Beauty Like the Night

by Liz Carlyle

  “Oh? I suppose I had not considered that point,” said Catherine vaguely. “Of course, a child would long for her mother, though in truth, the two of them were not as close as one would have hoped.”

  “Yes, so Lord Treyhern has said.”

  Catherine’s brows shot up. “Did he indeed?”

  “We discussed it, yes,” Helene murmured, anxious to dispel the impression of any inappropriate familiarity. “You must understand, Catherine, that I am here to help the child. It is rather obvious that Ariane’s trauma and loss of speech relates in some way to her mother. I believe he felt it necessary that I understand their relationship.”

  “Oh, Helene, please do not mistake my meaning! My surprise was not intended to imply otherwise. It is just that Cam, well, even when matters with Cassandra were ... not smooth, he refused to denounce her in any way. To hear him admit her shortcomings, even in veiled terms, is unusual.”

  Helene felt the knot of sadness in her chest tighten further still. “I take it, then, that his lordship was deeply in love with his wife.”

  In the process of sipping her tea, Catherine very nearly sputtered aloud, her long, capable fingers flying to her lips. “Lord, no!” she exclaimed, once she had finished coughing. “It was an arranged marriage in every sense of the word. Indeed, I daresay Cassandra liked it even less than he did. She was miserable, and she made the rest of us so. The first year of having Cassandra and her coterie under Chalcote’s roof was utter hell.”

  “You are speaking of the time prior to your marriage?”

  “Yes, I married rather young, did I not? Will and I were good friends. He was so often here, why, it just seemed natural to make a match of it. And living under the same roof as both Papa and my sister-in-law was akin to living in a gunpowder magazine. Something was forever exploding.” Catherine smiled grimly. “As you can see, I am occasionally a bit impolitic. Suffice it to say that Cassandra and I did not see eye to eye. And I found that most of her raffish friends were not so very different from Papa’s, when all was said and done.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “Oh, they were forever here, dancing, drinking, shooting—and a good deal more, to be sure.” Catherine gave a little shrug, then bent to fill her cup again. “Cassandra despised the country. And though Cam often traveled to town on business, he made no secret of his abhorrence for it. Yet Cassandra longed for the admiration of her friends, and so she simply invited them to Chalcote. It was like a queen holding court.”

  “And your brother did not object?”

  “Not in the beginning, no,” Catherine slowly replied. “I collect he thought it a fair compromise to Cassandra. But for her part, I think she would have liked it a little better had Cam become angry. She once complained to me that Cam was not jealous of her. In truth, I think his emotional restraint angered her. Is that not perverse?”

  “Yes, but she was young. And perhaps insecure ...?”

  Catherine pursed her lips and nodded. “You are rather perceptive, Helene. Yes, that’s just how she was. Cassandra required constant reassurance. Indeed, I think that her background—not precisely to the manor born, and all that drivel—left her constantly ill at ease.”

  “And her friends were happy to provide the reassurance she needed, I am sure.”

  Catherine looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes,” she said slowly, “until Cam put a stop to their coming.” She paused for a long moment, her gaze flicking up from the table, as if to gauge Helene’s reaction. “Cassandra became rather too blatant in some of her behavior. One night, they had a horrible row, and then ... well, I never asked my brother about it. But the house parties ceased.”

  “Altogether?”

  “Indeed,” Catherine rolled her expressive eyes, “and if it had been hell here before, it was ten times that when Cassandra was deprived of her admirers. She became exceedingly bored, and alternately, feverish with energy. She would roam through the house at night, and through the woods by day. But soon, she announced that she was enceinte, and for a time, she seemed more settled.”

  “But by then you had left Chalcote, I take it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Cam had finally agreed that Will and I might wed, and Papa did not care.”

  “I ... I hope you are very happy,” said Helene uncertainly, no longer comfortable with discussing Cam’s past.

  “Perfectly content,” answered Catherine. “Nowadays, it is not my happiness, but my brother’s, which most concerns me.”

  “I ... I do not know what you mean.”

  Cam’s sister studied Helene’s face for a long moment before she answered. “You knew my father well, did you not?”

  Helene nodded.

  “It will not shock you, then, to know that Cam had little choice but to marry Cassandra. Her father offered a generous dowry, and Cam saw it as his duty to settle Papa’s debts and restore our family name to respectability. Of course, I am inordinately grateful. But in truth, Helene, I should have preferred to see my brother happy. I still would.”

  “And will not Miss Belmont be capable of assuring his happiness?” asked Helene softly, hoping that her hurt and bitterness did not show.

  Catherine shook her head uncertainly. “Who can say? From childhood, Cam’s life has been one of responsibility. His first marriage was much the same, but I had rather hoped that his second would be made for love. That is what would make him truly happy, do not you think? And as fond as we all are of Joan, I cannot think he loves her.”

  Suddenly, a sharp knock sounded on the door, and Cam strode into the room to stand before them, his hat clutched rather tightly in his hands. “I beg your pardon, Catherine, Miss de Severs.” He spoke rapidly, his words spilling forth. “I fear I have come to take my leave of you. I must go down to Devonshire in all haste.”

  “To Devon?” Catherine bounced out of her chair. “So suddenly?”

  Cam gave a stiff, curt nod, and Helene could plainly see the lines of concern which were deeply etched into his face. All traces of his earlier contentment had vanished. “Yes, Cat,” he answered. “It is very sudden. Illness—a severe fever—has swept through Treyhern Castle. It has struck down half my staff and tenants, and already two have died.”

  “Dear Lord,” whispered Catherine, moving unsteadily away from her chair. “What bad news!”

  “Aye, bad news indeed.” Cam looked grim, his fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his hat. He looked shaken and tired. “And it gets worse. Hastings, Uncle’s old steward, took ill three days ago and is not expected to throw it off. I must go to him straightaway. Crane is putting up my gear now. By all accounts, matters are in a mess.”

  “He’s to put up mine as well,” came a voice from the darkened corridor. Bentley paused just long enough to stick his head into the parlor. “I mean to go with you. I think I ought.”

  Surprise flickered in Cam’s eyes as he tossed a glance over his shoulder. “I’d be grateful,” he returned. But it was too late. After muttering something about preparing the horses, Bentley had thundered on down the hall toward the rear door which gave on to the stable path.

  “What can I do to help, Cam?” asked Catherine. “And when will you return?”

  Cam nodded his head. “I do need your help, my dear. I shall be gone at least a fortnight, so I’m afraid I must ask you to attend to matters at Chalcote. Can Will do without you for a bit?”

  Lightly, his sister laughed. “It’s hunting season, Cam! I’ll never be missed.”

  “Good. Can you ride over twice a week to see to things here? Call upon the tenants, forward any paperwork to Brightsmith, see that the fencing continues on schedule—that sort of thing? You are as capable in farm matters as any man I know. Leave the household to Mrs. Naffles, and otherwise, just send word to Brightsmith if there is anything you cannot handle. And you may as well stay here tonight. Send your footman back to Aldhampton with a message.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Catherine, darting forward to kiss her brother’s cheek. “Far bett
er to task me with your sheep than with your draperies.” She smiled mischievously. “And on that score, I have been cast into the shade anyway. Milford declares that Miss de Severs’s taste is comme il faut. So I think it must be she who is tasked with that chore whilst you’re away. I think I shall have her redecorate this room.”

  Strangely enough, the idea appealed to Cam. The room was a little shabby. And Helene seemed to have an unerring grasp of color and beauty. “A fine idea, Miss de Severs,” he answered, nodding in her direction.

  But suddenly, it dawned on him that he really did not wish to leave Helene and Ariane behind. The afternoon they had shared by the river had marked some sort of turning point, and the following days had left him feeling ... very different. Helene had always had a way of goading him, challenging him, and now, of forcing him to look at things he would prefer not to see. Yet inexplicably, the last few weeks had been like a balm to his wounds.

  There. He had admitted it. He desperately wanted to continue visiting the schoolroom, and hearing Helene’s laughter at his dinner table. He wanted to listen to her opinions. Even, perhaps, to her scolds.

  Cam, who was unaccustomed to the luxury of speaking so intimately with anyone, had begun to feel strangely unburdened. With Helene, it had always seemed that one could say anything, do anything. It was, perhaps, a fatal illusion, but Helene made him feel as if he could be free, if ever so briefly, of earthly constraints, much as he had felt while flying through the air on that silly rope. And so, for one impetuous moment, Cam toyed with the idea of taking both Helene and Ariane to Devonshire.

  Quickly, he set it aside. It would be the height of irresponsibility, for the fever which raged in Devon was quite clearly contagious. Indeed, he was almost afraid to take Bentley, but to refuse would insult the boy unpardonably.

  But if he could not have Helene and his daughter with him, he would at least have the luxury of giving them a proper good-bye. “Miss de Severs,” he said abruptly, turning to face her, “may I see you shortly in the schoolroom? I must make my good-bye to Ariane, and then I should like to review your plans for her whilst I’m away.”

  Smoothly, Helene rose from her seat, her perfect ivory face an emotionless mask, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance behind him. “Yes, of course, my lord,” she said.

  Even considering Catherine’s presence, Cam thought her voice rather too cool. Intently, he studied her for a long moment, then nodded curtly and turned away. She did not look happy. He vowed to find out why.

  His attention torn between the tragedy in Devon and the distant expression on Helene’s face, Cam strode through the Great Hall en route to the schoolroom. As he turned the corner, however, he drew up short when he saw Thomas Lowe being admitted by Milford. He felt instantly on guard, like a pack hound with his hackles up. But that simply would not do. The man was his rector, for pity’s sake. Still, he was heartily sick of Lowe dogging Helene’s heels like a besotted puppy.

  “Ah, good afternoon, Treyhern!” proclaimed Lowe, his voice overly cheerful as he dropped his hat into Milford’s fingers. The rector came forward, his hand outstretched in greeting, leaving Cam no choice but to reciprocate.

  “One might even say good evening, Lowe,” replied Cam dryly, grasping the priest’s smooth, almost delicate, hand. “It is very nearly half past five.”

  Lowe was in no way discouraged. “Ah, I take your point, my lord! I shall be brief, for I was just coming from old Clapham’s—” Here, the rector dropped his gaze and shook his head mournfully, “—’tis his heart, don’t you know. But anyway, by such happenstance, I was passing along your back gate, and thought to step around for a word with Miss de Severs.”

  “Miss de Severs?” echoed Cam flatly.

  Thomas Lowe beamed beatifically. “Indeed! About our plans together.”

  “Your plans together?” The voice, flatter still, dropped a note.

  “Yes, for tomorrow!” answered the handsome young man, still smiling. “We’ve arranged that the children might have another romp together in the afternoon. Lucy and Lizzy so much enjoy dear Ariane’s company.”

  “How nice,” answered Cam, his tone more brusque than he had intended. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to Devon.”

  Lowe looked taken aback. “At this hour?”

  Curtly, Cam nodded and motioned Lowe toward a seat. “A fever has seized hold of my estate and many of my staff are ill.” He spun on his boot-heel and headed for the broad oak staircase.

  “Then we must keep them in our prayers,” murmured Lowe. “Godspeed, my lord.”

  The rector’s gentle words trailed after Cam as he bounded up the stairs, feeling shockingly mean-spirited, and intensely un-Christian. It was a most unpleasant, but nonetheless deeply rooted feeling, and he was a little bit ashamed. From the landing above, he watched as Thomas Lowe settled himself into a chair to await Helene. Damn!

  With grave reluctance, Helene paused at the schoolroom, her hand raised to knock upon the door, but it already stood ajar. Just inside, Helene could see Cam, already wearing his traveling coat, and looking like a long-legged giant in comparison to the desk chair in which he reclined.

  Nestled snugly in her father’s lap, with a rag doll dangling from one hand, Ariane was carefully watching his face. Cam’s voice was low and gentle. “And so you must be a good girl, sweeting,” he said, lightly touching the tip of her nose with his finger. “Two weeks shall pass quickly, I promise. Do all that Miss de Severs asks of you. And remember always that Papa loves you.”

  His gaze focused somewhere in the distance, Cam kissed the top of the child’s head, and Ariane slid obediently from his lap and onto her feet. As she started away, Cam seized her hand and pulled her back to plant a loud kiss on the little girl’s open palm.

  “Do everything that she asks, Ariane, please?” Cam stared down into her limpid blue eyes this time. “Everything,” he emphasized, his voice suddenly husky. “I need for you to try very hard this time. Will you do this for me, sweet?”

  As if she did not understand, Ariane smiled vaguely, then danced away, still dangling the doll in one hand. As the little girl turned into her bedchamber, Helene let her hand drop, knocking sharply on the doorframe.

  “Come in.” Cam came swiftly to his feet.

  “You wished to speak with me?” asked Helene, keeping her voice smooth as she pushed open the door. She felt as if she had intruded upon an intensely personal scene. To her dismay, she found anger harder to sustain in the face of a father who so clearly loved his child. But if she did not feel anger, she would have to feel grief. And that she could not bear. Not again.

  Cam watched Helene step uncertainly into the schoolroom. And indeed, uncertainty was the only emotion he could detect in her restrained demeanor. It felt as if a cold wall of formality had been suddenly flung up between them, where earlier there had existed a sense of quiet intimacy.

  Today she again wore her deep burgundy carriage dress, the fabric warming in the candlelight as she came gracefully toward the desk. Rising from his chair, Cam let his eyes roam over her face, trying to gauge her mood. It was useless. Unlike Helene the young girl, Helene the woman could dissemble her emotions as well as any lady of the ton.

  And yet, he could sense the distancing between them. Cam narrowed his eyes, his gaze hesitating for a moment on her sinfully full lips. Undoubtedly, Helene had seen that dratted rector in the hall below. Yet he did not think Thomas Lowe was the cause of her withdrawal.

  Perhaps his sister had simply worn her out? Helene was vivacious, yes. But Catherine’s boundless energy had drained the life’s blood from lesser mortals. Perhaps his sister had even inadvertently hurt Helene’s feelings by something she had said or done. Good heavens—look what she’d almost blurted out about Joan! Cat could be blunt to a fault.

  Slowly, he exhaled, stroking his thumb and forefinger pensively over a day’s growth of dark, rough stubble. Lord, it had been a long, exhausting day. He did not want to set out for Devon in the dark, and he mo
st assuredly did not want to leave Helene’s side.

  What he wanted to do was to recapture the feeling—Cam told himself it was friendship—that he knew they’d both begun to feel. Was it possible?

  In a foolish attempt to find out, Cam deliberately lifted his hand and tipped her chin up on one finger. “Must I admonish you to be a good girl, too, Hellie?” he asked teasingly, fighting the urge to let his hand slip around to caress the back of her neck and pull her mouth to his.

  His efforts fell awkwardly short of the mark. Helene’s glacial expression froze both his hand and his lips. Her delicate nostrils flared almost imperceptibly as she withdrew a pace, then stood, utterly still. “You may count on me to do my best for Ariane,” she responded evenly, her emotionless tone belied by the cold glitter of her eyes.

  Cam dropped his chin and studied Helene through his eyelashes, a feeling of bone-deep dread stealing slowly over him. Something was very wrong here. Something most precious was slipping from his grasp, leaving Cam with nothing but a desperate sense of urgency.

  And then suddenly, amidst all of his fatigue, and all of his worry, an aching, awful reality cut into his heart like a knife. He was still in love with Helene.

  Deeply. Hopelessly. Eternally, it would seem. The knowledge came, sharp and certain, slicing down upon him with the swiftness of an executioner’s sword. Cam felt a shudder pass through him as the nebulous thought took the shape of his worst nightmare. And his only hope.

  Please God, he silently whispered. No, no, no! Not Helene.

  Lust he could manage, though he wanted her badly. And enjoying her companionship, Cam had ruefully discovered, was still an exquisite pleasure. But he could not possibly survive being in love with Helene again. Assuming he had ever stopped loving her. Oh Lord. He hadn’t, had he? No, not really.

  And yet, then as now, Helene was every dangerous thing he could imagine in a woman: too reckless, too vibrant, and just too bloody beautiful for his own good. Cam felt his well-ordered existence spinning wildly out of control, and off into the netherworld of uncertainty.