The Admiral's Daughter Page 8

  This was not at all what Helena had expected would happen. In her imagination this scene involved her calmly explaining to her mother that it was quite unnecessary for her to marry Adam and that all was well. But now this vital interview would take place without her and she was too exhausted, drained by the relief of being home, to do more than nod obediently and quietly leave the room.

  As Helena closed the door behind herself she heard her mother say, at last, ‘Please be seated, my lord.’

  Her maid Lucy could hardly contain her joy at seeing her mistress alive and well. She ran across the room and threw her arms around Helena, with whom she had grown up since childhood, and for a few minutes the two girls clung together, shedding tears of relief.

  ‘Oh, Miss Helena! We thought you’d drowned…and then we got word you’d been saved…but, ooh! miss…that man! The things they say about him—why, you might as well have been rescued by a ravening pirate!’

  ‘Now, now Lucy, I am quite safe now. You must not say things like that about his lordship—he saved my life and looked after me very well.’ Lucy looked dubious, but with another convulsive hug hurried out to fetch her mistress some supper.

  Lucy had hardly brought Helena’s hot water and glass of milk when the front door closed and they heard hooves on the gravel driveway beneath the window. He had scarcely been alone with Mama for fifteen minutes! Helena burned with curiosity, despite her fatigue.

  Moments later her mother swept into the bedroom, dismissing Lucy with a smile and sat on the edge of the bed beside Helena. She pressed her cool fingers lightly against Helena’s temple, then cupped her face between her hands and looked searchingly into her daughter’s violet eyes.

  ‘At least you do not appear to have caught a chill,’ she murmured. ‘You must go to sleep now; we will have a long talk in the morning before Lord Darvell returns.’

  ‘Mama…’

  ‘Enough!’ Lady Wyatt held up her hand in reassurance. ‘There is nothing to worry about, all will be done for the best. Now, drink your milk and go to sleep.’

  Despite feeling the bed rocking as though she were still at sea, Helena fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  When she woke the light was pouring through the window, cascading across the foot of the bed, and the sounds of the household at work below reached her faintly.

  Suddenly starving, Helena tugged the bellpull for her maid but, to her surprise, it was not Lucy but her mother who brought in her breakfast tray.

  Anne Wyatt watched her daughter swiftly dispatch her coffee and bread and butter, waving Helena into silence whenever she tried to speak. It was not until Helena began to peel an apple that Lady Wyatt broached the subject that was uppermost in both their minds.

  ‘Now, first of all, you must not be concerned that there has been any talk about your absence. The servants know, of course, but their loyalty is assured. As to our neighbours, they believe you to be in Chichester, staying with your Aunt Breakey. That is such a frequent occurrence it has given rise to no speculation whatsoever. It would be wise perhaps, if asked, to say you had a slight cold and therefore did not attend any functions. Your aunt and I have been corresponding regularly while you were missing; she knows what our story must be.’

  Helena sank back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. ‘Thank heavens! I had feared my absence would be the talk of the neighbourhood. I was heavily cloaked last night, and no one could have recognised me leaving the Moonspinner. And the crew are his lordship’s men: they will say nothing.’

  ‘Indeed, we have had a most fortunate escape from gossip. There will be no untoward speculation when your engagement to Lord Darvell is announced. After all, he is almost a neighbour.’

  The apple fell unheeded from Helena’s fingers and bounced onto the floor. ‘Engagement! But, Mama…there is no need! We have just agreed that no one knows, that there will be no stain on my reputation.’

  Lady Wyatt sat back and regarded her daughter in astonishment. ‘My dear girl—think of the circumstances! You have been alone, unchaperoned, at sea with a man whose reputation as a rake is a byword, for the best part of a week! You are hopelessly compromised, dearest—there is no alternative for you but marriage.’

  Helena, white-lipped, sat up and said with every ounce of conviction she could muster, ‘I may be compromised—although no one knows but us and a handful of people who will keep quiet about it—but I am not ruined, Mama. I do not have to marry Lord Darvell, and I assure you I have no wish to!’

  She rarely saw her mother taken aback, but she was now. Her jaw dropped and her brows raised as she asked disbelievingly, ‘You do not wish to marry that man? My dear girl, what can you be thinking of!’ Anne Wyatt stood up and began to pace the room, speaking as she did so with unusual emphasis. ‘You know I do not advocate marriage as the only career for an intelligent girl of spirit and breeding. If you had received no eligible offers and had wished to continue your studies or your art, then I would have raised no objection.

  ‘But only think!’ She paused at the foot of the bed, and looked at her daughter. ‘This is the most eligible of offers. Lord Darvell is son of the Earl of Shefford, heir to a large estate. He is wealthy and intelligent. And,’ she added meditatively, ‘quite one of the best-looking young men I have set eyes on for many a long year!’

  ‘Mother!’ Helena was aghast at this insight into her mother’s character, never before glimpsed. ‘As though I would allow considerations of rank and wealth—let alone good looks—to influence me!’

  ‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ Lady Wyatt snapped. ‘He would not have had to have asked me twice at your age—or, indeed, any young woman in Society, for many have thrown their caps at him.’

  Helena threw back the covers and padded barefoot to her mother’s side. ‘Mama—’ she took Lady Wyatt’s hands in hers and looked imploringly into the anxious, handsome face ‘—I truly do not wish to marry him. I do not love him, he does not love me. You brought me up to think clearly, not to be bound by foolish conventions and other people’s expectations. I do not have to marry Lord Darvell and I do not choose to do so—is that not enough?’

  Lady Wyatt led her daughter to the chaise-longue in the window bay and pulled her down to sit beside her. ‘My dear, I must ask you these questions, and you must answer them frankly. Are you telling me that not the slightest impropriety occurred between yourself and Lord Darvell?’

  Helena could not control the hectic blush which rose to the roots of her hair. ‘He did kiss me, Mama, and…I kissed him back.’ And what had followed she could never confess to anyone, least of all her mother.

  ‘And…then…?’

  From being scarlet Helena felt the blood now leach from her face. No, she could not tell her mother what had happened, but at least she could truthfully reassure her on the one point that really mattered. ‘You have my word, Mama, that I am still a…virgin.’

  A short silence ensued, then Lady Wyatt broke it. ‘I should tell you, my dear, that Lord Darvell is more than willing to marry you.’

  ‘Why?’ Helena asked baldly.

  ‘Because he is very conscious that he has compromised you, of course! And, let us not mince words, you are a very good catch. Well-bred, well-connected, intelligent, beautiful—what more could he ask for?’

  ‘I do not choose to marry a man whom circumstances have forced to make me an offer.’ She could not speak to her mother of love; after all, few people of their social class married for love. They were allied fittingly according to rank and to consolidate estates and fortunes; if deep affection followed, that was an unexpected bonus. Even with a mother as unconventional as hers, one who had truly loved her husband and been loved in return, talk of a love-match would cut no ice.

  Lady Wyatt stood up with a sigh. ‘Well, Helena, I can see we are going to have a difficult conversation at eleven o’clock when Lord Darvell returns to discuss this at more length with both of us. Oh, dear,’ she added with an air of distraction, ‘I suppose this
means you will be doing the Season after all…’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ Helena laughed for what seemed like the first time in days. ‘You know you will enjoy it when we get there! Aunt Breakey will enjoy going to parties with me and you can visit the libraries and museums and literary circles to your heart’s content. And I cannot believe you are not looking forward to getting a fashionable new crop and ordering new gowns and bonnets.’

  Helena’s cheerful spirits ebbed as eleven o’clock approached. The servants all had a tendency to treat her as if she were ill and John, after a burst of tears, haunted her side, endlessly offering to run errands, plump up her cushions or close windows in case she were in a draught. In the end she had to beg him to go out and play with the Vicar’s son. But when the door had banged behind him, it was all too quiet.

  At the stroke of eleven the knocker sounded and Helena and her mother, seated side by side in the morning room, exchanged nervous glances. For the second time in twelve hours Scott announced his lordship.

  It was the first time Helena had seen Adam in riding dress. His valet had obviously been up to the mark for such an important occasion: Adam’s breeches were immaculate, his boots shone like burnished conkers and the fit of his coat displayed his muscular physique to perfection. For a moment he seemed a stranger, then Helena realised his hair had been trimmed, revealing the paler skin at the nape of his neck. Her colour rose as she remembered the feel of that hair as she twined her fingers in it on the bed such a short time ago. It was almost as if he read her thoughts, for across the room his deep blue eyes sent her a message that made her feel weak with longing.

  ‘Lady Wyatt, I bid you good morning.’ Adam bowed, then strode to take Lady Wyatt’s hand, before turning to Helena. ‘Miss Wyatt. I hope I find you well.’

  Helena curtsied, her eyes dropped before his penetrating gaze, her cheeks warm. ‘Thank you, sir, I feel much refreshed for a night’s sleep.’

  ‘Please, my lord, will you not sit and take refreshment?’ Lady Wyatt made light social chitchat while the butler poured amontillado and bowed himself out.

  Adam sipped his sherry and returned the pleasantries, outwardly relaxed, yet covertly watching Helena and every nuance of her expression. Her eyes were still downcast, they would not meet his after that first penetrating glance as he entered the room. He had never seen her in a fashionable and elegant morning dress suitable to an unmarried girl. The sprigged jonquil muslin and the modest row of pearls matched the spring weather outside; her skin was clear, only slightly touched by the sun at sea. Her hair was glossy and freshly curled and he remembered the spring of the fine tendrils round her ears as he had traced a line from her temple to her throat…

  Her colour ebbed and flowed as he watched her. Doubtless her mother had questioned her rigorously about exactly what had occurred during her sojourn on the Moonspinner! She was so fresh and charming he found himself impatient to do what was, after all, his inescapable duty and marry her.

  ‘My lord?’ Lady Wyatt had obviously been waiting for a reply to a question.

  ‘I do beg your pardon, Lady Wyatt, I must plead a certain fatigue. You were speaking of London, I believe?’

  There was an awkward silence while Lady Wyatt fiddled with her rings. She had momentarily lost her self-assurance and found herself at a loss as to how to broach the subject they all had foremost in their mind.

  Adam was suddenly impatient with these niceties. ‘When Miss Wyatt and I are married I intend opening the town house. My parents rarely use it these days and I am sure Helena will enjoy redecorating it. It will be a very suitable base for her to do her first Season.’

  ‘Lord Darvell…’ At the tone of Lady Wyatt’s voice he was suddenly all attention. ‘My lord, I believe you and I may have been a little premature last night in our discussion. It is not necessary for you to marry my daughter, although naturally she is sensible of the honour you do her.’

  Adam could scarcely credit what he was hearing. ‘Madam, it cannot have escaped your notice that Miss Wyatt was alone with me for several days—and nights. She is, in the eyes of Society, hopelessly compromised and it is my duty, as a man of honour, to marry her. And I may say, I would assume it would be your most urgent wish as her mother.’ His voice was hard now, although still restrained.

  ‘My lord, you must not take our refusal of your offer as a personal slight. I seek to impugn neither your honour nor your dignity. Given that no one in the neighbourhood knows of Helena’s absence, I am correct, am I not, in saying that there is no compelling reason why she must marry you.’

  Helena wished the floor would open up and she could disappear through it. This discussion was verging on the improper and it would only take Adam to throw all propriety to the winds and describe just one of the incidents in his cabin to her mother to make the question of their marriage a certainty.

  She raised her eyes to Adam’s and met his blue stare. Outwardly controlling his fury at this totally unexpected, inexplicable snub, he could not keep the anger out of his eyes. But equally, seeing the distress and pleading in Helena’s eyes, he knew he could not pursue this course. Why she should find him so unacceptable he knew not, but he had too much pride to persist in the face of such flat rejection.

  Adam got to his feet with grace and bowed to both ladies. ‘Lady Wyatt, I must of course accept your decision in this matter as final. Rest assured, no word of Miss Wyatt’s absence from her home will ever escape my lips. Miss Wyatt—’ his expression as he regarded her, might have been that of a total stranger ‘—I wish you a…successful Season. Ladies, I bid you good morning.’

  Even before Lady Wyatt had time to ring for Scott he was gone. They heard his voice in the hall, then the front door closed and they were alone together.

  Her mama turned to Helena with an expressive lift of her eyebrows. ‘I do not believe his lordship was best pleased by our decision, my dear, which is understandable. No man likes to be rejected. However, there we will let the matter rest; there should be no reason for your paths to cross again, for although the family has had that manor in West Itchenor for many years, he is rarely seen in local society. Now, let us go in to luncheon.’

  It took the Wyatt household two weeks to prepare for their sojourn in London. The day before they planned to go up to town was a Sunday, but Helena found herself alone at matins in Selsea church, her mama having had one of her periodic fallings-out with the local vicar, this time concerning his interpretation of a Greek translation of St Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians which she felt was fundamentally flawed.

  She had had no hesitation in telling him so and, although as a gentleman and a man of the cloth he had kept his temper, the atmosphere between Vicarage and Manor was decidedly cool. This state of affairs never lasted long, but in the meantime Lady Wyatt would attend church elsewhere.

  ‘But Mama,’ Helena had protested, pulling on her gloves and picking up her prayerbook, ‘why did you have to tell him you disagreed in such strong terms? Poor man, he was quite taken aback—although I suppose,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘he must be used to it by now.’

  ‘Well, that is as may be,’ Lady Wyatt replied robustly. ‘But I shall spare myself the annoyance of having to sit through a sermon based on an inaccurate reading of the text. Shall I take John with me to Pagham church or do you wish for his company?’

  It was settled between them that John would stay with his sister, for Helena knew he would want to run away and play as soon as the service was over. And so it was: claimed by Harry, the Vicar’s youngest son, he ran off towards the woods, happily ignoring his sister’s warning to keep his Sunday suit clean at all costs.

  The congregation dispersed quickly after the service and Helena, unwilling to return inside on such a beautiful spring morning, wandered through the churchyard to where the straggling hawthorn hedge separated the sacred ground and its tilting tombstones from a rough bank and the wide mudflats of Pagham harbour.

  The hedgerow flowers were tossing in the sharp breeze, alth
ough the sun shone in cloudless blue sky. Helena pulled her pelisse more closely round her shoulders and climbed carefully through a gap in the hedge and down on to the edge of the mudflats, now fully exposed by low tide.

  The bells of Pagham church, whose services started later than Selsea’s, rang out over the water, mingling with the plaintive cries of seabirds on the flats. Oystercatchers, smart in their pied plumage, dug into the grey ouse and a few curlews stalked amongst the smaller waders, their curved bills probing delicately.

  Helena took a deep lungful of the fresh, tangy air and reflected that, exciting though the prospect of doing the Season was, she would miss this wild corner of Sussex. Most of the packing and preparation was done, she could allow herself a last long walk. The shore was both muddy and stony, but her feet in their stout boots were sure and the brisk activity soon brought the colour to her cheeks.

  As Helena rounded a bend in the path two retrievers bounded muddily towards her, tails wagging madly in eager anticipation of a game. As they danced round her feet Helena stooped, picked up a piece of driftwood and tossed it for them. They galloped off in hot pursuit across the mud and returned panting to lay it at her feet. Wondering how she was ever going to get rid of them now that she had begun, she threw it again with more force, sending them bounding through the shallow pools, scattering a flock of dunlin which flew off piping in panic.

  Shielding her eyes from the sunlight with one gloved hand, Helena watched the dogs’ antics with amusement, unaware she was not alone until a familiar voice rapped out, ‘Come back here!’ The animals instantly responded, their romping high spirits turning to sheepish obedience as they trotted back to their master.

  Helena wheeled round to face Lord Darvell, almost dropping her prayerbook in her surprise. They confronted one another across three yards of mud, he with an expression of considerable displeasure, she with dismay.