Chapter 5
HELENA
Helena paced the length of the room, pausing at times to look out of the window.
These had been a difficult few days. She had spent rather a lengthy period fretting over her decision to allow this young man, to act as her matchmaker.
Even now the idea seemed ridiculous to her.
A matchmaker. To find her, a widow down on her luck, a husband. It was too ridiculous for words.
She had written to Clara to determine whether she had made the right decision, but had not had a reply until yesterday.
Clara had been away in Brighton for a few days and had only just returned that morning.
Helena had originally planned to wait until Clara was back before proceeding with anything, so that she might talk it over with her properly, but Gideon, as he insisted she call him, had sent word that he was coming over today with a potential suitor. And so here they were.
“Pray,” Mary’s voice drew her from her thoughts, “what do we know about this gentleman? What is his name?”
“Sir Franklin,” she said.
“Oh, a knight,” Mary said from the doorway, with an approving nod. “How very respectable. And you know with knights, the title doesn’t pass to the next generation, so the man must have done something of merit to deserve it. Unlike—”
“Unlike Huxley. Yes, I understand.” Helena had to admit that was somewhat comforting. She would like a husband who had earned something of his own, rather than one who simply bore a title that had belonged to his father, his grandfather, and who knew how many great-grandfathers before that.
Still, now that the day was upon her, she was nervous.
“Let me see,” she said, reaching for the letter that had arrived by messenger that morning. Gideon had a very neat hand, she had to admit. Her eyes moved over the words.
Sir Franklin. Age forty. She had thought that a man a little older may not be a bad match but he was almost fifteen years older than her.
What could they have in common? But beggars could not be choosers.
Never married, though he suffered the loss of a fiancée some twenty years ago.
A religious scholar. In possession of a rather large fortune.
She read the words aloud and Mary nodded briskly. “Yes, that sounds promising. Let me prepare the tea.” She hurried away, and Helena settled in the drawing room to wait.
Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door, and Mary rushed to answer it while Helena arranged the tea things. When she returned to the drawing room, Mary had shown Gideon and a gentleman inside.
The gentleman was taller than Gideon, which was a feat in itself, as Gideon was rather tall.
Sir Franklin stood perhaps a half head above him, his limbs long and slender.
He wore a neatly trimmed beard in the shape of a goatee, which was not precisely the fashion, and his hair, a blondish brown, was cropped closely around his head, which was not the fashion either.
He wore spectacles, but the sort that made a gentleman look distinguished rather than silly.
And he carried himself with an air of quiet seriousness, as though he knew his own worth but saw no need to parade it.
She set the tea down and stepped forward with a curtsy.
“Sir Franklin, may I introduce my friend, Lady Helena Vale.”
He bowed before her and then held out a bouquet of roses.
“Oh,” she said, “I was not expecting flowers. Thank you very much.” She turned to Mary, who took them with a small smile, and turned back to her guest.
“I do hope they suit,” Sir Franklin said. “I always preferred to pick flowers myself, but I was told in the past that ladies do not appreciate it.”
“You need not have worried. I appreciate flowers of any kind.”
“Well, good,” he said. “That is good to know.”
“Will you take some tea?” she said quickly, before silence could creep into the room.
“I would,” he said, and took a seat by the fireplace.
She poured and set a cup before him, and was just about to sit down herself when she noticed that Gideon was still standing.
She had arranged for Mary to act as chaperone, having assumed Gideon would simply escort Sir Franklin to her door and then take himself off again. Apparently he had other ideas.
“Is that peppermint tea I smell? I would rather enjoy a cup.”
She looked at him. He intended to stay. Here. While she met with a potential suitor. She held her tongue, knowing this was not the moment, and asked Mary to bring another cup.
“Sugar, Sir Franklin?”
“Two, please,” he said. “I try not to overindulge. The Good Lord reminds us that gluttony is a sin.”
“Of course.” She was genuinely grateful to hear it, as this was the last of the sugar in the house.
“Four for me,” Gideon said pleasantly.
She stared at him. Was he being deliberately contrary? She dropped two pieces of sugar into his cup — the second from slightly too great a height, so that a little tea splashed over the rim.
“Goodness, how clumsy of me,” she said, and handed him a handkerchief.
She took no sugar for herself and settled into her seat. “There are buns,” she said. “Mary made them fresh this morning. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”
“I am a humble man,” Sir Franklin said with a modest nod. “I do not require anything fancy. One should not overindulge in anything. Everything in moderation, I always say.”
“I fully agree,” she said. “Are you from town, Sir Franklin?”
“Born and bred in St. James,” he said. “And yourself? From Bloomsbury, I take it?”
“No, actually—”
“Lady Helena’s father was a commanding officer in the Somerset militia,” Gideon said smoothly, “and the family grew up there.”
Helena stared at him. She was quite capable of answering questions about herself.
“Pray, Sir Franklin,” Gideon continued, unabashed, “how did you come by your knighthood? I am always curious how such things come about. Most of us simply inherited our titles — no great effort required.”
Sir Franklin straightened slightly. “His Majesty awarded it to me some twenty years ago,” he said, “in connection with a matter relating to church taxation. A rather complex business involving the redistribution of certain ecclesiastical revenues to the Crown. I was in a position to be of some assistance.”
“I see,” Gideon said. “Not through battle, then. Nothing particularly heroic in nature.”
Sir Franklin cleared his throat. “We were not without our difficulties. But no, I cannot claim to be a military man.”
“No,” Gideon agreed cheerfully. “And your fortune — is that also connected to this church business?”
“Partially,” Sir Franklin said, shifting in his seat. “My father was a landowner. I inherited his estate, which was rather substantial. There is a mine, and—”
“So you did not come about your wealth through your own efforts either,” Gideon said, with every appearance of relief.
“That makes me feel considerably better. I came about not one but two titles entirely by chance and the unfortunate driving habits of a distant cousin.” He chuckled and reached for one of the buns, biting into it with considerable enthusiasm.
A small shower of crumbs descended onto his lap, which he brushed off onto the carpet without the faintest sign of concern.
Helena watched this performance with a mixture of exasperation and helpless amusement.
“Well,” she said, stepping in before Gideon could continue, “society is rather built on inherited fortunes, is it not.” She paused, choosing her next words with care.
She wanted to ask why Sir Franklin had never married at his age, but she remembered the note about his lost fiancée and did not wish to be indelicate. She opened her mouth.
“Perhaps Helena is wondering,” Gideon said, “why a distinguished gentleman such as yourself has not yet found himself a bride. You were engaged at some point, were you not?”
Sir Franklin’s shoulders drew together and he looked down at his plate.
“I was,” he said quietly. “But Leticia... unfortunately...” He paused.
“She left me. For a cousin of His Majesty. It was a rather unfortunate business.” He straightened again, with evident effort.
“I was not looking for a bride for some years after that. And when I began looking again, I found that a great many young women were simply fortune hunters. It is exceedingly difficult to find a decent woman these days.”
“Or a husband, from what I hear,” Gideon said pleasantly. He turned to Sir Franklin leaning forward like a colonel reviewing a new recruit. “Now, given that you have never been married — what qualities would you say you possess that would make you a suitable husband for Lady Helena?”
Sir Franklin dropped his spoon with a clatter. He cleared his throat. It was abundantly clear that he had not anticipated an interrogation.
“Well, I am... I am... I am wealthy,” he managed. “I can provide financially. I own a townhouse here in St. James and a country house in Derbyshire. They are comfortable homes with good staff and …”
“Yes, yes,” Gideon said. “But would you say you are a caring person? Compassionate? I can already see you are a man of considerable gravity. But are you the sort of gentleman who could make a lady happy? Entertain her?”
Sir Franklin was visibly shrinking into his seat. A bead of perspiration had appeared on his forehead, and he cleared his throat for what was certainly not the last time.
“Well, I do possess a rather large library. There are horses. A pall-mall court. And I have a box at two theatres.”
“Excellent,” Gideon said. “Now, you are aware that Lady Helena has a child.”
Sir Franklin brightened at this, apparently relieved to be on safer ground. “Yes, a little girl. I meant to bring some sweet meats for her, but I was not certain what kind she prefers. Or indeed what she is able to eat at her age.”
“So you do not know a great deal about children,” Gideon’s grave tone suggested this was a matter of the utmost gravity.