Chapter 12
HELENA
“He told me that I had to be less formidable. Less independent and strong,” Helena said, shaking her head as she told Mary what had occurred.
“Well,” Mary said with a slight shrug, “it might not be the worst thing. You are a very independent woman, and many men in our society do not like that.”
“You are independent too, Mary,” she fired back.
“I am, but I have no hopes of getting married again. No need to. I am forty-nine years old. I already had one great love, though the war chose to take him from me. I have my place here with you and Lavinia.”
Helena’s heart broke a little every time she thought of Mary’s circumstances.
Her husband Lawrence had been killed at the very start of the war, and while she had recovered, she knew that often Mary was lonely.
They had spoken of the possibility of finding love again, but in Mary’s case it was always an abstraction.
Not something she genuinely considered. In truth, if she could have afford to, Helena would not have remarried either.
She had had her fill of marriage. And men.
“I will do what I must to provide for us, Mary. You must know this.”
“I do,” Mary replied. “I do. But perhaps you should take his grace at his word. See what he has to say. You know his reputation. He certainly knows what ladies like. And if he knows what ladies like, that means he has learned what sort of things gentlemen like from ladies, you see.”
“You mean to tell me that because he is a great philanderer he is more than qualified to teach me how to attract a gentleman.”
Mary chuckled lightly. “I suppose that is exactly what I am saying.”
The discussion went no further because there was a knock at the door. Helena went to answer it herself. She already knew it would be Gideon. They had arranged for him to call on her that evening.
“There you are,” she said. “Pray, come in.”
“Oh no,” he said. “I dare say that will not do at all. Let us do that over again. Have Mary open the door.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I am more than capable of answering the door on my own when Mary is busy.”
“Well, for one thing Mary is not busy. She is standing right over yonder.” He waved. “How do you do, Mary.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” Mary replied, and Helena heard the chuckle in her voice.
“And for another, you should always have somebody available to answer the door. When you know that somebody is coming to call, you must make sure that Mary is available to receive them. It will not do for a lady to answer her own front door.”
“Goodness gracious,” she said.
Without another word, Gideon shut the door again.
He knocked. She was tempted to open it herself again out of sheer principle, but Mary pushed past her.
“Allow me, my lady,” she said. She opened the door, and Gideon stood there.
He was about to address her when he saw Helena still standing in the hallway.
“Now, you see, this will not do either. You cannot appear overly eager. You must await me in the drawing room. Mary will announce me.”
“I am perfectly aware of how house calls work.”
“It does not appear that way. Now, let us start again.” He grabbed the door and shut it once more. This time Helena rolled her eyes, but walked back into the drawing room, where she sat with her legs crossed at the ankle and waited.
She heard an exchange of pleasantries with Mary, and then Mary announced him.
“His Grace, the Duke of Blackthornw.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, but before he could say anything about that being inappropriate, she put a smile on her lips.
“Good day, Your Grace,” she said, and curtsied — assuming that was what he was looking for.
“Very good. Now, after the gentleman sits, you will demonstrate your hospitality by pouring him a cup of tea. I already know that you know how to do that. Although I would say refrain from dropping the sugar from a great height. As you did when you served me tea.”
“You had demanded four lumps of sugar when I scarcely had any left.”
That wiped the smile right off his face. “I did not know things were quite so dire.”
“They have improved somewhat,” she said. “Surprisingly. I received a letter this morning from the current Lord Vale. He sent funds. Not much, but enough to pay the rent for a few months and fill the larder. Our creditors were very pleased.”
A smile appeared on Gideon’s face. “Well, I am glad to hear that he has finally decided to do the right thing.”
“Indeed,” she said, although she had to admit she was not entirely certain what had changed Emmett’s mind. It could not have been any of her letters, as he had ignored them all. But whatever it was she was glad it had taken place.
“Good,” Gideon said. “Now that we have mastered welcoming a gentleman to your house and serving him tea, why don’t we try something else.
Say that I take you to a public ball. Stand over there.
” He pointed to the fireplace. “And I will approach you.” He walked across the room, pulled his shoulders back, and came toward her.
She looked at him, her lips pursed as she looked him up and down.
“Now, you see, that will not do at all,” he said. “You must smile when a gentleman approaches. Do not glare at him as though he were a chimney sweep you cannot afford to pay.”
“Presently, I can afford to pay a chimney sweep,” she said.
“That is neither here nor there. Try smiling.” He demonstrated by beaming at her, running a hand beneath his chin as if to emphasize.
She did her best to mimic his smile, but he shook his head.
“No. Not quite like that. You look as though you are expecting to entertain a children’s gathering.
A light smile. I have seen you smile before. ”
“I smile when there is something to smile about,” she said.
“Well, imagine yourself marrying a grand wealthy gentleman and never having to worry about finances again. That is something to smile about, is it not?”
This at least elicited a smile from her — not because she was thinking of a grand wedding, but because he was amusing.
“There you go. Now, for conversation. It must be light and entertaining. Nothing too heavy. Do not give your opinions quite so readily. Wait until a gentleman already likes you before you let him know what you think.”
“So you expect me to change my entire personality for the sake of catching a husband.”
“Is that not what most women do?”
“I am not most women.”
Something flashed across his face. She could not quite name it. It was peculiar — as though he was pained and relieved at the same time.
“Is something the matter?”
“No. It is just that I had thought most women were quite familiar with the concept of pretending to be someone else in order to catch the attention of an eligible gentleman, only to reveal themselves after the fact.”
“No,” she said. “That is dreadful. I do not care for people who pretend to be someone they are not. It is the worst thing you can do to another person, to present yourself in a certain way only to change when it suits you.”
She heard the anger rising in her voice and pushed it down. This was not an area she wished to discuss with him. Thankfully, it appeared neither did he.
“One would have to have a very black heart and a nonexistent soul to do such a thing.”
“Indeed,” she replied — but felt there was something more between them now. Something unspoken. As if he had shared something with her without quite meaning to. As if she had too. It was time to lighten the mood once more.
“Well,” she said, looking to distract him. “What should I do if the gentleman I am speaking with wishes to discuss nothing but crop rotation?”
That did the trick. He looked at her, his eyebrows rising so high that he looked most alarmed. “Who wishes to discuss crop rotation?”
“A gentleman you introduced me to not a week ago. When we walked in Hyde Park.”
He dipped his head to the side as though he had to think about who that gentleman was. There had been a number by now.
“Well that was a poor choice on my part. Do not fret — I will do better in future. But should you find yourself in conversation with somebody who has such poor taste in subject matter, it is always safe to divert them to something more agreeable. A novel you have read, for example. Although perhaps not that Gothic one you were reading. I borrowed it from the circulating library, it is quite dark and, I must say.”
“You read it?” she said. “I am surprised. You strike me as someone who engages in reading poetry with the sole purpose of reciting it to ladies in order to convince them to fall for your charm.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, sounding genuinely offended. “I have no need of poetry to convince a lady of my charms. My charms are quite natural.”
“Are they?” she said. “Sometimes I find them lacking.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Such as when you tell me that the manner in which I greet visitors at my own home is wrong, for example.”
“Well, it was,” he said with a shrug. “And I must tell you, while we are at it. You ought to never insult a gentleman’s charms. We do not take it well.”
“I shall take note,” she said. “Now is this a lesson completed?”
“Not yet,” he said, with his best attempt at gravity. “We are just getting started. Now, imagine we are at a ball.”
“We were already at a ball,” she replied.
“Imagine we are at another ball. And a gentleman asks you to dance.”
“Well, if a gentleman asks me to dance I will of course agree,” she said.
“Very good.” He held out his hands and she looked at him, perplexed.
“May I remind you we are not in a ballroom at present.”
“No, we are not. But we should practice all the same. Imagine you can hear the gentle tones of a string quartet.” He placed his hands on her in a manner that seemed highly inappropriate, and yet she could not deny that she liked it.
His hands were strong and warm — so warm she could feel it through the fabric of her dress.
“What dance is this?” she asked.
“The waltz,” he replied. “It is very fashionable these days.”
“I have also heard it is very scandalous. Not even Lord Byron will dance it.”
He smiled. “Byron has other problems, besides what dance is proper these days. However, that you should appear alarmed is a very good tactic. A gentleman likes a modest lady.”
“I am genuinely alarmed,” she said. “I did not know that was what was being danced in ballrooms these days. It has been some years since I last attended any assemblies or balls of any kind.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that we shall have to fix. I did not realize. Did Lord Vale not take you to any ball?”
“No,” she said and looked away. “Huxley and I did not attend balls together.” He had attended balls on his own, of course. He had done a lot of things on his own. But she wasn’t going to tell Gideon that. She wasn’t going to tell him anything about Huxley he did not need to know.
It was better that way. For both of them.
“Well, more is the pity. He certainly ought to have. If I had a wife as fair as you I would…” he waved a hand. “Never mind. There were no private assemblies you went to together?”
“We went nowhere together,” she said, the coldness creeping into her voice so suddenly she could not control it.
“I see.”
He stopped moving and simply looked at her. Her outburst warranted an explanation, she knew this.
“It was not a happy marriage, Gideon,” she said. “I have not shed any tears over him.”
She saw his Adam’s apple move.
“I suppose that makes me a terrible person. One ought to grieve one’s husband. But why grieve?”
“One ought. But only if the husband was worth grieving over. There are some who enter our lives with the ability to blind us to who they really are — and then when we are with them it becomes painful to see the truth. As though one had entered the courtship in darkness, and then a candle was lit. And suddenly one saw who one had really married.”
He was not talking about Huxley. He did not know him nor did he know anything about their marriage beyond what she had revealed, which was little.
He was talking about his own wife. It was very clear. She wanted to ask him about her. Ask him what had really happened. How a man as perceptive and sharp-witted as he was could have found himself so thoroughly deceived. But she did not ask.
They were closer now — much closer than she had ever thought they might be — but that was a step too far.
“It can be a blessing, to see people for who they truly are,” she said instead.
“It may be painful at the time, but it teaches one a lesson. A lesson in what one will tolerate from another person. You might think me formidable, but I simply know what it is I need and want now. Especially now that I have a daughter. That is why I must take great care in whom I wed for he will be a father to her.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. The relationship between a father and child can be a difficult one. Mine suffered too. My father often wanted me to be someone I was not — more serious, more dedicated to my studies, more like him. We had a falling out over it. Your father was the one who helped me.”
“Was he?” she said. She always loved hearing stories about her father that cast him in a good light.
“Yes. I had hinted to him once that my father and I did not get along, and he encouraged me to tell him why. Eventually he made me see that it would be far better to sit with my father and speak honestly about the troubles between us, rather than allow the distance to deepen. I was grateful for it as it allowed me to reconcile with my father. Our last few years together were considerably more warm than they would have otherwise been. Your father was a wonderful man.”
Her eyes watered immediately and her lip quivered. She stepped back, dropping her hands.
“Thank you for the lessons today,” she said. “They were valuable. But I feel rather unwell. Would you mind terribly if we finished for now?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Please do. I shall collect you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she said, still willing the tears to stay where they were.
“Yes. Now that you have told me you have not danced in public for some time, we must remedy that. I will take you to Almack’s.”
“Almack’s,” she said, with a laugh that now overpowered her urge to cry. “I have not been there in so long I wonder if they will let me through the door. I haven’t a voucher.”
“I know one of the lady patronesses. We will get in.”
With that, he bowed in the drawing room and departed. Leaving her perplexed in more ways than one once more.