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Charis gave a peal of laughter. “Since Bellemere loves nothing better than new fashions, I expect we shall all be blissfully happy.”
Lady Darnell rose. “Come, Charis. If Helena is to be ready to meet Madame Sophie this afternoon, you and I must get to work.” She turned to Helena. “Should you like to rest in your chamber until we return, my dear?”
“Might I go to the library, ma’am?”
“’Tis Adam’s domain, but since he is to be out most of the day, you may certainly inspect it if you wish.”
“Are you a great reader?” Charis asked.
Helena paused, trying to frame the most innocuous reply. “I spent my happiest hours after Mama left in the library,” she said. Which was true enough.
“I do love the works of Mrs. Burney,” Charis said, and sighed. “The events were exaggerated, of course, but oh, how brave were the heroes and how fiendish the villains!”
Once again, Helena hesitated before answering. Heroes truly were the stuff of fiction and as for villainy…The images flashed into mind before she could stop them: the restraints, the whip, the airless, lightless priest’s hole where she had nearly lost her wits.
Shaking off the memories, she replied, “Isolated as we were, Mama taught me to love reading, but she preferred Scott, Shakespeare and the poets. Also the French philosophers—Pascal, Montaigne, Voltaire. Though truly, I read almost everything—travel journals, philosophy, mathematics. I would love to explore foreign lands.”
“You sound like quite the bluestocking!” Charis said. When Helena looked at her, uncomprehending, she explained, “A lady of vast education is known by that term—not a very complimentary one. I’m afraid it isn’t considered admirable for a lady to be too learned.”
Helena widened her eyes. “Society values ignorance?”
“Not precisely. I’m making a muddle of this.” Charis looked to Lady Darnell. “Could you explain, ma’am?”
“Of course a young lady can’t be ignorant,” the other lady replied. “She must be able to manage a household, stitch and embroider competently, and deal with servants and tradesmen. ’Tis desirable that she sing and perform pleasingly on the pianoforte or the harp and play well at cards. Some competence in reading French or Italian is also permissible, but a lady shouldn’t fatigue her mind with too much book-learning.”
Helena laughed ruefully. “Then I’ve acquired almost no useful knowledge at all. I haven’t set a stitch in years and have no idea how to get on in Society or manage a household. But if learning is so despised, why does anyone keep a library?”
“Oh, ’tis quite acceptable for gentlemen to be educated. But the gentler sex isn’t equipped to comprehend foreign tongues or study ancient literature—gods and goddesses cavorting about in the most unseemly fashion! And gentlemen don’t admire a lady who seems too…knowing.”
That she could believe, Helena thought acidly.
“You are far braver than I,” Lady Darnell continued. “I do not stir from London without two grooms to ride post and John Coachman on the box with his blunderbuss! To think of you traveling all alone on the mail coach is enough to give me palpitations, to say nothing of envisioning you in heathenish foreign lands!”
She shivered. “Pray, do not speak of it again. Having just found you, it is our earnest hope that we can make you so comfortable that you shall never wish to leave us. But enough,” she concluded as Helena sat mute, overwhelmed for the second time by Lady Darnell’s generous affection. “We must be going, Charis, if we are to complete our commissions and return betimes.”
After the ladies left, Harrison led her to the library. For the next hour, Helena explored with delight the treasures of this well-stocked room.
What a marvelous retreat this would make! she thought, selecting several volumes from the shelves. However, if this were Lord Darnell’s domain, she would not have unlimited use of it. She would have to ask Harrison every morning about his master’s schedule for the day.
Her inventory of the library’s holdings complete, she gazed around the room, taking in the sofa and two wing chairs before the hearth and the massive desk in the corner. Adam Darnell’s desk, of course.
Though her first impression told her this man would not be her enemy, best to learn as much as possible about the master of the household in which she now resided. Curiously she walked over to inspect his desk.
A stack of ledgers occupied one corner; an inkstand, quills and nibs were set at the center above several sheets of blank paper. To the other side was an assortment of books—Plato, Cicero and Voltaire, along with The Compleat Farmer and An Account of Operations at Holkham Estate.
If the desk were an indication of the character of the man who used it, Adam Darnell was neat and organized, a careful landlord and something of a scholar. He was certainly handsome, she recalled, some unnameable something stirring within her at the memory, and he seemed kind.
Still, it might be wise to explore the remainder of the house before the ladies returned. One never knew when a speedy exit might become imperative, and in such an event, one could not count on using the front entry.
However, with a dressmaker coming this afternoon, Helena’s most pressing need was to determine if the friendly parlor maid would be suitable to serve her. Even if the maid never saw her without her shift, at some point in the apparently laborious dressing process, that garment might slip—and the maid who viewed her back would need to be prepared and staunchly loyal to her service.
Leaving her chosen volumes for later, Helena exited the library and followed the hallway to a door that led to a flight of service stairs. As she expected, these ended on the ground floor next to the kitchen.
Within that ample room, a mob-capped woman tended a pot over a large iron cookstove while two other women chopped vegetables at a center table. At a smaller table to one side, Harrison sat across from an older lady in a dark dress with a set of keys pinned to her apron.
Conversation ceased and every occupant of the room turned to stare as she walked in. She sensed immediately that she had trespassed outside her proper domain.
Harrison jumped to his feet. “Excuse me, Miss Lambarth, I didn’t hear you ring. What do you require?”
“Excuse me, all of you, for coming here uninvited, but I have a bit of a dilemma that I hope you can help me solve.” Helena addressed herself to the dark-robed woman. “You are the housekeeper, Mrs. Baxtor?”
“Yes, miss,” the woman replied, curtseying.
“As I did not bring one with me, I need a lady’s maid. I should prefer not to hire some unknown person out of an agency and wondered if I might instead speak with the girl who waited on me this morning—Molly, I believe?”
The butler and the housekeeper exchanged glances. “Harrison takes care of hiring help, miss,” the housekeeper replied. “Molly is just a lower housemaid and hasn’t been trained for such work. If you step up to the parlor, I’m sure Harrison can discuss your requirements.”
Harrison bowed. “If you will follow me, miss?”
Nodding to acknowledge the curtseys of the staff, Helena dutifully left the room. So much for her distant memories of going with her mama to the kitchen to sample Cook’s fruit tarts, she thought ruefully. Not only had she obviously stepped out of place, she had stumbled into a hierarchy that did not readily admit change. Housemaids, apparently, did not turn overnight into ladies’ maids.
She would find no allies among that lot, Helena concluded, recalling the startled and mildly disapproving faces. But then, the household would go as the master dictated, as she ought to know well enough by now.
She must try a different tack, she decided as she trailed Harrison into the parlor. It would probably be better anyway to hire an outsider beholden to Helena alone for her position. But not, she was adamant, an experienced woman who would know instantly how out of place Helena was.
As Helena seated herself, Harrison said, “You would like me to inquire about a lady’s maid, miss?”
“Mr. Harrison, let us be blunt. My error in invading the kitchen must have confirmed what a man of your stature probably saw at first glance—that I wasn’t trained as befits one of my station. Lady Darnell will be helping me address those deficiencies, but while she does so, I do not wish to engage a dresser who would immediately note my inexperience. I should like to talk with Molly and see if she has a relation I might hire. I hope I could then rely on your guidance in instructing a new girl in her duties.”
Harrison nodded. “Better to bring in a newcomer than raise a maid here above her station. Naturally, I shall assist anyone you hire. I’m sure Mrs. Baxtor will, too.”
“You will have Molly sent to me, then?”
“Yes, miss. I expect Mrs. Baxtor can spare her from her work for a few moments.”
After pronouncing the last without a quiver of irony, Harrison withdrew. But as Helena waited for the maid to appear, memories of a conversation overheard on the way to London suddenly sparked another, better idea.
In addition to allowing her to personally select her employee, this alternative would insure that the person she chose would owe her position to Helena alone—and probably be grateful enough for the opportunity that she would work hard and ask no questions.
Best yet, Helena would be able to see at least a little of the city immediately. Indeed, by slipping out to hunt for a maid now, she could enjoy a freedom of movement that, based on what Aunt Lillian had just told her, she would probably have to forfeit once she’d been transformed into a young lady of fashion. A thrill of delicious anticipation energized her.
At that moment Molly entered and curtseyed. “Baxtor says you was wanting me, miss?”
“Yes, Molly. I have an errand to do and require a companion familiar with the city. Do you know how to get to St. Marylebone?”
“St. Marylebone?” the girl echoed. “’Tis rather far north of here, not near the shops or nothing. Are you sure that’s where you was wishful of going?”
“There’s a…business there I need to visit. You can show me the way?”
“I can, but you’d best be ordering out the carriage. ’Tis rather long a walk for a young lady.”
“I shall not be going as a fine young lady—at least outwardly. Lady Darnell does not want me to go about until my wardrobe is complete, but this matter cannot wait. If you can procure me a plain cloak with a hood, I can go there and back without attracting any notice. I will compensate you well.”
As the implications of Helena’s traveling incognito registered in the girl’s mind, her friendly smile faded. “I don’t think Lady Darnell or Mrs. Baxtor would look kindly on me, iff’n they knowed I helped you sneak out.”
“If anyone should discover us—which they will not—you need only tell Mrs. Baxtor that I ordered you to take me. She already knows I am a bit…odd.”
Molly giggled. “My, what a to-do it was, you coming down to the kitchen without a by-your-leave! John the footman told me ol’ Baxtor’s eyes was as big as dinner plates!” As if suddenly recalling to whom she was speaking, she blushed. “Meaning no disrespect, miss!”
Waving off the girl’s apology, Helena said, “Just before dark, while Lady Darnell is resting and the staff prepares dinner, we will slip away. Can you go today?”
Molly shook her head. “Oh, no, miss. Not today.”
A sympathetic anger uncurled inside Helena. “Does the master keep you confined here? Is he harsh?”
Molly looked at her uncomprehending. “You mean—Lord Darnell? Oh, no, miss! He’s been ever so kind every time I’ve seen him, even when he come up behind me one morning as I was bringing Eckles—that’s his valet—his shaving water and I dropped the pitcher and it shattered all over. But he was sweet as honey on a biscuit about it, and wouldn’t even let Eckles scold me, saying it was his own fault for startling me so.” The girl sighed. “He’s terrible handsome, too.”
So he was, Helena thought, remembering the odd little quiver he’d evoked in her. Relieved to have her innate distrust put to rest and her favorable first impression of Lord Darnell confirmed, she said, “Can you take me tomorrow?”
“I couldn’t get away until my half-day on Thursday.”
“Shall we say Thursday, then? If you come to my room before dinner tonight, I will give you money to make the preparations and reimburse you for working on your half-day. We shall have an adventure!”
Molly looked as if she did not find the idea of an adventure especially appealing. “I reckon I can do it, miss, but you…you’re sure we won’t get in no trouble?”
“None at all, I promise,” Helena said, giving the girl her most persuasive smile. She considered adding that the homemade knife she always kept strapped to her thigh—and her ability to use it—would guarantee a trouble-free trip. Judging by what she’d seen of London so far, however, such expertise was probably unusual among young ladies. No sense having Molly find her odder than she’d already shown herself.
After setting a time to meet the girl later, Helena dismissed the maid and went to fetch her book from the library. How much she’d accomplished in a single morning! The process of acquiring a wardrobe had begun, she’d discovered the room she would make her personal retreat and soon she would find a personal servant to be her ally in the household. Best of all, in a very few days she would embark on her first excursion.
Suddenly life seemed more exciting and full of opportunity than she’d ever imagined possible back at Lambarth or in the dark hours after learning of her mother’s death. A pang of sadness muted her enthusiasm as she remembered the lady whose wisdom had led her to this household—and to a family that actually seemed concerned about her happiness. To this household whose master, she thought, recalling Darnell’s handsome face and kind eyes, might just prove that honorable men existed after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHILE HELENA ACQUAINTED herself with his home and staff, Adam made a number of business calls, ending with a visit to the Standish mansion on Grosvenor Square. Though the ornate drawing room was full of guests, Miss Standish looked up and smiled when she heard him announced.
The heiress would never be described as a Beauty, but Adam was pleasantly surprised to discover that the plump little girl who’d followed him about like an eager puppy had grown into an attractive young woman, her smile engaging, her pale blue eyes intelligent, her blond hair charmingly arranged. Her wealth was revealed by the excellence of her gown’s cut and fabric rather than by a showy effusion of trimming or a superfluity of jewels.
His first impression favorable, after paying his respects to her mother, Adam walked toward the sofa where she sat surrounded by guests. To his gratification, upon seeing him approach, she waved him to a chair.
If, while she made polite chat with her other guests, the young lady occasionally slid him a glance under her lashes, Adam was also covertly inspecting her. Some of the anxiety that had tensed his shoulders and settled in an ache at his temples eased, for not only was her appearance pleasing, her behavior was exemplary.
He observed none of the capricious airs or haughtiness of manner often exhibited by a young woman who knew herself to be a sought-after matrimonial prize. On the contrary, she gave equal attention to both the young men paying her court and two prosing dowagers. While deftly parrying the fulsome compliments of several highborn peers, she also offered a few kind words to a stammering young man from a minor family whom she might have snubbed with impunity.
Adam’s impression of Priscilla’s mother, stridently directing the conversation around her, was less positive. But Mrs. Standish had already been a stiff, overbearing woman in Priscilla’s childhood—which was why her daughter had escaped Standish Hall to follow Adam whenever possible.
If he discovered that he and Priscilla still suited, they’d not be living under her mother’s thumb anyway, Adam reminded himself. Waiting for an opportunity to move closer, when the dowager at Miss Standish’s elbow said goodbye, Adam swiftly commandeered the vacant seat.
Turning back from bidding another guest farewell, Miss Standish saw him and smiled again. The odd impression struck him that, though pleasant enough, even up close her smile lacked the magnetism of Miss Lambarth’s. He shook off the thought as Miss Standish addressed him.
“Captain Darnell—or I suppose I should say ‘my lord’? I understand you’ve left the army. So sorry about your poor papa, by the way. He was a fine gentleman and you must feel his loss keenly.”
“Thank you, Miss Standish, I do. But now that Bonaparte is corralled at last, ’tis good to be home.”
“And your friends must delight to have you here unharmed. Though I applauded the bravery that had you mentioned in the dispatches, I did fear for your safety.”
So she’d kept track of him. Despite himself, Adam was touched. “That was kind of you—given that more often than not, when you were scolded for some mischief when we were children, ’twas I who’d led you into it.”
“Ah, but the adventure was always worth the scold,” she replied, her smile deepening and a glow in her eyes.
Adam had been the recipient of feminine admiration often enough to recognize it in Miss Standish. Heartened by that excellent sign and seeing no reason to proceed by half measures, although she had just refused several other supplicants this favor, he continued, “If you dare risk your mama’s censure again by driving out with a gentleman whose only claim upon your kindness is an attachment from youth, let me escort you to the park this afternoon. I regret that the war and the…exigencies of my family led to our losing touch, and should like to reestablish our bond.”
There could be no mistaking his intent. For a moment, the little group around her fell silent—doubtless marveling at his temerity. Her smile fading, Miss Standish simply stared at him, and Adam feared he might have been too bold.
But his circumstances were urgent, he told himself as he awaited her answer. If she felt herself above renewing their relationship, better to find out right now.
Despite that brave conclusion, he was relieved when Miss Standish finally replied, amused reproof in her tone, “I see that time has taught you neither patience nor prudence, Lord Darnell.”
“No, ma’am. War rather teaches a soldier to value audacity and surprise.”
She laughed outright. “Two qualities I would have thought you amply supplied with from the beginning! Very well, Lord Darnell. I will drive with you.”
Ignoring the mutters of disapproval from his vanquished rivals, Adam fixed a time. Hardly daring to believe he had progressed so far in a single morning call, he bid Miss Standish and her mother goodbye and departed.
Given the partiality the heiress had just shown him, if in the relative privacy of his curricle they were able to reestablish the easy camaraderie of their childhood friendship, he thought exultantly, he might wrap up this courtship business and have Claygate on the road to recovery sooner than expected.
LATER THAT MORNING, Helena put aside her book to receive the corsetiere’s assistant. Marveling at the fineness of the garments, she fingered each one with delight as the girl lifted them from the boxes: feather-light linen shifts, petticoats and stays embroidered with tiny bows and blossoms, night rails of silk whose lushness whispered against her skin. Rejecting only the flannel items, she told the shopgirl she would take all the rest.
After nuncheon, Lady Darnell and Charis returned with new treasures: gloves of kid, chamois and net in every shade of the rainbow; slippers and half boots of French kid; twilled silk and Norwich wool shawls; fans of wood, bone and ivory with intricate painted panels. The ladies also brought a few hats that could be trimmed to match her gowns and would do until she could visit the shops herself.
Soon after, the mantua maker arrived with her samples. Determined after years of rough homespun to drape herself in the softest and most delicate of weaves, Helena was persuaded only after much argument to accept some sturdier cotton cloth for day wear.
Helena then further distressed her aunt by rejecting all the material in the white and pale shades they informed her were the colors considered most suitable for young ladies. She instead selected cloth in gold, scarlet, deep blue and coral hues. Worse yet, in her aunt’s opinion, after reviewing fashion plates, Helena refused to consider any style cut low over the back or bosom.
In vain did Lady Darnell argue that though the designs might seem a bit immodest to a girl who was country-raised, in London such gowns were worn by ladies of every age. As ashamed of her scarred back as she was of her mangled thumb, Helena could not bring herself to tell the kindhearted Lady Darnell the real reason she refused to consider more revealing styles. Saying that such shoulder-baring gowns would make her cold, the only plausible excuse she could think of to try to placate her aunt, Helena then traced over the styles she liked best, proposing alterations.
After considering Helena’s suggested changes, Madame Sofie became her unexpected ally, holding up a hand to silence Lady Darnell’s renewed protest. “No, your ladyship, the young miss speaks truth. The neckline just so, in this gold silk, will be different from what others wear, but will much become mademoiselle, with her elegant taille. She will not follow fashion, she will lead it.”
Fortunately—since Lady Darnell still looked skeptical—Charis agreed with Madame Sofie. “’Tis brilliant, Bellemere! Helena’s gowns shall be of the prevailing style, not in it, and completely unique. Beside her, all the ton Beauties will look insipid!”
Helena cared nothing about setting fashion. She only hoped that when she met Lord Darnell again, wearing one of her lovely new gowns, she would see approval, rather than disgust, in his eyes.
Despite Charis’s agreement and the dressmaker’s firm support, Lady Darnell continued to wring her hands at the thought of dear Helena throwing away the chance to display her youth and beauty to best advantage. Only by insisting they had spent time enough on Helena’s needs and must now discuss new garments for Charis and Lady Darnell were they able to turn her thoughts in a more cheerful direction. The rest of the afternoon passed agreeably in that endeavor, with Madame agreeing to have several designs completed for Helena within the week.
After the dressmaker’s departure, Harrison brought in the tea tray, bending low to murmur to Lady Darnell before bowing himself out. Frowning, her aunt turned to Helena.
“My dear, Harrison just told me you paid a visit to the kitchens today in search of a temporary maid.”
She was about to be chastised for her sins, Helena thought, armoring herself against the coming scold and resentful of Harrison for immediately reporting her breach of decorum. But then, what had she expected?
