The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (23 page)

Stephen looked at him curiously. “I’ve never known you to be reluctant to discuss your conquests. What is so different about Miss Keighley?”

Malcolm looked down into the brandy shimmering darkly in its crystal snifter. “Everything is different about Miss Keighley. Nor would I describe her as a conquest.”

Stephen appeared to be amazed. “Mal, you’re not in love with the chit, are you?”

The earl looked up, startled. “In love? I haven’t fancied myself in love for many a year. One grows out of such things.”

“You’ve never spoken to me this way of another woman. You are charming to them, you take your pleasure, and make sure you return it in kind, and then you are on your way. You thought nothing of leaving Estella to her own devices in London.”

“I haven’t thought of Estella in days,” mused Malcolm.

“Not since you met Miss Keighley?”

Malcolm shot him a dark glance. “I met Miss Keighley very shortly after I reached Wroxton. The one has nothing to do with the other.”

“I think you delude yourself, my friend,” said Stephen. “Miss Keighley means a great deal more to you than you pretend.”

“Yes, she must mean a great deal to me, as I intend to marry her,” said Malcolm quietly.

Stephen almost dropped his glass as he sat up abruptly in his chair.

“Be careful,” said Malcolm. “That is my great-grandmother’s best crystal.”

Stephen placed the snifter firmly on the table next to him. “I must be growing hard of hearing. I thought I heard you say you mean to marry Miss Keighley.”

Malcolm’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “You did hear that. My intention is that Miss Keighley shall be the next Countess of Wroxton.”

Stephen gaped at him. “Mal, you’ve never breathed a word of marriage to me. You’ve scarce been back in England nine months. You’ve plenty of time to find a bride, and no doubt you could discover one far more biddable.”

“No doubt. But biddable women are so dull, don’t you think?”

“I do not,” said Stephen frankly. “Miss Keighley is admirable in many ways, but she hardly strikes me as the kind of woman to make you a comfortable wife.”

“I’m not used to comfort,” observed Malcolm. “I think Miss Keighley will suit me very well. At the very least, I will not be bored.”

Stephen picked up his glass again and drained it. “What possible reason can you have to tie yourself down?”

Malcolm gave him a half-smile. “I must marry sometime and I must have children. Miss Keighley is more than suitable. She’s not a hen-witted society female, our lands march together, and her brother is a sensible fellow. Besides, I like her. It’s been some time since I’ve found an unattached woman I enjoyed talking to.”

Stephen smirked. “Aye, the married ones are always far more lively. Speaking of married women, what of Estella?’

Malcolm shrugged. “What of her? Neither of us ever thought of our liaison as more than a diversion.”

“She’ll be spitting mad,” said Stephen fervently.

“For an hour or two perhaps. There’s no malice in her.”

Stephen shook his head. “You’ve gone mad. Giving up Estella and your freedom for any woman before you must.”

“There are other reasons as well,” said Malcolm slowly. “I’ll not bore you with them.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “You know the stories about Miss Keighley…” he began, “…not that I believe them,” he continued, when a steely look came into Malcolm’s eyes. “But people will talk.”

“Not for long.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair. “I need not tell you, Del, that I will not countenance any nonsense of that sort, and I believe I can convince Society to see things my way.”

“And Denby?” asked Stephen.

Malcolm looked up and met his friend’s eyes. “You will leave Denby to me. Do you understand?”

Stephen poured himself another glass of brandy. “I understand a great deal more than you think I do,” he said.

“I doubt it,” said Malcolm imperturbably.

Helena awoke to the sound of Sherburne pulling back the curtains in her bedroom. Sunlight chased away the gloom, filling the corners of the room and playing across the white linen of the bed. She opened her eyes for a moment and surveyed it, and then closed them with a groan. Sleep had been elusive the night before, as thoughts of a certain blonde and smooth-muscled earl with a tantalizing smile had kept her awake until early in the morning. She had finally slept, and now realized that it was far later than she usually lay abed; it was uncommon for Sherburne to have to wake her. The household must be wondering if she was ill.

The maid approached the bed and looked down at her. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Helena,” she said, “but Cook is wondering if you had any special instructions for lunch.”

“What makes her think there would be?” asked Helena dimly. “There is nothing special happening today.”

“She was wondering if the Earl of Wroxton would be here again.” Sherburne beamed, clearly hoping the answer would be in the affirmative. “She knows he brought his cook from London to Wroxton Hall, and does not want to be caught unprepared.”

Helena’s eyes flew open at that and she sat up. “What makes her think the earl will be here today?”

Sherburne appeared to be surprised. “Why, with all the planning the two of you are doing for his party, he’s been here or you’ve been at Wroxton every day for the past two weeks or more,” she said. “He’s quite become a member of the household.”

Helena gaped at her. Was it her imagination, or had Sherburne placed an odd emphasis on the words ‘planning for his party?’ Did the entire staff know what was happening between her and Malcolm? She thought back over the past weeks and realized with a sinking feeling that she had indeed spent every day in his company. Either she was at Wroxton, ordering his staff as they prepared the Hall for the party, or he rode over to Keighley Manor with a question from his housekeeper, or an invitation list that must be reviewed.

In the process, they had found many moments to be alone together—visiting several more of the forty rooms in Wroxton Hall, and making another trip up the passage from the priest hole to the Queen’s Room. She was a fool to think the servants were unaware of their activities. Under Sherburne’s interested gaze Helena flushed, and then threw aside the bedclothes and stood up.

“No, the earl will not be at Keighley Manor today,” she said with finality. “I mean to go into Folkestone.”

“Folkestone, miss?” repeated Sherburne, in a surprised tone

“I—I need a new gown for the party, and I haven’t seen Mrs. Honeysett in some time.” Helena realized that was exactly how long it had been since she and Malcolm had become so close, and turned away from Sherburne’s smile. “Help me get dressed, and then let the stables know to send the carriage around in an hour.”

“Very well, Miss Helena,” said Sherburne, moving across the room to the wardrobe. “There’s no need to hurry, you have plenty of time.”

But Helena was all impatience as Sherburne arrayed her in a pale blue silk twill walking dress, with a wool spencer in a slightly darker shade. She knew very well if she were not at Wroxton Hall by mid-day, Malcolm would come to Keighley Manor himself. She realized now that, while they never planned to meet each day, a pattern had somehow formed. What an idiot she was, to allow such a thing to happen.

“There, miss, you look lovely.” Sherburne gave her skirt a final pat. “Are you sure you wish to go into Folkestone? I’m sure Lord Wroxton will be that sorry to miss seeing you,” she continued coyly.

Helena’s eyes widened in horror. “It is absolutely imperative that I go to Folkestone. Send for the carriage, and bring my chip hat to the hall.”

“Very well, Miss Helena.” Sherburne gave her charge a disappointed look, as Helena attempted to collect her wits, and then marched out into the hall. She had best leave the house before Malcolm arrived.

She rushed down the stairs to find Arthur in the dining room, quietly consuming his breakfast and reading a book.

He greeted her brightly. “Good morning. “That dress is very fetching on you. I imagine Wroxton will like it very much.”

Helena glowered at him. “What does Lord Wroxton have to do with my clothing?”

“That’s an odd question,” said Arthur, taken aback. “I only meant that when he sees you today, you will look very pretty.”

“Why should I care how I look when Wroxton sees me?” snapped Helena.

Arthur looked befuddled. “I would think anyone would wish to look decent when the neighbors visit. Whatever is wrong with you this morning, Helena? I merely wished to tell you that you look all the crack; even a man as bang up to the nines as Wroxton must notice it.”

Helena gazed at his confused face and relented. She seated herself and placed some toast and fruit on her plate. “Thank you, dear, though I’m not sure Wroxton’s company has improved your conversation. You were not likely before to use such cant. I am going into Folkestone today. Is there aught you would like me to fetch for you?”

“Going into Folkestone? But you won’t be here to see Wroxton,” began Arthur, breaking off when Helena glared at him. “I mean, no, I have no need of anything. If you see Mrs. Honeysett, give her my best regards.”

“I will,” said Helena. She hastily consumed her breakfast as Arthur returned to his book. With a last sip of tea, she stood.

“Why are you off in such a rush?” asked Arthur. “You might at least wait until Wroxton arrives to explain to him that you won’t be about.”

“You can tell him for me,” said Helena. She swept out of the dining room into the hall, and after allowing Sherburne to nestle her chip hat over her curls, fled down the steps of the manor to the waiting carriage.

It was not until she was moving down the country road, in the opposite direction from Wroxton Hall, that she breathed a sigh of relief. It would do her good to spend a day out of the company of his lordship, and she certainly had to inform him that their activities had been noted. What little reputation she had left would be gone soon if word got out of her entanglement with the Wicked Earl.

Helena spent the ride lost in thought, unaware of Sherburne’s amused gaze, and was startled when the carriage clattered into Folkestone. Helena hadn’t notified Damaris of her visit, and she knew her friend seldom arose before noon, so she bade the coachman to let them down in the high street, and spent some time idly strolling about, looking in the shop windows without seeing much of anything. Her thoughts insisted on wandering to Keighley Manor, where no doubt Malcolm had by now arrived to find her gone. Well, it would do him no harm to find that she was not at his beck and call.

“Miss Keighley?”

Helena jumped and turned to her maid. “Yes, Sherburne, what is it?”

“You said you wished to buy a new dress for the party,” said the maid gently. “Your
modiste’s
shop is across the street.”

“Oh, yes, you are right, Sherburne. I suppose we should go in.”

Helena and her companion entered the shop, where Madame Favreau greeted her with delight. When she was told that there was to be a ball at Wroxton Hall, and that a number of guests would be present from London, she exclaimed that she knew precisely what Miss Keighley wanted.

“For it would not do that you should be outshone by the ladies from London,
hein
?” she twittered as she led Helena to the back of the shop. “I shall make you a dress in the very latest fashion. No one will suspect it came from a shop in Folkestone!”

As the
modiste
pulled out several rolls of silk, none of which was likely to have seen excise tax levied on it, she explained volubly why each would be entirely suitable for her client. There was much discussion of embroidery, lace, and ruching, with Helena finally saying that she would prefer the dress to be as simple as possible.

Madame Favreau clasped her hands together. “Ah, you have exquisite taste. You understand that the dress must compliment your beauty, not distract from it. I have the very design here. “ She proffered a fashion plate. “Miss is fortunate to have such an elegant figure; not every woman could wear such a gown.”

Helena glanced at the extremely dashing gown for a few moments, and then looked up at Sherburne, who nodded encouragingly.

“It’s a bit daring,” she murmured.

“Not at all,” countered Madame Favreau eagerly. “This is quite discreet compared to the dresses many ladies from London wear! You will look sophisticated, yet genteel. It will also show off your very fine bosom.”

Helena bit her lip, and finally nodded, unable to chase away the thought that Malcolm would surely find her attractive in such a dress. The next half hour was happily occupied in choosing fabrics and lace, and afterwards it was necessary to visit several shops to procure gloves and slippers to match. She had been in Folkestone more than two hours before they were done shopping, and she emerged from the shops well pleased with her purchases. Thinking that Damaris would surely be out of bed by now, she turned toward her waiting carriage. As she did so, she heard Sherburne make a muffled sound of dismay. Helena looked up to see Lord Denby approaching them, and paused for a moment, but then setting her chin at a proud angle, proceeded.

Knowing that she must acknowledge him, as the last time they had met she had asked him to call upon her, she inclined her head and gave him an icy smile.

“Lord Denby,” she said distantly.

He swept her a bow. “Miss Keighley.”

Helena, not liking the glint in his eye, prepared to move on, but he spoke again.

“Perhaps you have wondered why I did not call upon you, as you so kindly requested I do,” he said in a silky voice.

“It does not matter,” she replied firmly. “You are under no obligation to me, nor I to you.”

“But I think you should know,” continued Lord Denby. “Your, er, friend, Lord Wroxton, made it quite clear that he would not have me interfering.”

Helena glared at him. “Interfering in what?”

Denby gestured vaguely. “In whatever plans he has, clearly.” He leered at her. “I have also heard that he has succeeded where I did not.”

“You grow insulting, my lord,” said Helena coldly.

“How can I insult you, when I have spoken the truth?” sneered Denby. “Don’t expect Wroxton to marry you, my dear; he’ll make you no offer. You’d have done better to have accepted mine. You are a mere diversion until he can rejoin Mrs. Lacey.”

Helena stiffened. “You presume a great deal, Lord Denby.”

“I presume nothing; I am quite sure that you have allowed Lord Wroxton certain, er, liberties, that you denied me,” he said. “Wroxton made sure of it, threatening me so that the field would be clear for him. He is not known for his constancy, though. There is not only Mrs. Lacey, you know. Mrs. Featherhaugh tells me he is quite an intimate friend of hers as well.”

“Mrs. Featherhaugh?” repeated Helena, despite herself. She had never met the scandalous widow, but all the women around Folkestone knew her name.

Denby’s eyebrows rose in an elaborate display of surprise. “Did you not know he has been seen in her house? I thought surely, given the nature of your acquaintance, he would have told you. Your brother was in his company as well, and Mr. Delaney. He seemed to be quite cozy with Mrs. Featherhaugh. I gather they knew one another when he lived on the Continent.”

“He can hardly be as cozy with her as you must be in order to have such detailed information,” retorted Helena, willing herself not to show her surprise and annoyance.

“Mrs. Featherhaugh is friendly with a great many gentlemen,” observed Lord Denby. “But I believe she holds Wroxton especially dear. Of course, as he is occupied with you, he has less need of her, I suppose.” He smirked. “I expect I will see him at her gaming tables again soon.”

Helena did not respond, but drew the hem of her dress away and walked off, her head held proudly. She strolled around the corner as though she had not a care in the world. It was only when she was sure that Denby could no longer that she sped up, as her anger and humiliation rose.

“Miss Helena, I’m sure Lord Denby is wrong,” said Sherburne hesitantly. “Lord Wroxton would never—I mean, I’m sure he would not do such a thing,”

Helena’s eyes widened and she swung around to glare at Sherburne. “Does everyone know?”

Sherburne looked at her anxiously. “Sure now, Miss Helena, we all know that Lord Wroxton is courting you,” she said soothingly. “But we also know that Denby will do anything he can do to stop it, seeing as he wants to marry you himself.”

Helena drew in her breath. It wouldn’t do to stand on the streets of Folkestone gossiping about herself with her maid. But she was appalled to think that her entire household—and Wroxton’s, and no doubt the entire countryside--believed Malcolm was courting her. Or worse, that they knew what was truly going on between them.

“He is not courting me, Sherburne,” she said firmly. “You must not believe such nonsense.”

Sherburne smiled coyly. “Why then is he constantly underfoot, and why do you go to Wroxton so often?” she asked.

“Because I am helping him plan his ball,” explained Helena. “He does not know the local merchants, or many of his neighbors, and needs my guidance.”

Sherburne gave her a conspiratorial look. “Indeed he does, miss. Why, we’re all ever so pleased to see the two of you so happy in each other’s company.”