“Miss Keighley, welcome,” he said, escorting her into the hall. She realized with a shock how very familiar Wroxton Hall was to her now. A few weeks before it had been a grand, almost overwhelming, mansion, and now she knew it intimately and felt at home there.
“I’ve come to visit Lady Brayleigh,” said Helena, shoving the awkward word ‘home’ out of her mind.
“It is a great pleasure to have Miss Rowena at Wroxton Hall again,” Catherwood informed her. “I remember well you playing together when you were little girls.”
“It was a lovely time, but so long ago,” said Helena. She glanced around, relieved to see no sign of Malcolm.
“Miss Rowena is in her room. His lordship asked that you come to the library, should you visit.”
“Oh no, that is not necessary—“ Helena began, but then realized that Catherwood had his orders and her protestations would only appear odd. “Very well,” she concluded.
Beaming, Catherwood escorted her to the door of the library and flung it open. “Miss Keighley, my lord,” he announced.
Helena stepped into the room, by now more than familiar with it. She glanced once at the settee, thinking of the hour she and Malcolm had spent on it not so many days ago, before glancing towards the desk. Malcolm stood as she entered, and she took in his tall figure, his broad shoulders set off by the excellent fit of his superfine coat, his blue eyes regarding her warily.
Catherwood retired, closing the door behind him. Helena hesitated, saying nothing.
“Come in, Miss Keighley,” said Malcolm. “You need not fear I will importune you in any way.”
“I did not think you would,” she answered quietly.
“Please, be seated. Rowena will doubtless be down shortly; she and Brayleigh are, er, resting after their trip.” Malcolm’s eyes glinted with amusement.
Helena flushed slightly at his implication, and she made her way to the chair, seating herself on its edge as though poised to flee. Malcolm sank down again behind his desk.
“You will be glad to know that Brayleigh has agreed to assist in our endeavors,” he said lightly. “He and Del are to meet with Smithton tonight.”
“That is very kind of him.”
“It might keep Bulkeley off the scent, as it is important for Denby to believe we are wholly given over to pleasure here at Wroxton.”
“I must thank you for your help,” said Helena awkwardly.
Malcolm waved a hand dismissively. “Your concerns about the smugglers were well founded, and I should have paid attention to them long ago,” he said. “As for Denby, his unmasking will be very satisfying for both of us, I believe.”
“He is odious, is he not?” Helena wrinkled her nose.
“Very. I think the most satisfying aspect of this whole plot will be seeing him get his comeuppance.”
Helena found herself relaxing in response to Malcolm’s calm demeanor, and she smiled at him. “I can scarcely believe the ball is only two days hence,” she said. “It seems we have been planning it for so long.”
“Barely a month. But it has been fun, has it not?”
Helena thought back on the days before, the discussions of food and flowers, rides on the cliffs, strolls in the garden, and the way she had responded with such pleasure to Malcolm’s mere touch. “It has been,” she admitted.
“Well, it is nearly over,” he said briskly. “Soon enough you will be rid of me, and you can return to Keighley Manor in peace.”
Helena stared at him a moment, pondering the thought of his departure. It was what she wanted, of course, but she felt a growing sense of loss nonetheless. “I will miss you,” she finally said.
“You will miss some things about me, but not me,” Malcolm replied curtly.
Helena opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. To her great relief, the door opened, and Rowena flitted into the room.
“Helena, dear!” Rowena’s bright eyes flickered curiously from Malcolm’s face to hers. “It has been far too long.”
Helena rose to her feet and hugged Rowena enthusiastically. “It has indeed. I haven’t seen you since your father died.”
“It is wonderful to be back at Wroxton, and to see my brother in his rightful place. I am so pleased the two of you have become friends.”
“We are co-conspirators out of necessity,” said Malcolm. “I am not sure Miss Keighley considers me to be a friend.”
Rowena raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? Well, I must whisk your co-conspirator away, as we need to have a long talk. Letters are all very well, but we have a great deal of catching up to do. Come, Helena, let us leave Malcolm to—to whatever it is that gentlemen do with their afternoons.”
Malcolm rose as the two women left the room, and Rowena led Helena across the hall, throwing open the door of a sitting room and glancing around. “It is empty, thank heavens,” she said. “There are other guests, of course, and I find myself tripping over them constantly. Papa never entertained, so it is odd to see other people in Wroxton Hall. Though Malcolm has made it his own; there is such life in the house now, where before it was almost like a mausoleum.”
Helena nodded, grateful that Rowena was apparently happy to carry the burden of the conversation. She sat down in a chair as Rowena chatted away; she was vaguely aware that she was being regaled with the story of her friend’s courtship and marriage, but her mind wandered as the words rolled over her. Helena thought again of Malcolm’s serious face and his talk of leaving. Doubtless he would be glad to be rid of her and Mrs. Lacey would be only too happy to resume her role as his mistress. Perhaps Malcolm had already been to her room the night before. She frowned.
“Whatever is the matter? Are you unwell?”
Helena started and looked at Rowena, who was watching her with an expression of concern.
“I—I am fine. Why do you ask?” she stammered.
“You looked as though you were about to be sick,” said Rowena frankly. “I hope my story is not upsetting you.”
“No, not at all, of course I am pleased that you and Brayleigh are so happy. I am sorry, my thoughts had wandered.”
“Somewhere unpleasant, clearly. I wish you would tell me what is bothering you. Perhaps I can help.”
“It is nothing; just some loose ends that need to be tied up before the ball,” said Helena. “Do tell me more about Brayleigh.”
Rowena laughed. “You have heard enough about my husband. I want to hear about you.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “What do you think of Malcolm?”
Helena started again. Her conversation with Rowena appeared to be full of pitfalls. “He has been kind enough to assist me. I am grateful to him for that.”
“Grateful?” Rowena appeared to be disappointed. “I remember when we were girls; it always seemed to me that you had a bit of a tendre for him.”
Helena shook her head quickly. “No doubt I thought he was quite romantic, because he was so much older than us and rather wild. But wild young men are not as appealing to me as they once were.”
“He is no longer so young, or so wild,” said Rowena. “Indeed, he seems to have grown quite staid since he came down to Wroxton. He writes me letters full of nothing but talk of the crops and the tenants, and he has gone to great lengths to stop these freetraders. Just after we arrived he was entirely indifferent to Mrs. Lacey, which quite surprised me.”
Helena stiffened slightly at the mention of Estella. “He does what he must for the estate, as that is the source of his income. He is kind, of course, and amusing, and has a quick mind, but I doubt he will ever settle down.”
“You seem to know him very well,” ventured Rowena.
“We have been forced together a great deal of late. That is all it is, however,” said Helena repressively.
Rowena gave her a searching look, but apparently decided to drop the topic. “I am very pleased that my friend and my brother have some sort of friendship. It makes life much easier. Alaric has told me a bit about your plot! It seems he is now involved in
it.”
“He is?”
“Yes, Mr. Delaney and Alaric go into Folkestone tonight to meet with a riding officer. It sounds very exciting. And imagine, they are to go to a gambling hell run by a widow named Mrs. Featherhaugh. Is that not ridiculous?”
“Mrs. Featherhaugh?” repeated Helena.
“I believe that is the name Alaric used. He said that she is rather vulgar.”
“Your brother knew her on the Continent.” Helena’s voice was stiff.
“Did he? I imagine he knew a great number of odd people during that time,” said Rowena blithely.
Helena stood. “I must speak with Cook about those loose ends. I’m sorry to cut our visit short. You will stay some days after the ball, will you not?”
“Certainly. I have convinced Alaric to stay for a week,” said Rowena. “We will have plenty of time to visit. I wish to come to Keighley Manor soon; it has been so long since I have seen it.”
“You are always welcome.” Helena gave her friend a hug. “I am sorry if I seem distracted. After tomorrow, I will be much more attentive, I promise.”
“I look forward to the ball, and to a good, long chat afterward,” said Rowena.
Helena smiled and left the room, glad to have dodged the conversation. Her friend clearly suspected that there was more to her friendship with Malcolm than she had admitted. Realizing she had said she would go to the kitchen, she made her way to the first floor and talked for a few minutes with the surprised cook, who had plans for the ball well in hand. Helena then returned to the main part of the house, making her way through the elegant corridors. As she approached the hall, she heard voices, and realized that Malcolm and Rowena were talking to each other just around the next corner. She hesitated, unwilling to encounter them again, and ducked into the shelter of a doorway to wait for them to move on.
“What have you done to make Helena disapprove of you so?” she heard Rowena ask. “I had such hopes the two of you would become friends.”
Helena glanced around guiltily, realizing that she was eavesdropping and wondering if she could escape back the way she had come. But the voices were approaching her, and she feared she might be seen.
“Friends!” Malcolm exclaimed. “Miss Keighley is far too strict in her notions to be a friend of mine, Rowena. No matter how I try to please her, I can do nothing right in her eyes.”
“What a pity,” said Rowena. “She is dear to me, and I had such hopes the two of you might—“
“Might what?” There was a pause, and Helena heard Malcolm laugh. “You thought I might fall in love with her? What would I want with a woman like her, when I have Estella? Now, she’s a cozy armful.”
Helena stiffened. It served her right, she supposed, for eavesdroppers never heard well of themselves, but it still hurt to hear what Malcolm thought of her.
“Oh Malcolm, you are such a fool,” said Rowena.
“Not at all, sister dear. I’d be a fool to tie myself to one woman, much less a Friday-faced creature like Miss Keighley.”
Helena gave a gasp of fury, and then, realizing Malcolm and Rowena were coming ever closer, opened the door behind her and slipped into the room. She closed the door very softly, leaning against it with her eyes closed, her blood pounding in her ears. Of course she realized she paled in comparison to the charms of Estella, but it was painful to hear him say so.
After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, looking around the room to realize with a sinking feeling that it was the Red Drawing Room, in which she and Malcolm had whiled away several pleasant hours not a week before. Humiliated, she pulled herself together and peeked out into the hall. Ascertaining that the earl and his sister were no longer there, she slipped silently out of the room and fled. After the ball, she promised herself, she would not need to return.
Chapter 37
The door to Mrs. Featherhaugh’s discreet house in Folkestone opened and the heavily built butler glared at Stephen and Brayleigh. After a moment, recognition crossed his face, and he arranged his features into what might have been a smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Delaney, it’s a pleasure to see you here again,” he said, holding the door wide.
The two gentlemen entered. “I’ve brought my good friend Lord Brayleigh tonight, Grigs. I’m sure Mrs. Featherhaugh will be glad to have him join her party.”
Grigs looked Brayleigh over with a knowing eye, and, clearly judging him to be both well bred and well breeched enough to please his employer, bowed low. Brayleigh handed him his hat, and looked around the hall as the butler left to fetch his mistress.
“This seems like a genteel enough place, Del,” he observed.
“Mrs. Featherhaugh is not of the highest ton,” Stephen answered with a little laugh in his voice. “But the play is deep and reasonably honest, and her table and cellar are well stocked. It’s the best place in the area for gentlemen to enjoy an evening on what passes for the town.”
As he spoke, Mrs. Featherhaugh made her appearance, lending credence to Stephen’s assessment. She wore a gown of red silk, cut low to ensure the gentlemen could appreciate her fine bosom. Its little cap sleeves were pushed well off her shoulders and trimmed above and below with black lace ornamented with silver spangles. The bodice was trimmed with the same, and more spangles clung to the black velvet ribbon that marked the gown’s high waist, while the black lace made an encore appearance in a band of trim quite eight inches high at the hem. Several waving plumes topped an elaborate headdress, in which a silver laurel wreath and a red silk cap competed for attention. The final detail was a red fan with ebony sticks that dangled from her wrist. Brayleigh gazed at this ensemble in awe, and then bowed over her outstretched hand, as Stephen presented him to her.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he murmured.
Mrs. Featherhaugh tapped his arm with her fan as he rose. “So you’re the legendary collector, are you? Surely I recall seeing you in Brussels before Waterloo, trying to obtain a painting of some naked lady bathers?”
Brayleigh hid a cringe at hearing his beautiful Boucher masterpiece described as merely a picture of unclothed women. “You have an excellent memory ma’am. I was indeed able to secure a work of art during that time.”
“It serves me well,” she assured him. “I never forget a face. I hear you are no longer in the market to collect women. Such a pity, though I suppose your wife is very happy. Dear Wroxton seems to have mended his ways as well, which is a shame. You should have seen him cutting a dash in Vienna ten years ago. Instructing at the riding school during the day he was, but I give you my word, you’d never have known it to see him dancing with the ladies at the balls in the evening.”
Brayleigh’s face grew, if possible, even blander as he listened to this, while Delaney looked as though he might burst into guffaws at any moment. Mercifully, their hostess appeared to recall that she would make no money with them lingering in the hall. “Come up to the salon, gentlemen,” she urged. “We have any game you like. There’s wine on the sideboard and supper downstairs.”
Inside the gaming salon, Stephen and Brayleigh paused for a moment, taking in the scene.
“At least Denby is not here,” said Stephen with relief. “I have no doubt he knows the local riding officers by sight, and would be very curious to see us talking to him.”
“I can only hope our luck continues to hold,” said Alaric. “At the tables and otherwise. Though doubtless some of the men here are in league with him. We must not draw attention to ourselves.
They moved to the hazard table, more interested in waiting for the riding officer than risking vast sums at faro. Stephen poured them each a glass of wine and they joined in the game with feigned enthusiasm. Eventually a fair young man appeared in the door of the salon, looking uncomfortable in what appeared to be very new evening clothes. Alaric glanced at him sharply and then caught Stephen’s eye. As they hesitated, Mrs. Featherhaugh floated over to them.
“How are you gentlemen faring tonight?” she asked jovi
ally.
“Very well,” answered Stephen politely. “The wine is excellent, Mrs. Featherhaugh.”
She laughed. “It does no good to stint on such things, and the more my guests drink, the more they spend.”
A man across the table rolled a main, and under the hubbub of conversation, Mrs. Featherhaugh moved a step closer. “That is Lieutenant Smithton,” she said under her breath. “I will let him know to join you.”
Alaric nodded politely, and threw the dice, his face carefully blank. Stephen affected a yawn, and stepped back from the table.
“My luck is out, Brayleigh,” he announced. “I’ve a mind to try my hand at faro. Do you join me?”
“No, thank you, Del. I find that I do very well here.”
Stephen nodded, and strolled across the room. As he departed, Lieutenant Smithton slipped into his place next to Brayleigh. Alaric acknowledged him with a cold nod, and continued to play. When another burst of conversation broke out, he turned slightly toward his neighbor.
“Mr. Delaney and I will go downstairs to the supper room,” he said under his breath. “In five minutes, pretend you must relieve yourself, but go out the back through the servant’s door. We will do likewise and meet you there.” He pushed away from the table, swept up the coins piled before him, and left.
Brayleigh stopped at the faro table and glanced over Stephen’s shoulder. “You are unlikely to succeed with that hand, Del,” he said pleasantly. “Shall we dine?”
“Certainly,” replied Stephen, tossing down his cards and standing. “Mrs. Featherhaugh will regret my absence, however, as I’ve had a shocking run of luck.” He fell into step beside Brayleigh.
“We are to meet Smithton in the garden shortly,” murmured Alaric as the two men walked down the stairs.
Stephen nodded his understanding, and they walked past the supper room, instead slipping through a door that led down the servants’ stairs. A few minutes later they emerged into the dim light of the kitchen garden, where the riding officer awaited them.
“You must be Lieutenant Smithton,” Alaric said. “I am Brayleigh, and this is Lord Wroxton’s friend, Mr. Delaney.”
The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) Page 30
