by Joan Smith
But, of course, they waited until they were near the door before alighting, because of Lady Hadley. When they stood on the landing to be announced, Helena scanned the floor below for her lover-to-be and saw not a single bordeaux jacket. All the gentlemen had been hounded into plain black evening suits by Beau Brummell. At least two-thirds of them appeared to have blond hair and pale skin.
She caused enough stir to flatter her vanity, however, and went below with some interest. Marion appeared like a wraith to claim her partner. This left Helena unpartnered, but not for long. Several of her courtiers advanced to welcome her. She gave the first dance to Wetherby, as she sensed this might annoy Severn—she wished, for some unfathomable reason, to annoy him. He looked pleased with himself as he led Marion to the floor.
They did not share a set, and as the dance proceeded, Helena kept an eye on her cousins. She reluctantly admitted that they made a regal-looking couple, both tall and elegant. She noticed that the other ladies in her set were watching them as well. Clearly it was not Marion who had caught their eye. It seemed Eduardo was considered a desirable parti.
When the dance was finished, one of the ladies in her set, Miss Mclntosh, said, “You are Severn’s cousin. Will you present me to him for the next set? He is very handsome, is he not?”
“I am promised to Severn for the next set,” she said.
“Introduce me, then. I’ll nab him for another dance.”
Helena made the introduction, but she did it reluctantly. Miss Mclntosh, a Scottish heiress, was very pretty and was considered one of the Season’s Incomparables. Helena’s dance with Severn was a cotillion, and while he was perfectly polite, he was not gallant. He did not tell her she was the prettiest girl at the ball or admire her considerable skill in dancing.
What he said was, “I have been scouting out a couple of England’s great men for you, Cousin. I shall present you to the Duke of Rutledge at the end of this set.”
“Which one is he?” she asked.
“The fellow in the set just to the left of us, the tall one with blond hair.”
She glanced and saw what she was coming to consider a typical Englishman. Tall, blond, pale, blue eyes, with a long nose and no charm.
“He is a duke, you say?”
“A very eligible duke.”
“Aren’t any of the dukes handsome?”
“No. For some reason, beauty and money seldom go hand in hand in England.”
She scanned other gentlemen and soon found one whose appearance interested her. He was a little older than the other bachelors, but with a reckless air about him that appealed to her. “Who is the black-haired fellow with Miss Perkins?” she inquired.
Severn looked around until he found him. “Not one of our great men. He is a here-and-thereian, of good breeding, but not a feather to fly with. No doubt he will nab some heiress from the provinces, but you, I think, may look higher.”
“But what is his name, Eduardo?”
“Malvern. Allan Malvern, I believe. Some connection to the Beauforts. You will not want to waste your time on him.”
The next set saw Severn standing up with Miss Mclntosh, and Helena with the Duke of Rutledge.
“I hear you have recently arrived from Spain,” the duke said. She admitted it and was subjected to an intelligent discussion of sherry.
There was some air of condescension in him that she did not like. His haughty mien suggested he was doing her a favor to stand up with her. He was mature and intelligent, but utterly lacking in romance. One would think he might spare at least a moment for a compliment.
“Are you always so serious at a ball, Your Grace?” she asked when he ran out of questions.
The duke had made his assessment. Lady Helena had passed his high standard of acceptability. “What a fool you must think me! Here I am dancing with the prettiest lady at the ball, and I inundate her with talk of grape cultivation, which you must be tired of hearing. It is not often that I meet anyone who has actually lived at Jerez. They say it is a combination of the soil and the grape found there that gives your sherry its unique taste.”
“That is usually the way with all great wines.”
He shook his head ruefully. “Oh, Lord, I am discussing wine again. I shall do better tomorrow—if you will allow me to call?”
“I will be honored, Your Grace.”
Helena always kept at the back of her mind that she must find Mrs. Petrel-Jones. She did not expect to find her at such a prestigious do as Lady Perth’s ball, nor did she. She also felt it unlikely that the duke would know her and did not ask him. Who seemed a likelier person was Mr. Malvern. He was a little older and had the dashing look of Moira’s friends.
Meeting him proved difficult. Severn kept her supplied with a series of staid aristocratic bachelors. After dinner, when a set of waltzes was announced, she slipped away to the card room to see how Madrina was going on, and there she met Malvern. The debs were not allowed to waltz until the patronesses of Almack’s gave their permission.
The meeting was not quite by chance, but the arranging was contrived by Malvern, who had noticed her noticing him. He was waiting just beyond the room when she left and stepped forth to jostle her, as if by accident.
“I’m terribly sorry! So clumsy of me!” he said, steadying her with a hand on her arm. Then he looked into her eyes and smiled a dashing smile of the sort not often seen in England. “And of course my gaucherie has to be perpetrated on the loveliest lady in London. The Fates dislike me, I swear.” His hand lingered on her arm a moment before he removed it.
He towered a good six inches over her. His jacket, black, to be sure, but of the finest cut, clung like the skin on a peach to his broad, straight shoulders. His hair was jet black and shining. She could not find a single flaw on his face, except perhaps for a trace of art in his smile.
“I daresay it is pointless for me to hope for a dance, now that you have discovered my two left feet?”
“I seldom dance with strangers, sir,” she replied, but in no daunting way.
“That is easily remedied. I have a name here somewhere, but your beauty has put it quite out of my mind. Ah yes, now I have it—Mal something. A bad omen, you are thinking—mal being French for ‘bad.’ Ah, now I have it! Malvern. That is plain Mr. Malvern. No proud noble lineage, but one of my names goes back to the year one. I was christened Peter Allan, as in Saint Peter. I do not claim a blood kinship with any saint, however. Folks soon took my measure and called me Allan.”
“What a lot of nonsense you talk. I did not mistake you for one of the Apostles, Mr. Malvern.”
“No, I am old, but not quite that old. I do fear my hearing might be going, though. I did not hear your name. No matter, the whole of London knows by now that you are Lady Helena Carlisle, that you escaped Spain in a wheelbarrow of cabbages—no, I am mistaking you for one of the French refugees. In any case, I know you are Severn’s cousin, and he is keeping you mighty close. I have also seen for myself that you are a fine Terpsichore. Dare I hope ...?”
“I would be happy to dance with you, Mr. Malvern, but I fear the next set is to be waltzes. That is why I paid a visit to the card room at this time.”
“You dislike them that much, do you? Pity. I am fond of them myself. It is the only time I get my arms around a lady. But I would sacrifice anything, even my beloved waltz, for a further opportunity to pester you with my nonsense. May I get you a glass of wine?”
“Thank you. I would like one. Nonsense always makes me thirsty for wine.”
“That is odd. I find it just the other way around. Wine turns me nonsensical.”
“Then I don’t think you need any more.”
“Oh, I adore being nonsensical. It is not as easy as folks think.”
He led her to the refreshment parlor to procure wine; then they returned to the ballroom to watch the waltzers.
“I wonder, Mr. Malvern, do you happen to know a Mrs. Petrel-Jones?” she asked. “I knew her in Spain. She has returned to London, but I ha
ve not been able to discover her.”
Malvern had never heard of her, but he was eager to continue the acquaintance with Lady Helena and indulged in a little prevarication. “I recognize the name. I recall the lady had come from Spain, but I’m afraid I don’t know her well. You might put an advertisement in the journals. If she doesn’t see it, someone is bound to tell her.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” she exclaimed without thinking. Malvern looked surprised. “She would have to get in touch with me at Lord Severn’s place, and I fear he would not approve. Not that there is anything wrong with her!”
“Not lofty enough to be a friend of Lady Helena’s?”
“He feels she flies too high for a younger lady like me.”
“Yes, she is a trifle below your touch. I wonder why you wish to renew the acquaintance?”
“Because I like her. And I have a letter for her from a mutual friend in Spain. If you happen to see her—”
“I’ll do better than that. I shall seek her out and let you know when I find her. Will it be permissible for me to call on you, or shall we have a clandestine correspondence?”
“Of course you may come,” she said at once. Severn had said Malvern’s family was good, and, after all, she did not plan to make him a bosom bow. “I would appreciate it very much if you could find her.”
“I shall make it my first priority, milady. Expect me very soon. And now if you will excuse me, I have promised the next set to Mrs. Morgan.” He bowed and took his leave.
When he left, Helena looked at the waltzers. She saw Severn staring icily at her over the shoulder of a blond lady. He had seen her with Malvern, but no matter. She would explain that they had literally bumped into each other. No harm in that. Severn looked away after one fierce glare, but Helena kept watching him as he twirled gracefully around the floor. She didn’t recognize the pretty blonde, but she observed that Severn seemed quite interested In her. That smile did not denote a discussion of politics, but of flirtation.
As soon as the waltzes were finished, he returned the blonde to her chaperon and joined Helena. “I see you managed to scrape an acquaintance with Malvern,” he said, in a tight-lipped way that always got her back up.
She decided not to explain. “Yes, he is quite charming.”
He drew out his watch and said, “Good Lord! Look at the time. Mama will be exhausted. We really should get her home.”
“I did not plan to dance with Mr. Malvern, Eduardo,” she said with a knowing look. “But if you are tired, by all means, let us leave.”
“Perhaps a word with Rutledge before going.”
“Not necessary. He is calling on me tomorrow.”
“You don’t waste any time!”
“Neither does he,” she riposted, peering to see how Severn reacted. A satisfied smile settled on his lips.
Before long, Helena had figured out his strategy. If she accepted an offer from the duke, then Severn would not have to marry her. He was off the hook. “Actually, he is a dead bore,” she said, “but one cannot like to refuse a duke permission to call.”
“Oh, a great man, Rutledge. A great man.”
Chapter Eight
“Well, my dear, and how did you enjoy meeting the great men of England?” Lady Hadley inquired the next morning over breakfast.
“I do not believe I met any, Madrina,” Lady Helena replied, with a quizzing look at Severn.
Lady Hadley said, “Now there you are mistaken, Cousina, for though he looks like a schoolmaster at the end of term, all pale and worn, young Rutledge is the greatest parti to be had. A duke! How could you hope to do better? You would not want any of the royal princes, I assure you. They are a sorry lot. Rutledge is very well to grass. He owns vast acres—and in Kent and Hampshire, too, close to London, not in some of those godforsaken countries in the north, like your papa’s.”
“I do not care for a title or wealth, Madrina,” Lady Helena said indignantly. Lady Hadley and her son stared in confusion. “When I refer to a great man, I mean a man of great affairs in the nation. A member of the cabinet, or a famous man in science or the arts. And, of course, I should prefer that he be young and somewhat dashing. The foolish English side of me is attracted by appearances, I admit.”
“Oh, my dear Cousina,” Lady Hadley said, “we English are never foolish, I assure you, not about making matches. I wager the Spanish mamas don’t hold a candle to us when it comes to finding a good parti for our gels.” She glanced at Severn and added, “And our sons, come to that.”
“You will find very few of England’s great men are young,” Severn informed her. “Until a gentleman is thirty, he is called ‘promising.’ Only at a more mature age are great affairs entrusted to him.”
Helena said, “Yet your Mr. Pitt was prime minister at twenty-four, and Byron, at an even younger age, achieved greatness as a poet. I call that more than promising.”
“There are exceptions to every rule,” he said vaguely.
“Then perhaps what I require is not a great man, but an exceptional one. Do you know any such gentlemen, Eduardo?”
“I do not, and if I did, it is just possible, you know, that they would hope to marry an exceptional lady.”
Lady Helena’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “One does not hear of Lord Byron looking so high, I believe?”
“One doesn’t hear of him marrying any of his flirts either.”
“Mostly because they are all married already,” Lady Hadley pointed out. “And in some cases divorced, and married again. You do not want to have anything to do with Byron, my dear. He has the looks and dash you mentioned liking, but one is beginning to hear some shady things about that fellow.”
“Actually, Papa does not expect me to marry a prime minister or anything like that. When I speak of a great man, I mean only someone who is involved in the serious affairs of the country. Someone like you, Eduardo.” He looked at her musingly, while a slow smile crept across his lips. “Only, of course, younger and ... more ... younger,” she repeated. Her lashes quivered as if in embarrassment.
“Why, Edward is only thirty,” his mama exclaimed.
Helena blinked in surprise. “Really? I thought you must be closer to forty, Eduardo.” That would teach him to try to palm her off on boring Rutledge.
“You are mistaken,” he said in a chilly voice. “And now, though only a small cog in the affairs of Parliament, I must go and attend to business. Good day, ladies.”
After he had left, Lady Helena gave a little grimace. “Have I hurt his feelings, Madrina?”
“I shouldn’t worry about it, my dear. Perhaps you have given his pride a little blow, but that never does a fellow any harm. So you are seeing Rutledge today? A pity you could not care for him. A dash of hot Spanish blood is just what that family needs. Their bloodline has grown thin from inbreeding.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Madam Belanger with some new gowns to be tried on. While the fittings were going forth, Lady Hadley shot a line off to Mrs. Comstock, notifying her that the Duke of Rutledge would be calling that afternoon. She feared that Helena might settle on the duke after all, and this was her little way of helping Edward out. Marion was no charmer, to be sure, yet she seemed a suitable sort of icicle for Rutledge. And in any case, the duke could not make any headway with that lump of a girl looking on.
Lady Helena had the pleasure of wearing a pretty new walking suit of mauve sarcenet for the duke’s visit. As the day was fine, she hoped to enjoy a drive with him. She had her letter tucked into her reticule, in case they met Moira.
Mrs. Comstock and her daughter arrived a quarter of an hour before the duke. As there was company in the house, Rutledge did not like to scoop up Lady Helena and leave without a few moments’ conversation with the other ladies. No sooner was his tea poured than Severn arrived.
“You are home early, Edward,” his mama exclaimed.
“The House was quiet today. I thought I might be in time to meet the company if I returned early.” Seeing Helena�
��s quizzing smile, he turned to the Comstocks and added, “I am delighted you came to see us, Mrs. Comstock. And, of course, Marion. Ça va sans dire.”
Now that the party had been augmented, the duke felt freer to draw Lady Helena away. “Would you like to go out for a spin, Lady Helena? We are enjoying one of our rare fine days. It seems a shame to waste it.”
Miss Comstock rose immediately. The duke frowned in confusion. “Actually, I am driving my curricle,” he said, aiming his words at the grate, as he did not wish to offend Miss Comstock.
Severn set his cup down and said, “Let us take my carriage. We can all fit in it.” He hardly knew why he had come scrambling home. He told himself he wanted to insure the duke’s having a warm welcome, but this did not account for his dislike of Helena driving out alone with him.
“How nice,” Helena said, with a sly look at Severn.
The drive was unsuccessful. Rutledge could make no headway in front of an audience. Marion addressed most of her conversation to Severn in a pointed way. Severn feared he had raised hopes in her breast that he had no intention of fulfilling. Such general conversation as occurred consisted of a few questions directed to Severn by Rutledge, rather curt replies, and a few comments on the passing scene for Helena’s benefit. They were home within the hour.
“What have you seen of London thus far?” Rutledge asked Lady Helena as he escorted her to the door.
She mentioned the places Severn had shown her. “Churches and Parliament buildings and the Tower of London,” she said with very little enthusiasm.
“Have you seen the horses at Astley’s Circus?” he asked.
Marion, who had overheard the question, said, “Astley’s Circus? Surely that is for children, Your Grace.”
“I would love to see it! I adore performing horses,” Lady Helena exclaimed.
“Then I shall take you tomorrow,” Rutledge said. “I shan’t invite you to join us, Miss Comstock, as you have already shown your displeasure.” He had a few private words with Helena.
Miss Comstock was finessed and took out her ill humor on Severn. “Astley’s Circus,” she scoffed. “We have been overestimating Helena’s idea of greatness. If it were not for the fact that she seems disinterested in the duke, I would think she accepted the invitation only to be alone with him.”
