“Ladies,” Joshua Hargood said smoothly and bowed as he took Helena’s hand. She was as tiny and perfect as a fairy maiden.
Joshua saw absolutely no reason to depart from Haynesdale House with haste.
There was a riddle to solve.
Of course, he would have another cup of tea.
CHAPTER 2
Helena Emerson could not imagine a worse fate than her own. Not only had she been compelled to leave the marvels of London for the desolation of Nottinghamshire, but every soul in the vicinity was hovering at death’s door due to advanced age.
Even the maid employed by her aunt was older than she.
One day soon, Helena was convinced, they would all contract some illness—possibly a cold, this coming autumn—and expire in unison, abandoning her in this remote backwater, like an orphan in a novel.
She entertained herself briefly with the possibility of the Duke of Haynesdale himself nursing her back to health. She had asked her brother, Nicholas, about the duke’s inclination to heal the sick, since they were both friends and former comrades, and Nicholas had laughed so hard that tears had leaked from his eyes. He said that the duke was more likely to order a person to get on with it and keep up the pace. It was clear that her older brother, despite being recently wed, had no proper sense of romance.
Helena could only hope the duke returned home soon. No one seemed to have any notion where he had gone, how long he would be there and when he would arrive at Haynesdale.
Worse, no one seemed to care.
Helena could make no sense of it. Perhaps senility addled their wits. The duke was the most important person in the vicinity, but everyone acted as if he was of no relevance whatsoever. His mother was planning a ball, which Helena had been certain must be intended to herald the duke’s return, but that lady had laughed when asked as much. Damien, the dowager had confided, did much as he wished, regardless of her thoughts upon the matter. Even if her son was in residence on the date of the ball, there was no guarantee he would attend. He might, his mother had assured Helena, simply sit in his library and brood in privacy. Lady Haynesdale seemed to find this prospect amusing.
Helena would never permit that to happen.
At least on this day, she would finally escape the prison known as Bramble Cottage. Her aunt had no horse and no carriage, not so much as a cart, and the walk to the village was ridiculously long. Helena had realized within hours of her arrival that she was doomed to die of boredom there, forgotten by all the world.
Her aunt would be too busy choosing draperies and cushions to even notice her ward’s demise.
Further, it had rained for three entire days, making it impossible to even wander through the gardens of the cottage—such as they were. Her aunt was full of plans for clearing the weeds and planting perennials, even wretched roses, to the point that Helena almost began to wish her death would occur soon.
Matters improved with Lady Haynesdale’s invitation of this day. The dowager duchess had invited Helena and her aunt to tea and had even sent a coach to Bramble Cottage forthem. Helena could not disguise her admiration of the vehicle, running her hands over the upholstery and bouncing against the cushions. It was not the largest or the best coach owned by the duke, but it was the finest she had ever ridden in. The four horses pulling it were as white as snow and perfectly matched, like they had drawn it out of a fairy tale palace.
Soon it might be her own to request!
She waved to all and sundry from the windows with such enthusiasm that Aunt Fanny chastised her. Helena did not care. This sign of the dowager’s favor could only be a hint of alliances to come! She blew a kiss in the direction of Southpoint when they passed that house, even though there was no sign of Nicholas or Eliza to witness her triumph.
Helena’s first glimpse of Haynesdale House, however, was somewhat of a disappointment. While the house was large, it sprawled in every direction, burdened by additions and a woeful lack of symmetry. It was beyond ancient and though Aunt Fanny thought it glorious, Helena knew it would need considerable improvement to be suitable. She did not doubt that the chimneys smoked and that there were too few of them. The roof must leak in some areas, and the floors were undoubtedly in need of repair. Goodness only knew how many creatures had taken refuge within its walls and cupboards over the years. Clearly, the place was in need of the governing hand of a young duchess like herself.
Upon arrival, they were informed that Lady Haynesdale was reviewing the plans for the replanting of the rose garden. Helena watched a familiar gleam light in Aunt Fanny’s eyes and groaned silently. The discussion and dispute between the two older women about roses was seemingly endless. Her aunt followed the butler to the drawing room with purpose as Helena strove to resign herself to yet more interminable discussion about the plants in question.
Perhaps when she was duchess, she would have the roses removed from the gardens of Haynesdale House and a terrace created instead. There could be columns and a reflecting pool, and no one need ever talk about roses again.
It was a most admirable notion and one that might allow her to tolerate the inevitable discussion topic of the afternoon. She considered the proportions of the foyer with appreciation, noting that a lighter hue on the walls might favor the space better. Oh, she would see every detail changed to her satisfaction! She could not wait to begin.
To Helena’s surprise, there was a gentleman already with Lady Haynesdale. Introductions were made and Aunt Fanny positively preened when she learned that the other guest was Joshua Hargood, the Seventh Viscount of Addersley.
Helena smiled politely, if only to prove to the dowager duchess that she had sufficient grace to become the duke’s bride.
She stole a look at the gentleman through her lashes and caught her breath. He was certainly not as venerable as others she had met in Haynesdale. He might even be younger than her brother, Nicholas. He appeared, Helena had to admit, markedly more youthful and vigorous than the duke, who used a cane and often looked disgruntled.
Even with due consideration, she could not imagine how he might be more handsome.
The viscount’s expression was polite but calm, as if he was in the habit of hiding his thoughts. (Perhaps he had none at all.) His hair was chestnut brown and wavy, and he was tall. His boots were polished to a gleam and his jacket of dark green was perfectly tailored. His cravat was not as flamboyantly large as Mr. Melbourne’s had been, but it was tied with precision. He wore no gem in it and no flower in his buttonhole; there was only one ring on his smallest finger and no other ornament about hisattire. Helena ceded that his valet was skilled but found herself reluctant to give more credit to the man himself.
It was a tragedy his father had not anticipated that his son would need a higher rank to wed well.
The viscount bowed to Aunt Fanny then to Helena, but offered only a minimal greeting before returning his attention to his tea. Helena imagined she might have a more enthusiastic discussion with one of the statues in a London park.
