An Impossible Confession (11 page)

Margart blushed with pleasure, accepting the arm he offered, and they proceeded toward the rose brocade dining room, where snowy cloths covered the gleaming tables, and golden cutlery shone next to glittering crystal. Epergnes tumbling with fruit, flowers, and moss alternated with pink-shaded candlesticks, and the perfume of orange and lemon trees drifted in from the
conservatory
, where the orchestra was once again playing gentle Mozart.

The other guests formed into a line, strictly in order of
precedence
, and followed the prince and Margaret into the room. Helen may have just been presented, but she was still socially rather insignificant, which meant that she was one of the last to go in, and that Ralph, as her escort, waited with her until it was her turn.

He drew her hand over his sleeve, smiling. ‘I agree with the prince, Miss Fairmead, you will most certainly be an adornment to society.’

‘Thank you, Mr St John.’

He hesitated. ‘And you will be a credit to me.’

She froze. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said you will be a credit to me.’

This really was too much. Whatever he may or may not have
understood from Margaret and Gregory, he had absolutely no business speaking to her of the matter without prior arrangement. She could no longer hide her dislike. ‘I fail to see in what possible way I could be regarded as a credit to you, sir, since I have absolutely nothing to do with you, beyond the fact that you’re a friend of my family.’

‘I speak of our marriage, Miss Fairmead,’ he explained, not detecting her iciness.

‘You presume, sir,’ she said coldly.

At last he realized all was not as he thought, and he couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘My dear Miss Fairmead, as far as I’m concerned it’s all settled.’

‘It isn’t as far as I’m concerned; indeed, it will
never
be as far as I’m concerned.’

‘The matter has been discussed and agreed, Miss Fairmead,’ he said, becoming cool in turn. ‘And may I remind you that such a match is very advantageous for you?’

‘That depends by what one measures advantage, sirrah,’ she breathed stiffly. How arrogantly sure of himself he was!

His eyes were angry. ‘I’m sure you speak in the heat of the moment, Miss Fairmead, for to be sure tonight is an ordeal for you.’

‘Maybe this is the heat of the moment, sir, but at such times the truth is apt to come out. I don’t intend to ever consent to marry you, Mr St John, and if you require a reason, I’ll gladly give one. I don’t like you, sirrah, I don’t like you at all, and the thought of marrying you fills me with revulsion!’

For a moment his mask slipped and she saw the real Ralph, the unpleasant Ralph who’d faced Adam the day before, but then he dissembled for it was their turn to enter the dining room.

As they moved slowly toward their seats, she knew she’d made a mistake in showing her colors. She wanted to work against him to Adam’s benefit, and she’d have had more chance of success if he’d regarded her as a friend. Now he knew she disliked him intensely, and he’d treat her accordingly.

T
he following morning found Margaret completely exhausted by the effort of entertaining the prince, who hadn’t left until after three in the morning. It had all proved much more of a strain than she’d thought, and she woke up feeling totally ragged. Anxious not to make herself ill for the Farrish House ball, or, more importantly, the four days of Royal Ascot, she elected to spend the day in bed, encouraging Helen to take Mary with her for the six mile journey to Windsor to choose a costume for the ball. And so Helen set off in the open landau with only the maid for company, and an opportunity presented itself for furthering her acquaintance with Adam, maybe even for beginning to make her confessions. She intended, most improperly, to call upon him at King Henry Crescent.

Her style that morning, from the black frogging on her
powder-blue
silk spencer to the tassels and festoons on her matching mock-shako hat, was most definitely military, for she needed to feel as brave as possible. Her gown was made of the softest white silk, while her shoes and gloves were of the same powder blue as her spencer and hat. Mary had combed her hair up into a smooth knot beneath the hat, leaving soft wispy curls to frame her face, and although she looked cool, calm, and collected, she was in a high state of nerves about what might result from any meeting with Adam.

Leaving the bustle of Ascot and the racecourse behind, the landau drove smartly over the heath, where strings of racehorses could be seen exercizing across the open countryside. The landau was driven by Peter, the burly young coachman who’d engaged Mary’s affections. He was in his early twenties, with a shock of
spiky black hair and shining brown eyes. He smiled easily, and had a lazily good-natured manner that Helen could well understand had attracted Mary’s attention.

The maid sat with her mistress, her shy glance resting more on her new sweetheart than on the passing landscape. She wore a straw bonnet over a white mob cap, with a long-sleeved beige linen dress that had a demure white fichu tucked into its low neckline. Her feelings were mixed as the landau drove into the
sweet-smelling
coolness of the forest, for although she was pleased to be with Peter, she was very anxious indeed about her mistress’s rather shocking plan to call upon Lord Drummond.

The forest slipped away behind them and the landau drove through the gates into Windsor Great Park. Ahead the whiteness of Windsor Castle was clearly visible through the trees, and to the northwest led the road to Hagman’s boathouse and Eleanor’s Lake. Helen glanced along it, just picking out the huge copper beech by the track to the infamous Herne’s Glade before the landau came up to a smart pace again and all was swept from her view.

She was so nervous about the prospect of maybe seeing Adam and attempting to confess her past fibs that she knew she had to try to distract herself for a while. She made herself think about the previous, evening, and the honor of being presented to the Prince Regent not once, but twice, for he’d remembered his wish to speak to her again and had particularly requested her company. It had been after the dinner itself, when the ladies had been in the drawing room for some time and the gentlemen had at last rejoined them for coffee, tea, and liqueurs. The prince had asked for her, insisting that she sit beside him on a sofa to discuss Miss Austen’s books, on which he was very knowledgeable. He’d been very gracious and charming, indicating when the conversation was at an end, and as she’d rejoined Margaret and Gregory, she’d been told that she’d had a very great success, for the prince didn’t often sit for so long with some who’d only just been presented to him.

The evening had indeed been a triumph for her; she’d spoken with dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, lords and ladies, and she’d acquitted herself well. The only blot on the proceedings had been the presence of Ralph St John, who’d remained close at
her side throughout, and who’d behaved as if all was perfectly well between them. He hadn’t given her another opportunity to speak her mind; indeed, he’d gone out of his way to see they were always in company, and then he’d proceeded to give others the impression that things were coming along very well. She’d been silently
furious
, but hadn’t really been able to do anything about it except be pointedly civil, which attitude she knew was attributed to her
inexperience
and youth.

It had all been extremely frustrating, the more so since she simply couldn’t think why he was so insistent about regarding her as a possible bride. He now knew how totally unsuited they were, and he’d always known she had no financial prospects of
importance
, so why was he so interested in her? It couldn’t simply be that he wished to be allied in marriage to Margaret and Gregory, for no man in his right mind would for such a reason take a bride, who loathed the very sight of him. So what was behind it all? She wondered if Margaret and Gregory knew. She’d have to speak to them about it all, for things couldn’t go on as they were, but how was she going to tactfully inform them she despised their beloved Ralph?

With a heavy sigh, she gazed out at the park, where horsemen and women rode between the trees. It was an elegant scene,
exclusive
and beautiful, and so peaceful that again she found it hard to remember what was happening in Europe.

The landau drove past the Prince Regent’s fine new residence, the
cottage orné
known as the Royal Lodge. From the road it was visible only as a number of tall chimneys rising above the trees, but she could tell that it was a large building, probably fully deserving its nickname of ‘the thatched palace.’

At last the end of the park was in sight, and beyond it the town of Windsor, sprawling up the chalk outcrop that was dominated by England’s largest castle. Helen toyed nervously with the strings of her reticule. Peter had been given instructions to drive to King Henry Crescent, which meant that in a very few minutes now she’d be at Adam’s house. She’d screwed up all her courage to go through with her plan, but what if he wasn’t in? And what if
someone
who’d met her last night should see her calling so boldly at his door? What if he
was
in, but threw her out on learning who she
really was, and what if she was seen anyway? Then everything would be in ruins. The possibilities were endless, and she hardly dared think about some of them, but she still knew she had to see him and begin to put things on an honest footing. She drew a long, shaking breath, instinctively crossing her fingers as the landau rattled into the town.

King Henry Crescent was in a very fashionable quarter, its
curving
, elegant façade overlooking the Thames. There were echoes of Bath’s Royal Crescent in its perfect lines, and it was evidently a much sought after address, for there were several exceedingly expensive carriages drawn up outside various doors. Almost
immediately
she realized which house was number five, for the bright red curricle was waiting at the curb, but even as she saw it her hopes were dashed because Adam emerged from his door, tapping on his top hat and pulling on his gloves.

He wore a light-brown coat, a fawn-and-cream-figured
waistcoat
, and fawn twill trousers, and he didn’t glance toward the approaching landau as he climbed quickly into the curricle, turned it around in the street, and drove smartly away in the opposite direction. Helen stared after him in dismay.

Mary could hardly conceal her relief, for in her view her rash mistress had been saved from certain folly. ‘It’s for the best, miss, truly it is. A lady really shouldn’t call alone on a gentleman.’

‘I know, but I have to speak to him again. Evidently today is not destined to be the day, however. Peter, will you drive on to the couturière?’

‘Yes, madam.’ The coachman touched his hat and urged the team on.

Mary looked hesitantly at her. ‘Miss Fairmead, perhaps you could write to him, explain it all in a letter?’ she suggested wisely.

‘I wish I could, but I need to see him face to face to tell him I’ve been fibbing since the moment we met.’

‘But, a letter would….’

Helen thought, but then shook her head regretfully. ‘No, Mary, I couldn’t do it that way.’

The maid fell silent.

Helen glanced up at the façade of King Henry Crescent as the landau drove past. Maybe Mary was right after all, and a letter was
the answer. It was something to consider if she couldn’t manage to speak to him soon.

The couturière’s premises lay in the very shadow of the castle walls, one of a row of bow-windowed shops of rather exclusive appearance. There was a very superior haberdashery, a milliner, a furniture warehouse, and several other couturières, but it was Madame Blanchet who was the most prosperous.

A bell tinkled in the muffled silence as Helen and Mary entered. Dark oak counters, bolts of costly cloth, and shelves of accessories were all around in the gloom, for little sunlight penetrated. Madame Blanchet, a diminutive Parisienne who proudly wore Bourbon blue and silver, hurried to greet them straightaway, her face breaking into a pleased smile as Margaret’s name was mentioned. She led Helen up to the dressing room on the floor above to show her the various costumes she’d set aside in
readiness
.

It didn’t take Helen long to decide, for one costume stood out, a beautiful filmy gown of the most diaphanous ice-blue muslin, stitched all over with fluttering ribbons in the colors of the
rainbow
. It was meant to represent Iris, goddess of the rainbow, one of the messengers of the gods. The gown was very daring, plunging low over her bosom, but it was exquisitely lovely, and was to be worn with a Grecian stephane headdress, shaped and colored like the rainbow and flashing with jewels. The mask was a domino, the piece covering the eyes again studded with jewels, the veil
concealing
the lower face shaded in the same rainbow colors as the gown and stephane. Helen thought it quite perfect, and chose it as soon as she saw it.

Several minutes later, she and Mary emerged again, followed by one of Madame Blanchet’s footmen, who solemnly loaded the packages containing the purchases into the boot of the waiting landau. Helen was about to climb into the carriage when her
attention
was drawn up the hill by the approach of a colorful cavalcade of the king’s dragoons. They rode splendidly down from the castle, their horses’ hooves clattering. As they passed, her gaze returned to the castle turrets. She knew it was very much the thing to stroll on the terraces, especially the north terrace, where the royal apartments were, and suddenly she felt like doing just that.

She turned to Peter. ‘Please wait here, I wish to visit the castle.’

‘Very well, miss,’ he replied, touching his hat. He caught Mary’s eye then, and gave her a broad but discreet wink.

The maid blushed, looking quickly away and falling into step just behind Helen, who had immediately begun to walk up the hill. Suddenly the maid halted, glancing across the road at a narrow side street.

Helen paused, looking curiously at her. ‘What is it?’

‘I – I don’t know, miss. I had the strangest feeling someone was watching us, but when I looked, there wasn’t anyone there. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.’

Helen glanced across the road as well, but the side street appeared to be empty. ‘Oh, come on, I’m longing to see the castle.’

England’s largest fortress was very splendid, more than a mile in circumference, and commanding a matchless view over the
countryside
of Berkshire and neighboring Buckinghamshire. The Thames wound past at the foot of the hill, separating Eton from Windsor, and in the other direction the great park stretched away toward Ascot, the magnificent acres shimmering in the brilliant sunshine. Helen and Mary proceeded into the lower yard, past St George’s Chapel, and on toward the gateway into the upper yard, where the famous round tower presided over everything with a mixture of serenity and grimness that sharply evoked the long-lost past.

The north terrace was a place renowned for its breeziness, for it seemed to catch the wind from whichever quarter it blew. The royal apartments faced onto it, and there were many who’d seen the sad face of mad King George III gazing down from one of the windows, for he’d been living there under close watch since succumbing finally to his illness in 1811. There had been royal apartments in this place since the days of Henry I, and in all that time it had been a place to see and be seen in. There were many ladies and gentlemen strolling on the elevated open area, some just talking together, others pausing by the wall to gaze down at the panorama stretching away toward the horizon.

Helen and Mary joined the crowds for a while, but at last stood by the wall. Helen’s thoughts weren’t on the scenery, they were firmly fixed on Adam Drummond and how she was going to
emerge from the tangle her own fibs had caused. She was aroused from her thoughts by the sound of a lazy male guffaw she’d heard rather frequently at dinner the night before. It belonged to William Lamb, whose notorious wife, Lady Caroline, had scandalized
society
with her outrageous and public affair with Lord Byron. Helen had found him very charming and kindly, and she turned quickly, intending to acknowledge him if their eyes met, but almost
immediately
she froze with shock, for he wasn’t alone, Adam was with him.

The two men were idling along the terrace, in no particular hurry because they were enjoying each other’s company. William Lamb laughed again as Adam said something amusing, and they paused about twenty feet away, unaware of her presence. Adam tipped his hat back, and Helen saw his face very clearly.

She had to turn sharply away, her heart pounding. Why had fate always to be so unkind to her? Again she had a chance of speaking to him, but she didn’t dare to this time because he was with William Lamb, who knew her as Helen Fairmead of Bourne End.

‘What are they doing, Mary?’ she whispered.

The maid glanced discreetly toward them. ‘The other gentleman’s going, miss, he’s just taking his leave.’