The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “I will be there,” he promised. “Perhaps I can convince you I am neither unintelligent nor ungentlemanly.”

  She shook her head. “Please, do not make the effort. It is not as though we will ever spend much time together; your opinion of me can hardly matter, and I’m sure you don’t give a fig for my opinion of you.”

  Malcolm looked down at her solemn face, and mentally kicked himself for insulting her. It was a bad way to begin, insulting the sister of the local baronet, when he had meant to show the county he could be responsible. Her poor opinion of him rankled, though he had no idea why.

  “I will be there,” he assured her. “Perhaps we can put today behind us and begin again.”

  “Perhaps,” she answered, but her tone was forbidding.

  As Malcolm bowed solemnly over her hand, Arthur approached them, his face alight with curiosity.

  “You looked lovely dancing, Helena,” he said.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. She turned to Malcolm. “Lord Wroxton, my brother, Sir Arthur Keighley.”

  “How do you do?” An easy smile came to Malcolm’s face as he shook Arthur’s hand. “We are neighbors—perhaps you would be willing to ride out with me and show me the countryside some time soon.”

  “I would be delighted.” Arthur glanced at his sister. “Though Helena has been managing the estate for some years; she should come with us.”

  “No, there is no need for that,” said Helena hastily. “You will soon be taking care of your own land; you should accompany Lord Wroxton.”

  Arthur beamed, and the two men fell into a comfortable conversation about horses. Helena stood by for a moment, inwardly fuming, and was relieved when her partner for the next dance claimed her. She looked back over her shoulder to see Malcolm laugh and clap her brother on the shoulder, and her annoyance with him only grew.

  Malcolm stayed in the ballroom for an hour, leading out Damaris and several other ladies, and Mr. Delaney manfully did his duty, dancing with both Helena and Damaris. Eventually the two men repaired to the card room, where they were found by the other gentlemen to be very pleasant, and not at all high in the instep. By the end of the evening, the general opinion of the Wicked Earl was that he was a pleasant surprise, and it was a great deal too bad that such iniquities had been visited upon him in the past.

  After the fifth person had commented to Helena how delightful Lord Wroxton appeared to be, she discovered she had a headache, and, deciding it was time to go home, looked for Arthur. He was not to be found, however, and she realized he was very likely in the card room with the earl. She contemplated pursuing him there, but she would then encounter his lordship again, an eventuality which she fervently wished to avoid.

  “Whatever are you thinking, dear? It is rare for you to be Friday-faced,” said Damaris, coming up beside her. “Is the evening not to your liking?”

  “I have a headache, I’m afraid.”

  “A headache? Or an aversion to the Wicked Earl?”

  “Both,” said Helena with a laugh, glad her friend understood her so well. “A headache caused by my aversion to Wroxton.”

  “What a pity that you do not care for him. He’s quite handsome, and he dances very well.”

  “Damaris, he not only kissed me this afternoon, he insulted me on the dance floor as well,” protested Helena. “You cannot expect me to like him.”

  “He insulted you?” asked Damaris. “He was perfectly charming to me.”

  “He—he mentioned Denby.”

  “Ah.” Damaris considered her thoughtfully. “That was rude indeed.”

  “It was,” agreed Helena.

  “Did he do this for no reason at all? He simply began to speak of Denby?”

  Helena bit her lip. “I may have implied his troubles were his own fault.”

  “Helena, you did not! The poor man has been exiled from his home and family for more than a decade!””

  “You know my wretched tongue runs away with me when I am angry,” said Helena. “Besides, he would not have been exiled had he only been a bit more circumspect. He was a wild youth and is doubtless not much improved.”

  “How severe you are. I suppose you told him that.”

  “Are you laughing at me?” asked Helena.

  “You seem very angry, and I am not sure why,” replied Damaris. She waved her hands as Helena opened her mouth. “I allow it was very wrong of him to kiss you, but he did not know who you were. It seems as though you might forgive him that.”

  “I will not be forgiving Lord Wroxton his impertinence,” said Helena firmly. “Really, Damaris, you are like all the others here, thinking him a model of perfection.”

  “I think no such thing; he is very much a man of the world, and I’m sure we seem terribly provincial to him,” said Damaris. “But you must not hold that against him. It would be better if the two of you could be on friendly terms. Arthur seems quite taken with him, and I imagine he will be much underfoot.”

  Helena sighed. Her friend made good sense, but she was not inclined to listen. “He accused me of encouraging Denby!”

  Damaris shook her head. “You have never told me the story, and I have not pried. No doubt people have been only too happy to relate the unfortunate tale to his lordship, and he was unwise enough to mention it. Fortunately the two of you will not have to spend much time together.”

  “Of that I am very sure.” Helena looked down at Damaris, who merely gazed back skeptically. She sighed. “Very well, I will try to forget our argument. I bid him wait on me tomorrow, and if he can behave respectably, perhaps we can rub along together until he relieves us of his presence.”

  “I’m sure our neighbors do not wish him to depart soon,” said Damaris. “He has made quite a splash tonight. However, I must say I am disappointed he lacks a scar and a limp. I suppose it is too much to hope that he brought a low-born mistress with him!”

  Helena laughed despite herself. “He appears to have brought Mr. Delaney instead.”

  “Yes, I danced with him—as did you. A personable gentleman.”

  “I found him more agreeable than the earl. But then, I would be hard put to find someone I dislike more than his lordship just now.”

  “I believe Mr. Delaney is unmarried,” ventured Damaris, her eye twinkling.

  “Don’t even mention it!” exclaimed Helena. “I have no intention of pursuing—or being pursued by—Mr. Delaney!”

  “No?” asked Damaris innocently.

  “No,” replied Helena firmly.

  “Oh, very well,” pouted Damaris, looked across the room. “There is your brother now.”

  Helena followed her gaze and saw Arthur approaching, deep in conversation with Lord Wroxton. She resisted the urge to sigh audibly, and walked across the room to them, Damaris, clearly agog, following in her wake.

  Bestowing a frosty smile on Malcolm, she laid her hand on Arthur’s arm. “If you would not mind, dear, I would like to go home now. I have the headache.”

  “The headache?” Arthur was astonished. “You never have headaches.”

  “Well, tonight I do,” she said impatiently. She avoided looking at the earl, as she was fairly certain he was regarding her with some amusement.

  “What a pity you are unwell, Miss Keighley,” said Malcolm solicitously. “By all means, Sir Arthur, you must take your sister home immediately. Her health should be your first concern. We can continue our conversation tomorrow.”

  Arthur seemed to be appeased by this promise. “Very well, if you aren’t feeling quite the thing, Helena, we should go.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, trying to not let her annoyance creep into her voice.

  The earl bowed politely. “I made plans to ride out with your brother tomorrow, Miss Keighley and had thought to wait on you as well. Do you expect to be recovered enough to receive visitors?” His voice was faintly teasing, and she itched to give him a sharp set down.

  “I’m sure I will feel much better in the morning.�
�� She refused to meet his eyes.

  “I look forward to seeing you again,” he said smoothly. “Good evening, Mrs. Honeysett.” He clapped Arthur on the shoulder and strode away, leaving Helena seething.

  Helena turned to say good night to Damaris, whose amusement at her friend’s situation was clear.

  “I look forward to hearing all about your visit with Lord Wroxton,” said Damaris impishly.

  “I doubt it will be particularly enlightening.” Helena looked at Arthur. “Please, may we go now?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he replied politely, offering his arm.

  Helena gave Damaris a hug, and then allowed Arthur to lead her towards the foyer.

  Chapter 7

  Helena was just beginning to feel a sense of calm steal over her at the thought they would soon be out of the presence of Lord Wroxton, when her equilibrium was again thoroughly dashed. There was a stir by the door, and a gentleman entered, impeccably dressed in black evening clothes. He was middle-aged, but handsome in a rather coarse way, with cynical black eyes and a slightly dissolute air. Helena stopped in her tracks.

  “Oh lord,” she said under breath.

  Arthur looked up and groaned. “What the devil is Denby doing here?”

  “Annoying us all,” said Helena. “Well, I can hardly turn tail and flee. It must be faced, I suppose.”

  Knowing everyone in the vicinity was watching her closely, Helena moved forward, her fingers gripping Arthur’s arm tightly. She held her head regally as they swept up the stairs and past Lord Denby, who paused with an expression on his face that might be a smile or might be a sneer and sketched a bow. Helena’s eyes passed over him as though she did not see him, and she and Arthur moved on and out the door.

  “The rotter,” muttered Arthur. “I’d like to call him out.”

  “You will do no such thing,” said Helena sharply. “I will not have my name bandied about further. And,” she added, her voice softening, “I would never wish you to risk yourself simply because he is a horrid person.”

  “If I had been grown at the time—” began Arthur.

  “But you were not. Please, let us discuss it no further this evening; it only makes us both angry. I’m thankful for your concern, but it is best to not think of Lord Denby.”

  Arthur shook his head angrily, but allowed Helena to draw him out of the foyer and into the night, where their carriage waited.

  In the assembly room, Lord Denby gazed after Helena and Arthur for a moment, then made his leisurely way down the stairs. A few people in the crowd greeted him, and he eventually fell into conversation with a gentleman in startling yellow breeches and very high shirt points.

  Stephen, having observed the interaction between Helena and Denby, gave a low whistle. “It seems Miss Keighley has no affection for his lordship.”

  Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “She made that abundantly clear to me earlier. Not that I can blame her. There is no love lost between Denby and myself.”

  “A lady?” asked Stephen teasingly.

  Malcolm shrugged. “No, not a lady. I have always found him lacking in something—though I cannot tell you what. He is somewhat older than I, of course, and our paths seldom cross. But he does not pretend to care for me, either.”

  “He’s usually quite popular with the womenfolk,” observed Stephen.

  Malcolm gave a short laugh. “But not the one he was caught kissing.” His eyes narrowed. “I wonder what the story is there.”

  Stephen looked alarmed. “Lord, Mal, don’t involve yourself in the troubles of the locals. We want to return to London at some point, and if you call Denby out over Miss Keighley’s honor, the gossip will surely follow us. Aren’t you talked about enough as it is?”

  The hint of anger faded from Malcolm’s eyes, and he laughed. “I’m one far more likely to compromise a lady’s honor than defend it, Del. I don’t think Miss Keighley would thank me if I tried to do either with hers.”

  “No, I doubt she would,” agreed Stephen. “Not that she is the dragon you led me to believe; I danced with her and found her very charming.”

  “Did you? I found her likely to bite my head off.”

  “You doubtless deserved it,” Stephen pointed out.

  Malcolm shrugged. “She has a way of provoking me, I’ll give you that. Forgive me, but I grow bored with discussing Miss Keighley. Will you return to the card room, or are you for home?”

  Stephen shrugged. “We’ve rusticated enough for the night, I suppose.”

  The gentlemen turned towards the door, and as they did so, Lord Denby extricated himself from his conversation and approached them. He held out his hand, and Malcolm shook it with some reluctance.

  “Wroxton,” said Lord Denby. He turned to Stephen, who acknowledged him with a nod. “Delaney.”

  “What are you doing in Kent, Denby?” asked Malcolm after a brief pause. “It’s the height of the Season in London.”

  “The same as you, I imagine,” responded Lord Denby. “Checking on my estates and visiting the local assembly in search of amusement.”

  “You’ll not be in Kent long, then?”

  “Until my business is done. I find it odd that you are here, Wroxton. Since your return you seem bent on pleasure, not on responsibility.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “My estate needs tending to as well. London can wait.”

  “Will the beautiful Mrs. Lacey wait?” asked Denby, with a bit of a leer.

  Malcolm refused to be drawn. “That is up to Mrs. Lacey.”

  Denby shot him an inquiring glance. “Surely you aren’t thinking of finding a bride while you are here? You’ve barely regained your life of pleasure--do you mean to give it up again so soon?”

  “Lord no, I’m not looking to marry. I told you I’m here on business, and I mean to return to London as soon as I may.

  “What sort of business do you have here?” persisted Lord Denby.

  Malcolm’s brow creased. “The usual things; my bailiff needs guidance, the tenants wish to see the earl, and apparently there are free traders on my land. I can’t have that, and neither can the neighbors.”

  “The neighbors?” A flicker of concern crossed Denby’s face.

  Malcolm looked at him more closely. “They afflict Keighley Manor as well as Wroxton. Neither estate can support such things.”

  Denby laughed. “Ah, you have been listening to Miss Keighley’s romantic notions, then.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Malcolm stiffly.

  Denby shook his head. “You’ve come down here for naught if you are pursuing her summons. She will have it that there are dangerous marauders on the coast, hauling in French brandy by the boatload. I’ve no doubt the county holds a free trader or two, but there is no large band of ruffians out to trespass upon her lands. Miss Keighley has some far-fetched notions, no doubt fed by her father’s imaginings. He was not right in the head, you know.” Denby tapped his temple significantly.

  “I heard some mention of that, but, to date, I find Miss Keighley to be remarkably unafflicted with romantic notions.”

  “Ah, well, you will see,” said Denby jovially. “You will soon learn that Wroxton is in no danger from smugglers.”

  “Perhaps I shall,” said Malcolm mildly. “But I plan to find out for myself. Thank you for your advice, Denby. Del, shall we be on our way?”

  With a nod, Malcolm strolled away, Stephen following in his wake.

  “It seems Denby doesn’t believe the smugglers are a threat,” he said.

  Malcolm snorted. “His estate isn’t on the water, and he clearly has no compunction about sullying Miss Keighley’s name further. I certainly intend to listen to what she has to say, at any rate. I’d put my faith in her over Denby any day.”

  “As she is far more attractive than Denby,” said Stephen lightly, “I’d prefer to listen to her myself.”

  “True enough,” agreed Malcolm. “But I have no intention of allowing Miss Keighley to talk me into any nonsense. We’ll be gone in a few days
, Del.”

  Ignoring the skeptical look on his friend’s face, Malcolm walked up the stairs and out of the room.

  Chapter 8

  Helena rose early the next morning, and, not bothering to ring for Sherburne, dressed herself and strode down to the stables, as was her habit. As she walked across the grounds, enjoying the bright early morning sunlight and the fresh scent of the new day, she did her best to put thoughts of Malcolm Arlingby out of her mind. It was difficult, as the ride home the night before had consisted primarily of Arthur singing his praises. The Earl of Wroxton, it seemed, was all that was gracious and amusing, and Arthur thought it very kind of him to condescend to spend time with one so much younger and less experienced than himself. Helena had held her tongue, not wishful to ruin her brother’s enthusiasm, but his hero worship had rankled.

  She spent half an hour in the stables, checking on a mare that was soon to foal. Macklin was of the opinion that it would be some days yet, and she had faith in his instincts.

  “But do be sure to let me know when the time comes,” she said to the groom. “I wish to be present if at all possible.”

  “Aye, miss,” he said. “I would want you to be there.”

  She nodded briskly and stepped out of the stall, her stomach telling her it was time for breakfast. As she headed to the house, she saw Arthur approaching, dressed for riding.

  “Helena! What are you doing here, and dressed like that?” he asked.

  Helena glanced down at her plain dress, now covered with an apron. “I am usually here at this hour, and just how would you have me dress? I can’t look in on the horses in a ball gown.”

  “You know I am riding with Wroxton this morning,” he said with exasperation. “If he should see you, what would he think?”

  “That I am tending to my duties?” she ventured. “Or that I am a serving girl, perhaps,” she added impishly.

  “Which is precisely what you look like! I wonder that you aren’t mortified at the thought.”

  “As I have no wish to impress his lordship, it hardly matters. I have plenty of time to change before you return from your ride.”