Unmasking Lady Helen: The Kinsey Family (The Kinsey Family Series Book 1)

by Maggi Andersen

  “But Mama wants you to marry. She often says so.”

  “She wants me to put the past behind me. I cannot do that, Diana. I would have to tell my prospective husband the truth. I’m too ashamed.”

  Diana muttered one of their brother’s favorite curses. “I don’t see why you should feel ashamed. It was entirely that rake’s doing.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know, I don’t think Peyton would care, although I’m pretty sure he would go after Lawley.”

  “He would.” Helen curled her fingers into her palms. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Peyton can handle himself. Certainly, he is better able to than some dissolute rake.”

  “I can’t be sure of that. He might get hurt, or worse. The whole thing would be utterly horrifying.”

  She gripped Helen’s shoulder. “But, dearest, only think. This dreadful attack has blighted your life. I thought you had no passion in you. That has changed since Peyton came here. And I, for one, approve!”

  “Nevertheless,” Helen said, drawing in a shuddering breath. She didn’t have the energy and thought it unwise to tell the whole of it. “I won’t subject Peyton to that. I have made up my mind.”

  ***

  In no mood to deal with his siblings, Jason eyed Charlie with a frown. “Why are you seated behind my desk, drinking my best brandy?”

  With an apologetic shrug, Charlie removed his feet from the leather desktop. He vacated Jason’s chair and dropped onto the sofa, brandy glass in hand. “I have had some unwelcome news,” he said with a lowering glance as Jason took the seat and sorted through his mail.

  “Oh?” Jason found it hard to raise a level of interest.

  Putting down his empty glass, Charlie folded his arms and leaned back to study him. “You look in even worse shape than me.”

  “Do I? I can’t look too good then. I hope you’ll abandon that affecting Brutus and get your hair cut before you return to university.”

  “Amelia Groton has just married some aging nabob,” Charlie said, emphasizing every syllable.

  Jason put down the pearl-handled letter opener. Seeing Charlie’s bloodshot eyes, he suffered a moment’s anguish for his young brother, knowing how much rejection hurt at that age, and even at thirty-two, it still cut like a knife. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I really am.”

  “I’ll survive, Jas.” He unfolded his long legs. “Shall I pour you a brandy?”

  “If you would.” Jason sliced open a letter from Mr. Gillies. It appeared that the expert, John Smith, considered the Albrecht Dürer work to be a forgery. He frowned and tapped the knife on his blotter. This opened a Pandora’s box, and he would have to act quickly to deal with it before he met with Bianchi. He put the letter to one side and opened another. It was from his friend, Robert Vale, in Italy. He quickly perused it. “Good God!”

  Charlie handed him the tumbler of brandy. “What is it?”

  “Is Lizzie at home?”

  “Yes. She’s organizing her wardrobe for Italy. You know, I still haven’t taken to her fiancé. Do you like him?”

  “Go and fetch her, will you? You’ll have to wait until I’ve spoken to her, Charlie. Alone.”

  Charlie accepted this request with newly acquired patience and departed on the errand.

  Jason read the letter again. It appeared that all three Peytons were to suffer some measure of heartbreak. Vale’s letter from Florence was unequivocal. I’m a trifle confused by your letter, Jason. Bianchi is here in Florence. Spoke to him yesterday as a matter of fact. As to the drawing by Albrecht Dürer, I’ve never seen one in his collection. And I must say I know every one of his pieces almost by heart.

  Lizzie came in some minutes later. She glanced at his face and then at the letter he held. “It’s unwelcome news, isn’t it? I feared it might be.”

  After reading the letter, she shook her head in confusion. “Does this mean that the Bianchi we know is not the real one?”

  “There can be no other explanation.” His hands formed into fists as a tear ran down Lizzie’s cheek.

  “But why would he want to marry me under false pretenses?”

  Jason had employed the few minutes while he was alone to consider that. The answer was too dreadful to voice. “He’s a forger, Lizzie. And he doesn’t work alone. I suspect this Barrett is in league with him. He’s most likely the artist behind the works.”

  “But still, it doesn’t explain...” Her face grew pale, and she bit her lip. “Once we married and he took me away, he could take control of my fortune, couldn’t he?”

  “Yes, he could,” he said gently. And heaven only knew what the nasty piece of work would do to Lizzie when he had complete control over her. Jason tamped down his wrath and moved to the sofa to comfort her.

  She took his proffered handkerchief and blew her nose. “How dreadful,” she murmured. “And to think I believed him. How gullible am I?”

  “I thought he might be a fraudster, but never for one moment suspected this. I will deal with him. You will never see the man again.”

  “You’re probably right that I shouldn’t see him. But how much I would like to. If only to spit in his eye,” Lizzie said, with a sharp intake of breath.

  “That’s the Lizzie I know,” he said with a smile. He was pleased to see she still had spirit.

  Charlie came into the room. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sit down, Charlie,” Jason said. “Your instincts have been proven right about Bianchi.”

  After dinner, when Charlie had taken himself off, Jason sat with Lizzie in the library.

  “I’d forgotten to ask you about Lady Diana Kinsey,” Lizzie said. “Since we’re invited to her debutante ball on Saturday evening, I hope that, at last, you might be considering what you reluctant gentleman term the parson’s mousetrap.”

  He rubbed a hand through his hair. “No. Not Lady Diana. Lady Helen. But she has refused me,”

  With a concerned huff, Lizzie frowned. “She refused you? For what reason? I’m surprised any woman in her right mind would do that.”

  “Well, thank you, Lizzie,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “But alas it is true. Do you know Lady Helen?”

  “I have met her. She came out a year or so after me. She was one of the more interesting debutantes, amusing. I remember her first Season. Very sad business.”

  “How so?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Evidently I don’t. Are you going to enlighten me?”

  “Apparently, that rakehell, Albert, Lord Lawley ravaged her in the Chillinghams’ garden. She hit her head and was taken home to the country concussed. I last saw Lady Helen at Lady Newley’s ball, just before Greywood died. She seemed very much changed, quite subdued, and, to my knowledge, didn’t dance.”

  “Lawley, you say? Jason growled.

  “Yes. His father was furious. Lawley left England shortly afterward.”

  “How wise of him.” He thought for a minute. “Godwin at Horse Guards was a cohort of his. They were known to hunt in a pack, picking on vulnerable women. Nasty pieces of work the lot of them. I wonder…”

  She eyed him carefully. ‘What will you do about Bianchi? You are not to call him out, Jason. I couldn’t bear it.”

  He sighed with frustration, wanting to take the man apart piece by piece. “Very well. I don’t have the authority to arrest him. I’ll notify the Bow Street magistrate. He’ll invite Bianchi, or whatever his real name is, and his accomplice, in for questioning. I’ll alert Mr. Gillies, whom I expect will want to learn of this and give evidence if required. Mr. Smith, the foremost expert in art forgery, might be willing to inspect the rest of the works, although I suspect many would have been sold.”

  When Lizzie, who seemed more relieved than heartbroken, left the room, Jason, at last, allowed his thoughts to dwell on Helen. Learning what had happened to her all those years ago explained so much. He intended to broach the subject with her. He would have the truth. Was it because of her past that she wouldn’t have him? He could dea
l with that, for although he was in a murderous rage at what had happened to her and would happily run the man through, it didn’t matter a damn to him if he wasn’t the first. But if she did not love him, he would have to accept it. Strange, how his once-wished-for, quiet life now seemed so dashed unpalpable.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Friday, Mama arrived home with Toby. “Kinsey!” She rushed into Papa’s arms in the entry where Helen and Diana stood waiting to greet her.

  Papa enveloped her in a hug. “How is Alexander?”

  “Healing well. He prefers to remain with his grandfather, and I thought it wise not to make him endure a journey in the coach.” She leaned back to scrutinize him. “Have you been wearing your hat? You’re as brown as a nut.”

  He laughed and swung her around in his arms. “And you are even more beautiful than I remember.”

  Diana grinned at Helen, as their mother, ignoring Fiske, who was examining his shoes, ran her hand through their father’s copper locks, sprinkled with gray. “You have not forgotten how to charm a lady, I’m pleased to see.” She turned to Helen. “When the footman delivered your note, I was utterly horrified. I do hope you weren’t in danger?”

  Helen kissed her mother’s cheek. “Not for a minute.” Helen continued to try, unsuccessfully, to banish all thoughts of Peyton. It was unlikely after the ball they would meet again.

  “I am eternally grateful to Lord Peyton for dealing with this. Mrs. Chance! Just imagine. When she came to us a year ago after Mrs. Archer retired and went to live with her sister, she presented perfect references. Can we no longer trust anyone?” She studied Helen’s face then gave a quick nod. “We will talk later.”

  “The staff expects me at eleven. I must go over the final details before the ball,” Helen said, relieved to have a reprieve before she came under her mother’s sagacious scrutiny. One word about Peyton and she feared she would dissolve into a puddle like one of Cook’s sculptured ices.

  Mama smiled. “Thank you, Helen dear. You are a blessing. I am too exhausted and bewildered to be of much use until I have had a nap to refresh me.”

  Papa eyed her speculatively for a minute before addressing Toby. “My boy, it is good to see you. I trust you are pleased to be home?”

  “I am, Papa. Catching tadpoles for Zander and playing cribbage with Grandfather had begun to pall.”

  Her father laughed and ushered them into the morning room. Papa sipped a glass of claret Fiske handed him and, prompted by Toby, related the fascinating highlights of his journey. Wishing she could remain to hear every detail, Helen reluctantly excused herself.

  Diana followed Helen out and slipped an arm around her waist as they walked toward the servants’ stairs. “Thank you for taking over from Mrs. Chance. Even though Papa has requested the employment agency send someone, it is far too late.”

  Helen smiled. “’Tis my pleasure.”

  “You have a natural talent for it, I must say. It would bore me to distraction.” Diana paused, a hand on the newel post. “You’ll make an excellent wife and mother, running your own household.”

  Pain clawed at Helen’s heart. “Please don’t, Diana. I beg you.”

  “For a sensible person, you are being remarkably dull-witted,” Diana said fiercely. “I hope that Peyton will shake some sense into you!”

  Helen watched her sister stalk away. Diana was young and had little understanding of how damning and cruel society could be. She prayed Diana would never experience it as she continued down the stairs. Might it be possible that Peyton would ask her again? She both feared and welcomed it. She could not deny that when he’d kissed her she’d responded with unrestrained passion, her normally practical mind deserting her. She hadn’t wanted his kisses to end, and it had taken all her strength to push him away. If he’d remained a minute longer, she might have weakened and thrown herself into his arms.

  A sleepless night brought no solution, leaving her feeling as if she was floating, rudderless in a stormy sea. But to tell him of her past and see the respect he had for her fade from his green eyes would be the end of her.

  In the servants’ hall, everyone waited, having responded to her summons. She looked around at the group of expectant faces. “Good morning.” She managed to sound proficient.

  An hour later, confident that every last detail had been seen to, Helen reluctantly made her way upstairs. She met her father in the corridor leaving her mother’s boudoir. He winked. “Listen to your mother’s advice, daughter. She is never wrong.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Inside the bedroom, her mother sat alone at the dressing table in her wrap, coiling her hair into a chignon. Her face reflected in the glass bore a healthy flush.

  “How is Alexander, Mama? And Grandfather? Did you leave them in good health?”

  “Grandfather is well. Alexander’s leg was not broken. It’s merely a bad sprain. He is healing well, although it will take a month or so before he has completely recovered. We’ll talk more about that later.” She turned on the stool. “Your father tells me you have refused Lord Peyton.”

  “Yes.” Helen groaned inwardly and sank onto the sofa.

  Mama rose to join her. “But why, my dear? It’s an excellent match. And not because he’s an earl; he cares for you.”

  “He believes I am something I’m not.”

  “Nonsense. He knows exactly who you are. A dear sweet, caring person. I believe he needs a bit of mothering himself.”

  “Peyton?” Helen was shocked. She never thought of him that way. He was so commanding, so confident. “He’s a hardened soldier.” The suggestion that he might need her was enticing, and she fought not to let it sway her decision.

  “Peyton’s mother died giving birth to his brother. He has been away at war, and now that his father is gone, he is head of the family with all the responsibilities that entails. Who cares for Peyton? He may not be aware that he needs it. Men are inclined to be blind to such things. They feel they must be strong all the time. And find solutions for everything.” She smiled. “But even your intrepid father needs my support and comfort. While I need his strength.” Mama’s eyes grew misty. “And his love.”

  Helen leaned close and breathed in her mother’s familiar flowery scent, which was usually reassuring, although not today. “But it wouldn’t be fair to him. He would feel that because he’s asked for my hand, and addressed Papa, he is committed to marrying me.”

  “I think you underestimate Peyton.”

  “I…I don’t believe I do.”

  “He has a good deal of character. I like him very much, and so does your father.”

  “Yes. I thought he did.”

  “I know you feel you’re doing the honorable thing, my dear. But love, and I am sure Peyton does love you, can overcome most obstacles. Will you promise me that you’ll at least reconsider his offer?” Mama placed an arm around her. “I’ve been observing the two of you and believed…” She sighed. “I had such hopes for you, dear child.”

  What good would it do, when the answer must always be the same? “I promise, Mama.” Helen rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and sadly resisted saying anything more.

  ***

  Russell appeared at the breakfast room door. “Mr. Dalby from Bow Street is here to see you, my lord.”

  Jason looked up from the newspaper he was reading, his kippers half eaten. “Send him in, Russell.” He motioned to the footman for more coffee and pushed his plate away, his appetite deserting him.

  The runner hurried into the room still in his greatcoat, hat in hand. “Sorry to bother you so early, Lord Peyton, but the magistrate wanted to alert you to the fact that the man claiming to be Baron Bianchi has slipped the net.”

  Jason pushed back his chair. “How did he manage to do that? He was here in London yesterday.” And tonight, Bianchi expected to be granted Lizzie’s hand. “What caused him to run?”

  “We don’t know, milord. We went to his digs this morning and discovered he’d packed up and left s
ome hours before.”

  “Could he have known you were after him?”

  “One of our men followed him last night, but he gave him the slip. Must have got wind of it.”

  Jason tightened his jaw. “Your man must have stood out like a sore thumb.”

  “It appears that Bianchi, so called, and another gentleman left in a carriage several hours ago, milord. Traveling north to Liverpool.”

  “Where are they off to, Ireland or New York?” Jason mused. “They’re after fresh pickings, eh, Dalby.” Jason did not have the authority to arrest Bianchi. He’d need the runner to accompany him. “Care to pursue them?”

  Dalby pulled back his greatcoat and indicated the gun that runners always carried with them. “Left my horse in your stables. I’m keen, milord.”

  Jason turned to the footman. “Henry, send word to the groom. I want Icarus saddled. Dalby, there’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself. We shall leave in a few minutes.”

  He ran up to Lizzie’s rooms.

  “Lady Greywood has just left for Madam Bernard’s salon in Oxford Street,” Sally said. “She needs an alteration to her ball gown.”

  Jason cursed under his breath. “Why didn’t you accompany her?”

  “Milady wished me to finish some mending.” She flushed and eyed a corset on the table beside her workbasket.

  Jason went to bang on Charlie’s door then remembered his brother had stayed with a friend the previous evening after attending a bachelor dinner.

  He needed first to alert Lizzie. It seemed likely that Bianchi intended to quit England. But he didn’t trust the Italian not to try some sneaky ploy. Hopefully, he and Dalby, riding hard, could overtake their carriage in a matter of hours. It depended on whether Bianchi thought he’d got away with it and was traveling at a leisurely pace or making flat-out for Liverpool. If it was the latter, Jason might not return to London until the early hours of the morning. As he left with Dalby, Jason preferred the former, considering the forger’s over developed sense of his own capabilities.