Chapter 3
Ralph cleared his throat, forming his fingers into a triangle and tapping the tips together.
He had negotiated housing for London clients more times than he could count, but it was different now that he was negotiating a house of his own.
Amid the tingle of excitement, he struggled to maintain a calm, businesslike manner.
To think that after today he would have the lease to a piece of property with a house upon it and a wife inside the house to make it a home!
A part of the excitement was clouded by the fact that it was not his own income securing the property, but even that knowledge could not fully dampen his spirits.
Earlier that morning, he had asked Helena to accompany him to survey the available houses, but she had declined.
“I’m sure you’ll choose something suitable,” she had declared wanly.
Ralph’s brow crinkled. It was still unclear to him whether her refusal sprung from exhaustion or from an aversion to being in his company.
But he had determined not to become dejected by dwelling on that question.
He had inquired at a local solicitor’s office about available properties, toured them with a discerning eye, and chosen what he had thought was “right.”
And thus, it came to pass that he was sitting in the back office of a pub in Carham, negotiating with a land steward for the final price and signing papers to let a snug guest house situated on the rolling hills outside Carham Hall.
It was only three miles from the inn in Coldstream, but it was back across the river, and consequently, located in England, not Scotland.
That had seemed important to Ralph—that Helena’s child take its first breath in English air, not Scottish.
The silver bend of the River Tweed was not quite visible from its windows, but just a short walk would give a glorious view of the water.
That had also seemed important, for Helena Angiers—nay, Helena Aldine—should always be surrounded by beauty.
The guest house would be minuscule compared to the Angiers’ country house, but compared to Ralph’s flat in London, the place was palatial.
There were four bedrooms upstairs and quarters below for a cook and a scullery maid.
When Ralph entered the parlor, he had immediately imagined Helena seated there, on the emerald sofa, her hair catching the light from the windows—doing what, he could not imagine as he had never sat in a parlor with her before. Did she read? Embroider? Play the harp?
With the lease agreement signed, Mr. Foote, the land steward, reached across the table and shook his hand. “An’ will ye be wantin’ t’ keep on th’ cook and the lassie who washes up? Th’ last tenant departed less than a week ago, an’ they’re still at the house.”
“Yes, that will do nicely,” said Ralph. He was pleased not to have to engage domestics in an unfamiliar locale. “Although it will have to be for a trial period to see if they meet my wife’s specifications.”
“Ah, ye are married, Mr. Aldine,” said Mr. Foote, his solid chin nodding with approbation. “Lady Compton will be pleased t’ hear it, an’ no doubt she will be wantin’ t’ have your wife up to the big house t’ visit.”
“I’m sure my wife would be delighted,” said Ralph, although inwardly, he was not sure at all. Would Helena want to mingle with society here in Carham? Would it even be prudent for her to do so? “What day can we take possession?” He stood up and put on his hat.
“Why, this afternoon, if ye like!” Mr. Foote rose to his feet as well. “I’ll alert the cook and tell th’ lassie to licht some fires.”
“Excellent,” said Ralph, and his face broke into a smile. Helena would be pleased not to have to spend another night at the dowdy inn in Coldstream. At least, he hoped she would. There was so much about her thoughts, her desires, her pleasures that was a closed book to him.
Helena walked sedately behind Mr. Aldine as he opened every door of the guest house and brought the best elements to her notice—the flocked paper on the walls, the petite chandeliers in the common rooms, the Persian rugs on the floors.
There was an almost boyish enthusiasm in his voice, a tone she had never heard before.
Over the past five days, Mr. Aldine had always been so calm and capable that she had not imagined him being overcome by anything as youthful as excitement.
She looked at him from beneath her fringe of dark gold eyelashes.
How old was he? Nearly thirty, she imagined—a decade older than herself.
First, they perambulated through the dining room, then the kitchen and the servants’ quarters.
Having been but rarely in a kitchen, Helena was not sure what she was supposed to be examining.
Eyes wide, she stared at the handful of cupboards and the pot full of boiling water that hung over the fire.
The cook was a fearsome creature, with a gleam of surliness in her eye and a patch of bristles on her chin.
Mr. Aldine introduced her as Mrs. Jenkins, but they did not tarry to make conversation and moved upwards to see the next story.
There was only one set of stairs to be shared by tenants and domestics alike.
Mr. Aldine would have aided Helena with his arm up the steps, but they proved too narrow for two to walk abreast, and so he indicated that she should precede him.
The dining room had been small, but the bedrooms upstairs reminded Helena of being in a dollhouse.
There was barely room for a bed and a wardrobe in each one.
There were four of them, two on each side of the corridor, and Helena could see that each adjoining pair had a connecting door.
“We can have the coachman bring your trunks upstairs to whichever room you prefer,” said Mr. Aldine magnanimously.
Helena looked about cautiously. What she would prefer was for Mr. Aldine to choose his room first and then she would choose whichever one was separated from his by the width of a corridor, rather than the width of a connecting door.
Her white teeth bit down on her lip as she kept those troubling thoughts inside.
If she could work up her courage enough to speak her mind, she would insist that Finch sleep in her adjoining room.
They went back down the stairs—Mr. Aldine taking care to go first this time in case she should slip—and halted their tour in the parlor.
A mousy serving girl came in bearing a tarnished silver platter laden with a simple tea service and placed it on the tea table.
Mr. Aldine gave the straw-haired girl a quick thank-you as she bobbed a curtsy in retreat, and then he gestured to the emerald sofa.
Obediently, Helena took a seat. It was thoughtful of Mr. Aldine to have ordered tea to be served at the end of the tour.
Her appetite had been increasing during the last couple days of inactivity at the inn, and her nausea had almost abated entirely.
She would enjoy a hot beverage and some biscuits.
Taking the seat on the sofa opposite, Mr. Aldine looked at her expectantly. “Oh,” said Helena, coloring. Apparently, she was to be the hostess. She lifted the pot carefully and poured two cups.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Mr. Aldine as he took the cup nearest to him.
The casual endearment made her color again.
He looked at her eagerly, expectantly, and she began to wonder if something was missing in the cup she had served him.
He cleared his throat. “Er, now that you’ve seen it, does the house seem suitable? ”
Helena stared. She had not expected such deference to her opinions.
“Oh, certainly,” she replied faintly. “Whatever you think is best.” She had formed no expectations of what the house would be like, and consequently, had no mental image to compare it to.
Her general impression had been one of extreme smallness, but then, there was no reason to lease a manor house, was there?
She would hardly need to entertain since she knew no one, was still in mourning, and had the added excuse of indisposition from her pregnancy.
“Mrs. Jenkins and the scullery maid Polly were employed by the last tenant. I told the steward we would take them on a trial basis, and if they do not suit, we can certainly look for replacements.”
“Of course,” replied Helena, taking refuge in her teacup. She had never experienced servants who “did not suit.” Her brother Geoffrey had always ensured that the domestics were competent.
Mr. Aldine looked at her encouragingly. “Do you feel well enough to oversee the menus, or would you like me to do that for the first day or two?”
Helena’s lips parted but no sound came out. She took a deep breath. “I can arrange it,” she said at last, certain that he expected it of her. After all, was that not why a man married? So that the comforts of home could be arranged for him?
“Very well,” said Mr. Aldine, putting down his cup and rising to his feet. “Sit here and enjoy your tea a little longer. I shall have the coachman bring in the trunks, and then you can appoint quarters for the household.”
So, he was leaving it up to her? Helena’s heart beat a little faster. His room would be the farthest from hers then. There would be no mistaking her feelings on that subject.
She watched his slim shoulders exit the room.
Who knows? Perhaps his feelings on the matter were identical to hers.
Geoffrey had described the match as a very convenient one for both parties.
Mr. Aldine would marry into a fortune far above his station.
She would marry into a solution for keeping her child without creating a scandal.
It was safe to say that a woman already carrying another man’s child was not exactly the bride that every man hopes for.
Perhaps Mr. Aldine would be just as relieved as she if this marriage proved nothing more than an alliance for their mutual convenience and profit.