An Impossible Confession

by Sandra Heath

  He smiled a little. ‘I’m a cad of the lowest order, am I not?’ he murmured. ‘Now, I’m afraid I must say au revoir. Just remember how disagreeable I can be when I’m crossed. Oh, and remember too to sing my praises from now on. I want Margaret and Gregory to be delighted because our little tête-à-tête on the veranda has paid such romantic dividends. Until the ball next week, then.’

  With a cool nod of his head he strolled back into the house, his cane swinging idly in his hand. A minute or so later she heard his barouche driving away.

  She bowed her head, blinking as the hot tears stung her eyes.

  CHAPTER 13

  Early the following morning, the sun streamed in through the French windows of the drawing room, the beams falling obliquely across the escritoire where Helen sat trying to compose the most important, and most difficult, letter of her life. A virgin sheet of paper lay before her, as it had for the past half an hour, and she was no nearer commencing her confession to Adam than she had been when she’d first crept secretly down before everyone else was awake. Now she could hear the housemaids moving about their business, and outside in the stableyard the first clatter of hooves signified another day’s activity, but her pen had not yet even dipped into the ink.

  Her long honey hair was brushed loose, tumbling heavily about the shoulders of her wrap, and her green eyes were tired and sad, for she hadn’t slept at all because she was so aware of the extra pressure Ralph St John’s demands had placed upon her already difficult situation. The letter she’d decided to write to Adam had been onerous enough anyway, without having to add to the problems by explaining why she’d now agreed, albeit temporarily, to a betrothal with Ralph. Oh, if only she hadn’t fluffed her chance at Windsor Castle, when he’d been so prepared to listen. Instead, she’d given in to her chicken heart, and now the price was even higher.

  An ironic smile curved her lips for a moment. She’d retreated in disarray, and was now reaping an increasingly bitter harvest. She simply had to write to him, she had no other choice if she was to stop the fibs and wipe the proverbial slate clean; but what could she say? How could she even begin to word it so that he’d not only understand, but forgive as well? More than anything she wanted to go to the Farrish House ball knowing that if he kept the tryst it was because he accepted the truth about her, for from that moment on her love would be completely honest, and thus free. But the sheet of paper remained stubbornly pristine, her nib dry, and her head frustratingly devoid of inspiration. Why was it that when the chips were down and she really needed to acquit herself well, she couldn’t even call upon the basic skill of letter writing, which had been drummed into her for five long years?

  Slowly she put the pen down, sitting back in the chair and turning her head to gaze out of the French windows. The rhododendrons looked magnificent, as usual, but from this room their splendor was spoiled by having to look past the veranda where Ralph St John had so cruelly and triumphantly imposed his will upon her. Like Adam before her, she’d had no choice at all but to go along with Ralph’s demands, and although it had galled her to the very soul to bow to his blackmail, she’d done just that, allowing it to be known at dinner the night before that she thought Ralph was indeed as personable as had been claimed, and that she was now much more amenable to a betrothal. Margaret and Gregory had been delighted, and a bottle of the very best champagne had been broached in celebration of her change of heart. Helen had felt wretched, knowing she was deceiving them, and not only that, she knew she was helping to sustain their misguided faith in a man who was more than just obnoxious, who was downright evil.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she returned her attention to the sheet of paper. She had to begin, for soon the housemaids would come into the drawing room and then it would be quite hopeless. Taking up the pen again, she dipped it in the ink.

  My dearest Adam,

  I don’t really know how to begin this letter, except to say that I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart, that I ever embarked upon a string of untruths that have given you an entirely wrong impression of me, wrong in every way but one, for I do indeed love you with all my soul.

  Please read this letter to the very end, don’t throw it away in anger, for I’m finding it impossible to choose the right words to explain why I lied.

  My name is indeed Helen, but not Brown, and I’m not a widow, indeed I’ve never been married, because I’m fresh from five years at a seminary for young ladies in Cheltenham. You were right to be curious about my age for if I look young, then it’s because I am young; and I’m ashamed to say I’ve behaved with the appropriate lack of maturity.

  When my journey was interrupted by the weather and fears of Lord Swag, my only concern was the protection of my reputation, and that is why I pretended to be a widow. Once I’d embarked upon the masquerade, of course, I became increasingly embroiled in fibs. I shouldn’t have dined alone with you, but I couldn’t resist, nor should I have succumbed to your kisses, but the temptation was too heady to deny. By the time we parted at the Cat and Fiddle, I was already lost, and I was beset by a problem of which you couldn’t be aware. You see, when you told me how bad the feeling was between you and Gregory Bourne, you were telling me how much you disliked my brother-in-law, and how much he disliked you. No, don’t tear my letter up now, for I must explain everything, for although my real name is Helen Fairmead, it changes nothing where my feelings for you are concerned. I love you deeply, Adam, and I know you’re entirely innocent of all the vile charges laid against you, for Ralph St John is the real villain.

  I tried so much to confess my identity when last we met at Windsor Castle, but my courage failed me, and if I told you that I drove to King Henry Crescent to tell you but was forestalled because I saw you leaving in your curricle, would you believe me? It’s true, my love, and I wanted desperately to say it all when I had the opportunity, but I was so afraid of losing you, I simply couldn’t say a word. Forgive me my weakness, and please try to understand, for the agony I feel is an unbearable torment, especially as I now have much more to confess than I did then.

  You’ve heard whispers connecting my name with Ralph St John’s, and when last we met the only substance in those whispers was that Margaret, Gregory, and Ralph, without my knowledge or permission, had discussed and virtually agreed upon a match. For a reason he is not prepared to divulge, Ralph is very set on such a betrothal – indeed, it seems to me that it’s betrothal and not marriage itself that concerns him – and when I refused pointblank to even consider him as a future husband, he resorted to the same vile course he used on you, i.e. blackmail. He had me followed to Windsor, and so knows about our meeting, and he’s threatening not only to expose it, but also to tell all about the lady whose reputation you’ve gone to such honorable lengths to protect. His price for silence is my temporary agreement to a betrothal; it’s a price I’ve felt obliged to pay, even though I despise him with every fiber of my being. So when you hear of the match, understand it for what it really is, and understand my reasons for submitting to his will.

  It’s you that I love, Adam, and you that I believe in. I love my sister and brother-in-law, but I know they’re wrong to condemn you, and if it came to a choice between them and you, my darling, there is no choice, for you would come first.

  I don’t know if I’ve explained all this well, but I hope I have. I realize you may not be able to find it in your heart to forgive me for all the untruths, but if you do, then I beg you to keep our tryst at the ball.

  Know that I love you, and only you.

  Helen

  With a trembling hand, she put the pen down, reading the letter through very slowly. Was it enough? Did it convey the depth of her love and feeling? With a resigned sigh, she folded it, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to manage anything better in her present state of mind. The words had come from her heart, and she’d written them down as they came.

  She’d brought her night candle with her, to melt the sealing wax, and her hand shook a little as she held the har
d red stick to the flame. The molten drops splashed on to the folded letter, and were still soft as she pressed her signet ring into the seal. H.E.C.F. Helen Elizabeth Caroline Fairmead. Taking up the pen again, she wrote the name and address, then she tucked the letter carefully into the sleeve of her wrap, intending to ask Mary to give it to Peter to deliver, for he was due an afternoon off, and intended to visit his sick mother in Windsor. To risk the royal mail was too hazardous, for Morris supervised all letters, and one addressed to Lord Drummond was bound to be brought to Margaret and Gregory’s attention.

  Slowly, she rose from the escritoire. She felt drained and in need of sleep, but knew she was really too wide awake now. Opening the French windows, she stepped outside. The freshness of the morning was perfumed and restoring, and in spite of the awful memory she had of the last occasion she’d been on the veranda, she sat at the table, leaning her chin in her hands and gazing across the park. What was Adam doing now? Had he risen from his bed? Was he thinking about her? Would he ever think of her again once he’d read the letter? Oh, please let him understand, and forgive … Tears pricked her eyes, and wearily she rested her arms on the table, hiding her face, her hair spilling over the white-painted wrought iron surface.

  She must have drifted into sleep after all, for the sound of voices in the drawing room woke her with a start. It was Margaret and Gregory, and Margaret seemed upset about something.

  ‘Gregory, I fail to see why I should remain here, when so many wives have accompanied their husbands to Brussels. There are even whispers that the Duchess of Richmond wishes to hold a ball, Caroline Capel told me so in her last letter.’

  ‘Lady Caroline Capel likes to dramatize everything, besides, all this is pure speculation, Margaret, for there’s no reason at all to suspect that I’m about to be dispatched to Brussels, or anywhere else for that matter.’

  ‘Isn’t there? Louis Whiteman has been called to London and told just that, so why should this letter summoning you to the War Office be any different? Come on now, you know as well as I do that Lord Llancwm has been no friend of yours since you turned your back on his precious nephew.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Adam Drummond.’

  ‘No? Is he or is he not Llancwm’s great-nephew?’

  ‘Of course he is, but Llancwm wouldn’t use his position at the War Office to be avenged on me.’

  ‘Would that I had such faith. Llancwm made little secret of his displeasure when all that wretched business was in progress last year.’

  ‘Family loyalty, but not enough to make him send for me and dispatch me to Brussels. Be sensible now, my love. If there is any spite in his actions, it will amount to little more than seeing that I miss the Farrish House ball and the first day or so of Royal Ascot.’

  ‘Little more than?’ cried Margaret incredulously. ‘Gregory, both the Farrish House ball and Royal Ascot are unthinkable without your presence, as unthinkable as Christmas without a yule log, or a coronation without a king!’

  ‘My love, you’re exaggerating somewhat,’ replied Gregory calmly. ‘You’re letting this get quite out of hand. All that’s happened is that I’ve received a letter summoning me to the War Office. It’s inconvenient, but hardly the end of the world. And I’ve no reason to believe it will concern anything other than my involvement with the local militia. I’ll toddle along. …’

  ‘On the very day of the ball,’ interposed Margaret.

  ‘On the very day of the ball, and I’ll be back as soon as I can, probably before the last race on the opening day. Come now, sweetheart, let’s have a smile before we go in for breakfast. We don’t want to upset Helen when she’s just come around to being happy about Ralph.’

  Helen rose from her chair and went to the French windows, brushing past the nets. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been eavesdropping,’ she confessed, smiling a little ruefully.

  They both turned sharply, and Margaret looked in amazement at her wrap and unpinned hair. ‘Helen, you haven’t been out like that, have you?’

  ‘I was sitting out there and I just fell asleep. I’ve only been on the veranda, not to the racecourse and back.’ Helen went to them, kissing them both on the cheek. ‘I take it there’s been a disagreeable letter?’

  ‘There has,’ declared Margaret with feeling, ‘although my dear husband chooses to remain unruffled by it.’

  Gregory drew a weary breath. ‘Margaret, I don’t intend to argue anymore, I’ve said all that’s necessary. I have to go to the War Office, and that’s the end of it.’

  Margaret moved crossly away from him. ‘It’s all petty vindictiveness by the Drummond family, and you know it.’ She glanced at Helen. ‘Since you’ve been earwigging, you know all about it; you also know now that Adam Drummond is a toad, for it’s his hand that lies behind this. I’m so glad you’ve seen the light, Helen, for it was so unjust that you should stand by him and dislike poor Ralph. Still, it’s past now, and you and Ralph are as good as matched.’

  ‘Yes.’ Helen managed a smile, but it was like drawing teeth.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to share him with me at the ball now.’

  ‘Share him?’

  ‘Gregory intends to ask Ralph to escort me as well – if I decide to go.

  Gregory groaned. ‘Margaret, I swear I’ll sink into a sulk with you if you continue on this tack. You’re going to the ball, and you’re attending the races. I won’t hear of anything else.’

  ‘Only on condition that I accompany you to Brussels if you’re sent there,’ replied his wife stubbornly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘The Duchess of Richmond.…’

  ‘Is long since past expecting her first child.’

  Margaret’s green eyes flashed rebelliously, and Helen went to her. ‘Gregory’s right, sweeting,’ she said gently, ‘Brussels is most definitely out. I won’t countenance any risk to my sister and my first nephew or niece. Come now, even supposing they do intend to send Gregory there, which I don’t think they do, you must see that he’ll be much more capable of doing his task if he doesn’t have your safety and welfare to worry about every minute of the day.’

  Margaret didn’t want to see sense, but knew she had to. She gave Helen a baleful glance, smiling ruefully. ‘I wish you’d stayed in Cheltenham.’

  ‘I’ll go back if you want me to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it, especially if I’m to be left all alone while my husband rushes gallantly off to war.’

  Gregory breathed out with relief, and then went to hug her fondly. ‘That’s my girl, but it won’t come to that, you know. I’ll be back before you know it, with instructions in my capacity as Colonel of the Berkshire Militia.’ He put his hand to her chin, raising her face toward his. ‘Now then, can we drop the whole subject?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she whispered, closing her eyes as his lips brushed hers.

  ‘Good, so let’s to breakfast, mm?’ He smiled, and then turned to Helen, holding out his hand. ‘It’s my privilege to escort two ladies to breakfast in their undress.’

  Helen smiled too, accepting his hand, but as his fingers closed warmly around hers, she felt wretchedly guilty. No matter how she chose to view her actions since meeting Adam Drummond, both Margaret and Gregory were bound to regard them as the actions of a snake in the grass if they ever found out. Unless she could prove Adam’s innocence. She lowered her glance to the floor as they proceeded from the drawing room to the breakfast room. She wanted so much to clear his name, and yet she didn’t even know if he would ever wish to speak to her again after Peter delivered her letter.

  CHAPTER 14

  The week passed, May gave way to June, and Peter didn’t have his afternoon off until the day before the ball. When at last he set off on his cob to visit his mother, the letter to Adam was safely in his pocket.

  Once he’d gone, Helen simply couldn’t relax. Mentally she traveled with him all the way to Windsor, and then to the door in King Henry Crescent. Would Adam’s eyes soften and clear when he read what she’
d written? Or would they darken with anger at the way he’d been deceived? She wondered if Peter would simply deliver the letter, or if he’d be there when it was opened. She wished he’d return quickly so that she could quiz him, but the hours passed, the afternoon became evening, and then darkness fell with still no sign of him.

  At the dinner table her ill-concealed restlessness went unnoticed, for Margaret and Gregory were too taken up with his imminent departure for London. He was set to leave first thing the following morning, and Margaret was still convinced that the War Office letter was pure malice on the part of Adam’s vengeful great-uncle. More than once she reiterated quite firmly that far from an intention to discuss militia matters, Lord Llancwm’s real purpose was to pack Gregory off to the war, as punishment for the besmirching of Adam Drummond’s honor. Helen wisely refrained from participating in the conversation, especially as she was uncomfortably aware that Adam had recently attended a War Office meeting where his great-uncle had also been present, so that at the very least he probably knew of the letter to Gregory. Margaret was upset by the whole business, and the situation wasn’t helped by the thought of attending the costume ball without the husband who was the racing world’s leading light, and the further prospect of Royal Ascot’s opening day without him as well was so awful that her enthusiasm was quite dampened. It took all the ingenuity of both Helen and Gregory to arouse her usual interest in the clothes she planned to wear, so that by the end of the meal she could almost have been described as cheerful, smiling a little as she discussed which of her lovely new outfits she would wear for her first sallying forth to the races.

  It had been decided that a reasonably early night was in order, both because of the ball the following night, which would go on until dawn, and because Gregory had to set off very promptly for his War Office appointment. As Helen went to her room, there had still been no sign of Peter, and then there was no sign of Mary either. Half an hour passed, and still there was no tap at the door, and at last Helen became a little concerned. Taking up her shawl, she slipped down through the silent house, and as she reached the entrance hall she encountered a rather anxious footman, who was on his way to see her.