by Susana Ellis
“Old Sally is quite gentle, but she can still be skittish if you startle her. Stroke her like this and show her you’re her friend, and she’ll settle down.”
Emily and Annabelle stroked their horses and cooed to them, and Helena forced herself to relax, taking slow and easy breaths as she caressed the old brown mare.
“We’ll take it slowly today, since this is your first lesson, Miss Lloyd.” Emily’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement at the change in their roles.
The other two on either side of her, Helena gingerly led her horse into the meadow. They had decided to ride only to the folly and back—a distance of perhaps a half mile each way. The girls were accustomed to much longer rides, but their mother had cautioned them not to do too much on Miss Lloyd's first day on a horse.
The thought of Lady Sarah reminded Helena of the riding apparel her employer had lent her, a redingote à la hussar, a coat made of navy blue velvet with gold epaulets trailing from top to bottom. Although the early morning air was cool, Helena was already beginning to perspire beneath all the layers of her outfit. Sweating was not new to her—having grown up in Florida—but at least there one could dress appropriately in shorts and tank tops when the temperatures skyrocketed.
And ride astride if they wished to, which made a whole lot more sense than this sidesaddle nonsense.
“Do not ladies ride in America?” Annabelle inquired.
“America?” Helena hastened to gain control of her thoughts. “Oh yes. Yes, of course. It’s just that I grew up in town. Where we had public transportation,” she added. And automobiles, but she couldn't mention those.
“Public transportation?”
“Er, when you pay someone to drive you,” she said quickly, unsure if the word “taxi” was used in the Regency era.
“Oh, like a hackney cab in London,” Emily said, the look of puzzlement clearing from her face.
“Yes, a cab,” Helena agreed with relief.
“So you never went into the countryside?” Annabelle inquired. “To see all the trees and hills and fish in the lakes?”
“And flowers,” Emily added. “But perhaps things are different in America.” She screwed her face up and looked Helena with interest. “Did they have Red Indians where you lived, Miss Lloyd?”
“Red Indians?” Annabelle’s voice rose with excitement. “Have you ever seen one, Miss Lloyd?”
Helena shifted in her seat. Questions such as these required fast thinking, not to mention fibbing, and she was always afraid that at some point she’d mix up her lies and get caught.
“Oh look! We’re almost there! Shall we race to the folly?”
Emily gave her a suspicious look, but urged her horse forward after Annabelle’s. Helena had no intention of trying to win, but she did manage to stay seated when old Sally speeded up to a trot. Leaving the horses to graze in the tall grasses in the nearby field, they walked around the miniature stone temple, eventually settling on the steps.
While Emily and Theo expounded on the history of the folly, Helena allowed her thoughts to wander. She knew from Annabelle that James had departed for London the day before, stopping by Newsome Grange briefly to inform his daughter that he would be missing their daily rides for awhile. Annabelle’s dejection at having been left behind was the impetus behind Helena’s suggestion that the girls teach her to ride.
Surmising from Annabelle’s account that the trip had not been planned in advance, Helena wondered what its purpose was and if it had anything to do with their quarrel on Saturday night. Surely not, she told herself. He wasn’t a man who would allow a mere governess to cut up his peace. No doubt he had business there, friends to see, or even a mistress to visit.
The image of him locked in the embrace of a beautiful courtesan made her nauseous. Clutching at a pillar for support, she swallowed hard at the realization that she was envious of a nameless, faceless woman who could kiss and caress him freely without being chastised as unchaste and a whore.
Perhaps the courtesans had it right, she reflected idly. They could enjoy a man’s favors without having to be ruled by him, and as soon as he became tiresome, they could throw him away and move on to another. Like men did, even men in the twenty-first century, or at least men like Richard Earskine.
But no, she didn’t want that either. As often as she had proclaimed her desire for independence and self-sufficiency, the truth was that she’d always yearned on who she could depend. She’d found it briefly with her adoptive mother, only to find herself alone once more after Mrs. Lloyd’s death. Since then, she realized, she’d been searching for roots. A family. Perhaps even… a husband?
She leaned back against the pillar and closed her eyes, imagining herself smiling at James across the breakfast table as he smiled back with that heated gaze that made her melt inside. Was he a man whose wife would be a partner, and not a possession? What had his first marriage been like?
Her chin trembled and she swallowed to keep the tears away as she recalled his reaction to her plain speaking at the ball and realized that he would never accept her as she was—a feminist time traveler who would never be a meek, biddable wife.
“Are you all right, Miss Lloyd?”
Annabelle peered up at her with anxious eyes. “I feel sad sometimes too. Papa promised to take me to London if I were diligent with my lessons. I was, wasn’t I, Miss Lloyd? I did all my lessons and even made a drawing of Emily’s garden for her birthday next week. But he still said I couldn't come.”
Helena bent down and hugged her. “You’ve made excellent progress, Annabelle dear. I’m very proud of you, and I’m sure your father is as well. No doubt he had unexpected business to take care of this time and that is why he couldn’t take you with him. He’s kept his promises to you in the past, hasn’t he?”
Annabelle bit her lip. “I think so. But not to Mama. She cried a lot and shouted at Papa that he was a liar.” Her lip trembled. “Papa’s not a liar, is he?”
Helena squeezed her hand. “Of course not, Annabelle. Mothers and fathers sometimes have disagreements and say things they don’t mean. You were a tiny tyke and must have misunderstood.”
“Emily and Theo’s parents don’t argue like that. They’re always kissing and hugging.”
Helena grinned. “They are, aren’t they?”
“If I had a mama like Lady Sarah, would Papa still love me?” Her eyes were troubled.
“Of course he would!” Helena reassured her. “Why would you doubt it?”
“I heard him tell Lady Sarah he was entering the marriage mart. Doesn’t that mean he’s looking for a new wife? What if she doesn’t like me? And then Papa won’t like me anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabelle! Your papa will never stop loving you! As for a new mother: of course she’ll love you. What’s not to love about you?”
As she hugged the girl tightly against her, Helena felt her heart begin to shatter into tiny pieces.
* * *
Grillon’s Hotel
Albemarle Street
London
Later that day
The porter brought him his cane and hat and was helping him on with his frock coat when he heard his name called.
“Walker? Is that you?”
Turning his head, he saw a tall, elegant gentleman approaching him from the card room. Blast it! He wasn’t in the mood to be social—particularly not with his late wife’s uncle—but the Earl of Cranbourne was not someone he wished to offend.
He immediately felt ashamed. The earl was an amiable gentleman, and he and his wife had been fond of Anne and quite saddened by her death.
Forcing a smile, he turned to greet the older man. “Cranbourne! Fancy meeting you here. It's been a long time since I've seen you in London.”
Lord Cranbourne clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t keep a London residence. M’wife and I find Derbyshire far more to our taste. But Mariah took it in her head to attend Stephen’s wedding—my cousin’s son, you know—and the bride-to-be insisted
on St. George’s, so here we are.”
He shook his head. “I’ve orders to be fitted for a new set of clothing. Mariah thinks I’ve put on weight, and I might as well visit Weston and Hoby while I’m here. She’s at the modiste’s right now.” He chuckled. “It’ll cost a pretty penny, but worth it to keep the lady happy.”
“Indeed,” replied James, wincing inwardly at the memory of his unhappy marriage.
“So, how’s the young lassie? She was a babe the last time I saw her. A beauty like her mother, eh?”
“She is at that,” James said. “She’s six already and quite a handful.” He recounted a bit about the difficulties he was having finding an appropriate governess.
“Gel needs a mama,” the earl asserted. “Any prospects in mind? It’s been a few years now. A man needs a wife, you know. Lots of pretty girls out there wouldn’t mind takin’ on a handsome young widower.” He winked at James, who wondered how soon he could make his excuses without causing offense.
“Not at the moment,” he managed, forcing the image of Helena’s face from his mind.
“Should be a goodly number of ‘em at Lady Langton’s ball tonight. Don’t have a card? Why not join us? I vow Her Ladyship won’t turn away an eligible gentleman.”
“That’s very kind of you,” James responded. “I’d love to accompany you and your charming wife.”
* * *
The Langtons' Ball
Mayfair
London
That evening
He supposed he should be grateful for the Gibsons’ kindness in inviting him to join their party for the ball tonight. His purpose in coming to London was, after all, to search for a suitable lady to bring up his daughter and run his household. Thus far, however, the search had not proved fruitful. The young ladies he met at at-homes and balls were pretty enough, he supposed, but thus far, they had all been just out of the schoolroom with an annoying tendency to be silly and starry-eyed romantics. He hardly knew how to reply when they chattered on about lace and slippers and their favorite Bond Street emporium. He could not imagine any of them being content with a rural life, let alone having the maturity to raise his daughter. He'd heard it spread about that it was best to seek out a malleable young lady who could be molded into a suitable wife, but he hadn’t counted on the young part feeling so wrong. He was nearly twice as old as some; did he really want another child in his household…in his bed?
He was rubbing his temple wearily when Lady Melbourne came upon him, her latest cicisbeo trailing after her.
“Dear James! What a surprise to see you here! Why did you not come to call upon me the moment you arrived?” She swatted him playfully with her fan.
James swallowed and bowed over her hand. “I meant no offense, my lady. I only just arrived yesterday and have had business to attend to.”
“Come for the Little Season, have you?” She studied James’s clothing critically. “I hope you’ll forgive me for daring to suggest that your wardrobe could use some updating, James. That is, if you are serious about seeking a wife.”
James’s mouth fell open.
Lady Melbourne burst into laughter. “Why else would you be here at all after years of being buried in the country?” She waved her hand to indicate the room. “It is quite obvious to one and all that you are here find a wife. And while you aren’t a prize catch, you’re not a fortune hunter either, and I’m sure you’ll have a goodly number to choose from.”
“Er-thank you, my lady,” James managed, wishing he were somewhere—anywhere—else. The whole marriage scheme seemed wrong, and he wondered if it was too late—or too soon—to end it and run back to Melbourne Manor and forget about finding a wife.
“These gels are too young for you, you know. You need someone more serious. I daresay my niece Annabella Milbanke might have served, but she married two years ago, Lord Byron, you know.” She tut-tutted. “A disaster, that. George treated her abominably. I’m quite sure you would have been a much more suitable husband for dear Anna.”
James flinched. He knew he was no bargain, having failed his first wife. And he wasn’t sure a bluestocking like Annabella Milbanke would have suited him either.
“A country lady. That’s what you need. A kind, motherly type who won’t be averse to bringing out your daughter when the time comes. How old is dear Annabelle now—five?”
“Six.”
“I know a widow who might suit you. Not yet five-and-twenty. Her husband died at Waterloo, and she’s just out of her blacks. Lived on her father’s estate in Somerset all her life. Not a diamond of the first water, but comely enough.”
James kept his doubts to himself. It wouldn't do to offend Lady Melbourne.
“I should be happy to meet her,” James said, his gaze sweeping the room.
Lady Melbourne surveyed him with a pleased expression. “I fear she is not here this evening, James, but I happen to know she will be attending Almack’s tomorrow night. I shall get my daughter Emily—one of the Lady Patronesses, you know—to send you a voucher first thing tomorrow.”
James thanked her for her kindness and before parting, she leaned toward him and whispered in his ear:
“Knee breeches, dear boy. And don’t be late. Not even His Grace the Duke of Wellington will be admitted after eleven.”
* * *
August 19, 1817
Newsome Grange
Kingswood
Kent
Dear Lady Pendleton,
First of all, let me assure you that your daughter and her family are all well, and the girls and I have become quite friendly. However, I am not trained as a governess, and it’s well past time that the permanent governess be brought in. Lady Sarah says she has had no word from you on this matter, and I find myself wondering if you have made any progress with either this or that other matter we have discussed.
The Newsomes have been kind and welcoming, and while I do not wish to desert them before the arrival of the new governess, I find myself restless and eager to get on with my search. There is nothing for me here, and if you have found no leads in all this time, I believe it’s time to consider returning home to the place I came from.
Please respond at your first opportunity. I hope you do not believe me ungrateful, for I do appreciate all of your efforts on my behalf.
Affectionately,
Helena Lloyd
* * *
August 23, 1817
42 Grosvenor Square
London
My dear Helena,
Young people are ever so impatient! I shall never understand it. With all the years ahead of you, why must you demand to have your desires granted instantly? You are not Cinderella and I’m certainly not your fairy godmother!
I haven’t forgotten that other matter. I’ve made several discreet inquiries and I believe I have a very good lead. These things take time, however, and must be done with the utmost of discretion. (Yes, I can be discreet when necessary!) There is nothing you can do here, and, as you say, it would be unpardonable for you to leave my daughter’s employ prematurely. The governess I have chosen will not be available for several more weeks, but when she is, I shall send her on directly. I’m certain Miss Templeton will be perfect for dear Emily and Theo.
I was delighted to see James Walker in Town. The word is that he is seeking a new wife! Anne has been gone more than three years, and dear Annabelle desperately needs a new mother, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, having had her in your care. Men do not know the first thing about raising daughters, and a governess isn’t the answer either. They say he danced twice with Mrs. Rhodes at Almack’s, and he took her driving through Hyde Park the next day. It rained all day yesterday, but I hear he is accompanying her family to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens this evening. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the lady, but from what I hear, she is a sweet young woman who lost her husband in Belgium. So many of our young men were struck down there! Would it not be a wonderful thing if she and James were to make a match of it?
&nb
sp; Rest assured, my dear Helena, that I have not forgotten you, and that as soon as I have something definitive to tell you regarding that "other matter," I will be sure to pass on the news to you without delay.
Yours affectionately,
Agatha Tate, Lady Pendleton
* * *
Helena clenched her stomach as a wave of nausea passed through her. It was true—James was courting another woman. A widow. Mrs. Rhodes. Someone who was probably just right for him. Not someone like her, who would challenge his decisions and demand equality in the relationship.
She’d have felt better had it been a young miss who would hang on to his every word and drive him crazy with her childish demands. But that was unkind. This Mrs. Rhodes sounded like a most suitable choice for him. He deserved to be happy, as did Annabelle. Surely Helena could put aside her own feelings and be happy for their good fortune. Couldn’t she?
But the feeling of hopelessness and despair followed her the rest of the day.
10
Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens
Lambeth
London
That evening
Adele Rhodes might be the perfect wife for him, James reflected as they sat in the supper-box he’d rented for the evening. Except that she often seemed to fade into the background. It wasn’t just the paleness of her coloring—ghostly white skin and platinum blonde hair and unremarkable pale blue eyes—but her personality as well. Beyond the niceties, she seemed to have no opinion about anything.
When he asked her if she enjoyed the opera, she said that she’d never been, but was certain she would if he did. Asked about children, she blushed and admitted that she’d never been around them, but was certain she would adore his daughter Annabelle. About politics—she had no opinion because it wasn’t a woman’s prerogative. When they were together, he did most of the talking.
