A Marriageable Miss

‘This is certainly a very fine carriage, Lord Markfield,’ she ventured, after some moments of silence.

‘Isn’t it just!’ replied the earl, with a swift grin. ‘Not mine, however, I’m sad to relate—courtesy of a most generous friend!’

‘It is not difficult to understand why he should place such trust in you, my lord,’ she returned, drawing in her breath in admiration as Markfield neatly feathered the vehicle out of the path of an oncoming and rather badly driven curricle.

Resolutely ignoring the insolent gesture that the curricle’s young driver offered him as he flashed passed, the earl acknowledged Helena’s compliment with a swift smile.

‘You are very kind,’ he said. ‘Although I am bound to admit that the traffic is somewhat heavier than I had anticipated. One gets the impression that the whole of London is heading for the park.’

‘I believe it’s what they call the “fashionable hour”—although I have it on good authority that it more usually lasts for three or four!’ returned Helena, her attention being momentarily diverted by a noisy altercation taking place some distance ahead. ‘We, ourselves, seldom have any need to frequent this part of town at this hour.’ And then, as the highly decorative attire of a passing whipster caught her eye, her cheeks suddenly dimpled. ‘Although I must say that it is not hard to see what attracts them all!’

As yet another poorly driven vehicle rocked across their path, Richard, who was finding that it required all of his, not inconsiderable, driving skill to manoeuvre Braithwaite’s equipage out of harm’s way, was unable to reply. But then, when he had finally edged the curricle safely past Apsley House into the relative serenity of Park Lane, his attention was suddenly distracted by the unexpected sound of his passenger’s smothered laughter. Unable to resist the temptation to see what might have caused such merriment, he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance across at her and was immediately struck by the sudden glowing animation on her face.

Her laughing eyes indicating the source of her levity, Helena, covering her lips with her gloved fingers, in a vain effort to control her rising mirth, whispered, ‘Do look at that fellow’s collar—he can hardly turn his head—and the size of his buttons—they must be quite three inches across! How perfectly ridiculous!’

As his own gaze lit upon the bizarre appearance of one of the occupants in a passing carriage, Richard was unable to prevent himself from joining in her amusement. ‘I gather that it’s considered quite the fashion amongst some of the young swells,’ he said, with a quick sideways grin. ‘But, surely, you must have come across some even more outrageous styles during your recent outings about town?’

Helena’s smile faded. ‘Not really,’ she replied reluctantly. ‘Two of my previous escorts proved to be rather a staid pair of individuals and the last one—Viscount Barrington—seemed to prefer to do his entertaining south of the river.’

‘You were not taken to Vauxhall Gardens, surely?’ Richard choked, well aware of the somewhat questionable reputation that the once-popular pleasure gardens had acquired during his absence from the country. ‘I am hardly surprised that your father should have raised objections!’

‘At the time, neither of us was aware of the unsavoury rumours,’ she replied carefully, irritated that the conversation had once again returned to a subject that, in her opinion, was best consigned to history. ‘Lord Barrington assured my father that it was a most respectable place and, since there were to be two other young ladies in his party, Papa bowed to what he called “his lordship’s better judgement”.’

Well able to imagine the kind of ‘young ladies’ who were known to frequent the usual supper parties given by the ramshackle viscount, Richard managed to bite back his groan of dismay. ‘From the tone of your voice, I must assume that it was on one such occasion that your father found his trust to be somewhat misplaced?’

‘Oh, I am perfectly sure that the resultant gossip cannot have failed to reach your ears, my lord,’ she said curtly. ‘No doubt your acquaintances have done their best to make capital of the event.’

‘Let me assure you that I do not normally hold listening to gossip among my faults, Miss Wheatley,’ replied Richard, somewhat incensed that she appeared to number him amongst Barrington’s cronies. ‘But on this occasion, I have to confess that, when my grandmother informed me that she had heard that you once threw a glass of wine into his lordship’s face, I found myself inclined to commend your perspicacity.’

‘Threw a glass of wine!’

For a fraction of a moment, Helena found herself to be almost incapable of coherent speech but then, to Richard’s utter astonishment, her eyes suddenly gleamed and her lips began to twitch. ‘Is that what the wretched fellow put about?’ She chuckled. ‘Well, I have to say that I am sorry to disabuse you of such a delightful notion, my lord, but I fear that the incident was not nearly so dramatic. The plain fact of the matter is that I was finding his lordship’s attentions rather too—how shall I put it?—assiduous for my liking and, after having repeatedly asked him to desist from his attempts to molest me, I felt constrained to give him a rather hefty shove which, in the event, I fear, caused him to tip his own drink all down his shirt front!’

Richard’s face lit up and he let out a shout of laughter. ‘Good for you, Miss Wheatley—I wish I had been there just to get a glimpse of the look on his face!’ But then, as he considered the implications of Helena’s story, his eyes grew serious. ‘He must have been very angry with you—he did not try to harm you in any way, I trust?’

‘I have to confess that I was far too mortified to wait for his reaction,’ admitted Helena, with a slight smile. ‘I simply vacated the supper booth and made my own way back to the pier. I was obliged to offer the ferry-man quite a large sum of money to bring me back across the river but, as it turned out, the man was most obliging. He insisted upon leaving his scull to take me to the hackney-carriage stand, for which I was very grateful, since I am afraid that I have had little experience of hiring such vehicles. He told me that he had young daughters of his own and even waited until he had seen me safely into what he assured me was “a respectable jarvey’s rig”.’

The earl shook his head, uncomfortably aware of the innumerable ways in which disaster might well have befallen an unaccompanied young lady in such a dubious area.

‘You clearly had the saints on your side that night, Miss Wheatley,’ he exclaimed, as he swung the phaeton into the quieter environs of Curzon Street and finally brought it to a halt in front of Standish House. ‘Your father must have been beside himself when you turned up in a hired hack—no wonder he decided to draw up that contract! Although, upon reflection, it seems to me that the unfortunate episode should have been more than enough to put him off his whole scheme altogether.’

‘Oh, you need have no fear, sir, Papa knows that I am well able to take care of myself,’ she replied airily, her eyes following the earl’s movements as he leapt down from his perch and proceeded to walk round the carriage to hand her down.

At Helena’s somewhat naïve remark, Richard hid a smile, as he led her up the steps to the front door. It seemed to him that Miss Wheatley’s rather suburban upbringing had failed to cover some of the less palatable aspects of society life. But then, as soon as Bickerstaff had ushered them into the salon, where his grandmother was waiting in attendance, he was obliged to dismiss the matter from his mind in order to concentrate on the impending interview.

In spite of herself, Helena could not help feeling just the tiniest twinge of nervousness as she approached the rather autocratic-looking old lady, who was seated on a high-backed chair at the far side of the room. Not that it mattered in the slightest what the countess thought of her, she hastened to assure herself, since—assuming that she managed to play her cards with sufficient skill—any association between the two of them would, hopefully, be very short lived. Nevertheless, she found that she could not control the little tremor of anxiety that ran through her as Lady Isobel raised her lorgnette and proceeded to inspect her minutely from the top of her head right down to the tip of her toes.

‘Well, don’t just stand there, girl!’ commanded the dowager. ‘Come over to the window and let me get a proper look at you!’

Torn between, on the one hand, a fierce desire to retort that she had no intention of being ordered about in such a peremptory manner and, on the other, a deeply instilled supposition that the young were under some sort of obligation to tolerate the idiosyncrasies of a generation much older than themselves, Helena swallowed her resentment and walked over to face the countess.

‘That’s much better! Now, turn around!’

Stifling her indignation, Helena did as she was bidden but, as Markfield’s pensive face hove into her view, she could not resist casting him a fulminating glare. How dared he bring her here to be treated in such an insulting manner! This fiasco was turning out to be even worse than she had feared it might!

In growing disbelief at his grandmother’s discourteous treatment of her guest, Richard watched in awe as Helena, exhibiting nothing of her innermost feelings, stood graciously erect, her chin raised high, and suffered the dowager’s continued appraisal of her person with, he was bound to admit, the most incredible forbearance.

‘Excellent!’

With a satisfied nod, Lady Isobel then bade Helena take the seat opposite her own. ‘Very good posture and admirable self-control, I see!’ she chuckled. ‘I do believe the gel will serve, dear boy!’

Helena, somewhat taken aback at the countess’s words, sat down on the sofa indicated and said nothing, having made up her mind to run whatever gauntlet the dowager had in mind for her with as much dignity as she was able to muster and then, when the two of them were done with their self-indulgent theatricals, to make her escape as soon as it was decently possible.

‘She does have a voice, I take it?’ the old lady then queried, frowning in disapproval at Helena’s continual silence.

‘Grandmama, please!’ protested Richard. ‘Don’t you think you have embarrassed Miss Wheatley quite enough for one day?’

‘Embarrassed her?’ exclaimed the countess, raising her eyebrows. ‘I? The gel don’t look in the least embarrassed!’ And, leaning forwards, she tapped her folded fan on Helena’s knee and asked briskly, ‘Am I embarrassing you, child?’

‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ replied Helena coolly and, having suddenly caught sight of the glint of amusement in her hostess’s faded blue eyes, instantly made up her mind that even if they were intent upon making some sort of game of her, she would refuse to allow either of them to intimidate her. Having already found her own way home on that earlier occasion with little difficulty, the vagaries of public transport were now much less of a mystery to her and she was quite confident that she would have no trouble hailing a cab in broad daylight in this prestigious area.

Lady Isobel nodded her approval. ‘Come along then, child. What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I am not altogether sure what you would have me say, ma’am,’ returned Helena calmly. ‘I was under the impression that I was invited here to take tea with you, not as a servant seeking some sort of position in your house.’

At the dowager’s snort of laughter, Richard’s eyes gleamed with admiration. It was not often that he had the privilege of witnessing at first hand the rather unusual spectacle of someone standing up to his formidable grandparent. And, with such serene assurance, he noted appreciatively. Past experience had taught him that any attempt on his part to try to modify Lady Isobel’s quirkish interview technique would merely cause her to behave in an even more outrageous manner and, since Miss Wheatley seemed to be holding her own rather splendidly, he felt that any undue interference from him looked to be quite unnecessary.

‘Do you know something, my dear,’ the countess then announced, wagging her finger at Helena, ‘I do believe that you have quite the look of your grandmother about you.’

‘M-my grandmother?’

Despite all of her good intentions, Helena’s attention was caught and, leaning forwards, she asked eagerly, ‘You were acquainted with my grandparents, ma’am?’

Lady Isobel raised one shoulder briefly. ‘Barely at all, child—I met your grandmother—Joanna Coverdale, as she then was—at several functions during my own “come-out”. She married her earl at much the same time as I captured my own and, after that, for one reason or another, our paths seldom crossed. However, I do seem to remember that she had a very forthright way with her—not dissimilar to your own, I would say!’

Helena bit her lip. ‘I am afraid that I know very little about my mother’s family,’ she said slowly. ‘My brother and I were discouraged from asking questions about them and it was only after Mama died that my father took it into his head…’ She stopped, suddenly recalling her previous resolve not to allow herself to become embroiled with this rather disturbing family. Glancing over at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf, she saw, to her relief, that the obligatory half-hour for an afternoon call had almost run its time and, rising to her feet, she dipped a small curtsy to her hostess, saying, ‘I see that it is time I was on my way, your ladyship. It was most kind of you to allow me to come and visit you, but I—’

‘Nonsense!’ interrupted the countess. ‘You cannot possibly go yet. If I am to bring you out, there are a good many things that I need to know about you.’ Then, turning to Richard, she exhorted him to ring for Bickerstaff to bring in the tea things, adding, ‘And then you may take yourself off while Miss Wheatley and I have our comfortable little coze!’

Reluctantly sinking back into her seat, Helena watched in dismay as the earl rose to his feet to carry out Lady Isobel’s request. After casting what she could only assume was meant to be a smile of apology in her direction, he quit the room, leaving her to the mercy of his formidable grandparent.

‘What do you think of him, then—my grandson?’

Taken unawares by the countess’s sudden question, Helena felt herself flushing. ‘I—I cannot say that I have known Lord Markfield long enough to have formed any worthwhile opinion of him, ma’am,’ she replied cautiously.

‘Oh, stuff, gel! You must own that he is rather a handsome beast and quite out of the common! A far cry from those other cheerless profligates to whom you gave their marching orders, I’ll be bound!’

‘He certainly seems to be a very pleasant gentleman,’ faltered Helena, desperately wishing that the subject of the conversation would return quickly and deliver her from this extraordinary woman’s searching cross-examination. Whilst it was not at all difficult to fathom out what lay behind Lady Isobel’s fulsome panegyric regarding her grandson’s superiority, Helena had no intention of allowing the dowager to browbeat her into any form of commitment to him. As far as she was concerned, it was merely a matter of trying to keep up appearances for the short duration of the two to three weeks which she was certain would be ample time for her father to recover sufficiently to receive the news that Markfield was yet another unsuitable candidate for his daughter’s hand.

‘Pleasant! Humph!’ For some moments, the dowager regarded her visitor with an inscrutable expression, then, ‘You must understand, my child, that none of this business has been at Markfield’s instigation. Due to other members of our family having failed to stay the course, my poor grandson—almost the last in his line—has been forced to compromise his own position in order to try to redeem what I can only describe as a grievous dereliction of duty on the parts of his uncle and cousin.’ Lifting her handkerchief to her eyes, she dabbed away a non-existent tear. ‘A very noble sacrifice, as I am sure you will agree, Miss Wheatley?’

‘Oh, indeed!’ Helena choked back the gurgle of laughter that threatened. ‘Most noble.’ Then, after hesitating for the briefest of seconds, she asked curiously, ‘Forgive me if I have mistaken the matter, ma’am, but I was given to understand that your ladyship had quite an extended family living in Ireland?’

‘Ha!’ exclaimed the countess, nodding her head in triumph. ‘My daughter’s family. So you were sufficiently interested in Markfield to have done your homework, it seems!’

Helena shook her head. ‘Not I, ma’am,’ she replied evenly. ‘I believe you must have conveyed that information to my father yourself—you have been one of his most valued clients for a good many years, I know. He certainly seems to hold you in some regard, which is, no doubt, why he was willing to consider Lord Markfield’s petition.’

The countess gave a haughty sniff. ‘As well he might, my girl! Standish has been a name to be reckoned with for over two hundred years. You should be thanking your lucky stars that you have been afforded such an opportunity for advancement. Most of the gels in town would jump at the chance to snaffle Markfield and, without so much as lifting your finger, here he is, yours for the taking!’

At Helena’s lack of response to this pompous assertion, a puzzled frown crossed her face. Fixing her young visitor with a penetrating look, she let out a sigh and her tone softened. ‘Come, my child. Unless I have mistaken matters, you seem to be entirely reluctant about the whole affair. Surely the boy cannot have done anything to offend you?’

Chapter Five

Helena was at somewhat of a loss. The very last thing she had wanted to do was to enter into any sort of heart-to-heart discussion regarding either Markfield’s enforced application for her hand or her own feelings about the matter. At the same time, the oddest thought was beginning to occur to her that, despite the apparently crusty exterior, her hostess was, in all likelihood, a good deal more bark than bite. However, no sooner had this surprising conclusion crossed her mind than it was followed by the equally disturbing thought that, unless she extracted herself from this interview very quickly, she might well find herself confiding in the old countess and seeking her counsel.

To a certain extent, Richard had not been far out in his assessment of Helena’s limited social awareness. Her mother’s illness and totally unexpected death, following hard on the heels of the loss of her beloved brother, had left the then nineteen-year-old, poised on the threshold of womanhood, without the benefit of an older woman’s guiding hand. Although it was true that she had eventually managed to take over her mother’s reins, insofar as the running of the Wheatley household was concerned, Helena still desperately missed the older woman’s calm wisdom and forbearance. The fact that she was well able to deal with such matters at all was, for the most part, due to the unwritten precepts that the nobly born Louisa Wheatley had instilled into her from childhood.

At a time when other young women of her circle were involved in the frantic round of assemblies, routs and concert parties, Helena, for two consecutive years, had been in deep mourning and, apart from the occasional morning visits to the few close friends that she had acquired, all social activities had been, necessarily, curtailed. Even after the arrival of her cousin Charlotte, it had been only on the rarest of occasions that her father could be persuaded to pay a visit to the theatre and—unless one chose to count the twice-yearly country dances that were held in the hall of the village where her Uncle Daniels was rector—Helena’s total experience of assemblies had been limited to the rather sedate functions given by one of her father’s business acquaintances.

As it happened, although she had no intention of apprising Lady Isobel of this particular aspect of her life, she and her cousin spent most of their mornings helping out at a soup kitchen just off Chelsea’s Cheyne Walk. Following her beloved brother’s tragic death, Helena had found herself deeply affected by the sight of the scores of destitute and badly maimed ex-servicemen who roamed the streets of the capital at the end of the war. Consequently, when Jenny Redfern, who was sister to the Wheatleys’ family physician, had first told her about the ambitious scheme that she and a few like-minded friends were in the process of setting up in the basement of a disused chapel in Justice Walk, Helena had instantly offered her support and services to the project. Since then, both she and Lottie had taken on the task of helping out at the soup kitchen in accordance with the necessarily tight rota that the sisterhood had drawn up.

Uncomfortably aware that the countess was still awaiting an answer to her query regarding the conduct of her grandson, Helena cast around for what she thought might be considered a suitable reply.

‘I am sure that Lord Markfield has been everything that is proper, your ladyship,’ she managed eventually.

‘And yet you are still far from happy with the situation, are you not?’ persevered the countess, eyeing her visitor closely.

‘None of it is of my choosing,’ admitted Helena, tentatively testing the water. ‘But, as my father has no doubt informed you, he is most anxious to see me settled and I, for my part, have no wish to cause him displeasure.’

The dowager gave her a perceptive look and nodded. ‘How does your father do, child? I understand that he has Thomas Redfern in attendance?’

Helena nodded and gave a slight smile. ‘He tells me that my father is progressing favourably, ma’am,’ she replied. ‘We hope that he will be back on his feet in a matter of weeks.’

‘During which time I imagine that you will be keen to ensure that he is not discommoded in any way?’

‘That is why I am here, ma’am.’

Helena held her breath, waiting for the expected castigation, which, to her surprise and considerable relief, did not ensue. Instead, the countess studied her in silence for some minutes before nodding her head once more.

‘Exactly as I supposed, my dear. And now, it would seem, it is time for both of us to lay our cards on the table.’

At Helena’s puzzled expression, she leaned forwards in a conspiratorial manner, saying, ‘I do believe that you and I will deal very nicely together, Miss Wheatley—I take it that I may call you Helena?’ Without waiting for her visitor’s answering nod, she went on, ‘No doubt we each of us have our own agenda but, as I see it, the plain facts of the matter appear to be that we are doing our best to stave off our creditors for the moment and—correct me if I am wrong—you are intent upon avoiding an unwelcome marriage.’

‘Any sort of marriage, actually,’ said Helena, gazing at the countess in bewilderment.

At her interruption, Lady Isobel waved her hand dismissively. ‘Either way, I believe that we can still serve each other’s purpose perfectly well. Unless I am much mistaken, it seems abundantly clear to me that, despite your father’s continued efforts to secure you a husband, you, my gel, have been doing your level best to bring about the failure of these plans.’ She cast Helena a penetrating glance. ‘Would you agree that this is a reasonable appraisal of the situation?’

Her cheeks turning pink, Helena gave a reluctant nod. ‘It is true that I tried to discourage them, but—’ At her hostess’s quelling frown, she checked herself. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, pray continue!’

‘Humph! I can see that I shall have my work cut out!’ retorted the dowager. ‘However, notwithstanding all the various rumours that have circulated since your father set upon this course of action, I must admit to being not a little curious to hear your side of the tale. How, for instance, did you come to throw your wine over Barrington?’

With great reluctance, Helena related once again the events that had led to that particular suitor’s dismissal. Following which, finding herself unable to parry the countess’s close questioning, she was then obliged to divulge the various ploys that she had used to extricate herself from the previous two suitors for her hand.