Chapter 7
HELENA
Clara closed the door behind the housekeeper and slipped into her seat across from Helena.
“So tell me,” she said. “What was so urgent? Mrs. Mavis said you stopped by while I was away, and your note read most intriguingly. Who is this gentleman who has come calling and wishes to help you find a new husband? You did not give his name.”
Helena had purposely omitted the Duke’s name from the letter. She did not always trust that correspondence reached its intended recipient without curious eyes having perused it along the way.
She lowered her voice. “It is the Duke of Blackthorne.”
“Gideon?” Clara exclaimed. “Gideon has come calling on you? How very peculiar. Tell me everything.”
Helena shrugged. “He arrived at my doorstep a few days ago and told me that he owes my father a great debt. He said my father saved his life once, years ago in the militia, and that when he heard of my circumstances he felt obliged to help. I questioned where he had been this entire past year, but he did not have a satisfactory answer.”
“Gideon,” Clara said again, in a rather dreamy tone that gave Helena pause.
“How well do you know him?”
Clara smiled in a way that suggested she knew him rather well indeed, which Helena found immediately uncomfortable. Her friend sensed this at once.
“Not in any intimate fashion,” Clara said quickly. “He was not in any state for that sort of acquaintance.”
“What do you mean?” Helena asked, her curiosity piqued further.
“What do you know of him already?” Clara countered. “Tell me what he told you.”
Helena relayed the essentials — the debt to her father, the offer to act as matchmaker, the peculiar meeting with Sir Franklin.
“Well,” Clara said, settling back. “I have not spent a great deal of time with him this past year, but the year before, when I went up to Edinburgh — you remember — he and I spent several days together. Entirely platonic, I assure you. I was rather in low spirits, as you know, having had my heart broken.” Helena nodded.
She had nursed Clara through more than one broken heart, though at that particular time she herself had just lost Huxley.
Not that she had grieved him in any true fashion, but still.
“Gideon was somewhat out of sorts himself at the time,” Clara continued, “on account of the annulment of his marriage.”
Helena sat up straight. “His marriage? Gideon was married?”
“Yes, briefly. To a woman called Cassandra — Miss Cassandra Stallworth. I never cared for her. She was always putting on airs, that one — as though the world owed her something rather grander than it had provided. They courted for about six months and then he proposed. They were married for a time, then parted ways, quarreled, attempted a reconciliation, and eventually she ran off with some Italian — a count, or so I was told. Perhaps not a count at all.. The marriage was annulled on the grounds of non-consummation, of all things.” Clara paused and then added, with a slight raise of her eyebrow, “I confess I find that rather difficult to believe, given the man in question.”
“I do not need to know the intimate details,” Helena said, her cheeks warming considerably. “I do have to sit across from him, after all.”
“Very well,” Clara said, with a small smile.
“He and I spent several days together in Edinburgh in an respectable fashion, and I found him to be perfectly charming and genuinely honourable. He is a knowing one, I will say that — very little escapes his notice. Though I would never have marked him down as a potential matchmaker.” She scratched her chin thoughtfully.
“Still, I suppose he does know a great many people. Even if all of his closest friends appear to be married.”
“He has already produced a first suitor,” Helena reported. “Yesterday. It was rather odd — he insisted on staying for the entirety of the meeting and essentially interviewed the poor man himself.”
Clara burst out laughing. “Did he? That sounds very much like him. He likes to be personally involved in absolutely everything.”
“Pray tell…how did it go?”
“Disastrously,” Helena said, rolling her eyes. “I do not think I shall ever see Sir Franklin again.”
“Sir Franklin? I know him. A rattle of the first order, all gravity and no substance. He once attempted to court the Duchess of Sinclair. Lady Evelyn as she was then. I do not think that went especially well either.” She tilted her head.
“I must say, I admire his tenacity. He is very determined to find himself a wife.”
“It will not be me,” Helena said. “Gideon made quite certain of that. The poor man was utterly intimidated, he had trouble completing a full sentence. And then Gideon decided, without consulting me, that it would be useful to allow Lavinia to cry in the nursery to gauge Sir Franklin’s reaction.
” She paused. “I do appreciate that he wishes to find someone who will be good for Lavinia. But he made a thorough cake of it, and his methods were unconscionable. He came it far too strong from the very beginning — not a word of discussion with me beforehand, not a moment’s thought for how it might appear.
Besides … what if I had liked Sir Franklin? ”
“Did you?” Clara challenged.
“Not particularly. But what if I liked the next gentleman he produces? And now that you tell me Sir Franklin once attempted to court the Duchess of Sinclair, I am beginning to suspect that Gideon is simply recycling the discarded suitors of his friends’ wives. I do not know how I feel about that.”
“Perhaps you ought to tell him so,” Clara said, with a smile.
“Perhaps I ought to. But the more I speak with him, the more complicated everything becomes. I still find it strange that he wishes to help me simply because my father assisted him in some matter years ago.” She paused, and added, more quietly, “There are times I think I might as well resign myself to being on the shelf.”
“Absolutely not,” Clara said firmly. “You are five and twenty, not five and fifty. Now … you were saying. About why he wishes to help.”
“My father saved his life,” Helena conceded. “But still. My father saved a great many lives in his time in the militia, I am quite sure. None of the others have appeared at my door offering assistance.”
“Gideon is a knowing one,” Clara said again.
“He has always spoken his mind and done exactly as he pleased, regardless of what anyone thinks. But he is kind at heart. And I must say — having had his own heartbroken as he did — I am rather surprised he is willing to put himself into this position for you.”
“We did not speak of hearts,” Helena said. “We spoke of practicalities. That is all.”
“Even so,” Clara replied, “he must hold your father in very high esteem to be placing himself in such an unusual position. He is giving you a great deal of rope, Helena.” She paused, watching her friend. “Although…?”
Helena looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“You had a look just then. As though something else occurred to you.”
Helena was keeping mum, and she intended to continue doing so. “It was nothing,” she said.
It was, of course, not nothing. There was a great deal on her mind, none of it suitable for discussion in polite company.
Her father had been an honourable man. A good man.
Of course, he had held his secrets as most men had.
She did not know whether Gideon knew of it.
And if he did — whether he would still be willing to help her.
“Has Emmett heir been in contact?” Clara asked, drawing her from her thoughts.
“No,” she replied, bitterness tinging her words. “After the last time, I resolved not to ask again. I wrote to my cousin Hazel but I have not heard back. I know not to expect anything from the Vale estate.”
“That is not right,” Clara said, frowning. “He ought to be helping you. You should speak to Gideon about it. He is a Duke …surely he could bring some pressure to bear.”
“No,” Helena said firmly. “I do not wish to involve Gideon any more than I already have. It would be mortifying.”
Clara raised an eyebrow but said nothing further on that point. “Very well. In that case, you had better hope that Gideon comes back with a suitable gentleman next time and not another one he has found secondhand, courtesy of the Duke of Sinclair.”