Chapter 22
“Thank you, Mrs. Aldine. I’ll never forget this,” said Nell Mabley, the woman’s wide face streaked with tears as she buried it in the fine hair of her little boy.
Auld Donald, following Helena’s instructions, had driven the creaky coach from Carham down to Ridsdale, stopping at the very house where Nell Mabley’s sister lived.
“Will you stay here with your sister a while?” asked Helena.
She looked hesitantly around the crowded cottage.
It was all one room with an untidy bed in the corner and a tumble of children playing on the floor.
The oldest was manfully attempting to keep the toddler from dancing too close to the fireplace where a pot of lentil stew was bubbling.
A harried woman, five years older than Helena’s cook, looked up from the chair where she was trying to comfort her own screaming infant. “We’ll keep you if we can, Nell, but not unless you can bring in some money while you’re here.”
Nell cast Helena a dismayed look. Helena recalled that the cook had told her before that she’d tried and failed to find work roundabouts. “I can give you money to travel by post back to Carham,” said Helena quietly. “Or you can come with us to London.”
Nell gave a grateful sigh. “Oh, ma’am, I’d like nothin’ more in the world than to come with you.” Her broad brow crinkled. “But will there be room in your London lodgings for me and Samuel?”
“Of course there will be,” said Helena. It was almost laughable how spacious Geoffrey’s Mayfair townhouse was compared with the guest house in Carham. She could bring a half dozen maids and cooks with her, and Geoffrey would still have room for them all.
The thought that Geoffrey might not be pleased to see her—especially after he had expressly forbidden her to come—crossed her mind as she climbed back into the coach, but she dismissed it as inconsequential given the current desperate state of affairs.
Geoffrey would have to adjust. She was a married woman now and only Ralph could gainsay her decisions.
Helena moved over into the corner of the coach to allow room for Polly, Nell, and Samuel.
She swallowed. Would Ralph be pleased to see her?
The letter from Geoffrey contained no note from him.
She wondered if the jailers at Newgate allowed their inmates the luxury of pen and paper or if Ralph was wholly secluded from any contact with the outside world.
It was clear that Geoffrey had visited him, but Geoffrey was a duke and quite used to forcing his way through whatever stood in his path.
She wondered if a shy and tongue-tied wife would be permitted to enter the confines of the prison to visit her hapless husband.
And if she was permitted to enter, what on earth would she say when she saw Ralph face to face?
“Geoffrey, darling,” said Maud, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek.
It was almost seven and nearly time to sit down to dinner.
Her mother, Lady Aldine, was reading a magazine inside the house and waiting for the gong to sound.
But Geoffrey, instead of waiting on his guests, had been picking oranges out in the glass-walled garden called an orangerie.
Now, at the appearance of his betrothed, Geoffrey set the last of the oranges in a basket and forgot all about his plan to inspect the lemons.
His eyes gleamed. Maud had changed to half-mourning dresses nearly two months ago, and he thoroughly appreciated this latest confection of lavender with black lace.
“Have you thought about the wedding breakfast a little more?” she asked.
Geoffrey sighed and slid his arms about her waist. “If I have, I haven’t changed my mind.
I don’t see why it’s so important to you that Lady Fremont be there.
Her husband has been absolutely boorish in Parliamentary proceedings of late, so I beg your pardon if I don’t want to see the Right Honorable Lord Fremont’s face on the day of my wedding.
Not to mention the shrewish houseguest they have staying with them that we’d be forced to invite as well. ”
Maud tucked her dark hair beneath Geoffrey’s chin and wrapped her arms around him.
They stood there quietly for a moment, savoring the nearness of each other.
Geoffrey reflected once again that the worst result of the deaths last Christmas was the period of mourning that kept him from claiming his wife for six whole months.
She had refused to wear mourning for her first husband, but her father and brother were a different matter.
He had no choice but to honor her wishes to wait for the wedding, as difficult as it was for both of them.
Finally, Maud spoke again. “I detest Anthea Wedgwood as much as you do. But Emma is my sole friend from younger days. We were close once. I’ve lost so many people in my life; I want someone from my past to be there for my wedding celebration.”
Geoffrey sighed. It was true. Within the last twelvemonth, her first husband, her younger brother, and her father had all perished. Now, her favorite brother Ralph was in prison with the threat of a noose dangling over him—a fact of which he had been able, for now, to keep her in ignorance.
“You know, you are much more persistent than my sister Helena ever was. I could tell her no, and—except in the matter of your foolhardy brother—she always listened to me.”
Maud turned her face up to look at him. “You are much more agreeable when you say no than my father ever was. My mother never dared to ask him something a second time, and the rest of us knew that, if we did so, there would be consequences.”
“Hm,” said Geoffrey. “Consequences. Like this?” He deposited a kiss on her eyebrow. “Or like this?” He pressed a more thorough kiss onto her lips.
“So, is that a yes?” said Maud saucily, breaking away from him.
Geoffrey groaned theatrically. “I suppose since you are so much my elder, I ought to accede to your wisdom.” He had never deplored the fact that Maud was five years older than him, but it had kept her from acknowledging him as her perfect partner for far longer than it ought.
Now, they could both laugh about the circumstance and the hesitation it had occasioned in Maud.
Geoffrey took her hand in his, leading her over to the bench where they both sat down.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to see reason,” said Maud. “I daresay you and I have put up with enough awful people in our lives to survive a few cutting comments at a wedding breakfast.”
“Hmph,” said Geoffrey, struggling to maintain a stern mien when Maud’s smile was so irresistible. “I daresay if either Miss Wedgwood or Lord Fremont become too odious, I can challenge them to a duel.”
“Both of them?” said Maud sardonically.
“Both or either,” said Geoffrey, waving a hand dismissively. “Of the two, Miss Wedgwood would be the more fearsome opponent.”
Maud caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. Geoffrey’s head leaned down toward her own, stopping just in time to hear a throat clear behind them.
“Beggin’ your pardon, your grace, but there’s some visitors you’ll be wanting to see.”
It was Max, Geoffrey’s old gardener, the wrinkled ghost that regularly haunted the glass halls of the orangerie, seeing to every plant’s health whenever Geoffrey was detained by other business.
Perplexed at the interruption, Geoffrey rose from the bench and offered Maud his hand.
They had barely time to turn around, however, before the door to the orangerie opened.
A darkly clad figure in a cloak and bonnet appeared.
Max touched his forelock instinctively. “My lady.”
Geoffrey’s jaw clenched. There, standing before him was his sister, black as a raven in her cloak and dress, and looking just as ill-omened.
As she turned sideways to descend the steps into the glass room, he could see that her pregnancy was so advanced that she looked like she was carrying a punch bowl beneath the skirts of her cloak-covered gown.
“Helena, what are you doing here?” The words came out harsher than he intended, but instead of shrinking from them, Helena’s chin jutted out fiercely.
“Coming to see my husband.”
“Your husband?” repeated Maud in confusion. “What on earth do you mean? Is Ralph here in London?” She looked up at Geoffrey for an explanation, but his eyes were fixed on Helena.
“You shouldn’t have traveled in your condition. I told you to remain in the north.” His tone was measured but layered with rebuke.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t do that.” Helena had descended the stairs now and was only a yard away from them both, hands clasped around her rounded belly. “You haven’t told Maud, I take it?”
“Told me what?” asked Maud, looking from Geoffrey to Helena in confusion.
Geoffrey’s jaw tightened beneath his golden sideburns.
“Ralph has been accused of murder,” said Helena shortly. “He is imprisoned in Newgate until his trial.”
“Good heavens!” said Maud. “And you knew this?” She pulled her hand away from Geoffrey’s. “You knew it and didn’t tell me?”
“I did not want to wor—”
“You know how I dislike being managed or treated like a child.” Maud’s tone glinted with the sharpness of rebuke.
“You know how I dislike leaving you unprotected,” replied Geoffrey.
He would need to make things right with Maud later, but now there was another problem on his hands.
He advanced toward Helena. “Did anyone recognize you on your trip to London? At any of the inns or through your carriage window in the streets?”
“No,” said Helena, without even taking time to fully consider the question. “I am much less notable as the wife of a country gentleman than the daughter of a duke.”