Miss Prestwick's Crusade

by Anne Barbour

  “But that's what I came up here for. To ask when you intend to make it better.”

  Again, Helen bestowed a blank stare on her friend.

  “I? Make it better? Barney, I have torn the fabric of my friendship with Edward—and that is not like one's second best shawl, to be mended in a trice with a length of silk. He has allowed me to remain at Whitehouse Abbey, but—”

  Barney sighed patiently. “I wish you would stop talking this everlasting nonsense about friendship. Why don't you just tell him that you love him?”

  "What?" Helen's eyes were by now so swollen she could barely see Barney, and she knew she must make a ludicrous picture, with her mouth hanging open as well.

  “Barney,” she replied at last in an outraged choke. “How can you suggest such a preposterous idea?”

  “Why? It seems to me there's a good chance he returns your feelings.”

  “Yes. Well, he might have at one time, but—I guess I did not tell you this, but at one time he did—give some indication that—but—well, I couldn't tell him how I felt with that wretched Woman at the Window fiasco hanging over my head. I—I gave him to believe that his, um, sentiments were not returned. And that I—well, that I wished he'd leave me alone.”

  Barney flung her arms in the air and stamped around the table. “Oh, excellent! You finally meet the man you've been waiting for all your life and you throw him away like an unacceptable piece of fruit.”

  “But don't you see?” wailed Helen. “I have been giving this a bit of thought, you know. After having exploded my little bombshell under his feet—and you already know how he feels about all that—how can I now rush up to him and whisper shyly that I didn't mean anything of what I said before and that I would look favorably on, urn, further expressions?”

  “Oh, Lord. Would you have to phrase it like the heroine in a bad play? I see your point about encouraging his— ardor, but—”

  “Don't you see. Barney? He'd be sure to think that I was trying to make the best of a bad situation. That I was desperate to get in his good graces, so that I could continue on here at the Abbey under his willing protection, and—”

  “It seems to me,” rasped Barney, tapping her foot, “that that is precisely the kind of thinking that plumped you into such a parcel of trouble in the first place. For the love of heaven, why can't you just be honest with the man? Don't you think he deserves that?”

  Helen said nothing for a long moment but at last whispered, “Of course he does. I think that if I were honest with myself, I'd realize that I'm afraid. Afraid he would turn away in contempt.”

  “I think you're being ridiculous.” Barney shifted. “In any case, faint heart never won fair gentleman. And that is all I came to say. I shall leave you now. Perhaps you will join me a little later in the nursery. I have promised William a fast game of peep-bo.”

  For the first time, Helen smiled. “I'd like that. I've been neglecting my favorite nephew of late, and I miss him.”

  With a small wave. Barney bustled herself out of the room. Helen sat down to her work once more, but her gaze remained, unseeing, on the far wall of her attic work chamber.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Camberwell board was graced at dinner that evening by all the family members at present in residence at the Abbey. Helen, realizing that she was being absurdly obstinate in her determination to take her meals alone, sat in her usual place. Conversation was desultory, until Artemis brought up the endlessly fascinating (to her) topic of her London season.

  “I am nearly all packed. I'm quite pleased with the gowns Mrs. Brinkson made for me, although I thought she would never get them finished to our specifications.” Artemis turned to Helen. “Do you know, I had to return that apricot muslin morning dress three times? Do you remember? We ordered a broad band of ribbons in the Bolognese style crossing the bosom? Well, she neglected to continue them over the shoulders, tied in small bows! She said we never told her to do that, but we did, did we not?”

  At Helen's abstracted nod, she continued. “I don't understand why that woman cannot seem to comprehend the simplest of instructions. Oh, Helen, I cannot wait to have you meet Madame Phanie when we get to London. I know you and she will get on famously and—well, between the two of you, I shall be the most stunningly gowned female in Town.”

  Across the table, Helen emerged from the seemingly terminal fog of unhappiness in which she now seemed enshrouded. When we get to London? She shot a sidelong glance at Edward, who was apparently absorbed in the consumption of his fricassee of veal.

  “London?” she echoed. “Why, I do not plan to go to London.”

  “Not go to London!” Artemis's voice ascended into her favorite squeal register. “But whyever not?”

  “I have no reason to go to London,” she replied quietly, pleased that her voice remained calm. “I have my work here at the Abbey, and I must apply myself if I am ever to make any order out of your family's collection.”

  Edward lifted his head to send her a questioning look.

  “But you are family. Miss Prestwick. I believe it behooves you to participate in our activities.”

  “You are very kind, Mr. Beresford, but, I—I do not wish to go to London. I would much rather remain at the Abbey with William.”

  “Well, but is not William to come with us to Town?”

  Dear Lord, thought Helen dazedly, why was he so insistent on this “member of the family” theme? He had made his disdain for her painfully clear, yet she was now to be considered part of the Camberwell menage—an integral part of the household and involved in all the Camberwell projects. Now he wished her to accompany the family to London? For what purpose?

  “Why, yes,” declared Aunt Emily in response to Edward's question. “I have made arrangements for William to travel with Finch and an undernurse in a separate carriage so they will have plenty of room to spread out.”

  Helen eyed the dowager curiously. The older woman had appeared distracted all evening long, eating little and speaking only infrequently. Was she aware, as Edward had murmured to her in the Yellow Salon just before dinner, that her brother had taken an inordinate number of possessions with him for a brief sojourn in London? Her thoughts swung to Stamford Welladay. Had he really stolen the jewels from the Poggini Cup? It certainly seemed more than likely. How terribly distressing for the countess it would be, to have her own brother accused of such monstrous behavior.

  When dinner at last dragged to its inevitable conclusion, Edward declined to linger over port in the Dining Room. Nor did he join the ladies in the Drawing Room, pleading the press of his duties. Helen, too, fled the room early, avoiding Barney's gimlet-eyed glance. She muttered something about chemical reactions set in motion and hurried from the room.

  Once in her workroom, she bent determinedly over a painting to which she had applied a cleaning solution a little earlier. The composition had begun to work very nicely, and she began removing the layer of grime that had formed on the painting's surface. Unfortunately, the task did not require much thought, and her mind was left vacant for the mournful reflections that had been occupying^ it for too long.

  Darkness fell, and she lit candles. Finally, she swabbed the last section of the painting she had treated with crystalline damar. She glanced at the candles guttering in their sockets. Goodness, it must be past midnight! Putting away her equipment, she rose and, stretching the kinks from fingers and back, made her way down the darkened staircase to her room.

  She paused with her hand outstretched to the handle. She felt unaccountably restless, and tired though she might be, she did not think she would easily fall asleep. Smiling to herself, she retraced her steps to the stairway and descended though the silence of the sleeping house to the Hall. Good, the servants were obviously all abed. She let herself out the front door, carefully leaving the latchstring off the hook.

  A crescent moon floated across the April sky, and the blossom-scented breeze
that caressed Helen's cheek was considerably warmer than that which had chilled her only five weeks ago. Five weeks. What a very short time for such an upheaval to have taken place in her life. She pictured William, asleep in his nursery cot. She hoped with all her heart that he would soon be acknowledged as the Earl of Camberwell, but that prospect seemed remote at the moment. Still, his future was assured. She only wished she could say the same for herself.

  No. She would not tread this path again—this useless fretting over what could never be.

  “Put your chin up, my girl,” she told herself austerely. “Your world is not going to crash to its end just because you cannot have the gentleman of your dreams.”

  Purposefully, she wove plans for a career in London. After some minutes in this only marginally profitable endeavor, she returned to the house. She made for the front door, but when she set her hand to the latchstring, she found it...

  “Oh, dear God—locked!” She said the words aloud in horror-stricken accents. But how could this be? She had been so very careful to leave the latchstring off. Now what was she to do? She turned to walk around to the side.

  Sure enough, there was a patch of light shining on the lawn, indicating Edward's presence in his study. She vowed instantly that she would remain outside on the lawn until dawn rather than go to him. She retraced her steps and prepared to try the myriad other doors that led into the manor.

  “Who's there?”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, slicing through the soft, night air, Helen started. She hastened her steps, but the sound of approaching footsteps halted her.

  “Helen, is that you?”

  She took a quick breath and stepped forward.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, with only the barest quaver in her voice.

  In a moment, she saw him. In the moonlight, it could be seen that he was again without his jacket, and the scented, April breeze ruffled his hair.

  “Another late night stroll. Miss Prestwick?” His voice was warm with amusement, and Helen stiffened slightly. When he spoke again, a slight chill had crusted his tone. “You seem to make a habit of nocturnal rambles.”

  “Oh, no—that is—” Helen's heart was racing so that she could hardly speak. “I found myself fairly creaking after so many hours at my worktable. And I thought a breath of fresh air might drive the odor of spirits from my nostrils. I—I was just returning.”

  “Ah. Then I shall bid you good night.” Edward swung away from her and headed toward the back of the house.

  Helen would have given all she possessed, meager though that might be, to have simply bade him good night and strode into the house. She gritted her teeth.

  “Um.”

  Edward paused. “Yes, Miss Prestwick?”

  “I have—that is, I cannot—”

  This time the amusement was plainly audible. “Do not tell me you have locked yourself out again.”

  Helen expelled a shaking breath. “Oh, dear. I was so careful to leave the door unlocked behind me, but when I tried it just now— Yes, I'm afraid I'm locked out.”

  Edward chuckled. “I'm afraid you have me to blame. When I am the last to seek my bed, I always check the house. When I found the front door off the latch, I carefully secured it. I went back to my study to retrieve a book I'd forgotten, and that's when I, too, decided to shake the cobwebs from my brain with a stroll. Come.” He held out his hand. “When I left my study, I brought a key with me.”

  Oh, Lord, thought Helen. This was absolutely the last course of action she should be taking at this moment. She had just, within the last few minutes, reaffirmed her decision to play least-in-sight where Edward Beresford was concerned. Every time she saw him, her heart bled a few more drops until it was a wonder she wasn't pale as a ghost. Being with him, very simply, hurt too much, and she was going to maintain her distance. She bad retreated from her position of taking her meals alone, but she had vowed that from now on, she would avoid him at all costs otherwise and speak to him only in monosyllables when they did meet.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she mumbled, placing her hand on his sleeve.

  But Edward, after an initial few steps toward his study, swerved and led Helen away from the house. Soon they were following a path that led to the ornamental lake.

  Helen halted. “What—?”

  “Please.” Edward had come to a small stone bench placed by the path, and he seated her gently. “I shan't take a moment. I was going to tell you this in the morning, but since you are here, I have more information for you.”

  Unseen in the darkness, Helen whitened, but Edward sensed her deep unease. “No more bad news, I promise. It's merely that the reason I was so late in retiring is that I wished to get through the pile of correspondence on my desk. I had already told-you of the missive from Ffulkes telling me that farther investigation at Doctors’ Commons had produced no record of the Reverend Mr. Binwick. Well, I'm pleased to tell you, that the last letter to claim my attention tonight was a letter from Babcock. In this one, he was pleased to report, that he finally managed to track down our elusive minister.”

  “Oh, Edward!” Helen gasped.

  “No, no—we still do not know where he is now, but we do know where he was before he left England for Portugal. He was ordained in 1743 and took a living in the minuscule little town of Middle Teesbury in Durham. He remained there until his retirement in 1798. His wife had passed away in 1772, and the minister, having no family in this country but possessing a distant cousin who lived in Lisbon, packed up and moved there as well. Nothing is known of him after that, but presumably he found city life not to his liking and moved later to Evora.”

  “Oh, my,” breathed Helen. “Then—there will be no investigation into his possible fraud.”

  “No, indeed. Apparently the Reverend Mr. Binwick was a bona fide cleric of the Mother Church, and lived a blameless existence during his many years of service.”

  “But we still do not know where he is now.”

  Edward sighed. “No, unfortunately. But, as I believe I've said once or twice, the man has to be someplace. English citizens rarely vanish from the face of the earth without leaving a trace. He did plan to leave for England upon his departure from Portugal, no?”

  “Yes. At least, that was his stated intention. He had formed a friendship with another cleric over the years, and the two planned to share a house—but I have no idea what the man's name was or where they planned to live.”

  Edward took her hand, and the warmth of his fingers seemed to permeate her entire being.

  “Helen, we will find him. And in the meantime, we will continue our search for the marriage certificate.”

  A silence fell between them. Helen knew she should move away from him—and she wondered in some desperation why Edward did not move away from her. For a man who had recently addressed her in tones of utmost disdain and disappointment, he was making it extremely difficult to fulfill her vow of avoiding him like a case of poison ivy. She breathed in the leather and spice scent of him and her senses swam.

  “Helen,” said Edward at last in a hesitant voice.

  “W-what?” asked Helen mindlessly. Without actually having physically moved, he seemed to be much closer.

  “Helen,” he said again, this time in a harsh growl. “I have been the most unutterable idiot.”

  To this, not unnaturally, Helen could not think of a suitable reply.

  “I was so very angry—and devastated—that you had not behaved according to the Edward Beresford Rules of Behavior, it never occurred to me to consider . . .” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Helen, I have never been in a position that caused me to be abandoned by those whom I loved and who I thought loved me. It must have been unspeakably devastating for you.

  “And then, along came my exalted self, so sure in my precepts. It was only when I mentally reversed our positions that I realized what a selfish, pompous clod I had been.”

  Helen lifted her eyes to his face. “Are you saying—?” she choked.


  “Before, you asked my forgiveness, Helen. Now, I am asking for yours.”

  Forgiveness.' And friendship? Was that what he wanted now? A return to that pallid relationship they had shared for the past weeks? She had told him she wished for no more from him. Was that now all he wished from her? She found that she was unable to think clearly. But perhaps this was not the time for reason. She felt bathed in the warmth of his nearness, and his eyes were dark pools of need. She was afraid she might just drown in them. She closed her eyes.

  Without volition, she wrapped her arms about him and lifted her mouth to his.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edward ground his mouth against Helen's in an urgent kiss, and she pressed against him as though she depended for her very sustenance on the warmth of his lips against hers.

  She caressed the crisp curls that lay against his collar. When his mouth left hers, she heard herself whimper, but a moment later he pressed more kisses, featherlight and incandescent in their heat, against her cheek and her jaw and along the pounding pulse in her throat. She thought she would die of the pleasure of it.

  When his fingers encountered the laces at her throat, she unthinkingly lifted her own to help him undo them. This action, however, brought her abruptly back to her senses. With a little gasp she drew back. Edward stilled at once, and after a moment, he, too, pulled away—very slightly, still retaining her hands in his. He laughed shakily.

  “May I take this as an affirmative response to my question?”

  “Oh, Edward.” Helen thought he must hear the thundering of her heart. “You have no need to ask. I did a terrible thing in not telling you, and—”

  She was silenced by another kiss, so tender, yet so filled with such yearning, a shuddering response caught her up in its maelstrom. This time it was Edward who drew back— at length.

  “This brings me to another point, my dear,” he said softly. “A while ago, I promised no more importunities on my part. I said that friendship with you would be enough. I'm afraid I lied.” He brushed her lips with his once more. “And I must say, if you continue to kiss me like that—”