The uncomfortable memories of that conversation with her uncle were still troubling her as she dressed for riding that afternoon. Lucy, tugging the hem of the tight-fitting jacket, remarked, ‘This new habit is very dashing, miss!’
Helena twirled in front of the long pier glass and was inclined to agree. The style was extreme, and very daring for an unmarried lady, but Portia had persuaded her that it was the first kick of fashion.
The broadcloth was dark raspberry pink with fir green frogging in the military style and epaulettes, cut tightly to show off her slender figure. An equally daring hat was tipped provocatively over one eye and wreathed in dark green veiling, and as a final flourish Helena had invested in a pair of gauntletted gloves.
For once she was early, and, feeling a little warm in the house, went to wait in the conservatory for the Lieutenant to arrive at half past two as arranged.
Helena drifted aimlessly around the cool glasshouse, touching and sniffing the exquisite blooms. Lying on a side table where the servants must have placed it for safekeeping was her sketchbook. Idly she flicked through the pages until she came to the cut edge of the portrait of Adam she had removed just before the reception. Her brow furrowed—what had she done with that incriminating picture?
She could recall standing with it in her hand when Fishe had come in to enquire whether she was accompanying her mother and aunt to Lady Faulkener’s At Home but, rack her brains as she might, Helena had no recollection of what she had done with it thereafter….
Perhaps she had pushed it back into the sketchbook. Helena rifled rapidly through the pages, then began again, turning them more carefully and finally, pointlessly, holding it by the spine and shaking it. No leaf fluttered out; the portrait was not there. The sketchbook had lain untouched by her ever since that day—it must have been there when the reception was taking place. But none of the guests would have touched it without invitation, surely.
She tugged the bellpull and waited impatiently until Fishe appeared.
‘You rang, Miss Wyatt?’
‘Yes Fishe. Do you recall finding one of my sketches lying around here?’
‘The sketchbook, Miss Wyatt, is on the table in the conservatory where I believe you left it over a week ago.’
‘No, not the sketchbook, Fishe. This was a loose leaf I had cut from the book.’
‘Not to my knowledge, Miss Wyatt. I am sure that if one of the servants had found such a thing they would have placed it with the sketchbook or handed it to yourself. I will, of course, make enquiries.’
‘I would be glad if you could do so at once, please.’
If the butler was surprised by the emphasis in her tone he did not show it, but bowed impassively and left the room. He was back within a short space of time with the intelligence that none of the upper servants had any recollection of such an article. ‘I have, of course, issued instructions that should it be found it must be handed to you immediately, Miss Wyatt.’
Helena was thanking him as the front-door knocker sounded and a footman came in to announce both the arrival of Lieutenant Brookes and that her horse had been brought round from the mews.
Helena’s stunning new habit was not lost on the naval officer. He bowed over her hand and said gallantly, ‘Miss Wyatt, I declare you will outshine everything in Green Park this afternoon,’ before assisting her to mount her horse.
Sir Robert, with his usual generosity, had supplied his niece with a pretty grey mare, dappled on its quarters like a rocking horse and with a long, dark mane and tail. Mr Seymour, on one of their morning rides had assured her that ‘Miss Wyatt and her grey’ were becoming quite the talk of the town, so dashing a figure did she cut. Helena dismissed most of this as exaggeration, but was pleasantly aware that she did make quite an impact in her new habit.
However, this afternoon, her thoughts were distracted, dwelling as she did on the missing sketch. No one seeing that drawing would have any doubt that it was done with a lover’s eye for every detail. Nor was there any hope that anyone who knew him could possibly fail to recognise Adam Darvell.
Helena was grateful that they were on horseback: threading between the traffic hazards as David Street crossed Grosvenor Street, there was no opportunity for conversation.
The Lieutenant had learnt that Miss Wyatt was a more than capable horsewoman who resisted any attempts to take her horse’s reins when such crises occurred as a brewer’s dray unloading kegs with a crash, or a sedan chair emerging from Mount Row right under their noses. The grey curvetted about prettily, but there was no malice or danger in its skittishness, and Helena kept a firm, but instinctive hand on the reins.
It was quieter in Berkeley Square and the Lieutenant drew his chestnut alongside Helena to trot with her as they turned east to skirt the central garden. ‘Is that not Lady Jersey’s residence?’ he enquired as they passed one particularly fine mansion.
Helena was agreeing as they drew level with number forty-four, where a groom stood at the head of a powerful black gelding which fidgeted restlessly at the kerb. The front door swung open and a gentleman emerged, pulling on his riding gloves, his whip tucked under one arm.
The Lieutenant who, as Helena was fast discovering, could never leave well enough alone as far as Adam was concerned, reined in and doffed his hat with over-elaborate courtesy.
‘My lord. I trust I find you well this fine afternoon.’
Lord Darvell, thus addressed, narrowed his eyes against the spring sunshine and regarded the two riders coolly. He pulled on the remaining glove and sketched a bow to Helena. ‘Miss Wyatt: how you do illuminate our dull neighbourhood.’
Helena, left with the uncomfortable suspicion that he found her habit a touch gaudy, inclined her head stiffly. ‘My lord.’
Adam swung up into the saddle with ready grace, waving aside his groom’s offer of a leg up. He gathered up the reins, turning his horse to face in the opposite direction to Helena and Lieutenant Brookes. ‘I had not realised you were a rider, Miss Wyatt.’
Piqued, Helena forced a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, yes, I love to ride and Lieutenant Brookes has been good enough to offer me his escort very frequently. He has shown me all the most picturesque rides in all the parks.’
She was conscious that beside her Daniel was looking very pleased with himself and felt a sudden qualm at encouraging him in such a way. Her heart ached at the sight of Adam, yet she had yielded to the temptation to make him jealous, make him suffer as she was now doing.
‘Then I will delay you no longer from your jaunt,’ Adam replied, without the slightest sign of pique, or even, to her chagrin, interest. ‘Good day, Miss Wyatt, Lieutenant.’
Chapter Nine
All her pleasure in the ride, in the beautiful fresh spring afternoon and in her new habit dissolved like mist in warm sunshine. Helena was conscious that she had behaved very badly with Adam, and without even the satisfaction of seeing him rise to her bait. And now all her earlier concerns about the whereabouts of the portrait of him sprang fresh in her mind.
Encouraged by her comments in Berkeley Square, Daniel rode close beside her, assiduously pointing out particularly pretty greenery or drawing her attention to notables who were also taking the air in Green Park.
The harder he tried, the more irritated Helena became, both with him and herself. She forced herself to make polite but neutral conversation, determined not to be drawn into any show of intimacy or warmth.
What had happened to that picture? Surely if her mama or Lady Breakey had it in their possession they would have confronted her with it at once? She supposed it was just possible that her mama had found it and destroyed it without a word, but it was unlikely that such a forthright woman would do such a thing.
Could Fishe be wrong? Could one of the servants have found it and read its meaning aright? She had heard cases of perfidious servants blackmailing their masters with compromising letters, but it was hard to imagine any of her aunt’s faithful and long-serving staff behaving so.
Riding w
ith furrowed brow, answering Lieutenant Brookes automatically without really listening to what he was saying, Helena worked methodically through everyone who might have found the drawing. She must have tucked it back into the sketchbook, and that book had lain in full view throughout her aunt’s reception. But none of the guests would have been so ill-bred to open it without her leave, and certainly not the very staid Misses Turner, who had been in occupation of the conservatory throughout the afternoon, rapt in contemplation of the orchids.
But there was one guest who had already had her permission to look through her sketchbook—and Adam had been in the conservatory for an extraordinary length of time.
He could have taken the picture—he had already asked for and received one of her sketches. And if Adam did have it, she would be safe: Lord Darvell was a gentleman, there was no question of his betraying her. And yet, a little worm of disquiet still remained. What if Adam was not the possessor of the sketch…?
Helena came out of her brown study to discover that they had come to a halt and that the Lieutenant was obviously expecting her to dismount.
Helena looked at him blankly and he laughed wryly. ‘Miss Wyatt, I do not believe you have been listening to a word I have said these past ten minutes.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Helena blushed to realise just how unmannerly she must seem. ‘I do apologise, Mr Brookes, what is it you were saying?’
‘I had just observed what a fine new shrubbery has been planted here, and you had agreed to dismount and walk through it with me.’ He smiled, showing even white teeth in his suntanned face. She was amazed how tolerant he was with her moods.
But Helena was reluctant to get off her horse: the last thing she wanted was to find herself in such close proximity to him. No one else was in sight enjoying the winding newly graveled path, but to refuse to walk with him in a public place would imply that she could not trust him to behave as a gentleman.
Daniel Brookes dismounted and, with his reins looped over his arm, reached up to take her round the waist, lifting her down from the saddle easily. Her mind filled with thoughts of Adam, Helena had never realised what a big, strong man the Lieutenant was, and she found herself flustered to be, even for a moment, helpless in his arms.
She blushed, unconsciously making an even prettier picture for the Lieutenant who was reflecting that doing the sensible thing to advance his own self-interest had never been so pleasurable. It would be no hardship to make love to Miss Wyatt, and now, alone in the Park so soon after she had clearly expressed her preference for his company, would be a good time to start.
Was it only her imagination, or did the Lieutenant’s hand linger over-long at her waist? Helena glanced down, but Mr Brookes had released his hold and was tossing the reins over the horses’ heads, the better to lead them. She could hardly refuse to take his arm when it was offered, but Helena merely rested her fingertips on the sleeve of his riding coat.
For several minutes they strolled through the shrubbery, exchanging observations on the planting and the rapid progress of spring. Helena relaxed slightly, reassured by his decorum.
‘Shall we sit awhile on that bench?’ he asked, already turning across the turf to the rustic seat.
Without seeming foolish she could scarcely say no so Helena allowed herself to be seated under the greening branches of a young lime. Daniel threw the reins of both horses over a nearby bush and came to sit beside her.
He half turned towards her, one arm along the back of the seat. Helena felt hemmed in, a feeling which increased when he gently took her hand and enclosed it in his own.
‘Lieutenant Brookes!’ Her tone was outraged—at any moment someone could come around the corner and see them. She should never have allowed herself to be led into this secluded spot.
‘Forgive me, but I have waited so long to be alone with you. You cannot be unaware, Miss Wyatt, of my regard for you.’ So saying, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her kid-covered knuckles.
‘I assure you, sir, I am quite unconscious that you have any particular feeling for me! Please release my hand—anyone might come along and see us.’ She tugged her hand back, but Daniel still held it and the gesture only served to pull him closer to her. He brought up his arm that had lain on the back of the bench and encircled her shoulders.
Helena found herself so close that she could see her own startled face reflected in the pupils of his dark eyes. ‘Sir! This is most improper! I am in no mood for flirting!’
‘Nor I,’ he said huskily. ‘You must know it is not flirtation I seek, Helena.’ Daniel smiled down at her.
‘No, no, Mr Brookes…’ She shrank from him.
‘Daniel, call me Daniel, Helena.’ His breath was warm on her cheek, stirring the little curls at her temple.
‘Mr Brookes,’ she began again, firmly. ‘Please, I must ask you to release me. This is not proper, and you have come to quite the wrong conclusion as to my sentiments.’
‘Come, Helena, I know it is necessary to play the game and to make a token protest of maidenly ignorance, but we both know it is a charade.’
Helena gave a little gasp and met his knowing brown eyes. ‘A charade? Sir, what do you mean?’ Her stomach cramped painfully and her frightened mind echoed the words, he knows, he knows, he knows…
‘Why,’ he said easily, smiling down into her widened eyes, ‘I mean that it is customary on these occasions for the young lady to pretend she has no idea what the gentleman is talking about. But we both know, do we not, Helena?’
Helena’s mind raced. This might all be perfectly innocent, be exactly what it appeared on the surface. And, being ruthlessly honest with herself, she acknowledged that she may have seemed to give him more encouragement than her other beaux. And it would be in no way presumptuous of him to make her a proposal of marriage: he was in her family’s profession, well-connected and a very personable young man.
She decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Sir…am I to understand that you are making me a declaration?’
There was a pause, just fractionally too long for her comfort. ‘Why, my dear Miss Wyatt—what else could I be referring to?’ One dark brow quirked interrogatively, but his eyes were sharp and watchful.
‘Well, I…you must understand, sir, I have no experience of such matters…this is my first Season…surely you should address yourself to my uncle the Commodore…’
Daniel ran one finger down her cheek almost assessingly as though taking stock of something he was about to buy. ‘Oh, I do not think that the fact this is your first Season necessarily has anything to do with…experience.’
Helena batted his hand away with anger, her cheeks flaming. The effrontery of the man! Everything that Adam had told her about him came to her mind and she believed every word. Why, he was treating her like a doxy from the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens! Either he was so confident that she would fall into his arms that he had no use for subtlety, or he knew the truth and believed her to be no better than she should be.
With a jerk she freed her trapped hand and pushed with both hands at Daniel’s broad chest, feeling the resistance of hard muscle under the broadcloth. She might as well have been pushing at the side of a ship.
‘Oh, enough of this playacting!’ He sounded amused, but there was a distinct edge, the irritation of a man not used to being denied. Daniel gathered her firmly in his arms, bent his head and kissed Helena with hard lips. Shocked, she resisted him, clamping her mouth closed and her lips tight, but it was hopeless. Ruthlessly his tongue pushed against her lips, shockingly invading, hard and intrusive.
Instinctively Helena bit down, tasting the salty tang of blood as he recoiled, cursing. ‘Why, you little…’ His face was livid and for one mad moment Helena believed he was going to strike her.
‘Now, look ’ere, guvnor! Your ’orses is eating that new shrub what we only planted last week!’
Rescue had come in the most unlikely form of a pair of gardeners. Wrapped in great baize aprons and holding rakes, the men
looked almost comical, but there was no disguising their annoyance at the wreck this gentleman’s horses had done to the planting.
Daniel leapt to his feet, and one look at his face told Helena that the two men were about to get the rough edge of his tongue. He was obviously incandescent with fury, an anger at her that he would visit on these two insolent labourers.
Helena whisked round Daniel’s rigid figure and hurried down the lawn towards her two unlikely chevaliers. ‘Oh, I am so sorry! Such a pretty bush and you have worked so hard on this lovely shrubbery! If there is any recompense to be paid you must tell the Head Gardener to address my uncle, Sir Robert Breakey in Brook Street. Here…’ she fished in the pocket of her riding habit ‘…this is for your trouble. I really am so very sorry.’
The bemused men, finding a generous tip pressed into their grubby palms, were completely won over by the brilliance of the beautiful young lady’s smile. Helena un-hooked the reins of her grey from the damaged bush and turned to the men. ‘Would one of you be very kind and give me a leg up?’
Poleaxed by this encounter with the gentry, they happily complied, the smaller of the two holding the horse’s head while the senior tossed Helena into the saddle with clumsy care. Without looking back at Daniel, she kicked her horse into a canter and set off for the North gate.
The two men, conscious of the furious young man they had been left with, picked up their rakes and vanished rapidly into the undergrowth.
Helena spurred on through the park until the sight of the startled faces of fashionable strollers and the increased traffic of carriages brought her to herself. Green Park was not the place where anyone went to indulge in fast riding under any circumstances, and the sight of an unchaperoned lady cantering across the well-scythed grass was little short of scandalous.
Two landaus were pulled up side by side while their occupants exchanged pleasantries and Helena was appalled to see Lady Faulkener’s haughty profile. Pulling on the reins, she urged the grey towards a clump of trees and pulled up under their dipping branches to recover herself.
The Admiral's Daughter Page 14
