A Mother For His Family

by Susanne Dietze

  “My decision to come here alone was rash, but yes, Frances and I did have a plan that was perhaps not the wisest course. I wish you and I had told one another what we were about.”

  Although she was tucked against his side, he could feel her heart tugging away from him. “I trust you, Helena, but I wanted to protect you.”

  “And I wished to protect you.” She chewed her lip. “You’ve saved me too many times.”

  “We both wished to see him brought to justice. And now he is.”

  She smiled, but said no more as they exited the house. They kept to their own thoughts until, trailed by Adam, they arrived home, which had never seemed so warm or sweet smelling. They divested their damp coats and hats. He reached for her hand. “May we speak in the library, please?”

  “We have a conversation to finish.”

  “Two items of post arrived, milord. One was said to be urgent.” Kerr’s voice held them back. “They await your lordship on the salver in the library.”

  “Thank you.” John led Helena to the library, shut the door and pulled her close. Her hair reeked of Coles’s bergamot cologne. “Shall we call the physician to look at your neck? ’Tis bruised. Does it ache inside?”

  Her head shook. “I wouldn’t wish to explain the bruises. They’ll fade.”

  “I pray the memories of his hands on you fade as fast.”

  “Oh, John.” She buried her head against his waistcoat. Could she hear his heart pummeling his chest? His arms tightened. Surely she was not unaffected, not repulsed by him to curl into his chest like this.

  His lips were against her hair. He could easily kiss her again, starting at the top of her head. Then he’d lift her face and follow the trail of her cheek to her lips.

  “The post.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  “Leave it,” he said into her hair.

  “Kerr said ’twas urgent.”

  So he had, and John had no business entertaining the notion of kissing her again. His hands fell. “Do not leave. Please.” He wasn’t ready to part from her just yet.

  The top letter was sealed with red wax and stamped with a falcon. He offered it to Helena. “I’m being blackmailed.”

  She didn’t take the letter, but stared at it. “Someone knows what Frederick did to me. You are paying to prevent a scandal.”

  “I don’t care about a scandal. I’ve been paying to protect you.” He stared into her eyes, hoping she could see how much he hated hurting her. “Read it.”

  At last she took it. She touched the falcon-crested seal, ran her finger under the flap and opened the missive. And squawked like a macaw.

  “Fifty pounds and your vote in Parliament, else all London will know of my disgrace?”

  “A trifling sum and a pointless request. There was no need to make me vote for the acts when they would carry with or without my vote.” John’s head shook. “What is more interesting is the blackmailer has yet to collect any of my payments. They sit, as instructed, at a metalsmith near a bazaar on the edge of Mayfair. I can only conclude the blackmailer is less interested in my money and votes than with toying with me.”

  “So it was you I saw!”

  “When?”

  “At the bazaar we visited with Frances. We were eating cakes and I thought I saw you. And Carvey.”

  “I was there to investigate the metalsmith. I’d sent Carvey to follow Coles.”

  Helena’s eyes brightened with moisture. “You told Lord Carvey what Frederick did to me?”

  “No—not that. I told him I suspected Coles of being the Thief of Mayfair, and he guessed I suspected Coles of blackmailing me, but he didn’t ask why, and I didn’t tell him.”

  Helena chewed her lip. “Can you not find your blackmailer’s identity from the metalsmith?”

  “I hoped so, which is why I went to Travers & Sons that day, but as I said, the funds have yet to be recovered. The proprietor has no idea what to do with them, nor does he admit to ever agreeing to be a go-between.”

  Helena laid the note on the rosewood secretary. “The blackmailer asks for payment he never collects and votes he knows will not count. I agree, he is set about wickedness and torment, rather than gain.”

  “Which, I confess, made me think of Frederick Coles. He’s proven a master of manipulation and degradation.” A vast understatement. “But now we know it is not he.”

  “Then who?”

  “I won’t stop investigating until I find out. In the meantime, I will keep paying. I’m so sorry to hurt you this way—”

  “You, hurting me?” Her brows pulled into a V. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

  “This is because of me. I’m costing you money and agony.”

  His head shook. “You are far more valuable than whatever the author of these letters wants. That’s why I hid it from you in the first place. I did not wish to embarrass you or hurt you. Please say you can forgive me for not telling you.”

  Her brow relaxed. “It seems we are still always apologizing, are we not?”

  “I say let’s stop here and now. We are a team, remember? Partners?”

  “Oh yes, and as partners, we have children upstairs to speak to about their behavior.”

  That wasn’t quite what he meant, but she reached and picked up the remaining post. “See to this urgent message, too, so we might talk.”

  Or he could wrap her in his arms again, before they spoke to the children. He broke the seal with too much vigor. Then his desire extinguished, like a pail of sand dousing a flame.

  “The Duke of Kent is dead.” His Majesty the King’s son. The Prince Regent’s younger brother. The father of a baby princess, Alexandrina Victoria, who might well be queen someday.

  The Duke of Kent and John had been mere acquaintances, but the shock of his loss was nevertheless strong. A man he knew was gone.

  Her hand went to her mouth. “How sad.”

  “It happened Sunday. I’m afraid we are now a house in mourning.”

  “Of course.” She was all efficiency as she nodded. “The children and I have garments at the ready.” Every noble household did.

  “I must discern how I am to pay my respects, if I can. The prince is ill and His Majesty is confined to his bed.” His hand twitched to take hers, to offer and receive comfort.

  She’d already stepped away. Out of reach of his embrace, almost out of the room. “If you must dine with your peers, I understand. Your duty to the Crown is keen at a time such as this.”

  If his cronies gathered to honor the duke, his absence would be noted. Nevertheless, his wife had been attacked today. “I will not leave you, after what Coles did.”

  “I’m fine, although I should like to clean my teeth. His skin might be stuck there.” She grimaced.

  “You are becoming in white. Your cloak and bonnet.” Why he tried to hold her with compliments, he didn’t know. She’d see through them. “I’m glad to see you wear the color again.”

  She nodded her head in a gesture of thanks, but she could not meet his gaze. “I won’t be wearing these again, though. Barnes shall have them.”

  “Of course. Forgive me. They are ruined by his association. I only meant—”

  “I know.” Her hand went to the door latch. “If I do not see you until tomorrow, I understand. You have your duty.”

  “I’m sorry I cannot be here with you and the children tonight.” For so many reasons.

  “I know that, too. Thank you for coming for me today.”

  “I’ll always come for you.”

  Did she understand what he was saying? Could she see his heart pounding through his chest?

  “You are too kind to me,” she said, clearly not understanding what he meant. And then she was gone, leaving him with nothing to do but curse his stupidity and go upstairs
to change into something black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “A dinner party, at such a time as this?” Mama’s delicate brow quirked. Perched in the settee of her pale green sitting room, she looked the picture of a fine lady in mourning, her pale, flawless skin a contrast to the dull black crepe of her gown. “The Duke of Kent has not been dead a week, and you suggest a party. We would be judged as the worst of His Majesty’s subjects.”

  “Not a party. A family dinner with you and Papa and the girls.” Helena’s hands fidgeted on her lap, rustling the black bombazine of her gown. “The children and I are returning to Scotland shortly, but you haven’t yet been to our home.”

  “Really, Helena.” Mama crinkled her dainty nose as if something smelled off. “That spencer is out of touch, and tight. How old is it?”

  “Two years.” Since the last time she’d needed mourning clothes. And yes, the velvet jacket was close-fitting. She’d gained a few pounds since her marriage. But her short, shallow breaths could also be attributed to Mama’s critical eye. Back to the dinner—

  “You must have the modiste make up new mourning attire for you. Ardoch can afford it. At least your bonnet is acceptable.”

  “What vast relief.” She shouldn’t have spoken with sarcasm, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her black chamois gloves and slippers, fortunately, escaped Mama’s notice. “What of dinner, Mama?”

  She had to try, one last time, to smooth things with her family, to show them she loved them. If they ever wondered about her, she wanted them to know she was happy. With the children, and with John, too.

  At the thought of John, her cheeks heated. Mama’s eyes narrowed. “You’re flushed. Are you sickening?”

  “Just overwarm, Mama.” She forced a smile. “So will you come?”

  “Perhaps. I’ll ask your father.”

  Helena recognized the dismissal in Mama’s tone, but Helena couldn’t leave yet. “I had one other reason for calling. The girls are out, you said?”

  “We are alone.” For the first time, Mama’s eyes met hers fully. “What is it?”

  “Frederick Coles.”

  Mama groaned.

  “John wrote to Papa of his arrest. Is it not good he is in prison, and on a charge unrelated to what he did to me?”

  Mama rubbed her temples. “It is well and good, but you must cease bringing him up in conversation. It seems you relish the attention of it all. Your papa told me you had a hand in the arrest. I’m mortified.”

  Helena’s stomach recoiled, as if she’d eaten something old. It was no use, trying to meet Mama in the middle of anything.

  She sat a moment, collecting her thoughts, before she forced another smile. “I must not overstay. Evening is almost at hand. May I leave a note for the girls before I leave? I’d like to wish them well.”

  Mama nodded, but there was a decent chance she’d throw Helena’s note in the fire once she wrote it. Helena moved to the escritoire anyway. Mama reached in front of her to open the drawer where the foolscap paper and other accoutrements were kept, as if Helena did not know this for herself. No matter. She took a pen from the ink-and-pen stand and got to work while Mama returned to the settee across the room.

  There was not much to say. She wished them well, and at the end, she noted her sisters would remain in her prayers. While she hesitated over the wording, a drop of ink fell on the page, smudging that most important sentence. Sighing, she opened the drawer for a new sheet of foolscap. Her hand was on the stack when she saw it.

  A desk seal set with a faceted bloodstone handle. The image on the seal looked to have a wing, which was not Mama and Papa’s usual seal. She tapped it, adjusting the angle.

  Not just a wing. An entire bird. Like the one on the blackmailer’s letters to John.

  Her heart pounded against her rib cage, painful and fast, while she stood there, staring at the seal. She could pretend she never saw it. Or steal it as proof. No, she couldn’t steal it. The options whirled through her head as her legs began to shake.

  “Almost finished?” Mama stood.

  At that moment, Mama looked so beautiful and familiar, the woman who gave Helena life and taught her to be a lady. Helena loved her, even if Mama was ashamed of her now.

  In the end, all Helena could do was grip the desk seal and hold it out. “Mama?”

  Mama’s mouth set into the practiced smile she’d taught Helena so well. “It was my father’s. Do you remember your grandfather?”

  The Earl of Terrence, Mama’s father, died when Helena was seven. “Not well.”

  “When he was young, his family called him Terce, shortened from Terrence. Tercel is a word for a male falcon, and he adopted it as a nickname of sorts. He thought this seal so amusing with its falcon on it, but I never liked it. I should throw it out. Here, I shall do so now.” Her voice was false and bright as she extended her hand for it.

  Helena swallowed. Considered her words with care. “I cannot.”

  Mama’s demeanor changed in an instant. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Helena. Give it to me.”

  Instead Helena gripped the bloodstone seal as if it held an antidote to the sick feeling coursing through her. “Why would you blackmail my husband?”

  “Blackmail?” Her look of shock came a second too late. “That’s quite an accusation—”

  “I have seen it with my own eyes, Mama. You disguised your penmanship, but I imagine if I look at the letters again I will see your hand there. This is the seal. It’s you. Why would you betray me, your own daughter? Why do this to us?”

  Mama’s facade fell. Her shoulders squared and the look she cast on Helena was pitying. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I insist you give me the opportunity.” Her hand clutched the seal.

  Mama threw her hands in the air. “Very well, then. It is probably best you hear this. Learn what you’ve done to us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father forced my marriage, you know. It was my duty to ally our family with Kelworth, no matter how much I dreaded marrying him.”

  Him—Papa? A fresh wave of pain threatened to sweep her legs out from under her. “Was there another man, Mama?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “But you grew to love Papa.”

  “I married him out of duty,” she said, avoiding Helena’s question. “That is what we females from the best families do: we marry whom our fathers determine to be best in terms of strategic alliance. You were born for far better than Ardoch. I invested in you. Trained you. Cultivated you, but you wasted all my efforts, all those years of grooming to marry someone important. No, you had to go and ruin yourself with Frederick Coles, leaving you no recourse but to marry Ardoch. We’ve been mocked by our dearest friends.” Mama was no longer beautiful, with anger contorting her features.

  “So what is this, then?” Helena held up the bloodstone seal. “Punishment? Frederick’s act of violence was not enough to put me in my proper place for not wanting to marry Bowden? You want to humiliate my husband, too? Was it the sport? Did you laugh at us? It wasn’t for the money.” A new thought occurred to Helena, one that made her toes curl in her slippers. “How would you know how John voted? Someone has helped you. Someone in the House of Lords.” Not Papa, surely?

  Mama rolled her eyes. “No one helped me. But I did hope to embarrass that husband of yours. It would make Lord Holliver feel better about himself.”

  “What has Lord Holliver to do with this?” He’d been here, calling on Mama, though, hadn’t he? Whatever this was about, Helena’s insides churned and her mouth went dry.

  “Perhaps if your father hadn’t been so set on Bowden, he’d have accepted Holliver’s suit.” Mama didn’t answer the question, and the way she spoke was almost wistful. “He’s of lower rank, true, but he’s young, despite that gray hair of his, and he’s
certainly wealthy enough. Then we’d be fine now.”

  “We are fine.” This made no sense.

  “I am not. Your father is dying.”

  Hot tears stung Helena’s eyes. “I feared as much, but—”

  “I didn’t give your father an heir, did I? You have no brother, so Cecil is heir presumptive. He and his horrid wife will get everything. This house, like every house I’ve lived in since my marriage, is entailed property and will go to him. I will be at the mercy of your dreadful Uncle Cecil and Aunt Davinia when Papa dies, with naught but a stipend. I need more, so I’ve striven to get into their good graces so they won’t cut me out without a farthing when Papa dies, but it isn’t working.”

  So that explained Mama’s attempts at friendliness with them at Christmas and Lord Holliver’s party. “You blackmailed John for the money, then. You never intended to reveal my disgrace, when, by extension, the name of Kelworth could be affected by it.”

  Mama examined her buff nails. “Oh, I need money, true, but that wasn’t why I did it. I wanted you and your husband to go away, to frighten you all the way to Perthshire. You see, if I cannot be supported by Cecil, I must marry my remaining daughters well with the expectation that I will live with one of them, in the manner to which I’m accustomed. I’ve convinced Lord Holliver that since he could not have you, he can have Maria. He likes her well enough, but your being here has reminded him how much he still cares for you. And he’s not happy you rejected him.”

  “I didn’t do that, Papa did.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way. He confided his frustration to his friend Frederick Coles, certain that you could never be wooed, and next thing he knew, you were fawning over Coles.”

  Helena’s hand pressed into her roiling stomach. Holliver was Frederick’s friend, the one who’d said she was too good for anyone. An icicle, Frederick had said. It was his words Frederick took as a challenge, to prove she would fall prey to his charms. Helena stood still, but inside, her organs writhed.