Chapter 8
“Today is your tea with Lady Compton?” asked Ralph, poking his head into the parlor unannounced.
Helena looked up in confusion and dropped the novel she was reading onto the settee. “Yes.” Ralph could see her grab a cushion and hug it to herself, almost as if the embroidered pillow were a shield and buckler against his presence.
Undaunted by her apprehension, he pressed on. “The weather is cold but fine. If Lady Compton is not sending the carriage, may I walk with you to the big house?”
"Oh,” said Helena, coloring, no doubt weighing in her mind the comparative dangers of walking on her own in an unfamiliar locale and walking unchaperoned with her husband. “Of course."
Having gained this concession, Ralph gave her an encouraging smile and disappeared from her domain.
This past week and a half had been a mistake.
Out of consideration for her time of mourning, he had kept to his study and left her the parlor.
Out of consideration for her feelings for Will, he had left her a space of her own, both physically and emotionally.
And what had that gained them? Her naive assumption that the only reason he had given her his name was so that she might give him her fortune.
Ralph took a deep breath. It was time to disabuse her of that notion.
A half hour before teatime, they struck out across the landscape for Carham Hall. Ralph was pleased to see that Helena had a sturdy pair of half boots on her feet, for the way promised to be muddy. He offered her his arm, and she took it tentatively.
There was a little footpath beside the road, just wide enough for two to walk abreast. The wind was brisk enough that Ralph could feel the chill through his great coat, and he pulled Helena snug against his side to keep her warm. “I was thinking that this would be a good time to practice.”
“To practice?” Her blue eyes blinked with confusion.
“Why, yes,” said he, “to practice the part you’ll play in front of the Comptons. We’ve already made them suspicious by spinning two different tales about your reason for mourning. The less exceptionable we are today, the better—don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Aldine.”
At the sound of his surname, Ralph cleared his throat forcefully, eliciting that delightful blush on Helena’s cheeks.
“Ralph,” she said slowly.
“Better.”
Up ahead, a small tree had fallen over the footpath.
Ralph released Helena’s arm and climbed over it first, then reached out a hand across the obstacle.
Helena stepped up onto the slippery log but nearly lost her balance.
Ralph’s hands shifted to hold onto her waist, and he lifted her down onto the other side.
He let his fingers linger there for a second before tucking her arm under his once more.
He was enjoying himself—they should go walking in the cold more often.
Helena’s own enjoyment seemed to be at a much lower level. “Thank you, Mr. Aldine—I mean, Ralph.” She stared at the ground as she mouthed the unfamiliar name.
“How long have we been married?” he asked, forging ahead on the path.
“Why, two weeks, isn’t it?”
“Three months. That is what I told Sir Anthony.”
“But why the change?”
Ralph looked at her kindly. Her naivete would get them both into trouble.
He had already felt the thickening of her waist as he lifted her down from the fallen tree.
Will’s child was increasing, and she with it.
“I thought it should be long enough for me to get this child on you. In a few more weeks, you won’t be able to hide your condition. ”
Ralph heard Helena gasp at his frankness. She had doubtless never had such an open conversation with a man, and probably not with a woman either. Her mother had died years ago—which had made it even easier for Will to take advantage of her.
“How did we meet?” He slid his arm out from her hand and around her back to lift her over a puddle.
Helena squeaked as her feet left the ground and then landed again on the far side of the standing water. “Will introduced us.”
“No, let us leave him out of it. It was your brother that introduced us.”
It was true, in a manner of speaking. But Will had, of course, been the impetus for that introduction.
Ralph would never forget the night in mid-December when Will knocked on his flat. “I say, I need your help.” And then Will had gone on to explain how the Duke of Tilbury had challenged him to a duel. He insisted Ralph stand his second in the matter.
“What is his charge against you?” demanded Ralph. He was fully prepared to stand by his half-brother, but his solicitor’s mind wanted all the facts first.
“He’s insisting I’ve compromised his sister and demands that I marry her.”
“And have you compromised her?”
Will shrugged. “You know how these girls fresh out of the schoolroom are...always assuming that a man is in love with them if he pays them a little attention.”
“Should I wait upon his second?”
“He won’t name one—wants to keep the whole matter quiet as a coroner’s basement. You’ll have to go to his house and wait on him.”
And so Ralph had gone to the Angiers’ home, had met with an angry duke in his study, and had learned that Will’s explanation of the matter had been.
..incomplete. And Ralph had caught a glimpse of Helena Angiers on the way out—a willowy eighteen-year-old with a knot of golden curls at the nape of her neck and a pucker of worry on her brow that should never have taken up residence there.
“Thunder and turf, man,” he had said to Will. “You’ve more than compromised her. She’s with child! Tilbury’s willing to drop the challenge if you’ll just marry her.”
The news of the pregnancy did not appear to be new to Will. “I’m not ready to be leg-shackled, Ralph. And it’s not as if I forced her—she made her bed, and now she must lie in it.”
“Tilbury could kill you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
And so they had met in the darkness outside of London.
When Tilbury’s blade pierced Will’s shoulder, Ralph had not known whether to be afraid or relieved.
He had certainly not objected when Tilbury had forced the injured Will to sign betrothal papers.
And he had accompanied Will to the Angiers’ house the next day and waited outside the drawing room in awkward silence with the duke while Will expressed his undying love to Helena and asked her to marry him.
“This goes no further than us three,” Tilbury had whispered fiercely. “Helena must never know about the duel.”
And Ralph had taken an oath then and there, pledging never to reveal the compulsion that had coerced Will to offer marriage. It was an oath he was determined to keep, even in the aftermath of Will’s death in a boating accident.
“Very well,” said Helena. “It was Geoffrey that introduced us. I think that amount of information should be sufficient. Surely, Lady Compton will not inquire how we...why we....”
“Fell in love?” said Ralph wryly. It would have to be a love match—there could be no other explanation for it with his lack of fortune and circumstances of birth. “I shall leave that to your invention, my dear. Please let me know what story you decide upon.”
To Helena’s anxiety, as soon as they arrived at Carham Hall, Ralph was whisked away to the library by Sir Antony, a bluff, genial old fellow who walked with the help of a cane, and she was left to her own devices at the tea table with Lady Compton.
The drawing room that the butler directed her into was spacious and well-lit.
Helena wondered how recently the room had been renovated, for the curtains and the wainscoting appeared to be in the pink of fashion.
Decorating was clearly one of Lady Carham’s passions.
In the corner, a large pianoforte sat, and Helena’s heart swelled at the sight of it.
From the ivory brocade sofa, Lady Compton rose to greet her, pressing her hands and urging her to sit.
Helena’s fears of questioning and scrutiny were soon alleviated.
Lady Compton was the consummate hostess, and despite Helena’s surfeit of chariness and dearth of cheerfulness the conversation never flagged.
The tea itself was just as delicious as Lady Compton promised.
Helena enjoyed a second slice of seed cake and was even considering a third.
“You must take my recipe home for Mrs. Jenkins,” said Lady Compton with a twinkle in her eye, and Helena gave a little laugh. It was pleasant to have a friend who understood little things such as the trial a bad cook proved to the household.
“Mr. Aldine tells me there is a dress shop in Carham?” she ventured.
“Why yes!” said Lady Compton. “Miss Neeley is the proprietor. She’s a dab hand with the needle, though not so knowledgeable about French fashions as one might hope.
Are you thinking of having new gowns made?
” She eyed Helena’s black skirts, and Helena realized with discomfort that she was wearing the same black dress she had received Lady Compton in the preceding week.
“Yes, I must have some more mourning dresses made up.” She glanced at her hostess shyly and decided to be bold. “I have quite grown out of these ones and have still another six months to go.”
Lady Compton nodded, taking the news in stride. “Of course, my dear, I had an inkling that you might be increasing.”
Helena stared at the lady open-mouthed before regaining her composure enough to take a sip of tea.
Was her condition that obvious that even an acquaintance could guess at it?
Or—another thought popped into her head—had Mr. Aldine told the Comptons that she was increasing?
The thought of him discussing an item of such a personal nature made her flame red.
But perhaps it was not so personal to him.
He’d had no part in making the child she was carrying.