An Impossible Confession

by Sandra Heath

  At last Margaret emerged in a flurry of buttercup silk that shimmered with countless tiny sequins. Plumes streamed from her hair, and a white feather boa dragged on the floor behind her. She wore diamonds as well, for it was well known that the Prince Regent liked to see women in diamonds, and the flush on her cheeks came as much from flusterment as the assistance of rouge.

  ‘Helen, do I look all right? Should I wear the plowman’s gauze instead?’

  ‘You look lovely, Margaret, so please slow down a little, you’ll make yourself ill.’

  Margaret smiled a little ruefully then. ‘You’re right, of course, just as I’m right to tell you not to worry so about tonight, you’ll carry it off in style.’

  ‘I wish I could feel as confident.’

  ‘Besides, you’ll have Ralph at your side, and he’ll see everything’s all right.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Don’t look so doubtful, he’s going to look after you, believe me. Shall I tell you how I coped with my dreadful nerves when I first came to London? I kept thinking about something nice that was going to happen after whatever ordeal I had to face immediately: Tomorrow, you and I are going to Windsor to choose your costume for the Farrish House ball, so you must think of that when your nerves threaten to overwhelm you tonight.’ Margaret smiled again, slipping her arm through Helen’s. ‘But just remember you have Ralph to take care of you, and you won’t really worry at all.’

  The thought of being taken care of by Ralph St John was enough to fill Helen with trepidation, but she endeavored not to show it as she and Margaret walked toward the balustrade above the entrance hall. The murmur of refined voices grew louder, as did the lilt of Mozart, and Helen paused to look down past the dazzle of chandeliers at the exclusive gathering below. Margaret wanted to hurry on down, but lingered a while too, knowing how nervous her sister was.

  ‘Do be quick, Helen, Gregory will be very cross with me if I take much longer.’

  ‘I know, I just need a final moment to summon up my courage.’ Helen drew a long breath to steady herself, still looking down at the guests. Margaret had described them all so well that she had no difficulty identifying them. There was the sensitive but rather deaf young Duke of Devonshire, and with him his widowed stepmother, the still beautiful duchess, shimmering in golden silk and jeweled aigrettes. With them were Lord and Lady Holland, the latter one of London’s most celebrated and critical hostesses; Margaret’s efforts tonight would be under close scrutiny. Nearby stood the Duke and Duchess of Beaufort, and their nephew the young Duke of Rutland, with his astonishingly beautiful duchess. Deep in conversation were Lord Palmerston, the Honorable William Lamb, and Count Lieven, the Russian ambassador, but it was the three lady patronesses of Almack’s who unnerved her the most, for they looked so very severe and superior, except perhaps Lady Cowper, who had a warmer nature than the others. Lady Jersey was chill, and Countess Lieven positively intimidating, and Helen trembled at the thought of being presented to them more than at the prospect of curtsying to the prince. Still, she could console herself with the knowledge that these three paragons had human weaknesses, for they had all at one time or another taken the charming Lord Palmerston as their lover.

  As she took a last look over the balustrade, she couldn’t help thinking that the war had never seemed further away, for there was no hint of it in the elegant, relaxed demeanor of tonight’s guests.

  Margaret could wait no longer. Taking Helen’s hand, she virtually dragged her toward the staircase, and then down to where Gregory and Ralph waited at the bottom. Gregory wore a tight-fitting black velvet coat with ruffles at the cuffs and around the collar, a frilled shirt, a white satin waistcoat, silk knee breeches and stockings, and buckled black patent leather shoes. Ralph wore the same, except that his coat was indigo, and he was laughing at something Gregory had said when at last he saw the two ladies descending.

  Both men turned, and Gregory gave his wife a slightly reproachful look. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come down at all.’

  ‘Oh, don’t grumble, for I’ve had such a lot to do today,’ she replied, giving him a disarming smile. ‘Besides, am I not worth waiting for?’

  His glance moved over her and he gave a sheepish grin. ‘As always,’ he murmured, taking her hand and kissing the palm.

  Ralph turned to Helen, smiling warmly as he drew her hand to his lips. ‘You look enchanting, Miss Fairmead. I vow I’m the most fortunate man present tonight.’

  It was all she could do not to snatch her hand away. If he was the most fortunate man, she was the most unfortunate woman, having such a toad as her escort. He was a low, spiteful, dangerous reptile, as sly as a fox and as untrustworthy as a wrecker’s lantern. She found herself wondering suddenly why he was interested in her. On Margaret’s admission he would eventually be a very rich man and was already considered a catch, so why was he prepared to consider her as a bride? She was hardly an heiress of any standing; so, why? It was a puzzle to which she saw no satisfactory answer. Surely it wasn’t just that he wished to be connected to Bourne End by marriage, as well as just friendship?

  Gregory suggested that they mingle with their guests until the prince arrived, and thoughts of Ralph St John and his possible motives slid into the background as Helen steeled herself for the beginning of her ordeal. For the next half an hour she was presented to important person after important person, including the lady patronesses of Almack’s, and she emerged at the end in such a daze of nerves that she couldn’t remember a word she’d said. She was immeasurably relieved, therefore, when Margaret whispered to her that she was doing very well and hadn’t put a toe wrong.

  It was ten minutes past the appointed hour when word came that the royal carriages were approaching. Conversation died away immediately as everyone took up positions around the hall, with Gregory and Margaret facing the open doorway. Helen stood just behind them with Ralph, and as she heard the distant sound of carriages on the drive, her heart began to beat more swiftly.

  The running footmen’s flambeaux smoked and flared as they accompanied the first of the three carriages, a yellow berlin drawn by four superb bays. This was the prince’s private carriage, and behind it came the vehicles containing his gentlemen attendants, and his footmen and pages. A detachment of Life Guards rode at the rear, the noise of their horses loud as the procession drew closer. The orchestra in the conservatory ceased playing Mozart and struck up a popular march, for it was well known that the prince liked to think of himself as the commander denied to the army by force of circumstance, since his father the king refused to countenance the heir to the throne taking up military service of any kind.

  The berlin stopped before the house, the bays stamping and tossing their fine heads, and Gregory left Margaret to go and greet his royal guest. The berlin’s blinds were down, and at first there was no sign of movement. The other carriages drew up as well, and the prince’s gentlemen, Lord Lowther, General Turner, and Sir Carnaby Haggerston, alighted, as did the footmen and pages. At last the berlin’s door opened and the prince emerged.

  He was nearly fifty-three years old, and immensely fat, his great bulk laced tightly into fashionable evening clothes that did nothing to flatter him. His already highly colored complexion was emphasized by the oils, creams, and other cosmetics he applied too liberally, and his chins rolled in folds above his exceedingly tall neckcloth and stock. His thick brown hair and luxuriant side-whiskers had a suspiciously artificial look, and altogether he was a little grotesque, but such disloyal thoughts didn’t linger for long once he smiled, for then he appeared irresistibly charming. Nothing could have been more engaging or gracious than his words of greeting. ‘My apologies, Bourne, I know I’m late again. I do hope you forgive me.’ His voice was beautifully modulated, carrying quite clearly into the hall above the music from the conservatory.

  Gregory bowed low and escorted the prince into the house, followed by the procession of gentlemen and servants. The waiting guests bowed and c
urtsied, the prince acknowledging them all with elegant nods. He glanced around at the floral decorations and then smiled appreciatively at Margaret. ‘My dear Mrs Bourne, I confess I’m instantly delighted with the flowers. So many of them, and all in my honor.’

  ‘Your Royal Highness is too kind,’ she murmured, remaining in a low curtsy until he indicated she should rise.

  He turned to Gregory. ‘Are you all set for the races, Bourne?’

  ‘I am, Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘A little bird tells me Lexicon is expected to waltz off with the Gold Cup, but that Musket ain’t up to scratch for the Maisemore. Is this so?’

  ‘Musket’s a little under the weather, it’s true, but I intend to carry both trophies home, sir.’

  ‘Do you indeed? Well, I intend to lay my hands upon the Maisemore this year, for I’m convinced Cherry Brandy is a better nag than Musket, so mark my words, you’ll have much to reckon with.’

  The prince’s glance moved suddenly to Helen, and Gregory immediately hastened to present her.

  ‘Your Royal Highness, may I present my sister-in-law, Miss Fairmead?’

  Helen was shaking so much she was sure she’d make a dreadfully clumsy curtsy, but somehow she managed to achieve a certain grace, sinking in a rustle of silver taffeta.

  The prince nodded approvingly. ‘Please rise, my dear, that I may see you properly.’

  She obeyed, hiding her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt.

  He nodded again. ‘Charming, quite charming. Tell me, my dear, are you a turfite too?’

  ‘I – I’m afraid I know very little about horseracing, Your Royal Highness.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’ve no doubt a week or so beneath this roof will soon put a stop to that, and that The Sporting Magazine will soon take precedence over Miss Austen. You do read Miss Austen?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. We must discuss the lady later.’ With a gracious nod of his head, he turned to Margaret again. ‘Your sister is delightful, my dear, and will be a definite adornment to society. Now then, I’m at your disposal, so lead on to the feast.’

  Margart blushed with pleasure, accepting the arm he offered, and they proceeded toward the rose brocade dining room, where snowy cloths covered the gleaming tables, and golden cutlery shone next to glittering crystal. Epergnes tumbling with fruit, flowers, and moss alternated with pink-shaded candlesticks, and the perfume of orange and lemon trees drifted in from the conservatory, where the orchestra was once again playing gentle Mozart.

  The other guests formed into a line, strictly in order of precedence, and followed the prince and Margaret into the room. Helen may have just been presented, but she was still socially rather insignificant, which meant that she was one of the last to go in, and that Ralph, as her escort, waited with her until it was her turn.

  He drew her hand over his sleeve, smiling. ‘I agree with the prince, Miss Fairmead, you will most certainly be an adornment to society.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr St John.’

  He hesitated. ‘And you will be a credit to me.’

  She froze. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said you will be a credit to me.’

  This really was too much. Whatever he may or may not have understood from Margaret and Gregory, he had absolutely no business speaking to her of the matter without prior arrangement. She could no longer hide her dislike. ‘I fail to see in what possible way I could be regarded as a credit to you, sir, since I have absolutely nothing to do with you, beyond the fact that you’re a friend of my family.’

  ‘I speak of our marriage, Miss Fairmead,’ he explained, not detecting her iciness.

  ‘You presume, sir,’ she said coldly.

  At last he realized all was not as he thought, and he couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘My dear Miss Fairmead, as far as I’m concerned it’s all settled.’

  ‘It isn’t as far as I’m concerned; indeed, it will never be as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘The matter has been discussed and agreed, Miss Fairmead,’ he said, becoming cool in turn. ‘And may I remind you that such a match is very advantageous for you?’

  ‘That depends by what one measures advantage, sirrah,’ she breathed stiffly. How arrogantly sure of himself he was!

  His eyes were angry. ‘I’m sure you speak in the heat of the moment, Miss Fairmead, for to be sure tonight is an ordeal for you.’

  ‘Maybe this is the heat of the moment, sir, but at such times the truth is apt to come out. I don’t intend to ever consent to marry you, Mr St John, and if you require a reason, I’ll gladly give one. I don’t like you, sirrah, I don’t like you at all, and the thought of marrying you fills me with revulsion!’

  For a moment his mask slipped and she saw the real Ralph, the unpleasant Ralph who’d faced Adam the day before, but then he dissembled for it was their turn to enter the dining room.

  As they moved slowly toward their seats, she knew she’d made a mistake in showing her colors. She wanted to work against him to Adam’s benefit, and she’d have had more chance of success if he’d regarded her as a friend. Now he knew she disliked him intensely, and he’d treat her accordingly.

  CHAPTER 11

  The following morning found Margaret completely exhausted by the effort of entertaining the prince, who hadn’t left until after three in the morning. It had all proved much more of a strain than she’d thought, and she woke up feeling totally ragged. Anxious not to make herself ill for the Farrish House ball, or, more importantly, the four days of Royal Ascot, she elected to spend the day in bed, encouraging Helen to take Mary with her for the six mile journey to Windsor to choose a costume for the ball. And so Helen set off in the open landau with only the maid for company, and an opportunity presented itself for furthering her acquaintance with Adam, maybe even for beginning to make her confessions. She intended, most improperly, to call upon him at King Henry Crescent.

  Her style that morning, from the black frogging on her powder-blue silk spencer to the tassels and festoons on her matching mock-shako hat, was most definitely military, for she needed to feel as brave as possible. Her gown was made of the softest white silk, while her shoes and gloves were of the same powder blue as her spencer and hat. Mary had combed her hair up into a smooth knot beneath the hat, leaving soft wispy curls to frame her face, and although she looked cool, calm, and collected, she was in a high state of nerves about what might result from any meeting with Adam.

  Leaving the bustle of Ascot and the racecourse behind, the landau drove smartly over the heath, where strings of racehorses could be seen exercizing across the open countryside. The landau was driven by Peter, the burly young coachman who’d engaged Mary’s affections. He was in his early twenties, with a shock of spiky black hair and shining brown eyes. He smiled easily, and had a lazily good-natured manner that Helen could well understand had attracted Mary’s attention.

  The maid sat with her mistress, her shy glance resting more on her new sweetheart than on the passing landscape. She wore a straw bonnet over a white mob cap, with a long-sleeved beige linen dress that had a demure white fichu tucked into its low neckline. Her feelings were mixed as the landau drove into the sweet-smelling coolness of the forest, for although she was pleased to be with Peter, she was very anxious indeed about her mistress’s rather shocking plan to call upon Lord Drummond.

  The forest slipped away behind them and the landau drove through the gates into Windsor Great Park. Ahead the whiteness of Windsor Castle was clearly visible through the trees, and to the northwest led the road to Hagman’s boathouse and Eleanor’s Lake. Helen glanced along it, just picking out the huge copper beech by the track to the infamous Herne’s Glade before the landau came up to a smart pace again and all was swept from her view.

  She was so nervous about the prospect of maybe seeing Adam and attempting to confess her past fibs that she knew she had to try to distract herself for a while. She made herself think about the previous, evening, and the honor of being presented
to the Prince Regent not once, but twice, for he’d remembered his wish to speak to her again and had particularly requested her company. It had been after the dinner itself, when the ladies had been in the drawing room for some time and the gentlemen had at last rejoined them for coffee, tea, and liqueurs. The prince had asked for her, insisting that she sit beside him on a sofa to discuss Miss Austen’s books, on which he was very knowledgeable. He’d been very gracious and charming, indicating when the conversation was at an end, and as she’d rejoined Margaret and Gregory, she’d been told that she’d had a very great success, for the prince didn’t often sit for so long with some who’d only just been presented to him.

  The evening had indeed been a triumph for her; she’d spoken with dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, lords and ladies, and she’d acquitted herself well. The only blot on the proceedings had been the presence of Ralph St John, who’d remained close at her side throughout, and who’d behaved as if all was perfectly well between them. He hadn’t given her another opportunity to speak her mind; indeed, he’d gone out of his way to see they were always in company, and then he’d proceeded to give others the impression that things were coming along very well. She’d been silently furious, but hadn’t really been able to do anything about it except be pointedly civil, which attitude she knew was attributed to her inexperience and youth.

  It had all been extremely frustrating, the more so since she simply couldn’t think why he was so insistent about regarding her as a possible bride. He now knew how totally unsuited they were, and he’d always known she had no financial prospects of importance, so why was he so interested in her? It couldn’t simply be that he wished to be allied in marriage to Margaret and Gregory, for no man in his right mind would for such a reason take a bride, who loathed the very sight of him. So what was behind it all? She wondered if Margaret and Gregory knew. She’d have to speak to them about it all, for things couldn’t go on as they were, but how was she going to tactfully inform them she despised their beloved Ralph?