spring and summer and then go to Harrow or Eton—Papa hasn’t decided yet.”

  “Well, I’m very glad to see you.” She managed a curtsey directed somewhere between Marcus and Lord Julius. “My lord. Sir.” She barely flicked her gaze at Marcus, but it was enough to see that he looked very well, his harsh face glowing with health, his eyes revealing only a hint of humor.

  Initial gladness to see him so well gave way to a more petulant indignation. How dare he fare so well when I am in pieces without him? It just proves I was right not to marry him.

  “You must feel quite ambushed,” Lord Julius observed. “Sorry to take you by surprise, but we’ve come to recruit you into our conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy?” she asked uneasily. “You are all part of this conspiracy?”

  “Not only us,” Richard replied. “Henrie and Sydney, Charlotte, Alvan, Lady Cecily, and even Lord Verne are also in on it. But we couldn’t all come without arousing suspicion.”

  “In whom?” Helen demanded. “What on earth are you up to?”

  “Come inside where it’s a bit warmer.” Julius turned, leading the way inside the folly.

  Throughout, Marcus had not moved or spoken. As she walked past him at the door, Helen could not resist another glance. Their eyes met. And just for an instant, her heart stood still. So did the world. Then his lips quirked, and she stumbled inside.

  “Some eccentric ancestress had this folly built early in the last century,” Julius explained. “They called her the mad duchess, but I think that was probably a bit unkind.” From the bare, dark chamber, he led them up a stone spiral staircase to another which was brighter, glazed, and surprisingly warm. “The sun strikes one window or another for most of the day—when there is any sun, of course—so it can get quite cozy in here.”

  Surprisingly, there was even makeshift furniture—several stools, a kitchen chair, a small table, and some shelves that been nailed together and held a few dusty books. A bow stood propped up beside a pile of straight twigs, and further along the wall, a wooden sword.

  “You played here as a child,” Helen guessed with a quick glance at Lord Julius.

  “Not really, though I do have a very vague memory of being here with Cecily and Alex. But Cecily and I didn’t live here after our parents died, got farmed out to an aunt instead. This stuff is all Alex’s.”

  “The duke’s,” Helen murmured, looking about her again. Yes, it was the secret playroom of a lonely child. She sat on one of the stools and loosened her cloak. “You had better tell me about your conspiracy.”

  “Charlotte said you saw Anne,” Julius said, sitting astride the kitchen chair. “So, you know her unspeakable parents are here at Mooreton Hall.”

  In spite of herself, Helen colored. “Yes, I know.”

  Marcus, leaning his shoulder between two windows, spoke for the first time. “You should also know that all of us…er…conspirators are aware of the truth of what happened to you, as well as what Phoebe Marshall stole.”

  “Even the children?” she asked indignantly.

  “Why not? They’re quite capable of understanding. Especially that you did nothing wrong.”

  Helen closed her mouth and regarded everyone afresh. “You brought them here deliberately. The Marshalls. Using Lord Julius and, no doubt, Her Grace’s art exhibition as bait.” She fixed Lord Julius with a frown. “Is that not unnecessarily unkind to Anne?”

  “It might have been,” he acknowledged. “For she’s a good sort. But she’s confided to me that she loves another.”

  “Ah.” Kenneth Robinov? “And you are in no danger of losing your own heart?”

  Lord Julius met her gaze. “I’m nineteen years old, Miss Milsom. Not ready to be leg-shackled.”

  “Anyway,” George said impatiently, “the old bat is bound to steal something from Mooreton Hall, because there are all sorts of treasures there, and we’ll leave things out for her. Meanwhile, the beautiful part of it is—we’re all watching her.”

  “Especially at the ball,” Lord Julius said. “Which is where we mean to catch her so that everyone knows what she is. In the ballroom, or the salons, we will watch her. And whenever she leaves, to go her chamber or wherever she hides the loot, the children will take over. And you, Miss Milsom, if you’ll join us.”

  “Of course, I will join you,” Helen said at once, and Marcus smiled at the floor. “I have always felt guilty that I did not tell Lady Overton what I’d found. Or Lady Sydney.”

  “I told Henrietta,” Marcus said. “When I told her the rest of the truth.”

  “And once we’ve proved what they are,” Horatio said, “no one will believe their nonsense about you and Sir Marcus, and you can come back to Audley Park.”

  Helen regarded him helplessly. How did you explain to children that life was rarely as simple as that?

  Richard said gloomily, “She won’t want to, Horry. The issue of trust runs both ways.”

  “Besides, I would not like to let down Mr. and Mrs. Carluke,” Helen said.

  “But you will definitely come to Mooreton Hall for the ball?” Eliza asked anxiously.

  “Yes, I believe that is already decided. I shall endeavor not to let the Marshalls see me, darting behind pillars and half-open doors to keep my observation secret.” She frowned. “You know, a chambermaid would be a useful recruit, just to see where Mrs. Marshall hides things.”

  Julius grinned. “Already got one. As many as we like, actually, with Charlotte in control.”

  “The other interesting thing,” Sir Marcus said, “is that their fence—their receiver of stolen goods—will be close by.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Helen demanded.

  “Because he found the rascal in London,” Julius grinned. “And persuaded him it was in his best interests to come to Lincolnshire to receive the latest. The fence pretends he has a wealthy local buyer lined up, and the Marshalls get quick money to pretend their pockets are not completely to let.”

  “It will be a complicated arrest,” Helen remarked.

  Sir Marcus nodded, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yes, we’ll have to spring the fence after he…”

  “Spring,” Richard said suddenly, gazing at the unconnected leash at his feet. The dog must have slipped it without anyone noticing. “Where the devil is Spring?”

  The Overton children bolted for the stairs, quite used to such frequent scares from when he lived with Charlotte at Audley Park. Helen had the feeling they rather enjoyed such events, so she did not rush to help, merely followed them downstairs more slowly. Mostly, she was aware of Sir Marcus’s large figure behind her.

  Emerging into the fresh air, she found the children in stitches, watching Spring try to make an angry and thoroughly bewildered cat play with him. Bouncing back and forth on his front legs, his tongue hanging out, the dog was clearly not about to give up, even when he got close enough for the cat to try to swat him. Its back was arched, its tail straight up, but Helen had the impression it had stopped growling and spitting. It had given up.

  “Perhaps they could be friends in another week or so,” George said.

  “Or the cat might just lose patience and maul him,” Helen said, walking forward and scooping up the surprised Spring, who immediately wriggled around to lick her face. She handed him to Richard, who grinned and restored the leash.
>
  The cat, looking almost disappointed, strolled away.

  “I should go,” Helen murmured, “or I won’t get back to Ingolby before dark.” She glanced around the children, more than a little touched that they were doing all this for her. She supposed with some awe, that the adults were, too, even if their motives might be a little more mixed. “Thank you,” she muttered. “Goodbye until Friday.”

  “I’ll escort you back to the village,” Marcus said.

  “There is no need,” she said at once, almost in panic.

  “Of course there is,” he argued. “Our co-conspirators will drum me out if I don’t.”

  Amidst the laughing goodbyes and Spring’s barks of protest, the party broke up with Helen and Marcus walking down the path to the woods and the others going in the opposite direction, chattering and arguing amongst themselves.

  Helen’s heart drummed. She had no idea what to say to the man beside her, and yet his presence felt wonderful.

  “How are you?” he asked quietly.

  “Very well. As are you, I think?”

  He nodded with a familiar hint of impatience. “Then your post with the Carlukes is a reasonable one?”

  She regarded him with sudden suspicion. “Did you arrange that, too?”

  “Acquit me. I only asked Henrietta Cromarty if she knew of a congenial household looking for a governess. As it turned out she did, for she had a letter from the duchess talking about her neighbor, Mrs. Carluke.”

  Helen regarded him with unreasonable hostility. “You know, I am quite capable of looking after myself.” It sounded ungracious, and she knew it. “But I am grateful,” she muttered.

  Inevitably, amusement pierced his veiled eyes. It struck her he had said little, betrayed nothing of his feelings during their meeting. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had hurt more than his pride by rejecting his offer of marriage. With him beside her, suddenly it was a heady thought. And a shameful one. Because she did not want to have caused him pain for the sake of her own pride. But he could not love her, could he?