by Joan Smith
“And my domino,” she said. While retrieving it from the chair, she managed to draw a few sovereigns out of her wallet, to allow Mr. Malvern to hire a cab home. She left them on the seat, hoping he would find them.
“Come along,” Severn said impatiently, and reached for the domino. Its tail caught the coins. They flew to the floor, rattling under the table, but not before Severn had seen them. “An odd place to leave a pourboire,” he said, arching a hateful eyebrow at her.
“A Spanish custom,” she replied, and left with a nod to her former companions. A path opened to allow the angry milord to lead his friend away.
As Severn marched her down the stairs and out to the carriage, he didn’t trust himself to speak. He felt betrayed, as if he had found her working in a brothel. “Take us home,” he called to his groom, and shoved her onto the banquette.
Helena, too, was silent, planning her explanation. When they had gone a block and still Severn did not speak, she screwed up her courage for the verbal confrontation. “It was not what you think, Severn,” she said.
“I trust it was not, for I could hardly give you permission to marry a Spanish dancer. Nothing short of a betrothal could explain that performance, and even that would not excuse it. Women usually conduct such affairs in private. Unmarried ladies, I need hardly say, do not conduct such affairs at all.”
“It was only a dance. It is a common practice in Spain.”
“It is exceedingly ‘common’ in England, madam. Worse than common! I have never seen such an indecent performance.”
“It was not indecent! The jota is beautiful. It is only your lecherous English mind that imputes any immorality to it. I have often performed the jota at Papa’s harvest festivals.”
“What degree of latitude you were allowed in Spain has nothing to do with it. You are in England now, masquerading as a lady. While you are under my roof, you will behave with some shred, at least, of propriety. Every door in town would be barred to you if anyone had the least suspicion of this night’s work. Good God! You might as well hire yourself out and go on the stage. At least you would be paid for making a public spectacle of yourself. Sneaking off behind my back, lying to me!”
“I did not lie!” she retorted. “And if you were more simpático, I would not have to sneak off behind your back.”
The grain of truth in her charge only increased his wrath. “You lied by omission. You knew I would not permit you to go there. I shall call Malvern out for this.”
“Malvern?” she exclaimed. “What makes you think he had anything to do with it?”
“I am not a fool. Don’t bother trying to shield him.”
“It is not Malvern’s fault, Eduardo,” she said, clutching his arm. “I made him take me. He said it was wrong of me.”
“Then he should not have abetted you. What wiles did you use to persuade him?”
“I did not use wiles. I explained my need, and he, having a heart, agreed to accompany me, for he knew I would go alone if he did not. And if you dare to call him out—”
He turned an icy eye on her. “Like that, is it? You have an unerring eye for a bad bargain. I can well believe you brought the poor fool round your finger. It would be cruel to shoot him for his idiocy, but that does not mean he will be given permission to marry your fortune.”
Helena sank against the squabs of the carriage, suddenly exhausted. She put her fingers to her throbbing temples and said weakly, “Thank God this night is over.”
Severn had been too upset to think straight, but her words brought him back to sanity. It had been his plan to return her to Mrs. Stephen’s rout, hoping to avoid suspicion that she had ever left. “It is ntot over. We shall return to Mrs. Stephen’s rout,” he said, but the carriage sped toward Belgrave Square.
When his hand reached for the cord, she said, “Oh, please, Eduardo. I could not face it. Can we not go home?”
His hand held motionless, halfway to the draw cord. “It will be best if you return to the rout. People will be wondering at your absence.”
“Could you not go back and say you had to take me home?” she asked in a small voice. “You could say I had a megrim. It would not be a lie, for my poor head is splitting.”
A weakening stab of pity warred with his anger. “Why did you do it?” he demanded harshly.
Her head dropped on her chest. “I had to go,” she said.
“Had you arranged to perform at that ball?”
She sprang up straight. “No! Good gracious, I didn’t want to do it. I was forced into it. Moira announced that I was there and that I would do the jota. It is an old and favorite folk dance of the country, performed at all their festivals. The crowd gathered around me and would not let me escape. Juan—that was the man I danced with—said it would be easier to just do the dance, then I could leave.”
“Juan is the fellow you plan to have play at your ball?”
“Yes, but only to play the guitar and perhaps sing. I did not plan to foist the jota onto Englishmen.”
The name Moira, of course, rang a bell. Severn said, “This Moira you spoke of, was she the vulgar hussy at your table?”
“Yes, she is a friend of Papa’s. I had to deliver her a letter. That is why I went to the masquerade. I learned at El Cafeto today that she would be there. I went to El Cafeto only to look for her. I am sorry if you think it was horrid of me, but what could I do? I promised Papa I would deliver his letter, Eduardo,” she said in a wheedling way.
When she looked at him with her big dark eyes and her lips drawn into an adorable moue, Severn had an inkling he was being manipulated. He found it quite delightful to be managed by a beautiful, clever lady. And, really, her story was by no means incredible. It could have happened just as she said. Indeed he could hardly imagine any other way it could have come about.
“You should have told me, Cousin,” he said, and drew her small white hand into his. “I am not quite the monster you take me for, you know. I daresay if I had been there, you would not have been forced into that dance.”
Her head subsided onto his shoulder. “Indeed no. You would have protected me. You won’t make me go back to Mrs. Stephen’s, Eduardo? My head really does ache. I have a wretched throbbing, as if drums were beating inside it.”
“I’ll take you home,” he said. Then he lifted one hand and drew it slowly across her temple.
“That feels good.” She sighed, closing her eyes. She could hardly believe she had soothed Severn’s savage temper so easily. How angry he had been! Almost more angry than the occasion demanded—unless there was a little jealousy mixed in with it? His fingers continued to work at her temple, drawing slowly from the front, back into her hair, in a slow, soothing way. Gradually the backward stroke lengthened, until his fingers were coiled in her silken curls.
She turned her face and smiled up at him in the shadowy carriage. “What are you doing, Eduardo?” Her face was a pale heart, with a gleam of dark eyes and a flash of white teeth.
He watched a moment, entranced; then his head lowered and his lips touched her eyes. “Trying to ease your migraine,” he said. His voice sounded husky.
She continued gazing at him while her lips formed a soft smile. “It feels good. Don’t stop.”
A warm breath fanned his cheek. At this close range, he noticed some exotic perfume escaping from her curls. He remembered her dance and felt that tingling excitement stir again within him. “Helena, darling ...” His lips seized hers, and when she did not pull away, they firmed for a kiss.
It was madness, an intoxicating delirium of desire burning deep within him. His arms went around her and crushed her against his chest. Nothing else in the world mattered but this woman, who yielded herself softly to him. The carriage drew to a stop. When he opened his eyes, he saw they were home.
Helena drew back and smiled. “That was rather naughty of you, Eduardo,” she said, shaking a finger at him. He looked so chagrined that she laughed. “And very nice,” she added, placing a quick kiss on his cheek.
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br /> “I’ll take you in, then return to the rout and explain you were not feeling well. How is the headache?” he asked gently.
“Much better. You are more simpático than I thought, Cousin. I am sorry I have been such a nuisance to you.”
“Nuisances have their reward,” he said, smiling. “The letter to Moira is delivered now. You won’t have to see her again. I don’t know what your father is about, encouraging that creature. Let us hope the letter is giving her her congé.”
Helena did not wish to be any further nuisance that evening, and she left him with his delusions. He accompanied her to the door, then returned to the carriage and to the rout to make her excuses. Malvern, he noticed, had not returned. He gave an expurgated version of the incident to Marion, omitting any mention of the jota. As he and Marion had not had their dance earlier, he stood up with her to keep her in spirits.
Lady Hadley’s guests were having a late supper when Lady Helena went inside. She just explained that she had left the party early due to a headache, said, “Good evening,” and went upstairs. Sally noticed her ladyship was very quiet that evening as she prepared for bed.
Helena had a lot to think about. Severn, clearly, was falling in love with her. That should have been gratifying, as he would be putty in her hands from now on. But somehow, it was not satisfying. She did not want to hurt him, for he was really much nicer than she had thought. If only he were not such a stiff and proper inglésa, she might even contrive to fall in love with him.
But with unfinished business to conduct with Moira, she did not feel he would continue so simpático as he had been that evening. He did not want her to see “that creature” again. What would he say when he learned she called on Moira again? She must do so. She had agreed to it, and, besides, Papa loved her.
What would Severn do if Papa married Moira? He would not want to be connected to such a person. She hardly relished the idea herself. Either Moira had changed or she had changed herself, become nicer in her notions of propriety. More English. Oh, dear, life was difficult.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning at breakfast, Severn was in high spirits. As Lady Hadley was still in bed after her late night, he had privacy with Lady Helena. “Marion mentioned calling on you this morning, Cousin,” he said. “I daresay you ladies will be plundering the shops on New Bond Street.”
“Is she coming in the morning or afternoon?” Helena asked.
“Early afternoon. Of course, you will take a groom, if neither Mama nor Mrs. Comstock wishes to accompany you.”
“I always take a groom, Eduardo. You do not have to remind me of the proprieties. Well, hardly ever,” she added, with a secret smile over the coffee cup. Cook had been instructed to serve Lady Helena coffee in the morning.
Severn answered her smile. He wished the footman would leave so that they might have a more interesting conversation. “Perhaps you would like to come with me to Westminster this morning to hear me speak?”
“I would like it, of all things,” she said, “but I have to write to Papa. You know—about last night.”
“Best to get that out of the way. I shan’t be late today. If you and Marion can be home by four, you and I could take a spin through Hyde Park.”
“I shall try,” she said.
Before leaving, Severn said, “No need to mention last night’s affair to Mama, Helena. It will be our secret.” He smiled warmly and left.
Helena sat on, thinking. In the uproar of last night’s doings, she had somehow forgotten to discover Moira’s address. She wanted to visit her that morning. Perhaps Gagehot could tell her. He usually stayed at Reddishes Hotel when he was in London. She went to the desk in the saloon to dash off a note. Halfway through it, Sugden entered.
“A note has come for you, milady,” he said, handing her a folded sheet of paper. “The footman is waiting for an answer.”
“Thank you.” She skimmed the note. It was from Moira, bearing belabored apologies for last night, with much underlining and many exclamation points. She did not know what Lady Helena must think of her. She had not been herself, but ever since her altercation with dear Algernon, she had been so very unhappy, etc., etc. It ended with a request that Helena come to her apartment on Upper Grosvenor Square as soon as possible.
Lady Helena said, “No written reply is necessary, Sugden. Tell the footman I shall be happy to do as requested. And would you have my carriage sent around, please? I shall require the escort of a groom. You can tell Lady Hadley I have gone out but shall be home for lunch.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Sugden bowed and left.
Well, that was arranged very neatly. She dressed for outdoors at once, and when she came downstairs, her carriage was waiting. The visit held no pleasure for her, except the possibility of making her father happy. She must try to hint Moira away from overindulging in wine.
Helena knew as soon as she entered the building that Moira was living in a lower style than she had done in Spain. Had Papa provided that lavish hacienda for her? Her present apartment was on the third floor, and when Helena reached the door, she noticed the hallway was dusty. Moira had a servant to answer the door, however, and show the caller into a small parlor. The chamber could not be called a saloon, for it lacked both size and grandeur.
Moira lacked neither. Her hair was arranged in an intricate do more suited to a ball. It lacked only a clutch of feathers. She had fallen into flesh. Her bright blue gown with many bows and a surfeit of lace strained at the seams. In the clear light of day, the signs of dissipation were easily seen. Purple puffs bulged below her eyes, and her cheeks sagged with weight. Moira had always appreciated Papa’s fine sherry, but Helena had thought it was consumed to flatter her father.
“Dear child, you came!” Moira said, holding out her hand but not rising from the chair. Helena went to her to exchange an embrace. Fumes of sherry enveloped the woman. “I was touched to receive Algernon’s carta amorosa. He still wants me, dear.”
“I am happy for you, Moira. Then you will write and tell him you accept?”
Moira wagged a roguish finger. “I have not quite made up my mind. Certain details are still to be worked out. I shall insist on a certain allowance and, of course, my own carriage.”
This sounded more like the demands of a mistress than those of a wife, but Helena held her tongue. “Your papa has a little competition now,” Moira said, with a sly look. “And returning to Spain ... Well, it is so hot there, I am used to England now.”
“Papa will never come to England. Not to live, I mean. Perhaps he will agree to visit from time to time.”
“He’ll come home if he wants me. And he does. You ought to read his letter.” She offered Helena a glass of sherry. When she declined, Moira filled her own glass and drank deeply.
“You will write him of your demands?” And I shall write to warn him what state you are in, Helena added to herself.
“You may be sure of it. So how do you like it with your relatives, dear? That Severn seems a pretty toplofty number.” Her speech became less elevated as she drank.
“I am having a nice time. Only of course, I miss Spain.”
“Sly rogue!” Moira laughed. “You say so only to convince me to join your papa.”
“About Papa’s competition, Moira ... Who is the man?”
“That would be telling,” Moira said archly, and drank some more sherry. “But I’ll let you in on this much, and I don’t mind if you tell your father either. Gagehot has done pretty well for himself with some investments. He does not want to go back to Spain. He doesn’t see why he could not handle your father’s business from London.”
“I see.” Gagehot was a far step down from Lord Aylesbury, but if Moira had him in her eye, Helena would not say a word against it. “He is very handsome,” she said.
“Handsome doesn’t begin to say it. He knows how to treat a lady. Look at this,” she said, holding out a pudgy hand to display a large pearl ring.
“Magnificent.” Taking jewelry
from another man! Really, the woman was little better than a lightskirt.
“Tell that to your father,” Moira said complacently. She glanced at her watch. “Look at the time! Lester will be here any moment. I must have some coffee.” She rose from her chair on unsteady legs and called her servant. It would take more than coffee to sober her up if Gagehot was to arrive within the next hour.
“I’ll be running along now. It was nice to see you again.”
“Don’t be a stranger, dear. I never blamed you for what your papa said to me.”
Helena stopped in her tracks. “What did he say?”
“You don’t think I turned him off for no reason? He told me I was too fond of the bottle. Fancy that, right to my face. I told him I wasn’t about to sit still for that. I upped and left. I knew he’d call me back, and so he has. Now that I’m a widow, he wants to marry me.”
Helena’s eyes slid to the wine decanter on the side table. “I don’t remember ever seeing you ... tipsy ... in Spain.”
Moira slumped back onto her chair. “Oh, it’s gotten worse, dear. It has. I came home determined to lay off the wine, for it was being in such high company that I wasn’t used to that caused it. But here in England I was that lonesome. You’ve no idea. Then two weeks ago Gagehot returned....” She smiled fondly. “And now he’s ripping up at me.”
“Oh, Moira,” Helena said, torn between exasperation and pity. “You’re going to lose both of them, carrying on like this. Can’t you stop?”
“It’s not for lack of trying, dear. My father was taken the same way. But I will try. I will. It was the high company—my nerves needed a little sustaining. I wager it’ll happen again if I go back to Algernon.”
“Perhaps you’d be happier with Gagehot,” Helena suggested.
Moira bristled up. “Easy for you to say. You’ve already got one title and will soon have another, I don’t doubt. Severn acted as if he owned you. They’re all alike, the fine lords. Wouldn’t your Severn look down his needle nose at me!”
