A Notorious Love Page 32

  Well, if he tried it, he would have a fight on his hands. Because Daniel Brennan was not going to escape marriage to her, no matter what fool notions he had.

  When they arrived in London at Knighton House, all was chaos. Griff and Rosalind had returned, and Griff had already summoned runners and soldiers. They filled the halls and spilled out of Griff’s study, looking as scruffy and ill-mannered as Crouch’s men, or worse. Helena and Juliet swept past them into the room to find poor Seth Atkins under siege. Griff sat behind his desk with Helena’s sketches, going over them with a fine-tooth comb as Rosalind fretted and demanded answers.

  “We’re back!” Juliet announced brightly, effectively halting any other conversation.

  The shock on Rosalind’s face was rapidly replaced by joy. “Juliet! Helena!” she cried as she bounded across the room.

  More chaos ensued, punctuated by tears, hugs, and innumerable questions, each following so hard and fast on the other that sorting them out took forever. It was even longer before the household returned to normalcy, the runners and soldiers banished, Seth sent off to a guest room, and a modicum of sanity restored.

  Now Helena and Juliet sat on the settee in Griff’s study with Rosalind between them. She gripped both their hands as if afraid they might vanish into thin air. Helena had begun by recounting the final confrontation with Crouch, so now they were working their way backward through the tale, trying to relate everything that had happened.

  “What I don’t understand is all this nonsense about Helena being Daniel’s wife,” Griff said. “That lad Seth insisted that he helped a Mr. and Mrs. Brennan.”

  “Oh,” Juliet explained cheerily, “Daniel and Helena had to pretend to be married while they traveled so they could protect her reputation.”

  Griff raised an eyebrow. “Did they indeed? Seth seemed to think there was more to it than that.”

  Leave it to her rapscallion brother-in-law to divine the truth. Helena cast Griff her chilliest look. “Seth was wrong.” One thing she wouldn’t tolerate was meddling questions about her and Daniel and what they’d done. Not until he could be present, too. Much as she wanted to proclaim him as her fiancé, she would not do it until he’d returned and confirmed that he still wanted to marry her.

  Unfortunately, Griff would not let it end there. “All the same, there is the rather intriguing matter of the sketches you sent home. Not those of the smugglers. The other one on the back.”

  Of Daniel half-naked, lying in the horse stall. Helena’s face flamed. “That is private, and none of your concern.”

  “You’re my sister-in-law now, so you’ve become my concern.”

  “Now see here, Griff Knighton, if you think that just because you married my sister, I will tolerate your trying to—” Helena began.

  “You say that Daniel won’t be back for a few days?” Rosalind jumped in quickly.

  Helena glared at Griff a moment before meeting her sister’s gaze. “Yes.”

  “Then there’s not much point in discussing this until then, is there?”

  Though Helena wondered why her sister had unexpectedly turned into her ally in this, she was not about to protest it.

  For her part, Rosalind had already decided something would have to be done about Helena and Daniel when the blasted rogue returned. She’d seen that sketch, too—Daniel bare-chested and asleep, lying beneath what looked like a blanket. Helena could only have sketched it if she’d been sharing a room with the rascal, and probably his bed, too. It was hard to imagine Helena—who lived by the most stringent rules of propriety—succumbing to any man, yet something had certainly happened. And if it was what Rosalind thought, then she intended to make sure Daniel offered her sister a more respectable position than bed warmer.

  She felt fairly certain that he would. She’d always suspected Daniel of having feelings for Helena. If Helena refused to speak of it, however, it might mean she still clung to her distrust of men. Then again, she might simply be uncertain of Daniel’s intentions herself.

  Either way, Rosalind would make sure her dear sister found happiness—if not with Daniel, then with some worthy gentleman.

  But to ensure it, she had to address certain other matters. She rose to pace the room. “With you and Juliet back, we need to set about repairing any possible damage to your reputations.”

  Helena raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about reputation?”

  “She may not always care about her own,” Griff put in dryly, “but she’s very particular about her sisters’.”

  Rosalind glared at her husband. “Especially when your wild friends make matters difficult by dragging them about the countryside unchaperoned.” Her brow furrowed as she faced her sisters. Juliet sat blushing, her head bowed, but Helena was even more intractable than usual and stared her down. “The sooner you’re both seen publicly, the easier it will be to squelch any rumors. We can pretend you just came up from the country to visit me now that Griff and I have returned from our honeymoon.”

  “I don’t see why we need to cover anything up,” Helena said loftily. “No one knows us in London. Who could possibly know what we did or whom we did it with?”

  “One thing I’ve learned since coming here is that servants talk,” Rosalind retorted. “How do you think I found out that you went off with Daniel alone? Griff’s servants told me.”

  Helena sighed.

  Rosalind went on. “Fortunately, few people are in town now, but still I know neither of you is probably in the mood for society affairs, but you’ll have to marshal your strength, I’m afraid. Tomorrow morning we begin paying calls and doing whatever we can to pretend that you haven’t been gallivanting around the country alone with young men. Because I refuse to see my sisters’ futures ruined because of some blasted free-trading friends of Griff’s and Daniel’s.”

  Chapter 22

  He swore he’d adore her,

  And to her ever constant prove;

  He’d wed her, he’d bed her.

  And none on earth but her he’d love.

  “Una’s Lock,”

  anonymous nineteenth-century Irish ballad

  Nothing in fashionable London had changed in eight years, Helena thought as she entered yet another ballroom with Rosalind, this time for a ball at Lord and Lady Rushton’s Mayfair mansion.

  For a week, Rosalind had dragged her and Juliet from one event to another—breakfasts and routs and appearances at the opera. Helena had acquiesced for her sisters’ sakes. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do, as long as Daniel remained absent.

  She did wish, however, that he’d send word of where he was or when he would return. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. He would come. He had promised.

  But what if he didn’t? What if he stayed away because he’d changed his mind? Because their time together had all faded into an amusing adventure that was now over and done? What if the wonderful night of mutual vows she remembered had been very one-sided?

  No, she wouldn’t think of that. He loved her. She knew he did. He would come.

  In the meantime, she had no choice but to resume her role as Well-bred Young Lady. Strange, how ill-fitting it seemed these days. For the first time in her life, she chafed at the restrictions of her rank. She’d discovered that one minute with Daniel held more excitement than a week in “good society.”

  Tonight was no exception. She wished Juliet were here to bolster her spirits—but Juliet had not come out yet, and so hadn’t been allowed to attend the ball. Instead, Helena listened to Rosalind engage yet another gossiping matron in conversation.

  She smiled at her sister’s deft lies. Rosalind chattered on, discussing what they’d been doing, how tedious the country was, anything to make it seem as if Juliet and Helena had not left Warwickshire until their appearance in London a week ago. It was easy to see how Rosalind had succeeded as an actress for her brief stint on the stage.

  “And did you hear about the new Baron Templemore?” the gossiping matron commented. “He
’s just come into the title, and you should see how shamelessly Lady Feathering has been shoving her daughters at him. He’s quite the handsome mystery man. Have you met him?”

  Rosalind and Helena exchanged glances. At the moment handsome mystery men were not high on their lists. “We haven’t had that pleasure,” Rosalind replied. “I’ve heard quite a lot about him in the past week, but he never seems to be at the same functions we are.”

  The matron’s gaze flicked briefly to Helena. “Well, I’ll be sure to introduce you and your lovely sisters if I have the chance. Though I don’t suppose they need any help from me, what with the hordes of men scrambling after them this week.”

  As soon as the matron walked away, Rosalind chuckled and murmured, “Shall we go sample the ratafia before the hordes of men descend on you?”

  Helena raised an eyebrow. “That woman is certainly prone to exaggeration.”

  “Not entirely. You must admit there’s been a steady procession of gentlemen wishing to be introduced to you. They fall all over themselves trying to fetch you punch and engage you in conversation. You’ve been the belle of the ball everywhere, you and Juliet.”

  “Juliet perhaps, but not me and not here. One can hardly be the belle of the ball when one cannot dance.”

  “It hasn’t stopped anyone from seeking you out.”

  That was true actually, and she found it surprising. “I suppose now that Griff has provided us with portions—”

  “Nobody knows about that yet. I’ve been too busy trying to repair your reputations to bother mentioning your eligibility.”

  “What?” Helena spotted a couple of gentlemen she’d already met headed their way, and groaned. She wasn’t ready to end this intriguing conversation. Swiftly, she tugged Rosalind into a nearby alcove. “If that’s true, then why are the men pursuing me? And after all these years—are London gentlemen so much more desperate than Stratford gentlemen?”

  Rosalind laughed. “It’s not the gentlemen, silly, it’s you. You were always so wretched to the ones in Stratford. If a man dared approach, you froze him with a look and he backed down. You were so determined not to trust them that you never gave them the chance to be nice.”

  A faint smile touched Helena’s lips. “Funny, but Daniel said much the same thing to me once.”

  “Did he?” Rosalind eyed her with keen curiosity. “He seems to have said a great many interesting things to you on your trip. I’ve never heard you speak so much about a man in your life. Even Lord Farnsworth.”

  “Trust me, Daniel is ten times the man Fickle Farnsworth ever was.”

  “F-Fickle Farnsworth?” Rosalind sputtered. “Now I know you’ve changed. You would never have referred to his lordship so cavalierly a month ago.” Rosalind searched her face. “And I suppose Daniel is the reason you’ve been different since you returned.”

  Helena blushed and ducked her head. “How am I different?”

  “More comfortable with yourself. Breaking Mrs. N’s rules right and left. For pity’s sake, yesterday at dinner you asked for ale! Griff nearly choked on his mutton.”

  Helena laughed. “I did enjoy that.”

  “And you’re more comfortable with men, too.” Rosalind grinned. “You can still put a man in his place when he needs it, but you’re far kinder to the ones who don’t. And you finally seem able to tell which is which.”

  Helena’s throat tightened. All these years of loneliness, of shutting herself off from people—how much of it had been due to her own blindness? And from fear that if she let them close, they’d reject her for more than her leg. She’d allowed Fickle Farnsworth’s dreadful behavior to convince her she was unsuitable for marriage, then had set out to prove it by driving away every man who approached.

  She had Daniel to thank for knocking the scales from her eyes. She had Daniel to thank for a great many things.

  If only he would come home so she could do it.

  Rosalind moved out of the alcove. “Come on. We can’t hide in here avoiding people all night.”

  “Why not?” Helena grumbled as she followed her sister. Now that all the gentlemen seemed to want her, she found she did not want any of them. Oh, they were perfectly nice, she supposed, but compared to Daniel, they were as dull and colorless as a charcoal sketch next to a finished portrait in oils. She needed his vibrance in her life. Without Daniel, even flouting the proprieties was no fun.

  As they circled the room, a young gentleman approached who looked vaguely familiar. It was only when he was upon them that she realized why. Oh, dear—it was the duke from Daniel’s office, the one person who knew she had not just come up from the country a week ago. Would he recognize her?

  “Lady Rosalind!” he said to her sister. “How good to see you again.”

  “The pleasure is mine, your grace,” Rosalind replied. “But I don’t believe you’ve met my sister. Helena, this is the Duke of Montfort.”

  “How do you do?” Helena mumbled as she held out her hand.

  He took it, a frown knitting his brow. “Actually, I believe I have met your sister. I’m almost certain of it.” He studied her features. “Was it at Marlborough’s breakfast last month? I seem to recall that we met during the day.”

  “Not last month,” Rosalind said. “She only arrived from the country last week.”

  He hesitated. Then he glanced to her cane, and his frown deepened. “But I have the strongest memory…” He still held her hand, and instead of relinquishing it, said, “Lady Helena, have you had the opportunity to see Rushton’s conservatory yet?”

  Her pulse raced fearfully, “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Then you must let me show it to you. It will give us the chance to figure out why I think I know you.”

  She groaned inwardly. Of all the people she had to run into, must it be the one person who could put the lie to Rosalind’s claims? And a rake as well, judging from what Daniel had said about him. Still, for her sisters’ sakes, she would try to muddy his memory about her further.

  Letting him tuck her hand into his bent elbow, she said, “Certainly, your grace. I’d be honored.”

  When Daniel arrived at the Rushton place, after Griff’s butler had told him where Helena and the Knightons had gone, he groaned to see the crowd spilling out into the foyer. Wonderful. Just what he needed when all he wanted was to find Helena, and drag her into the garden or somewhere else private where he could kiss her senseless.

  He probably shouldn’t have come here anyway. A proper gentleman would have waited until the morrow to call on her. A proper gentleman wouldn’t have rushed to dress himself and race over here like a besotted idiot.

  But then, he wasn’t a proper gentleman—and he’d certainly come to the right place for reminding him of it. Despite his clothes, he felt like a hound among the lapdogs. In the office, it never bothered him, but here…

  He sighed. He’d best get used to it. This was Helena’s world, and when they married—if she still wanted to, after all this—he’d be spending a great deal of time in it.

  That was all right, though. The last hellish week of dealing with his troublesome uncle had taught him one thing: he wanted Helena for his wife, come what may. He loved her strength and courage, her easy acceptance of his past, and even her stubbornness. And if marrying her meant enduring balls every night of his life, he would gladly endure them.

  But he wasn’t certain she’d have him. Back in familiar surroundings, she might’ve decided she didn’t want a great rascal like him after all. Being among her own kind might’ve reminded her of the disadvantages to marrying his sort of man, one without title or prominence, lofty name or family connections.

  That fear had been a crushing weight on his chest for days. Strange how he’d felt not a whit of fear while confronting Crouch and his men, yet the thought of losing one slender woman could strike him with pure terror.

  He sighed. It only got worse the longer he dallied. He squared his shoulders and set off to look for her. But it was Rosalind he found first
.

  As soon as he neared her, she broke into a grin. “Daniel! You’re back!”

  “Yes. Just arrived, in fact.”

  He kissed the cheek she offered, then glanced about impatiently. “Where’s Helena?”

  Rosalind laughed. “Why, Daniel Brennan, you ought to be ashamed of yourself—asking about my sister before I’ve even had the chance to talk to you.”

  “Forgive me,” he said with a pained smile. “It’s just that I’m anxious to see her.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. You were supposed to return days ago, or at least that’s what she expected.”

  “So did I. But matters were more complicated than I’d allowed for.” Crouch had delayed at every turn, refusing to leave England until he called in all his markers with people who owed him money. When the list kept growing, Daniel had finally threatened him with bodily harm and tossed him unceremoniously onto a packet boat to France. “And how is she? Is she all right? I saw Juliet briefly at Knighton House and she appeared to be fine, but she told me little about Helena.”

  “Helena’s doing quite well, actually. We’ve been scurrying about, trying to make sure she suffered no loss to her reputation after you dragged her around the countryside unchaperoned.” The reproof in her voice was unmistakable. “We’ve been attending parties and balls and the like. She’s been very popular.” She paused, one eyebrow lifting. “Especially with men. They flock to her like magpies. I spend all my time shooing them off.”

  His breath caught in his throat. “Do you?” he said hollowly. “That doesn’t surprise me. Any man would be a fool not to recognize your sister’s charms.”

  “True, but until now she’s done her best to hide them. She’s been different since her return. What on earth did you do to her?”

  Showed her what a lovely woman she is, that’s all, he thought grimly. And now that she’s discovered it, what need has she of me? “What did she say I’d done to her?” he evaded.