The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “Lieutenant John Smithton, at your service,” the young man said punctiliously. “What is it you need to discuss in such secrecy?”

  “Conversations with excisemen are viewed in a dim light by both the Gentlemen and the locals, as you are aware, and while we wish to render you some assistance, we are not eager to have it get about.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Smithton exclaimed with a note of bitterness in his voice. “There isn’t a soul in this county that will tell us the truth, and most of my men are fearful of having their throats slit in their beds.”

  “Well, the excise taxes are very unpopular, and the free trade generates a great deal of money for some folk,” Stephen said reasonably. “You can hardly expect them to welcome the intrusion.”

  “True enough, but the ‘Gentlemen’ also have crimes to their name, and looking the other way at burning cottages and encouraging the worst kind of criminals, while trying to mislead His Majesty’s service--” Smithton’s voice trailed off.

  “Precisely,” Brayleigh said in a bored tone. “Now, let us waste no more time, and turn our attention to those matters we can control rather than those we cannot.” He took a pinch of snuff. “Two nights hence, at the dark of the moon, Lord Wroxton will hold a grand ball. He has invited guests from London as well as all the local nobility and gentry. We have reason to believe that a load of casks now lying in a cave near the coast on Wroxton’s land will be moved across his property on the way to the Ashford Road and thence to London. We have located a spot from which we can be certain to see the pony train pass, and will shadow it to the road where the goods will be transferred to wagons for transport to London. We want you and your troop to be there to trap them.”

  The stuffy riding officer was instantly transformed to an enthusiastic young man. “By Jove, my lord,” he declared enthusiastically. “That would be wonderful beyond anything.”

  Brayleigh eyed him silently. “Quite so. Now, we have been out here long enough, and I am concerned that the absence of all three of us may be noticed. Mr. Delaney and I will go up to the supper room and eat, and you will return to the tables. You know the date of our plan, and will visit this house again tomorrow. Mrs. Featherhaugh will then ensure that you receive further information on how to proceed. You will memorize these communications and burn any written instructions. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes my lord,” Smithton replied. “I look forward to stopping this gang, and ah, promoting the Earl’s interests.”

  “Indeed, Lieutenant,” Brayleigh responded and turned away to reenter the house.

  Later, as the two men returned to Wroxton Hall, the carriage rocking under the starlit sky, and the sound of the horses’ hooves muffling their voices, Stephen bent an inquiring look on Alaric. “You were very hard on that lad, Brayleigh.”

  “I suppose so,” Alaric answered. “While I recognize that the free traders are a source of much mischief, I don’t like the excise taxes or stiff-rumped riding officers any better. But they must be forced to stop traveling across Wroxton and Keighley lands, or Lady Brayleigh will allow me no peace. It is a great trial to have a wife who cares so much for her brother.”

  Stephen smiled in the darkness, but kept his silence.

  Helena mounted the steps of Wroxton Hall nervously. She had had no word from Malcolm in the past two days, outside of a note thanking her for her assistance with the ball and indicating that she was always a welcome visitor. She had considered it from every angle, but it gave up no clues. She had resolutely stayed away until this morning, but, as the ball was tonight, she could no longer shirk her duties. It would be unkind to allow the servants to bear all the burden of the work, and she had her pride as well. Everyone knew she had planned this entertainment, so it was necessary that it go off without a hitch.

  Catherwood greeted her at the front door with a welcoming smile. “Thank you for coming so early, Miss Keighley,” he said. “Mrs. Macomber will be pleased to have you here, particularly as they are to come this morning with the flowers and other decorations for the Green Salon, and she is uncertain exactly what is to be done.”

  Helena nodded. “That is why I arrived so early, Catherwood. Mrs. Macomber and I discussed our plans for the decorations with Lord Wroxton, but I hardly think he will remember the details.”

  “Indeed not, Miss. However, his lordship has been down to the cellars with me, and I can promise that the wines at dinner and the champagne for the supper table will be the finest.”

  Helena chuckled. “I have no doubt of that whatsoever. I will go to the salon now and make sure I know exactly where everything is to go before the workmen arrive. Where is Mrs. Macomber?”

  “Awaiting you in the Green Salon,” replied Catherwood.

  Helena walked across the hall as the Greek and Roman statuary collected by earlier Arlingbys gazed down on her from their embrasures. Light streamed through the Palladian windows set high in the walls, and she made a mental note to be sure the workers remembered the floral arrangements that were to go at the bottom of the stairs and the hanging flowers that were to drop from the railing of the gallery.

  She stepped into the Green Salon and looked about. The staff had clearly been busy over the previous days, for the room had been emptied of furniture. The parquet floors had been chalked with representations of flowers to prevent the dancers slipping, the windows sparkled, sunlight passing through the crystals in the grand chandeliers scattered little rainbows of light on the floor, and the gilt wall sconces around the room were dust free and gleamed with polishing.

  She turned with a smile when Mrs. Macomber joined her. “The room looks perfect!”

  “We haven’t entertained at Wroxton Hall in over ten years, Miss Keighley,” the housekeeper answered. “It’s no wonder that a good cleaning made a difference. I had to bring in a few extra girls from the village to clean the chandelier, but I think it will do his lordship proud tonight.”

  “I’m sure it will, Mrs. Macomber,” came a deep voice from the door. Malcolm sauntered over to the two women and smiled at the housekeeper, before turning to Helena. At the sight of the old day dress of sturdy cotton twill she had chosen to wear, its former bright green faded to the point of indeterminacy, and the rather shapeless cap she had jammed over her auburn locks, his eyebrows rose. “My dear Miss Keighley, I’m sure that the footmen will be happy to provide the heavy labor today. There’s no need to come here to assist dressed as though you were planning to spend the morning cleaning the stables.”

  Helena grew pink. “Sometimes it is easier to move a floral arrangement or the wooden backing oneself when trying to get arrangements ‘just so’,” she snapped.

  “I’m sure that’s true,” he said, “But I would prefer you to - ” His voice died away as he realized that there was really no way for him to end his sentence without providing Mrs. Macomber with fuel for gossip.

  Helena was already uncomfortably aware that Malcolm was dressed exactly as a nobleman should be to receive visitors from London at his country seat, in a well cut black riding coat, a pale yellow waistcoat, and breeches of a similar hue. His riding boots shone with a gloss that his valet had perfected over years of study, and she noted with irritation that his cravat was tied in a perfect mailcoach knot.

  She attempted to tidy her hopeless cap, then gave up the battle.

  “If you would prefer me to leave Lord Wroxton, I will, but - ” she said stiffly.

  “Don’t be absurd,” he interrupted. “Of course I wish you to be here. I was merely trying to say that I wished to spare you the heavy work to which the servants would be better suited, but you seem hell bent on misconstruing my intentions.” He paused and continued, heedless of Mrs. Macomber’s eager ears. “Not for the first time, I might add.”

  “Very well,” Helena said, rather meaninglessly, as she desperately tried to think of a way to change the subject. Rescue arrived in the form of a parade of workmen, hauling handcarts laden with potted trees and plants, ornamental trellises, barrows
filled with cut flowers, and all manner of other decorative stuffs into the room. Helena’s face brightened and she turned toward them, relieved. She stopped when she felt Malcolm’s hand on her shoulder, his skin warm even through the material of her gown. She looked up, startled.

  Malcolm opened his mouth, and then shot Mrs. Macomber another glance. “I will speak to you later,” he said, before turning on his heel and leaving. Helena stared after him.

  After a moment she refocused her thoughts on the task at hand, pulling a bundle of papers out of the deep pockets of her old dress and shuffling through them until she found the floor plan. She waved Mrs. Macomber toward her, and they fell to directing the disposition of the decorations.

  Much later Helena and Mrs. Macomber were able to dismiss the last of the workers and view the completed tableau. At one end of the room, a veritable forest of flowering trees flanked a cascade of vines and flowers that streamed down the back wall. Little islands of flowers and trees created paths, with chairs and benches situated along them. At the opposite end of the salon more floral arrangements surrounded the space designated for the musicians, and along the walls, wreaths and floral cascades ornamented the sconces, while pots of blooms stood at intervals on the floor. The cut green velvet papering the walls made it seem almost as though the room had no walls, and the garden-like space extended indefinitely.

  “It’s lovely, Miss Keighley,” the housekeeper said. “It looks as though you have brought the gardens inside. Even in London you couldn’t have a finer setting.”

  “I hope Wroxton thinks so,” Helena laughed. “This all cost him a pretty penny, but I think it will impress on the visitors from London that he is entirely serious about taking his rightful place in Society.”

  “Even if Wroxton does not agree, his sister feels you could not have done better by him,” a musical voice interrupted.

  Helena spun around, a grin covering her face, and saw Lady Brayleigh. “Rowena! You gave me quite a surprise. I’m very glad you like the decorations. Of course people won’t talk of it as they would a grand ball in London, but I do hope it will make an impression.”

  “Oh, it most certainly will. That cascade of blooms, and the one in the entrance hall, will have everyone talking. It’s almost like a waterfall of flowers.” Rowena paused for a moment, and appeared to look at Helena for the first time. “Whatever are you wearing?” she asked in a puzzled tone. “Don’t I recall that dress from the days before you were out? You wore it when we wished to go for a ramble in the woods. Why on earth do you still have it?”

  “You sound exactly like your brother. And my brother.” Exasperation crept into her voice. “I am not a lady of fashion, and I supervise any number of inelegant activities at Keighley Manor. Do you expect me to wear my good dresses for such things?”

  “I suppose not, but surely a serviceable newer gown in a sensible color would be better than that washed out rag, my dear.”

  “Oh, never mind my clothes, I vow I’m sick of the subject. Mrs. Macomber,” she continued, “would you come with Lady Brayeigh and me to the morning room please? We can go through the rest of the list, and then I will return to Keighley Manor.”

  The three women reviewed the remainder of the tasks that must be finished before that evening, with Mrs. Macomber assuring Helena that all would be well. The cook joined them to go over the menus one last time, and eventually all was in order. When the servants departed, Helena, who was beginning to feel weary, sat back in her chair with a sigh. Rowena looked at her with concern.

  “My dear, when did you last have anything to eat or drink?” she asked.

  “I had some tea in bed this morning before I came here.”

  “No wonder you look ready to drop,” Rowena said in a shocked tone.

  “I must return to Keighley Manor now, so I can dress for the evening and arrive for dinner with Arthur; I’ll eat when I get there.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind! Mrs. Macomber will take you upstairs to a room, and have a tray sent to you there, and then you will have a rest! We’ll send a groom to Keighley Manor, and have him bring your maid back with your dress for tonight. After your nap, they will bring a bath up to you, and you will be refreshed instead of burnt to the socket when the ball starts tonight,” Rowena declared.

  “That sounds a great deal more restful than my plan,” Helena admitted ruefully.

  Rowena rang for a maid, and Helena soon found herself swept away by the housekeeper to a room in the West Wing with floral wallpaper, a thick Aubusson carpet, chairs upholstered in straw colored silk, and a bed with hangings of the same, piled high with pillows trimmed in lace. One of the upstairs maids undressed her and ensconced her in its feathery comfort, and promised faithfully to have Sherburne awake her as soon as she arrived.

  As Helena was climbing into bed, a second maid arrived with the promised tray. When she saw the peaches and grapes from Wroxton’s succession houses, along with fresh bread, butter, and some slices of the excellent cheese made in the estate dairy, Helena suddenly remembered how very hungry she was and allowed the maid to settle it over her legs. After enjoying her repast, she kept her eyes open just long enough to ring to have the tray removed before falling soundly asleep.

  Chapter 38

  Helena woke to late afternoon sun streaming into the room and Sherburne’s familiar voice. For an instant, her surroundings were disorienting, but she rapidly found her bearings. “Sherburne, how glad I am you have arrived,” she said sleepily. “Rowena would have it that I must stay here and rest, but I was worried about you and my dress arriving in time.”

  “That’s nothing to fret about Miss Keighley,” the maid said. “I’ve been here quite some time, and have even had a chance to take your dress downstairs and ask Mrs. Macomber to see that it is pressed fresh for you, it having taken a bit of wrinkle on the way here.”

  “Thank you Sherburne,” Helena replied. “Did you also ask them to send a bath up?”

  “Indeed I did, miss. I expect it to arrive at any moment.” Sherburne turned away for a moment, to lift Helena’s wrapper out of a portmanteau on the floor. She held it up and Helena climbed out of bed, wrapping it around herself. She had barely had time to sit down when there was a rap on the door, and a maid and two sturdy men appeared with a hip bath and water cans. When they had set it up on the hearth and finished pouring the water and correcting the temperature, they departed, and Helena slipped gratefully into the pleasantly hot water.

  “Oh, how delightful,” she breathed. “The room looks beautiful, but there was a great deal of dirt and dust getting it all in place, and I have been longing to wash ever since we finished with it late this morning.”

  “Relax and enjoy it for a bit,” Sherburne suggested. “I need to brush your hair, it having been under that cap all day, before I can dress it for the evening. You may as well enjoy your soak while I do it.”

  Helena had no objections to this plan, and relaxed in the tub under Sherburne’s soothing ministrations.

  “You’ll look so lovely tonight, not even Lady Brayleigh will be more elegant,” murmured the maid as she took the pins out of Helena’s hairs, letting it down gently and then brushing out the tangles. “I’m sure his lordship will be that pleased with you.”

  “Lord Wroxton’s opinion matters to me not at all,” said Helena firmly.

  “I have no doubt you will find him very elegant as well,” continued Sherburne, as though she had not heard her. “A very fine gentleman he is, to be sure.”

  Helena sank deeper into the tub, not sure of how to answer. His lordship was indeed a fine gentleman. Far too fine for her, with her country ways and unfashionable dresses. Banishing thoughts of Malcolm, Helena felt the last of her tiredness dissipating, and relaxation stealing across her stiff shoulders as the moments passed. When Sherburne was done, and announced that she was going to go downstairs to fetch her ball gown, Helena murmured her assent and settled into the water until only her head could be seen.

  There
came a tap at the door, and she turned her head. “Come in,” she called, assuming it was Rowena, or Sherburne returning.

  The door opened, and Malcolm filled the opening, smiling at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Keighley. I trust you are comfortable. What a very good idea it was of Rowena’s to have you stay here this afternoon.”

  She gasped, and reached for one of the towels resting next to the bath. “What are you doing here?” she squeaked, attempting ineffectively to use the towel as a shield.

  “Appreciating a work of natural beauty?” he asked in a good-natured tone as he entered the room.

  “You must go, we can’t have the servants see you in here with me,” said Helena frantically.

  “The servants know what we are to each other, my dear.” Malcolm walked over to the tub and stood gazing down at her thoughtfully.

  “Then they are the only ones,” retorted Helena.

  “I must own some confusion on that front,” he admitted. He reached out one arm and picked up a spindle legged chair covered in pale silk and placed it next to the tub. Seating himself, he looked at her, his expression grave.

  “What are you doing here?” repeated Helena. “If anyone were to find us—“

  “You would have to marry me,” concluded Malcolm. “But no, that is not why I came to your room, as delightful as the thought is. I have wanted to speak to you all day, and you keep running from me. I knew they’d sent up a bath to your room, and it occurred to me that you’d not be able to escape under the circumstances.”

  “Your plan is imperfect; Sherburne will be back at any moment,” countered Helena defiantly.

  “I don’t think so. I saw her in the hall, and, though we did not speak I think we understood one another. She will not return until I leave.”

  “She would not abandon me so!”

  “I think the servants know our minds better than we do,” said Malcolm unhurriedly. He reached out and traced a finger idly along her collarbone. “Or at least better than you do.”