The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (12 page)

“Perhaps he knew your father would not accept such a match?”

“Doubtless, but I never felt any affection from him, just—I do not know how to say it, but he is like a toad, or a snake. He makes my flesh crawl.”

Damaris nodded sympathetically. “Indeed, I do know.”

Helena frowned. “The gossip was vicious, so I returned to Kent. I am better off here, where I can help Arthur.”

“But it is such a waste,” protested Damaris. “I know you love Keighley Manor, but it is your brother’s. You need a home of your own.”

“Arthur will never turn me out. With any luck I will like his wife, and I know I shall adore his children.”

“But, my dear, do you never wish for more excitement?”

Helena shrugged. “I’ve had enough of that. There are no free traders in the ballrooms of London, after all,” she added with a tiny smile

“Nor, just now, the Earl of Wroxton. Your little adventure will put you much in his company.”

“I suppose it will. But he will go back to town soon enough.”

Damaris gave her a sly look. “Have you really given no thought to—er, enjoying your time with him?”

Helena gaped at her. “Enjoying my time? With Lord Wroxton?”

“Yes,” said Damaris patiently. “Enjoying it. You are ruined, he will not be here long, he has kissed you, you have kissed him back….”

“Damaris, are you suggesting that I have an illicit
affaire
with Lord Wroxton?”

“Oh no, I would never suggest that,” said Damaris hastily. “Unless, of course, you wish to.” She gave Helena a mischievous look.

“I do not,” said Helena firmly.

“Very well,” Damaris replied meekly. “I can see how embarking on such a course would be frightening.”

“I’m not frightened,” protested Helena. “I’m also not interested.”

“What a pity, it seems such an opportunity,” murmured Damaris. “Of course, there is Mr. Delaney as well,” she trailed off, glancing at Helena’s face. “No, I suppose not,” she continued. “Well, you know best.”

“I certainly do,” Helena replied.

After her firm dismissal of her friend’s suggestion, talk turned to other things, such as the latest fashions and the doings of the neighbors. Damaris refrained from further references to the Wicked Earl over dinner, and when she bid Helena good night as the sun slipped below the horizon in a blaze of orange and red, she only said, “Think about what we discussed,” as she climbed into her carriage.

Helena walked slowly into the house, enjoying the light breeze that wafted from the water and the faint scent of herbs from the garden. She glanced once over her shoulder in the direction of Wroxton, wondering when Arthur might return. But, for gentlemen, it was still very early, and she was sure her brother was enjoying his evening with the dashing visitors from London a great deal. With a sigh, she trailed up the stairs to her room.

Some hours later she awoke with a start, hearing heavy footsteps in the hall. She sat up, surprised, but then realized it must be Arthur, returned from Wroxton. She fumbled at her bedside table and lit the candle she kept there. She heard Arthur moving down the hall, and then a sudden crash and a muttered oath. Jumping out of bed, Helena tossed a thin wrapper over her nightgown and, taking the candle with her, walked across the room and opened the door. She peered out in to the hall, and saw Arthur seated on the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him, a foolish grin on his face.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” she demanded. “Is something wrong?”

A giggle broke from her brother, and he scrambled to his feet and stood, swaying slightly.

“I’m fine, Helena,” he said. “Go back to bed.”

Helena stepped closer to him and held her candle up. “What are you doing here in the dark? What time is it?”

Arthur raised a hand to shield his eyes from the flame. “It’s past three. I didn’t want to wake you with a light, so I thought I’d make my way in the dark. But someone seems to have moved this table, and I stumbled into it.”

Helena cast an impatient glance at the offending piece of furniture. “It’s been there for the past twenty years,” she said tartly. “No one ever moves anything here.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, it’s past three?”

“Just that,” said Arthur cheerfully. “Go to bed, I will talk to you in the morning.”

Helena peered at him. “Are you drunk?” she demanded.

“Devil a bit. We had some brandy, of course.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed as she noted that his diction was overly careful. “You are drunk. Arthur, how could you?”

“It was just a few brandies,” said Arthur irritably. “Don’t mother me, Helena. We had some wine with dinner and played a few hands of cards and talked. That was all.”

“Why did Wroxton let you ride home alone in this state?” demanded Helena.

“I came to no harm. Do you think I’m such a poor horseman I can’t keep my seat after a few drinks?” said Arthur. He swayed slightly. “I’m going to bed. Leave it be, Helena.”

He turned and she watched as he wove his way down the hall to his room. He stopped at the door and looked back at her.

“Good night,” he said, entering his room and closing the door behind him.

Helena stood for a moment in the hall, staring after him, then stormed back into her bedroom, putting the candle on the table and clambering back into the bed. As she pulled the coverlet up to her nose and snuffed the candle, she was aware of a growing sense of anger with Lord Wroxton. That he would get a boy Arthur’s age drunk and then allow him to ride home in the dark, when he might fall and break his neck, was the edge of enough. Clearly, he was irredeemable, and had no sense of responsibility to his neighbors or friends. It was no wonder he had ended up exiled from his home. The greatest problem was that he had ever returned.

Helena woke the next morning to bright sunshine pouring in her window and the sound of birds greeting the morning with exuberance. She groaned. She had not sent for Sherburne when she went to bed, and she had neglected to close the heavy drapes. Now the room was bathed with early morning light. She rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head, but it was no use. Despite the hour she had spent lying in bed, wide awake, going over the Earl of Wroxton’s iniquities in her head, the birds continued to greet the day, and she decided reluctantly that she must do so as well. She rose and rang for Sherburne.

The maid bustled into her room soon after, carrying a ewer of warm water, and made a tutting noise when she saw Helena up already, standing at the window, gazing over the fields.

“Miss Helena, it’s very early,” she said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Helena watched as Sherburne poured the water into a bowl, and then set about her morning ablutions. “I couldn’t sleep any longer. Put out my riding habit if you please.”

Sherburne shook her head. “Your riding habit? It’s a bit early isn’t it? You usually ride later in the day.”

“I am riding out immediately,” Helena answered. “Prepare my blue habit, and then let Macklin know I will need him to accompany me.”

Sherburne, her face clearly showing she thought her mistress to be mad, obeyed her orders, and soon Helena was arrayed in a dark blue wool habit, with smart brass buttons, and gold trimmed epaulets at the shoulders. A lace ruffle at the neck and dashing shako hat finished her outfit. She marched out of her room, cast an irritated glance at her brother’s door, and then walked to the stables, where she found Macklin awaiting her.

“Where are you wanting to go so early, Miss Helena?” he asked gruffly.

“To Wroxton Hall,” said Helena.

Macklin spat. “Mr. Keighley just came from there not five hours ago,” he observed. “Perhaps the earl has had enough of our family already.”

“I need to talk to Lord Wroxton this morning,” said Helena firmly. “Your opinion on the matter is not required.”

Macklin shrugged and handed her up into the saddle. “He might still be abed,” he warned.

“Then he will have to get up,” retorted Helena. She turned her horse toward Wroxton and set out at a smart pace, Macklin following in her wake.

As she rode, Helena nursed her sense of outrage toward Malcolm Arlingby, so when she rode into the Wroxton stable yard, her eyes were snapping with annoyance. She slid gracefully out of the saddle and tossed the reins to a startled groom.

“Is your master in the house?” she asked.

“Good morning, Miss Keighley,” said the groom. He shot an alarmed glance at Macklin, who said nothing, merely pursing his lips and shaking his head.

“I asked where his lordship is,” said Helena. “I would appreciate an answer. Is he in the house?”

The groom gaped at her as she faced him, her chin set a proud angle, her cheeks flushed from both her ride and anger.

“That’s all right, Reeves,” came a quiet voice. “I am here, Miss Keighley.”

Helena turned to see Malcolm standing in the stable door. He wore buckskin breeches, admirably fitted to his strong thighs, riding boots, and a white linen shirt, open at the throat. His bright blue eyes looked at her with gentle inquiry, but at the same time, Helena felt she saw a gleam of humor at the back of them. This only increased her annoyance, and she glared at him.

“I would appreciate a moment of your time, Lord Wroxton,” she said sternly.

“Certainly, Miss Keighley.” Malcolm glanced at his groom. “Please attend to Miss Keighley’s horse, and see that Macklin is made comfortable. Perhaps you could take him to the kitchen and have Cook give him some toast and tea. This might take some time.”

Helena watched in silence as the groom led off her horse, Macklin dismounting and following in his wake. He glanced at her as he passed, and shook his head, but said nothing.

Malcolm waited until they were alone, then smiled at her winningly. “It is very early indeed, Miss Keighley, so I imagine this is of some importance. How may I assist you?”

Helena, who had felt some of her anger leave her in the face of the groom’s incredulity, found it flooding back when she looked at Malcolm’s impassive face.

“How dare you send Arthur home inebriated last night?” she demanded.

“Was he drunk?” asked Malcolm. “I thought he held his liquor rather well, considering his youth. He was not more than slightly elevated, and assured us he could make his way home, despite my offer of a bed for the night.”

“He woke me up at past three, stumbling about in the hallway.”

“Ah, my apologies, Miss Keighley. I should have advised him to light a candle. A beginner’s mistake, thinking a candle will awaken others, when walking into the furniture is so much more likely to expose you. I regret that your sleep was disturbed.”

“I do not care that he woke me, I care that he was drunk! He is a boy, and you should know better than to encourage him in such behavior.”

Malcolm looked amused. “He is eighteen, Miss Keighley. He is a man, not a boy, and the sooner he knows the ways of the world the better. He’s been up at Oxford, and if you believe brandy is unknown to him, you are deceiving yourself. Arthur is far better off learning to hold his liquor with Del and me, who have no intention of hurting him, than with many another man, who might think him a lamb for the shearing.”

“Do you expect me to agree that getting my brother drunk and allowing him to ride home at three in the morning was a kindness?”

“Arthur has been in the saddle since he was a babe, and I have no doubt he could stay on a horse if he was drunk as a wheelbarrow,” Malcolm replied. “And I presume his horse would be able to find the way home to Keighley Manor were his rider unconscious, as familiar as these roads are to him. I wouldn’t have allowed Arthur to leave if I thought any harm could come of it.”

“You are infuriating,” snapped Helena.

Malcolm glanced around and saw several stable boys were gaping at them openly. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he suggested.

Helena snorted, but followed him into the stables. The stalls were immaculate and smelled sweetly of fresh hay as Malcolm walked down the aisle, Helena fuming in his wake. A startled groom took one look at them and abandoned his task hastily. Toward the end of the long aisle several stalls were unoccupied, and Malcolm slid open one of the doors, so Helena could enter, then followed her in. Its wooden floor was swept clean and fresh spring hay was stacked within.

“Now, Miss Keighley, I feel sure you wish to unburden yourself further concerning my iniquities,” said Malcolm.

Helena looked up at him, infuriated by his calm. She stripped off her black leather gloves and clenched them in her fist. “I ask that you, in the future, leave my brother be. I will not have him going down the path you took at his age.”

“He may be your brother, Miss Keighley, but he is his own man. While I understand the desire to protect your family—indeed, I once had the crazed notion of protecting Rowena from Brayleigh, and you can see how well that worked—inevitably they have minds of their own. Arthur will not thank you for interfering in his life, and no harm will come to him at my hands. You have my word.”

“Your word!” retorted Helena. “As though it means anything to me!”

“You make a very great mistake, Miss Keighley,” said Malcolm carefully. “My word means a great a deal. I advise you to believe me.”

Helena looked up at him, and saw the glimmer of humor had been replaced by something implacable—it was not anger, but she could see her words had struck a nerve.

“I did not mean you have no honor—” she began.

“What did you mean, then?” asked Malcolm, his voice tightly controlled. “That certainly seems to be what you said.”

“I meant that you are irresponsible and heedless, and I will not have Arthur learning such ways from you. Drinking and gambling and—and other things of that ilk.”

“You seem to have a very odd notion of me, Miss Keighley. Have you heard—ever—that I am in the business of corrupting youngsters? Because if you have, I want to know the source of that rumor, so I can, er, tend to the person who started it.”

Helena flushed, realizing she might have overstepped the bounds of propriety. “Of course I have heard no such thing. It is just—just that you are not at all the sort of person I wish Arthur to admire.”

“What a pity we cannot control the opinions of those around us,” said Malcolm sardonically. “I’m sure if Arthur were here, he would be extremely annoyed with you, Miss Keighley. I cannot imagine he feels he needs you to protect him from my evil influence.”

“He is my brother, and the heir to the estate. I cannot have him behaving as you did,” protested Helena.

“Miss Keighley, I was a rash young man and I was punished for it. Do you think so little of Arthur that you imagine him to be as great a fool as I was?”

“Of course I don’t think Arthur is like you. He is helpful, and dutiful, and the best brother that he can be.”

“Which is why you should let him loose from your apron strings from time to time. I know he thinks my story romantic, and views me as some sort of hero, while you think me a wastrel. But if you tie him to Keighley Manor and refuse him any fun at all, you will lose him, Miss Keighley. You cannot protect him from all that is bad in the world, and it is far better for him to be prepared when he encounters it.” Malcolm eyed her for a moment. “I know of what I speak.”

“You know nothing of Arthur! I have known him my whole life, and you just two days.”

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, and then turned his bright gaze on her again. “Miss Keighley, it is possible to know someone very well and not understand everything about him. Your brother is an estimable young man, and I rather imagine that is due to you, rather than his parents. I have spoken to him enough to know who raised him. But you are very close to him, and that sometimes means you cannot see what is obvious to others.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Helena crossly. “I have no time for riddles.”

“I mean,” said Malcolm patiently, “your little brother, who you raised from a babe, is a man. Now it is time, the world being what it is, that you let him be a man. I see in him what you do not.”

“Arthur tells me everything!” exclaimed Helena.

“No, he does not. He has his secrets, which is as it should be. You need not know everything he thinks—as I imagine he doesn’t know everything you think.”

“I don’t believe you. Arthur keeps no secrets from me.”

Malcolm crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Do you think so indeed?”

“Of course I do,” she answered. “What can you know after two days that I do not?”

Malcolm smiled. “Oh, many things, Miss Keighley. For instance, do you know he is in love with your friend, the lovely Mrs. Honeysett?”

Helena laughed. “Oh, that is merely calf love. Mrs. Honeysett and I have remarked on it, but it means nothing. He will grow out of it.”

“Oh no, it is no mere calf love, Miss Keighley. He loves her as truly as any man does a woman. It may not suit you to see it, but that doesn’t stop it from being true.”

Helena glared at him. “I have no idea why you wish to argue with me about Arthur. I find your interest in him objectionable.”

“Arthur is the heir to the Keighley estate. He will be my neighbor and hold the lands next to Wroxton for the rest of my life, most likely,” Malcolm pointed out. “I therefore have every reason to wish to make him my friend.”

“If you wish him to be your friend, you will stop trying to lead him down the path you took,” protested Helena.

“Now you are being ridiculous.” Malcolm’s gaze softened, and she was annoyed to see how relaxed he appeared, when she felt almost unbearably tense. “You have no reason to believe I mean to harm Arthur. You have convinced yourself of this, but I have no idea why you would think such a thing of me.”

“You are known for your profligacy, my lord. My father was ill for years and could not be an example to Arthur, and I will not have him looking to you.”

“That would be a very bad idea indeed,” agreed Malcolm. “But as I mean him no harm, I have no idea why we are discussing him at all. If there is any member of the Keighley family I wish to lead astray, it is not your brother.”

Helena flushed to the roots of her hair. “What do you mean?”