Exerpt

‘It would seem your ladyships have been badly misled,’ Richard said.

‘Whilst it is perfectly true that I was obliged to eject Lord Barrington from the room rather forcibly,’ he continued, ‘I consider that my actions were wholly justified. Far from molesting this young lady, as his lordship suggested, I was in the process of proposing marriage to her!’

Steeling himself to ignore the barely concealed gasp of dismay from behind him, he then added, ‘As Miss Wheatley will no doubt be prepared to confirm, should you care to ask her.’

He stepped aside to reveal the scarlet-faced and somewhat dishevelled-looking Helena who, having listened to his astounding claim with mounting alarm, now found herself so utterly taken aback that she was incapable of speech.

‘Miss Wheatley?’

Taking her unresisting hand in his, Richard summoned up a smile of encouragement and said, ‘It would seem that our little secret is out, my love. Perhaps you would care to explain to their ladyships the true purpose of our clandestine rendezvous?’

Dorothy Elbury lives in a quiet Lincolnshire village—an ideal atmosphere for writing her historical novels. She has been married to her husband for fifty years (it was love at first sight, of course!), and they have three children and four grandchildren. Her hobbies include visiting museums and historic houses, and handicrafts of various kinds.

Recent novels by the same author:

A HASTY BETROTHAL

THE VISCOUNT’S SECRET

THE OFFICER AND THE LADY

AN UNCONVENTIONAL MISS

THE MAJOR AND THE COUNTRY MISS

A
Marriageable
Miss
Dorothy Elbury

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Chapter One

Tossing aside yet another polite reminder of a still unpaid account, Richard Standish, now 6th Earl of Markfield, leaned back in his chair and stretched his aching limbs, wearily surveying the mounting pile of similar requests on the desk in front of him.

It hardly seemed possible that a mere six months had elapsed since his cousin Simon’s fatal accident, as a consequence of which, Standish had unexpectedly and, most reluctantly, found himself in possession of the ancient title. Having resigned his commission the previous year, following Napoleon’s decisive defeat at Waterloo, the ex-dragoon major had returned home to his own small estate, fully intent on realising a long-held aspiration to revive the Standish Stud which, in his grandfather’s day, had been highly regarded in horse-breeding circles.

Unfortunately, his sudden acquisition of Markfield’s vast acreage, along with its accompanying tenant farms and labourers’ cottages, had very quickly put a brake on his purchasing powers, owing to the numerous calls on his rapidly diminishing funds. Not that the expense of the estate itself was in any way responsible for his present financial crisis since, thanks to the competent management of his late grandfather’s land agent, Ben Hollis who, for the past fifteen years or so, had been allowed a more-or-less free hand in the running of the place, this concern was largely self-supporting.

The real headache, from the new earl’s point of view, was the appallingly run-down state of Markfield Hall, the family mansion house, which had been built to celebrate Sir Edmund Markfield’s elevation to the peerage in 1698. In its prime, the Hall had been much revered as an outstanding example of classical architecture but, due to severe neglect on the part of the 4th earl, the late Simon Standish’s father, two of the chimney stacks were now dangerously unstable, several parts of the roof were open to the elements and rain had caused considerable damage to much of the Hall’s fine oak panelling.

Following Simon Standish’s untimely death, the newly ennobled Richard had been appalled to discover how carelessly the previous two occupants had treated the magnificent old mansion house. Not that he had any real desire to take up residence there himself, since he much preferred the more modern comforts of his own house at Westpark—which, until his grandfather had made it over to Richard’s father Henry, upon the occasion of his marriage, some thirty years earlier, had originally formed part of the much larger Markfield estate.

Nevertheless, as his grandmother, the dowager countess, had been swift to point out to him, ‘The Hall has always been regarded as a symbol of the family heritage—to simply stand by and watch it crumble into ruins would be an act of pure sacrilege!’

Accordingly, more in deference to his ageing grandmother’s wishes than to his own requirements, Richard had set in motion an extensive refurbishment programme but, since it had then transpired that the estate kitty contained insufficient funds to bear the brunt of the mounting expense, he had found himself obliged to furnish the cost of the operation out of his own pocket. Having already invested most of his capital in setting up his fledgling stud farm, this additional burden on his finances had been more than enough to cause him concern. Added to which, it now seemed that he had seriously underestimated the likely cost of the venture and, as he stared glumly down at the column of figures before him, he could not help thinking that the project was getting to the stage where it could only be likened to some enormous millstone hanging round his neck! Where in Hades he was going to find enough money to finance the spiralling expenditure was proving to be an ever-increasing quandary. He had already been forced to sell off two of his most promising mares, both in foal to the one-time champion Gadfly, and now it was beginning to look as though he might well have to sacrifice his prize-winning stallion, too!

Distracted as he was by the weight of his problems, the distant sound of the front door bell failed to impinge itself upon his consciousness and it was only the opening of his study door some ten minutes later that eventually roused him from his deliberations.

‘Her ladyship has arrived from London, my lord,’ came the sepulchral tones of Kilburn, his butler. ‘She has instructed me to inform you that both she and Mr Standish are awaiting your presence in the drawing room.’

Stifling a groan, Richard laid down his pen and pushed back his chair.

‘Have some tea sent in and tell her ladyship that I will be with her directly,’ he instructed the man as, getting to his feet, he shrugged himself into his jacket and ran his fingers hurriedly through his dishevelled hair. After casting a perfunctory look at his reflection in one of the glass-fronted bookcases at the doorway, he made his way across the hallway into his drawing room, whereupon he was greeted by his grandmother’s ringing tones.

‘Oh, here you are at last, Richard! Charles was just about to come in search of you!’

‘Dreadfully sorry to have kept you waiting,’ said Richard, bending down to kiss the old lady’s surprisingly unlined cheek before turning to acknowledge his cousin. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘We stopped off for a quick bite at the Red Lion in Wimbledon, as usual,’ said Charles, returning his smile. ‘But Grandmama was keen to get on and view the latest improvements—I see they’ve started stripping the roof of the west wing.’

Mindful of the tiler’s recent statement of account, Richard gave a cursory nod. ‘The work is progressing more quickly than I had anticipated. I rather fear that, if the bills keep coming in at their present rate, I may well have to call a temporary halt in the proceedings.’

‘Oh, surely not, Richard!’ protested the dowager, laying down her teacup with such force that its contents spilled over its rim. ‘I have only just this minute finished telling Charles that the Hall is beginning to look almost as it did when I first went there as a bride over sixty years ago! Your poor grandfather would be so disappointed if he could hear you!’

‘It’s a question of juggling the finances, dear heart,’ returned her grandson, as he moved over to the sideboard to pour drinks for Standish and himself. ‘I already have a mountain of bills to pay and I must keep enough in the kitty for day-to-day expenses. However, if we are lucky enough to pull in good harvests on both estates, I dare say it might be possible to start on the east wing in the autumn.’

‘If only your Uncle Leo had paid heed to my warnings after that dreadful storm, the poor old Hall wouldn’t be in this state now!’ said Lady Isobel, with a plaintive sniff. ‘I begged and begged him to attend to the roof damage, but would he listen? Oh, no! Said he had better things to do with his money. And your cousin Simon was little better. I can only thank God that neither of you is a gambling man!’

‘An occupation for fools and tricksters, in my opinion,’ replied Richard, shooting a warning glance at his cousin, whose cheeks had reddened at the dowager’s remark. ‘Have no fear, Grandmama, I promise you that neither Charles nor I has any intention of following either Simon’s or Uncle Leo’s example.’

Lady Isobel frowned, but said nothing. Having suffered the loss of so many males in her family under somewhat unfortunate circumstances, she took considerable consolation from the knowledge that the current Lord Markfield had few, if any, of his predecessors’ bad qualities and was determined to restore the estate to its former grandeur.

Furthermore she was confident that once Richard was set on a course of action almost nothing would change his mind.

Glancing across at him now, as he stood chatting to Charles, the youngest of her grandsons, her eyes softened. The 6th earl certainly cut a fine figure and was very personable to boot. If only he could be persuaded to take himself a wife and start setting up his nursery! Having reached the ripe old age of eighty-one years herself, she was well aware that her time was running out and she dearly wanted to hear again the joyful sounds of childish laughter ringing through the old Hall before she eventually met her Maker.

‘You’ll stay for dinner, of course?’ Richard was asking his cousin.

Placing his empty glass down on the tray, Charles shook his head. ‘Better not, old chap,’ he replied. ‘I promised Mother I’d be back in time to dine with her. It’s been over a week now and you know how fidgety she’s apt to get if I’m away for more than a few days at a time. I’ll look in tomorrow, if I may?’

‘Of course—you’re always welcome, as I hope you know.’

After escorting his cousin to the door, Richard returned to his grandmother’s side. Sitting himself down on the sofa next to her, he leaned back and stretched out his legs, a slight frown on his forehead.

‘Take heart, my boy,’ Lady Isobel said bracingly. ‘At least you don’t have to face up to a complaining invalid every time you come home. How Charles finds the patience to deal with that woman is quite beyond me. I have never been able to understand what your Uncle Andrew ever saw in her, for she was always completely useless as a cleric’s wife!’

Richard, whose own mother had died when he was just seven years of age, gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, it’s not as though he can ignore her, is it? Besides which, he’s obliged to come down to Southpark to attend to various estate matters.’

‘To see how much is in the coffers, you mean!’ returned the countess, with some asperity. ‘He would do far better to get himself a wife and run his share of the estate as it should be run, instead of gallivanting about town!’

Well aware of what was about to follow his grandmother’s observation in regard to his cousin’s marital state, the earl, shifting uneasily on his seat, compressed his lips and waited.

‘And, much the same applies to you, Richard, my boy,’ she then went on. ‘Apart from anything else, you have the succession to consider! Four changes of title in eight years should be more than enough warning to you. What if you were to die without issue?’

‘Well, I did manage to get through an entire war pretty well undamaged,’ he felt constrained to point out. ‘I dare say I’m good for a few years yet! But, as to marrying, there’s time enough for that—besides which, I have far too many other problems to deal with without adding the complications of courtship to the list.’

‘That would depend on your requirements, surely?’ returned his grandmother. ‘In my experience—which is hardly limited—the acquisition of a wealthy wife tends to solve a good many problems!’

Richard stared at her in amazement. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that I should choose a wife on the strength of her dowry?’

Lady Isobel lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. ‘It’s hardly uncommon, amongst those of our standing, my boy. Always provided that the gel comes from good family stock, of course.’ Pausing for a moment, she then continued, in a seemingly offhand manner, ‘Added to which, a sizeable injection into those dwindling funds of yours would enable you to concentrate your efforts on that new horse-breeding programme you keep on about. I cannot think of anything that would please your grandfather more than knowing that you had brought the Standish Stud back into the forefront of horse-racing circles once again—he was deeply hurt that not one of his sons showed any interest in what had always been his pride and joy!’

One quick glance at her grandson’s expression assured the countess that she had hit the vital spot. ‘All those empty stables over at Markfield are just crying out to be restocked,’ she added persuasively.

For a moment, Richard regarded her in silence, the hint of a frown sifting across his brow. ‘I’m beginning to get the feeling that you won’t be satisfied until you see me actually standing at the altar. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d already drawn up a list of this Season’s likely candidates—the usual progression of whey-faced schoolroom misses out on the catch, I dare say!’

‘And I dare say that you might expect to do rather better than that!’ laughed the countess. ‘You are a Standish, after all! All you really need is some suitably endowed young female of acceptable breeding who fancies herself as a countess. Sadly, it would seem that this Season’s selection has very little of interest to offer. Why, only the other day I was talking to my stock-broker—trying to find out if any of my shares were worth more than a fig—and he was telling me—Oh! Good heavens! I do believe I may have hit upon the very thing!’

Giving little credence to the idea that the dowager might be seriously considering involving herself in his selection of a bride, Richard was, however, somewhat confused by her sudden change of topic. ‘Thinking of selling some of your shares?’ he queried. ‘I doubt if we have enough between us to cover even half of what’s needed to fix that roof.’

His grandmother shook her head impatiently. ‘Wheatley—my broker—I hear that he has been touting around for a leg-up into the beau monde for his girl for over a year now.’

‘You’re not about to suggest that I shackle myself to a Cit’s daughter, I hope!’

As she eyed him uncertainly, Lady Isobel’s brow furrowed. ‘Whilst it is perfectly true that Giles Wheatley is a man of business, he also happens to be positively dripping with lard. Besides which, it just so happens that the girl’s grandmother was a Coverdale.’

‘I’m afraid the name means nothing to me,’ said Richard, giving a careless shrug. ‘So, what’s she like—this daughter, I mean? She must be something of an anathema, since your man hasn’t been able to palm her off for a twelvemonth or more!’

‘That’s as may be,’ returned the countess, with some asperity. ‘She is, however, her father’s only heir and, apart from the fact of her dowry being something in the region of fifty thousand pounds, it would seem that her background is reasonably sound. In point of fact, if I remember correctly, I was slightly acquainted with her grandmother, Lady Joanna Coverdale, before she became Countess of Ashington. Be that as it may, it seems that Lord Ashington disowned their daughter—Louisa, I believe her name was—when she eloped with his accountant’s clerk—who is now my very wealthy stockbroker, Giles Wheatley. They—the Ashingtons, that is—died in a carriage accident shortly after the gel ran off and, since the estate was entailed to some distant cousin in the Antipodes, the daughter was left with nothing.’ Pausing reflectively, she then added, ‘Nevertheless, it seems that the pair did very well for themselves over the years, although it appears that Wheatley’s wife and son both died a couple of years ago. Can’t say that I have ever set eyes on the girl herself, but she is sure to have been brought up in a very proper manner, her mother being who she was.’

‘Well, there must be something deucedly odd about her,’ remarked her grandson, who was not at all happy with the direction in which this conversation was heading. ‘Plenty of fellows would be willing to sell their souls for fifty thousand!’

‘Perhaps she is just difficult to please?’ ventured the countess. ‘Her father is certainly wealthy enough for her to pick and choose—not that she will have been presented with a particularly inspiring set of individuals, if the usual set of fortune-hunters is still out on the prowl. You are sure to have far more chance with her than any of those ramshackle bucks.’

‘You are too kind!’ the earl ground out. ‘However, I am not sure that I care to join the ranks of such dubious company.’

Lady Isobel picked up her teacup and sipped tentatively at its now lukewarm contents. ‘Well, it’s entirely up to you, of course. However, I cannot help thinking that a readymade bride would certainly absolve you from having to go through all that tiresome business of formal introductions and correct procedures at Almack’s and so on.’

Although the idea of being obliged to contemplate marriage at all at this point in his life was sufficiently galling, without the added prospect of being saddled with a bride whose attributes had, it would seem, already failed to capture the interest of several previous suitors, the earl’s hitherto sceptical dismissal of his grandmother’s suggestions was now beginning to be replaced by the uncomfortable feeling that the dowager might actually be correct in her summation of the situation.

He was well aware that few men of his station married for love, an amicable mutual tolerance between the two parties being all that was usually required—and there was always the possibility that this Wheatley girl might not be quite as unprepossessing as she sounded, after all! It would mean giving up his occasional visits to Rachel Cummings, of course, although, in the event, that might not be such a bad thing, since that lady was beginning to develop rather expensive tastes of late—those ruby earrings he had recently presented her with had been a trifle extravagant, given his current financial position. Aside from which, the temporary cessation of his carnal delectations was a small enough price to pay for the restoration of the Markfield estate! Indeed, the very idea of being able to devote all his own resources to re-establishing the Standish Stud was beginning to prove an almost irresistible inducement.

Picking up his glass, he strode over to the window and stared pensively across the wide expanse of fresh green lawn that swept down to the river, which separated Westpark from its parent estate of Markfield—so very different from the baked and arid plains of the Iberian Peninsula where he had spent much of the past six years. The lush green landscapes of the English countryside were, as he knew, entirely dependent upon the weather, rainfall in particular. Just as rain could affect the outcome of a battle, so also could it affect the success of a harvest. He was well aware that his plans to utilise the returns from the forthcoming harvest to settle his outstanding bills lay very much at the mercy of the weather. And, given that they were still only in April, he was also shrewd enough to recognise that some of his creditors might be less than willing to hold out until August. Meanwhile, just the rumour of a possible alliance with a wealthy spouse could be all that was needed to deter further financial harassment. It would certainly make good sense to have, as it were, a second line of defence. After all, he then reasoned, it should not be too difficult to bring any such temporary relationship to a close, since it appeared that the female in question was merely out to gain herself a title and he was quite certain that there were any number of other fellows around who would be more than happy to fulfil that requirement.

As a Field Officer he had been used to choosing courses of action based on the information to hand and when timing was of the essence.

There was little doubt that this present situation required such an instant decision.

Draining his glass in one swift gulp, he swung round to face his grandmother.

‘Very well, you may go and see your Mr Wheatley and inform him that I’m willing to throw my hat into his ring.’

Chapter Two

‘Do come away from the window, Lottie, I beg of you,’ implored Helena. ‘It is not at all seemly to be seen twitching at the curtains in that manner!’

‘But are you not in the least bit interested in seeing what he looks like?’ queried her cousin Charlotte, reluctantly turning away from her self-appointed vigil at the window that over-looked the front doorstep.

‘Not in the slightest,’ returned Helena, with a weary sigh. ‘He will be much the same as all the others—rude, conceited and feigning an interest in me simply in order to get his hands on my dowry. If it were not for the fact that it upsets Papa so, I should have refused to go through this charade again. He seems incapable of understanding how very demeaning it is for me.’

As she watched Helena continue to ply her needle in silence, Lottie could not help but feel a certain sympathy for her cousin’s unusual plight. The Wheatleys’ runaway marriage had left their daughter stranded between the two distinctly separate worlds of upper and middle class. The young men of her father’s acquaintance considered her too far above their touch and those who moved in the circle on which her mother had turned her back all those years ago were not of a mind to consider the girl at all. Not until Mr Wheatley had, by word of mouth, advertised his present intention, that was, and, as Lottie well knew, this obsession of his had developed only as a direct result of dear Aunt Louisa’s death.

‘Perhaps I could try talking to him,’ she offered hesitantly. ‘If I explained how very much you have taken against the whole idea since that unpleasant business with Lord Barrington—’

‘No, Lottie! Please do not!’ urged Helena, her clear blue eyes widening with concern. ‘Papa got into such a dreadful state over that incident and you know that Doctor Redfern said that it was not good for him to be upset—his heart will simply not stand up to another attack.’

‘But what will you do this time?’ asked her cousin, perplexed.

An impish smile spread over Helena’s attractive features. ‘Oh, have no fear,’ she replied complacently. ‘I shall be sure to think of something. Fortunately, these town dandies—the ones with whom I have come into contact, anyway—hardly seem to be blessed with much in the way of intelligence, so it does not take a genius to find a dozen ways to send them packing!’

‘It is a good thing Uncle Giles does not realise what a minx his daughter is turning into,’ chuckled Lottie, as she resumed her seat at the window and picked up her book.

‘I just wish that I could persuade him that I have no desire to wed,’ sighed her cousin. ‘It is not as though I have any need to find a husband but, ever since Jason’s death and then poor dear Mama following him so soon after, Papa has had this bee in his bonnet about failing to give me my rightful place in society. I ask you! As though you and I could not rub along very nicely together if only he would allow us to do so!’

And, as the well-remembered image of her teasingly light-hearted elder brother once more invaded her thoughts, Helena’s eyes grew moist. Just four short years had passed since Jason had gone off to war, so handsome in his scarlet regimentals and so full of confidence. Sadly, a mere six months later, he had been shipped home so grievously wounded that, even with his mother’s devoted care, there was never any real chance of his recovery and, although he had clung courageously to life for several weeks, he had eventually slipped away.

Mrs Wheatley’s careless disregard for her own health during her son’s illness had resulted in her contracting the bout of pneumonia from which she had never recovered. The shock of his wife’s death, less than a year after that of their beloved son, had exacerbated Mr Wheatley’s prevailing heart condition, obliging him to take to his bed on more than one occasion since her passing.

From Helena’s point of view, these enforced periods of rest had enabled her father to spend rather too much time dwelling upon what he considered to be an unacceptable uncertainty regarding his remaining child’s future. His late wife’s ostracism from her social circle had always weighed heavily with him, and he had continually held himself to blame, despite Mrs Wheatley’s laughing insistence that, having happily relinquished her own title all those years ago, such things mattered not a jot to her. However, now that Helena was all that he had left in the world, Mr Wheatley was determined to do his utmost to—as he saw it—retrieve the situation for her sake.

Recognising that, after the death of her mother, Helena would be in need of a female companion and disliking the idea of bringing a stranger into his house, Mr Wheatley had invited his sister’s eldest daughter, Charlotte, to make her home with them. Lottie, being one of a family of seven children, had been more than delighted to accept her uncle’s offer, for with it had come the promise of a room of her own and a generous quarterly allowance, as well as an opportunity to move into a social circle that, whilst not being of the highest, was certainly considerably removed from that of her own country-vicarage upbringing.

However, despite being more than two years older than Helena, Lottie lacked her cousin’s fine judgement and presence of mind, possibly due in part to the fact that she had not had the benefit of the highly expensive schooling that the younger girl had received and, although Helena loved her dearly, she was frequently obliged to take Lottie gently to task in order to curb her somewhat impulsive behaviour.

Disregarding Helena’s constant pleadings that she had no wish to marry into high society and was perfectly happy to remain as she was, Mr Wheatley, concerned that his daughter had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two without so much as a single suitable offer, had made up his mind to take matters into his own hands. In reaching this conclusion, it had pleased him to ignore several tentative proposals he had received from various of his city acquaintances on their sons’ behalves since, despite his own relatively humble beginnings in the world of commerce, his aspirations for both of his offspring had always been somewhat more high-flown. Hence his current ambition to secure his daughter’s elevation.

Observing that her cousin was, once more, deeply absorbed in her sewing, Lottie was unable to resist taking the occasional quick peek out of the window along the path that led to the front gate, in the hope of catching sight of this new contender for Helena’s hand. Being an inveterate reader of romantic novels, she had developed the notion that it was simply a matter of time before Mr Right would ride out of the blue and capture her beloved cousin’s heart. For, quite apart from the fact that Helena was possessed of the most generous of natures and—as a result of having lost her brother in so tragic a manner—given to devoting much of her free time to the welfare of the many crippled or displaced soldiers who roamed the capital daily, she was, without doubt, an extremely attractive young woman. With shining russet-brown curls that framed the creamy complexion of her face, expressive violet-blue eyes and the neatest of noses, she was, in her cousin’s eyes at least, quite without equal. Lottie, although she had inherited her mother’s light-hearted and easygoing personality, had also been, somewhat unfortunately perhaps, blessed with her father’s somewhat Romanesque features and, well aware that she herself lacked the physical attributes of her storybook heroines, had long ago given up any thoughts of meeting her own Prince Charming. Instead, finding herself not entirely unsympathetic towards her uncle’s attitude regarding his daughter’s continued single state, she was quite content to spend a good deal of her time indulging in her own private fantasy that, any day now, the ultimate beau idéal would arrive and sweep Helena off her feet.

Therefore, when her eyes did finally alight upon the carriage that drew up at the gateway to the Wheatley house, she was obliged to push her disappointment firmly to one side. For, instead of the showy, dashing carriage of the sort with which each of Helena’s three previous potential suitors had equipped himself, today’s visitor had arrived in nothing more than a common hackney carriage!

‘I perceive that Lord Markfield has arrived, Nell,’ she began, her tone non-committal but then, as the earl’s rangy figure hove more closely into her view, her eyes brightened and she leant forward with deepening interest.

‘Lottie, please!’ urged her cousin. ‘If the gentleman should happen to look up and catch you staring, it might well give him the impression that I have been eagerly awaiting his attendance! With Papa in his present frame of mind, I swear that it will be difficult enough to turn this one off but if, in addition, I have to cope with the fellow’s puffed-up supposition that I am on tenterhooks to meet him…!’

‘I’m sorry, Nell,’ said Lottie contritely, as she pulled back from the window. ‘I don’t think he saw me—but I have to tell you,’ she added, in a breathless rush, ‘he really is most awfully good-looking!’

‘And, very probably, just plain awful!’ replied Helena tartly, folding away her sewing and getting to her feet. ‘Nevertheless, I suppose I shall have to go and tidy myself up in readiness for when Papa summons me to meet the odious sycophant!’

Richard, who had indeed caught a glimpse of Lottie peering down at him from the window of the morning room, suffered a moment’s irresolution as he approached the house but, steeling himself, he remembered his grandmother’s words about the Standish Stud and, striding purposefully up the steps to the front door, pulled at the bell knob.

He was ushered into what appeared to be a study and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not confronted with the brash, modern furnishings that he had, for some reason, associated with the nouveau riche. Instead, the room was filled with comfortable, well-worn pieces that he recognised as being of very good quality.

Seated at the large mahogany desk that dominated the room was a rather stout gentleman with a florid complexion. At Richard’s entrance, he rose to his feet and offered his hand.

‘Your lordship,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

Mr Wheatley’s voice, Richard noted, as he took the seat that his host had indicated to him, was nicely modulated and, relieved that the man was exhibiting neither servility towards his rank nor—and what he had dreaded more—the superior air of one who has all the cards at his disposal, he accepted the drink that Mr Wheatley offered him and leaned back in his chair.

‘You will no doubt have some questions that you wish to put to me,’ he ventured slowly. The man’s first impression of him, he knew, would be vital and, since he had made up his mind that, come hell or high water, he would do everything in his power to succeed in this undertaking, he forced his lips into some semblance of a smile.

Mr Wheatley waved his hand dismissively. ‘That will not be necessary, your lordship,’ he replied. ‘I have already made it my business to enquire into your background and find myself more than satisfied with your credentials. Let us proceed.’

Extracting a single piece of paper out of a folder, he placed it down on the desk in front of him and began, ‘In my taking what you might well consider to be this rather extraordinary course of action to find my daughter a suitable husband, you must realise that I have only her best interests at heart. She will be in possession of a considerable fortune when I am gone and I am sure that you will understand why I feel that it is my duty to ensure that she is not taken advantage of by some unscrupulous scoundrel.’

‘Naturally,’ replied Richard smoothly. ‘As her father, I would expect nothing less of you.’

‘I have drawn up this agreement,’ continued Wheatley, nodding to the sheet of paper under his hand. ‘It contains the main qualities that I require in any prospective candidate for my daughter’s hand—you will, no doubt, have heard that you are by no means the first such contender. I myself do not consider that these requirements to be particularly onerous but, for some reason, it appears to be increasingly difficult to find someone who is able to fulfil my expectations.’

Urging Richard to cast his eye over the several clauses therein, he pushed the sheet of paper across the desk. ‘It will save time if you read the thing yourself, my lord,’ he said. ‘If there are any points that you do not understand or on which you are not prepared to agree, we need not waste any more of each other’s time.’

Richard picked up the document and began to peruse it. It appeared to be a contract of sorts—an agreement that was to last for a period of three months, during which time the candidate for Miss Wheatley’s hand would be required to introduce her into his circle of friends—given that her father found them acceptable—acquire the necessary entry and escort her to as many of the Season’s upper-class functions as the time allowed. During this period, all expenses would be met, including that of furnishing the applicant with a suitable wardrobe, should he be in need of such refurbishment.

Whilst it was clear that the proposed schedule was one that might be achieved with very little difficulty on his part, he still could not help feeling that, by entering into such a calculated agreement, he would be in grave danger of signing away the last vestige of his self-respect. There was no question that the cost of the renovations at Markfield Hall had reached a crisis point and to be given another chance to try and re-establish the Standish Stud would be a dream come true but, as the Bible said, ‘For what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world, if he loses his own soul?’

Very gradually, a deep frown began to develop on his forehead as he contemplated the document and he was just in the process of questioning whether he could really bring himself to sign such an ignominious agreement, when an odd sound from across the desk caught his attention. Looking up, he encountered Wheatley’s frozen grimace. The man’s face was sweating profusely and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing; his hands were frantically tearing at his intricately tied neckcloth, in a vain endeavour to loosen the offending article.

At once, Richard leapt to his feet. ‘My dear sir,’ he gasped in dismay, ‘are you ill?’

In answer, Wheatley’s eyes bulged, a weak gurgle issued from his lips and, to his visitor’s consternation, he slumped forwards on to his desk, his outflung hands knocking over the inkstand and scattering his pile of papers in all directions.

Anxiously casting around for the bell-rope, the earl located it on the wall next to the marble fireplace and, having given it two hefty pulls, hurried back to Wheatley’s side where, gently lifting the man’s wrist away from the pool of ink into which it had fallen, he felt for some signs of life.

He was just beginning to discern a faint thready pulse beat when the door opened and a footman entered.

‘You must send at once for a doctor,’ barked the earl, without looking up. ‘Your master appears to have suffered some sort of attack.’

With a horrified gasp, the servant backed out of the room and hurried away to carry out the order.

Richard, meanwhile, was doing his best to make the old gentleman more comfortable. He had managed to untie the knot in Wheatley’s neckcloth and was endeavouring to unwind the linen band when he found himself violently thrust to one side, almost causing him to overbalance.

‘What have you done to him?’ an irate female voice demanded.

‘Hold hard, madam!’ he protested, ruefully rubbing his elbow, which had struck the corner of Wheatley’s high-backed chair in the foregoing scuffle. ‘I must assure you that Mr Wheatley’s collapse was not of my making!’

‘Get out!’ snapped Helena, as she knelt beside her father’s chair trying to get some response from her unconscious parent. ‘I beg of you—just go!’

Biting back the sharp put-down that had been on his lips, the earl, having quickly reached the conclusion that his presence seemed to be causing more of a hindrance than help, turned sharply on his heel and made for the open door. Clicking his fingers at the footman in the hall, he retrieved his hat and gloves and, without waiting to be helped into his greatcoat, left the house without a backward glance.

Chapter Three

‘And she refused to allow you to explain yourself?’ exclaimed

Lady Isobel in amazement, having listened to her grandson’s recital of the afternoon’s extraordinary events.

‘She told me to get out,’ replied Richard curtly. ‘In the circumstances, I could hardly argue with the girl, now could I?’

Striving to hide her disappointment over the fact that her resourceful scheme had gone so badly awry, the dowager pursed her lips. ‘I take it that you were not impressed with the gel? Was she as ill favoured as you had supposed?’

‘I was hardly given the opportunity to study her in depth.’ The earl shrugged. ‘I merely caught sight of her peering out of an upper window as I was arriving—she looked to be a plain, gawky sort of creature and, of course, she had her back to me in the study, so I was unable to determine the full extent of her charms. However, her manner did seem to be singularly unattractive and I have to say that it came as no great surprise to me to learn that she has already managed to frighten off no less than three aspiring suitors.’

‘Such a pity,’ sighed the dowager. ‘All our hopes dashed at the first hurdle.’ Then, eyeing her grandson speculatively, she added, ‘Although, it would be perfectly in order for you to pay a further visit to enquire as to how the poor man does.’

‘I would just as soon not, if it’s all the same to you,’ returned Richard tersely. ‘That agreement that your Mr Wheatley wanted me to sign was quite enough to put me off, thank you very much. The fellow seems to be looking for a veritable gigolo! I’ll have you know that I still have some pride left!’

‘Then we must hope that your resolve remains just as implacable when the bailiffs start to dun us for money that we don’t have,’ returned Lady Isobel with a resigned sniff. Then, after a slight pause, she continued in a somewhat plaintive tone, ‘And, of course, I shall not press you, my boy. It is your heritage, after all. I, myself, will soon be dust and ashes!’ And, dabbing affectedly at her eyes, she gave a heavy sigh. ‘I had, of course, always supposed that I would be buried in the Hall’s own chapel, alongside your dear dead grandfather!’

Well acquainted with his grandmother’s affectations, Richard had long ago learned when appeasement was the better part of confrontation. Furthermore, since the latest request from one of his creditors had been couched in a somewhat more belligerent manner than those received previously, it was reasonable to assume that should one creditor decide to take immediate action, the rest would be sure to follow like a pack of wolves, spelling financial disaster.

‘Very well, you old harridan, I will give your blessed scheme another try!’

‘That is very sensible of you, Richard,’ said his grandmother, brightening. ‘One ought not to allow one’s personal feelings to interfere with the ultimate objective. Besides which, it is infinitely possible that you might find that the Wheatley gel has hidden talents.’

‘Possible, but highly unlikely,’ Richard ground out, as he made his way towards the salon door. ‘But, since it is, apparently, her father’s money that I need to keep in my sights, I suppose I shall have to do my best to try to worm my way into the creature’s good books—regardless of her decidedly unattractive disposition.’

But, as he left the room, his jaw tightened and, under his breath, he murmured to himself, ‘Dear God above! What sort of a fellow is this business turning me into?’

The next morning, however, the earl was not a little surprised to receive a note from Miss Wheatley asking him if he would be so good as to call into Cadogan Place that afternoon. Although he had decided to comply with his grandmother’s suggestion, this timely invitation now meant that he would no longer have to return to the house ‘cap in hand,’ so to speak, for which reprieve he was profoundly thankful.

Therefore, it was in a considerably lighter frame of mind that, sharp on the dot of three o’clock that afternoon, he presented himself at the Wheatley house, whereupon he was straight away shown up to a pleasantly appointed sitting room on the first floor.

At his entrance, two equally elegantly clad young ladies turned to greet him; Miss Wheatley, he presumed, as he executed his bow, being the aquiline-featured, mousy-haired female whom he had spotted at the window on his previous visit. However, upon raising his eyes, he met the challenging stare of her very striking companion who, having returned to her own seat, indicated that he should take the chair opposite.

‘It was very good of your lordship to come,’ said this chestnut-haired vision, in a clear, mellow tone of voice which, noted the earl, his temporary loss of composure now restored, was quite as attractive as its owner and who, it was now becoming increasingly obvious to him, was in fact the daughter of the house.

‘Not at all, Miss Wheatley,’ he eventually found himself saying. ‘It is my pleasure, I assure you. I would, of course, have called in any case, to enquire after your father’s health. I trust that he suffered no serious hurt from yesterday’s unfortunate incident?’

‘Thank you for your concern, my lord,’ she replied coolly while, at the same time, beckoning Lottie to come forwards. ‘I am happy to say that he does, indeed, seem to be on the mend—please allow me to introduce my cousin and companion, Miss Charlotte Daniels.’

Rising to his feet, Richard bent his head and raised Lottie’s outstretched hand to his lips, which unexpected gallantry caused that young woman’s cheeks to turn bright scarlet and her heart to flutter quite atrociously. Bobbing a swift curtsy, she returned hurriedly to her seat where, still overcome, she took refuge in her book.

Finding herself somewhat irritated, not only as a result of her cousin’s gauche behaviour, but rather more so by Markfield’s extravagantly high-flown gesture, Helena, who had been agreeably surprised when the earl had walked into the room, was beginning to think that he was no better than any of her previous would-be suitors.

When she had arrived in the study on the previous afternoon to find him bent over her unconscious parent, other than pushing the visitor to one side, she had given him scant regard. Lottie had, of course, regaled her with enthusiastic descriptions of his dark, wavy hair, shapely limbs and broad-shouldered elegance, all of which Helena, for the most part, had ignored. In fact, had it not been for Mr Wheatley’s insistence that she should write and ask Markfield to pay another call, there, as far as she was concerned, the matter would have rested. However, loath to cause her father any unnecessary anxiety in his present fragile state, Helena felt that she had no choice but to obey his instructions that, since his own consultation with Markfield had been all but finalised before his seizure, she herself should complete the interview, which merely needed the earl’s signature on the document. Once this was obtained, Helena knew that she was then committed to yet another dreary round of accompanying the man to any tedious function to which he had managed to procure an invitation. Having already undergone similar ordeals with Markfield’s three predecessors—as undistinguished a set of no-hopers as one might ever expect to come across—the prospect of wasting still more of her time in another such pointless exercise filled her with the utmost despondency.

Nevertheless, after she had taken stock of her visitor, Helena found herself experiencing the oddest sense of disappointment that this latest contender for her hand had shown himself to be just as shallow as his peers.

Richard, having resumed his seat, was waiting patiently for his hostess to offer some explanation for her note. He knew that it was hardly likely that she had invited him here to apologise for her untoward behaviour on the previous afternoon and, since he had already expressed his regret over Wheatley’s mishap, he was beginning to feel that, other than the usual trite remarks about the weather, there was little that he could add to the conversation.

Uncomfortably aware of his intent gaze, Helena felt a warm flush creep across her cheeks and, vexed that his scrutiny should have such a remarkable effect upon her normally calm demeanour, she braced herself to carry out her father’s wishes and decided to go straight into the attack.

‘May I take it that you have read these requirements?’ she enquired, gesturing to a small table nearby upon which lay not only the dreaded document from Wheatley’s study but, in addition, an inkwell, a sandpot and a pair of newly sharpened quills.

‘Oh, I hardly think that this is a suitable subject—’ he began, somewhat taken aback at such a direct approach to what was, after all, a rather delicate matter and one that was, insofar as he was concerned, strictly between the girl’s parent and himself.

‘Nonsense!’ she interrupted briskly. ‘It is as much my affair as it is your own! Besides which, my father has expressed the wish that the business should be completed without further ado and so—if you are of a mind to agree to his terms…?’

Frowning, the earl flicked his eyes over to Helena’s companion who, he saw with some exasperation, was gazing at him in breathless fascination. Getting to his feet, he crossed the short distance between himself and his hostess and, lowering his voice, murmured, ‘I am inclined to think that a little more privacy might be in order for a discussion such as this, would you not agree?’

As the barely discernible scent of his lemon-verbena cologne wafted across her nostrils, Helena felt her pulses quickening, immediately causing her to reach the conclusion that this clearly practised popinjay seemed to be attempting, in her father’s absence, to gain some sort of advantage over her undoubted lack of experience in handling transactions of this kind. An indignant spurt of fury ran through her and, leaning well away from his undeniably compelling magnetism, she waved her hand dismissively.

‘That will not be necessary, your lordship,’ she said, in as airy a tone as she could conjure up. ‘You may rest assured that my cousin is perfectly well acquainted with my father’s plans for my future.’ And, picking up one of the pens, she held it out to him. ‘Will you sign first or shall I? My father has given me his authority.’

For, possibly, the first time in the whole of his twenty-nine years Richard found himself at something of a loss. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that Lady Isobel’s stock-broker’s daughter was no ordinary title seeker. Indeed, the young lady appeared to have all the necessary qualities one might look for, if one were truly in search of a wife and, in any other situation, he might well have been tempted into getting to know her better. Nevertheless, since he considered his word far above any mere signature on a document, and despite the impending disastrous consequences of his actions, he was certainly not about to enter into any sort of written agreement.

‘Lord Markfield?’

Conscious that both of the ladies were watching his movements intently, the earl’s lips tightened. ‘I fear that I shall have to decline your father’s offer, Miss Wheatley,’ he said abruptly. ‘I find that I am, after all, unable to meet his—requirements. Please forgive me for wasting so much of your time.’ With which, he executed a stiff bow and turned to leave the room.

In consternation, Helena leapt to her feet and attempted to bar his way. ‘But you cannot mean to leave!’ she gasped. ‘That is—I gave Papa my word that I would soon have the matter tied up—may I be permitted to know what has caused you to change your mind?’

Looking down at the girl’s lovely face, with her exquisite blue eyes now so full of concern, Richard experienced a sharp pang of regret that he had not met her under more favourable circumstances. Immediately putting aside that obstructive thought, however, he made some attempt to formulate an adequate reply to her question.

‘I have not exactly changed my mind, Miss Wheatley,’ he began. ‘As it happens, it was not fully made up in the first place.’

‘Am I to take it then that you have been offended by my forthrightness?’ she faltered, suddenly conscious of the fact that she should, perhaps, have waited until the earl had signed the agreement before she set about demolishing his pretensions.

A swift smile creased his face. ‘No such thing, I promise you,’ he assured her. ‘Your candour is most refreshing.’

Although deeply perplexed, Helena found herself strangely unwilling to allow him to leave before she had discovered the true reason for his volte-face.

‘Then, why?’ she persisted, steadfastly ignoring the sound of her cousin’s sharp intake of breath.

Richard hesitated momentarily then, with a slight lift of his shoulders, said, ‘The fact of the matter is, Miss Wheatley, that I find I am having considerable difficulty in coming to terms with the idea of being—bought off—if you will excuse the expression!’

She flushed. ‘But I was under the impression that that was the whole point of the scheme!’ she rejoined. ‘Your title for my hand—or rather—the fortune that goes along with it! Why did you offer yourself up if you find the whole idea so repellent?’

Shaking his head, the earl stepped away from her. ‘I fear that it is far too complicated a matter to go into here, Miss Wheatley so, if you will excuse me, I will bid you “good day” and thank you again for your patience.’

‘No, wait, please!’ exclaimed Helena, now in some desperation. The thought of having to tell her father that she had failed to carry out his mission did not sit readily with her and, racking her brain for some sort of inspiration, a possible way out of the dilemma occurred to her. ‘I do have another suggestion—if you will hear me out?’

Richard gave an impatient shrug. ‘Naturally, I will listen to what you have to say, Miss Wheatley,’ he said wearily. ‘But, I must assure you that it will not alter my decision.’

‘You cannot possibly know that until you have heard what I am about to suggest!’ she flashed back at him. ‘Now, do sit down and hear me out, I beg you.’

Stifling the smile that was threatening to form, the earl returned to his seat where, leaning back, he folded his arms and waited expectantly. He was not a little intrigued as to why the lady should be so anxious to stay his departure since, as far as he had been able to gather from his grandmother, she had given every one of her previous suitors very short shrift before he had been sent on the rightabout. Not that he numbered himself among such fly-by-nights as Barrington, Arnold and Farley, he was quick to remind himself. In fact, having spent some time considering the various snippets of information that the dowager had imparted, it had not taken him long to arrive at the conclusion that Miss Helena Wheatley was, possibly, not altogether enamoured of her father’s plans for her future and might well have been going to considerable lengths to sabotage them. Her initial coolness towards him on his arrival had reinforced this belief and had, in the end, gone some way in strengthening his resolve to quit. Although he was achingly aware of the highly parlous state of his affairs, he could see no reason for compounding an already shameful situation by setting himself up as a target for general ridicule.

Helena took a deep breath. ‘I completely understand your reticence, my lord,’ she began. ‘But you must understand that I cannot bring myself to tell my father that his efforts have been to no avail. I have, however, come up with a sort of compromise—a solution that may prove to be of benefit to both of us.’

One of Richard’s brows rose imperceptibly. It was becoming clear he had not been wrong in his surmise. However, he opted not to comment and waited for Helena to continue.

‘You must correct me if I have gained the wrong impression, my lord,’ she said. ‘But it is my understanding that, whenever a gentleman’s name is linked to that of an heiress, his creditors seem perfectly content to hold back from their demands—banking, no doubt, on the possibility of acquiring a good deal more in the way of extra interest and so on?’

The earl stiffened. ‘You are remarkably well informed, Miss Wheatley,’ he drawled. ‘But I still do not see…?’

‘I was merely trying to point out that there are certain advantages to be gained from even a short-term relationship—two or three weeks, for instance?’

At Richard’s continued expression of incomprehension, Helena then leaned forwards and, clasping her hands together, entreated him, ‘What I am asking you, my lord, is whether you would be willing to consider fulfilling some of my father’s requirements for that length of time—just long enough for him to recover sufficiently for me to explain the situation to him?’

‘To which particular requirements are you referring?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Well, for instance, if you would be prepared to escort me to just one or two simple affairs—you would have no need to sign anything, of course—I could tell Papa that you did not deem it necessary to put your signature to the document until you find yourself obliged to ask him to furnish you with extra funds—any expense you do incur I can easily reimburse you out of my own pocket.’

‘I trust that I have not yet sunk to the level that would require me to accept money from a lady,’ said Richard firmly, as he rose once more to his feet. ‘I am sorry, Miss Wheatley, but, in my opinion, the whole idea is totally impracticable!’

Her lips trembling, Helena stood up and faced him. ‘I do not believe so, my lord,’ she replied in a toneless voice. ‘But, thank you for hearing me out—I shall not take up any more of your time. Please allow me to see you to the door.’

Taking one look at her set, white face, the earl was filled with remorse. ‘I am sure that, when you have explained to your father, he will understand the situation, my dear,’ he said kindly, finding himself reluctant to leave the girl in such a dismal frame of mind.

‘Then you clearly do not know my uncle!’

Charlotte Daniels, outraged at Markfield’s casual dismissal of her beloved Helena’s suggestion, had thrust herself between the pair and, ignoring her cousin’s exclamation of dismay, proceeded, in no uncertain terms, to berate the astonished earl.

‘How can you be so insensitive!’ she exploded, wagging her finger under his nose. ‘Is it beyond you to see that Helena is out of her mind with worry about her papa? She will not tell you, so I shall!’

‘Lottie, please!’ begged Helena, attempting to pull her cousin aside. ‘His lordship wishes to leave!’

‘Not until I have said my piece!’ countered Lottie obstinately and, turning back to Richard, she informed him that, contrary to what Helena had given him to understand, Mr Wheatley was, in fact, a very sick man and this latest attack had been described by his physician as extremely grave. If there were to be any hope of a recovery for him, he would be required to remain in his bed for at least two weeks, during which time it was vital that he had no excitation of any sort.

‘And, if you imagine that being told that you have left without signing his precious document does not qualify as excitation, ’ she finished scornfully, ‘then I must tell you that you are fair and far out!’

Somewhat taken aback by the unexpected onslaught, Richard’s eyes travelled slowly from the scarlet-faced female in front of him over to Helena’s frozen expression. The rigid set of her shoulders told him how deeply mortified she was by her cousin’s interference.

‘You really should have told me how serious your father’s condition is,’ he said gently.

She gave a little shrug. ‘Would it have made any difference, my lord? It is clear that you had already made up your mind to refuse his offer before you arrived.’

‘That much is true,’ he was obliged to acknowledge, as he stepped towards her and reached out to take her by the hands. ‘Nevertheless, Miss Wheatley, I must point out that being in receipt of such important information might well have caused me to give more serious consideration to your own request—I would not be altogether happy to find that your father’s recovery had suffered any sort of setback as a result of any action of mine.’

At the gentle pressure of his fingers on her wrists, Helena seemed to feel her heart skipping several beats and, colouring faintly, she stammered, ‘It was not my intention to make you feel under any sort of obligation, sir.’

Raising one eyebrow, Richard gave a rueful grin. ‘That may not have been your intention, Miss Wheatley,’ he said softly, ‘but that is exactly how I do feel and—if you believe that it will help your father’s case—you have my promise that I shall do my best to advance your little scheme!’

Chapter Four

‘Good heavens, Rick! Please tell me that you are joking!’

Carefully placing his glass on to the table in front of him, Charles Standish leaned forwards and stared at his cousin in astonishment.

‘You can’t mean to tell us that you’re actually prepared to go ahead with this chit’s bizarre proposition?’

Wincing at the other man’s somewhat discourteous reference to the far from chit-like Miss Wheatley, Richard took a deep breath and began, once again, to explain to his three companions the reason for his unexpected change of heart.

Standish and the earl, along with Sir Peter Braithwaite and the Honourable Geoffrey Fairfax, both ex-army colleagues of Markfield’s, were seated in the smoking room of Brooks’s, currently their preferred choice of venue.

‘Do pay attention, old man!’ groaned Braithwaite, as he signalled to the barman to bring another bottle. ‘Rick has already told you twice that the caper is merely for a couple of weeks and, it does seem to me that, as his friends, it is up to us to rally round him. Putting the word around that he could be about to shackle himself to this Wheatley girl might well stave off the bulk of his creditors while he regroups his resources.’

Then, turning to Richard, he asked sympathetically, ‘What would you have us do, old chap? I take it that you mean to have a stab at getting this Miss Wheatley accepted by the ton? Is the girl really up to it, do you suppose? It can be a pretty gruelling experience, you know—I understand that my cousin had a devilish hard time of it last year—in spite of the fact that Emily Cowper is one of her godmothers.’

Richard sighed. ‘I realise that it is going to be far from easy, but I aim to give it my best shot. Grandmama has asked if I could bring Miss Wheatley to meet her this afternoon…’ He paused for a moment, then continued manfully. ‘However, since I accompanied her ladyship up to town in her barouche, I appear to have a slight problem regarding a decent conveyance. Would it be too much to ask if you could spare me the loan of one of your carriages, Peter?’

‘Take your pick, old friend,’ returned Braithwaite immediately. ‘There is no one I would rather trust with my cattle than yourself. We can cut across to the mews right now, if you are of a mind?’

Not to be outdone, Fairfax, taking out his pocket book, added, ‘If you give me the young lady’s address, I shall get the mater to send an invite to her to attend her next soirée—Cadogan Place, you say? Pretty respectable part of town, at any event.’

‘You really are the best of fellows,’ said Richard, much moved by his friends’ generosity and greatly relieved to know that they were prepared to give him their wholehearted support in this outrageous venture. And if, in addition to salving his guilty conscience to some degree, the undertaking also had the effect of staving off some of his creditors temporarily, then that could be no bad thing. As things stood at the moment, even two weeks’ grace would bring about a brief but welcome respite, given that the estate’s next quarter-day was just around the corner, heralding a much-needed input from its tenant farmers.

The earl’s arrival at the front doorstep of Cadogan Place that afternoon was more than enough to cause Charlotte who, despite Helena’s pleas, had taken up her usual position of ‘look-out’ at the window of the first-floor morning room, to jump up and down in absolute glee the minute her eyes fell upon the spanking pair of matching bays and the shiny maroon equipage to which they were harnessed.

‘Oh, Nell!’ she squealed, quite overcome, as she took in Markfield’s appearance. Clad in a superbly cut jacket of blue superfine and pale grey pantaloons, his tasselled black Hessians polished to perfection, he leapt lightly down from the driving seat, tossed the reins to the waiting groom, mounted the short flight of steps two at a time and knocked briskly on the front door. ‘He really is just too divine!’

‘I trust that you do not intend to swoon at his feet as soon as he comes in,’ sighed Helena who, truth to tell, had herself been itching to peep out of the window. ‘What sort of carriage has he arrived in this time?’

‘I believe it is what is known as a phaeton—oh!’ Deeply disappointed, Charlotte spun round and confronted her cousin. ‘But it only seats two, Nell—I understood that I was going to accompany you to visit her ladyship?’

‘That was my intention,’ admitted Helena, somewhat crestfallen. ‘I must confess that I had not expected to have to beard the dragon on my own.’

She was now in something of a quandary, having rather taken it for granted that the dowager’s summons must, as a matter of course, include her companion. More to the point, she could not help feeling that, in view of the recent Barrington incident, her father would not be altogether pleased to hear that his daughter had gone off in a carriage to an unknown destination with a relative stranger. However, she had little time to dwell on this perplexing matter, since Hayward was, at this very moment, ushering Markfield into the room.

As she rose to her feet to greet him, the swift appraisal she managed to give him before he bent over her hand caused her to experience a not dissimilar sensation to her cousin’s but, striving to maintain the ladylike detachment that her mother had spent a good many years instilling into her, she merely inclined her head and bade the earl ‘good afternoon.’

He, in turn, was equally gratified as he took in Helena’s appearance. In an elegantly cut walking-dress of vivid turquoise that enhanced the blueness of her eyes, its fine, soft wool seeming to mould itself to her undeniably shapely form, it was clear that, if this outfit was an example of those she had in her wardrobe, she would have little difficulty holding her own in any company to which he might introduce her. Its fit and finish were clearly stamped with the unmistakable mark of one of Bond Street’s very high-class modistes.

‘I trust that I am not too early?’ he enquired. ‘If you are ready, I think that we should be on our way before the traffic gets too heavy—as you are no doubt aware, a good many people are inclined to make for the Row at about this time and I would prefer to skirt the park well in advance of the crush that usually forms at the gates.’

‘I have but to collect my bonnet and pelisse,’ replied Helena, uncomfortably aware of Charlotte’s eyes boring into her. ‘However, I understand that the carriage you have brought seats only two people, and I am not altogether sure that my father would find it acceptable for me to accompany with you without my female companion.’

Richard blinked back his astonishment but then, having registered her obvious discomfiture, he raised his hands in resignation. ‘Well, I fear that it will be rather a tight squeeze for three of us on the driving seat, but if it is what you would prefer, then, of course Miss Daniels is very welcome to ride bodkin.’

Helena hesitated for just the briefest of moments before replying, then, ‘No, really, my lord,’ she said firmly, ‘I am sure that will not be necessary. My father is, after all, very well acquainted with her ladyship. He could not object to my travelling alone with you.’

A tight smile appeared on Richard’s face. ‘A simple journey from Cadogan Place to Curzon Street in broad daylight can scarcely be considered as clandestine,’ he felt constrained to point out. ‘Especially given that we will be in an open carriage with a groom in attendance at all times. I would hardly have suggested it otherwise, I assure you!’

Suddenly feeling rather foolish, Helena turned away to hide her confusion. ‘No, I must suppose not,’ she faltered, as she made for the door. ‘And now, if you will excuse me for a moment, I will fetch my things and join you downstairs.’

Ignoring Charlotte’s scowl of disapproval, Richard saluted both women and made for the stairs. His forbearance was amply rewarded, however, when, less than five minutes later, Helena descended, adjusting the buttons on her York tan gloves. His eyes lit up in admiration as they registered the close-fitting pelisse, its fabric and colour an identical match to her walking dress, along with a charming chip-straw capote bonnet, daintily trimmed with turquoise velvet ribbons and toning ostrich feathers.

‘A most fetching outfit, if I may say, Miss Wheatley.’ He smiled, as he handed her up into her seat. ‘Very reminiscent of the famed Madame Devy, unless I am much mistaken?’

Helena shot him a surprised glance. ‘You are very well informed, sir. An unusual talent in a gentleman, if I may say so.’

Swinging himself into the driving seat beside her, Richard laughed. ‘I have to admit that, as a general rule, ladies’ couture is not actually one of my stronger points.’ Nodding to the groom to let go of the horses’ heads, he flicked the reins and steered the equipage into the flow of traffic. ‘It just so happens that my grandmother is one of the Devy’s most devoted customers—has been for a good many years, so she tells me.’

As the phaeton swung out of Cadogan Place into Sloane Street, Helena, her thoughts being quite distracted by the pressure of Markfield’s muscular thigh against her own, was momentarily lost for words. She considered trying to inch herself away from his very masculine nearness, but feared that the gentle swaying of the highly sprung vehicle would hardly lend itself to such a hazardous manoeuvre.

Keenly aware of her sudden reticence, Richard cleared his throat and tried again. ‘My grandmama tells me that Madame Devy is in great demand. I understand that she is known to be rather choosy about accepting new clients. You must consider yourself very fortunate to be one of the favoured few.’

‘I am aware that Madame is very well regarded nowadays, of course,’ Helena eventually managed. ‘The truth of the matter is that she is one of my father’s oldest clients and has been making my gowns since before I left the schoolroom. But you are right,’ she added hastily, fearing that he might have considered her offhand remark somewhat conceited, ‘I am most gratified that she is still willing to keep me on her list.’ A little smile leapt unbidden to her lips. ‘Although I sometimes suspect that the fact that my father is always very prompt in his payment of her accounts may have more to do with her eagerness to fit me in, rather than my ability to advertise her skill in the haut monde.’

Richard flashed her a curious glance. ‘But surely that is exactly what you have been doing during these past few months? I rather gained the impression that the whole purpose of your father’s agreement was to ensure that you are brought out into society.’

Carefully evading his gaze, Helena toyed with her reticule. ‘As it happens, my lord,’ she answered reluctantly, ‘Papa did not decide to have the contract drawn up until after he had agreed to receive you.’

Silently digesting this disquieting piece of information, the earl’s brow furrowed but, since the press of traffic was becoming more intense, he found himself obliged to devote his full attention to the road ahead, in order to steer clear of a miscellany of poorly driven vehicles, the drivers of which were all seemingly intent upon hogging the entire carriageway. Consequently, it was several minutes before he was able to formulate his response.

‘Am I to understand that none of my—predecessors was asked to sign that extraordinary document?’

At the clearly discernible frostiness of his tone, Helena stiffened and leapt at once to her father’s defence. ‘Papa was formerly of the opinion that a gentleman’s word was his bond,’ she replied guardedly.

Disturbed at the notion that the stockbroker had considered it necessary to treat him more exactingly than he had dealt with the previous suitors for his daughter’s hand, Richard’s jaw tightened but, trying to keep his tone non-committal, he enquired, ‘May I ask what it was that occasioned him to change his mind in that respect?’

Her discomfiture increasing, Helena shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘He took exception to one or two of the individuals to whom I was introduced.’

‘I take it that you are referring to Lord Barrington and his colleagues?’

At Helena’s nod, a wave of relief swept through the earl’s body, but, sensing her discomfiture, he made an effort to lighten the conversation.

‘Then, please allow me to assure you that neither your father nor yourself need have any qualms about the suitability of my friends,’ he said. ‘Their backgrounds are impeccable, you have my word.’

Thankful that he had not seemed to regard her father’s change of tactics as in any way a personal slight against himself, Helena allowed herself to relax. ‘I do not doubt it, your lordship,’ she returned. ‘I would hardly have agreed to accompany you in this manner had I believed otherwise.’

Inclining his head in acknowledgement, Richard offered her a brief smile before going on to say, ‘I trust that you managed to explain to your father why I did not feel able to sign his contract.’

‘N-not in so many words, my lord,’ she was obliged to admit. ‘His physician has insisted upon administering a mild opiate to Papa, in order to prevent him from becoming over-excited. I simply told him that you had agreed his terms. But, you need not concern yourself, sir,’ she hastened to reassure the frowning earl, ‘as soon as he is well enough to discuss the matter, I shall tell him the truth, of course.’

In point of fact, since she had every intention of finding an easy way to extricate herself from this latest attempt of her father’s to launch her into society, she was hoping that the necessity of divulging her perfidy would not arise. But then, as the phaeton inched its way through the press of traffic that was waiting to enter the park gates and she found herself mesmerised by the earl’s highly impressive manipulation of the reins, it was not long before it occurred to her that it would be, perhaps, rather a pity if Markfield should happen to be tarred with the same brush as Viscount Barrington and his ilk. From the little she had seen of his lordship, he did seem to be quite a cut above some of his peers and he had certainly shown her a good deal more courtesy than any of his rivals had done. Nevertheless, as she was quick to remind herself, the only reason that he was here, driving her in this very showy equipage, was not because he had any real interest in developing any sort of acquaintanceship with her, but merely because he was no less eager than his predecessors to get his hands on her father’s money.

‘This is certainly a very fine carriage, Lord Markfield,’ she ventured, after some moments of silence.

‘Isn’t it just!’ replied the earl, with a swift grin. ‘Not mine, however, I’m sad to relate—courtesy of a most generous friend!’

‘It is not difficult to understand why he should place such trust in you, my lord,’ she returned, drawing in her breath in admiration as Markfield neatly feathered the vehicle out of the path of an oncoming and rather badly driven curricle.

Resolutely ignoring the insolent gesture that the curricle’s young driver offered him as he flashed passed, the earl acknowledged Helena’s compliment with a swift smile.

‘You are very kind,’ he said. ‘Although I am bound to admit that the traffic is somewhat heavier than I had anticipated. One gets the impression that the whole of London is heading for the park.’

‘I believe it’s what they call the “fashionable hour”—although I have it on good authority that it more usually lasts for three or four!’ returned Helena, her attention being momentarily diverted by a noisy altercation taking place some distance ahead. ‘We, ourselves, seldom have any need to frequent this part of town at this hour.’ And then, as the highly decorative attire of a passing whipster caught her eye, her cheeks suddenly dimpled. ‘Although I must say that it is not hard to see what attracts them all!’

As yet another poorly driven vehicle rocked across their path, Richard, who was finding that it required all of his, not inconsiderable, driving skill to manoeuvre Braithwaite’s equipage out of harm’s way, was unable to reply. But then, when he had finally edged the curricle safely past Apsley House into the relative serenity of Park Lane, his attention was suddenly distracted by the unexpected sound of his passenger’s smothered laughter. Unable to resist the temptation to see what might have caused such merriment, he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance across at her and was immediately struck by the sudden glowing animation on her face.

Her laughing eyes indicating the source of her levity, Helena, covering her lips with her gloved fingers, in a vain effort to control her rising mirth, whispered, ‘Do look at that fellow’s collar—he can hardly turn his head—and the size of his buttons—they must be quite three inches across! How perfectly ridiculous!’

As his own gaze lit upon the bizarre appearance of one of the occupants in a passing carriage, Richard was unable to prevent himself from joining in her amusement. ‘I gather that it’s considered quite the fashion amongst some of the young swells,’ he said, with a quick sideways grin. ‘But, surely, you must have come across some even more outrageous styles during your recent outings about town?’

Helena’s smile faded. ‘Not really,’ she replied reluctantly. ‘Two of my previous escorts proved to be rather a staid pair of individuals and the last one—Viscount Barrington—seemed to prefer to do his entertaining south of the river.’

‘You were not taken to Vauxhall Gardens, surely?’ Richard choked, well aware of the somewhat questionable reputation that the once-popular pleasure gardens had acquired during his absence from the country. ‘I am hardly surprised that your father should have raised objections!’

‘At the time, neither of us was aware of the unsavoury rumours,’ she replied carefully, irritated that the conversation had once again returned to a subject that, in her opinion, was best consigned to history. ‘Lord Barrington assured my father that it was a most respectable place and, since there were to be two other young ladies in his party, Papa bowed to what he called “his lordship’s better judgement”.’

Well able to imagine the kind of ‘young ladies’ who were known to frequent the usual supper parties given by the ramshackle viscount, Richard managed to bite back his groan of dismay. ‘From the tone of your voice, I must assume that it was on one such occasion that your father found his trust to be somewhat misplaced?’

‘Oh, I am perfectly sure that the resultant gossip cannot have failed to reach your ears, my lord,’ she said curtly. ‘No doubt your acquaintances have done their best to make capital of the event.’

‘Let me assure you that I do not normally hold listening to gossip among my faults, Miss Wheatley,’ replied Richard, somewhat incensed that she appeared to number him amongst Barrington’s cronies. ‘But on this occasion, I have to confess that, when my grandmother informed me that she had heard that you once threw a glass of wine into his lordship’s face, I found myself inclined to commend your perspicacity.’

‘Threw a glass of wine!’

For a fraction of a moment, Helena found herself to be almost incapable of coherent speech but then, to Richard’s utter astonishment, her eyes suddenly gleamed and her lips began to twitch. ‘Is that what the wretched fellow put about?’ She chuckled. ‘Well, I have to say that I am sorry to disabuse you of such a delightful notion, my lord, but I fear that the incident was not nearly so dramatic. The plain fact of the matter is that I was finding his lordship’s attentions rather too—how shall I put it?—assiduous for my liking and, after having repeatedly asked him to desist from his attempts to molest me, I felt constrained to give him a rather hefty shove which, in the event, I fear, caused him to tip his own drink all down his shirt front!’

Richard’s face lit up and he let out a shout of laughter. ‘Good for you, Miss Wheatley—I wish I had been there just to get a glimpse of the look on his face!’ But then, as he considered the implications of Helena’s story, his eyes grew serious. ‘He must have been very angry with you—he did not try to harm you in any way, I trust?’

‘I have to confess that I was far too mortified to wait for his reaction,’ admitted Helena, with a slight smile. ‘I simply vacated the supper booth and made my own way back to the pier. I was obliged to offer the ferry-man quite a large sum of money to bring me back across the river but, as it turned out, the man was most obliging. He insisted upon leaving his scull to take me to the hackney-carriage stand, for which I was very grateful, since I am afraid that I have had little experience of hiring such vehicles. He told me that he had young daughters of his own and even waited until he had seen me safely into what he assured me was “a respectable jarvey’s rig”.’

The earl shook his head, uncomfortably aware of the innumerable ways in which disaster might well have befallen an unaccompanied young lady in such a dubious area.

‘You clearly had the saints on your side that night, Miss Wheatley,’ he exclaimed, as he swung the phaeton into the quieter environs of Curzon Street and finally brought it to a halt in front of Standish House. ‘Your father must have been beside himself when you turned up in a hired hack—no wonder he decided to draw up that contract! Although, upon reflection, it seems to me that the unfortunate episode should have been more than enough to put him off his whole scheme altogether.’

‘Oh, you need have no fear, sir, Papa knows that I am well able to take care of myself,’ she replied airily, her eyes following the earl’s movements as he leapt down from his perch and proceeded to walk round the carriage to hand her down.

At Helena’s somewhat naïve remark, Richard hid a smile, as he led her up the steps to the front door. It seemed to him that Miss Wheatley’s rather suburban upbringing had failed to cover some of the less palatable aspects of society life. But then, as soon as Bickerstaff had ushered them into the salon, where his grandmother was waiting in attendance, he was obliged to dismiss the matter from his mind in order to concentrate on the impending interview.

In spite of herself, Helena could not help feeling just the tiniest twinge of nervousness as she approached the rather autocratic-looking old lady, who was seated on a high-backed chair at the far side of the room. Not that it mattered in the slightest what the countess thought of her, she hastened to assure herself, since—assuming that she managed to play her cards with sufficient skill—any association between the two of them would, hopefully, be very short lived. Nevertheless, she found that she could not control the little tremor of anxiety that ran through her as Lady Isobel raised her lorgnette and proceeded to inspect her minutely from the top of her head right down to the tip of her toes.

‘Well, don’t just stand there, girl!’ commanded the dowager. ‘Come over to the window and let me get a proper look at you!’

Torn between, on the one hand, a fierce desire to retort that she had no intention of being ordered about in such a peremptory manner and, on the other, a deeply instilled supposition that the young were under some sort of obligation to tolerate the idiosyncrasies of a generation much older than themselves, Helena swallowed her resentment and walked over to face the countess.

‘That’s much better! Now, turn around!’

Stifling her indignation, Helena did as she was bidden but, as Markfield’s pensive face hove into her view, she could not resist casting him a fulminating glare. How dared he bring her here to be treated in such an insulting manner! This fiasco was turning out to be even worse than she had feared it might!

In growing disbelief at his grandmother’s discourteous treatment of her guest, Richard watched in awe as Helena, exhibiting nothing of her innermost feelings, stood graciously erect, her chin raised high, and suffered the dowager’s continued appraisal of her person with, he was bound to admit, the most incredible forbearance.

‘Excellent!’

With a satisfied nod, Lady Isobel then bade Helena take the seat opposite her own. ‘Very good posture and admirable self-control, I see!’ she chuckled. ‘I do believe the gel will serve, dear boy!’

Helena, somewhat taken aback at the countess’s words, sat down on the sofa indicated and said nothing, having made up her mind to run whatever gauntlet the dowager had in mind for her with as much dignity as she was able to muster and then, when the two of them were done with their self-indulgent theatricals, to make her escape as soon as it was decently possible.

‘She does have a voice, I take it?’ the old lady then queried, frowning in disapproval at Helena’s continual silence.

‘Grandmama, please!’ protested Richard. ‘Don’t you think you have embarrassed Miss Wheatley quite enough for one day?’

‘Embarrassed her?’ exclaimed the countess, raising her eyebrows. ‘I? The gel don’t look in the least embarrassed!’ And, leaning forwards, she tapped her folded fan on Helena’s knee and asked briskly, ‘Am I embarrassing you, child?’

‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ replied Helena coolly and, having suddenly caught sight of the glint of amusement in her hostess’s faded blue eyes, instantly made up her mind that even if they were intent upon making some sort of game of her, she would refuse to allow either of them to intimidate her. Having already found her own way home on that earlier occasion with little difficulty, the vagaries of public transport were now much less of a mystery to her and she was quite confident that she would have no trouble hailing a cab in broad daylight in this prestigious area.

Lady Isobel nodded her approval. ‘Come along then, child. What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I am not altogether sure what you would have me say, ma’am,’ returned Helena calmly. ‘I was under the impression that I was invited here to take tea with you, not as a servant seeking some sort of position in your house.’

At the dowager’s snort of laughter, Richard’s eyes gleamed with admiration. It was not often that he had the privilege of witnessing at first hand the rather unusual spectacle of someone standing up to his formidable grandparent. And, with such serene assurance, he noted appreciatively. Past experience had taught him that any attempt on his part to try to modify Lady Isobel’s quirkish interview technique would merely cause her to behave in an even more outrageous manner and, since Miss Wheatley seemed to be holding her own rather splendidly, he felt that any undue interference from him looked to be quite unnecessary.

‘Do you know something, my dear,’ the countess then announced, wagging her finger at Helena, ‘I do believe that you have quite the look of your grandmother about you.’

‘M-my grandmother?’

Despite all of her good intentions, Helena’s attention was caught and, leaning forwards, she asked eagerly, ‘You were acquainted with my grandparents, ma’am?’

Lady Isobel raised one shoulder briefly. ‘Barely at all, child—I met your grandmother—Joanna Coverdale, as she then was—at several functions during my own “come-out”. She married her earl at much the same time as I captured my own and, after that, for one reason or another, our paths seldom crossed. However, I do seem to remember that she had a very forthright way with her—not dissimilar to your own, I would say!’

Helena bit her lip. ‘I am afraid that I know very little about my mother’s family,’ she said slowly. ‘My brother and I were discouraged from asking questions about them and it was only after Mama died that my father took it into his head…’ She stopped, suddenly recalling her previous resolve not to allow herself to become embroiled with this rather disturbing family. Glancing over at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf, she saw, to her relief, that the obligatory half-hour for an afternoon call had almost run its time and, rising to her feet, she dipped a small curtsy to her hostess, saying, ‘I see that it is time I was on my way, your ladyship. It was most kind of you to allow me to come and visit you, but I—’

‘Nonsense!’ interrupted the countess. ‘You cannot possibly go yet. If I am to bring you out, there are a good many things that I need to know about you.’ Then, turning to Richard, she exhorted him to ring for Bickerstaff to bring in the tea things, adding, ‘And then you may take yourself off while Miss Wheatley and I have our comfortable little coze!’

Reluctantly sinking back into her seat, Helena watched in dismay as the earl rose to his feet to carry out Lady Isobel’s request. After casting what she could only assume was meant to be a smile of apology in her direction, he quit the room, leaving her to the mercy of his formidable grandparent.

‘What do you think of him, then—my grandson?’

Taken unawares by the countess’s sudden question, Helena felt herself flushing. ‘I—I cannot say that I have known Lord Markfield long enough to have formed any worthwhile opinion of him, ma’am,’ she replied cautiously.

‘Oh, stuff, gel! You must own that he is rather a handsome beast and quite out of the common! A far cry from those other cheerless profligates to whom you gave their marching orders, I’ll be bound!’

‘He certainly seems to be a very pleasant gentleman,’ faltered Helena, desperately wishing that the subject of the conversation would return quickly and deliver her from this extraordinary woman’s searching cross-examination. Whilst it was not at all difficult to fathom out what lay behind Lady Isobel’s fulsome panegyric regarding her grandson’s superiority, Helena had no intention of allowing the dowager to browbeat her into any form of commitment to him. As far as she was concerned, it was merely a matter of trying to keep up appearances for the short duration of the two to three weeks which she was certain would be ample time for her father to recover sufficiently to receive the news that Markfield was yet another unsuitable candidate for his daughter’s hand.

‘Pleasant! Humph!’ For some moments, the dowager regarded her visitor with an inscrutable expression, then, ‘You must understand, my child, that none of this business has been at Markfield’s instigation. Due to other members of our family having failed to stay the course, my poor grandson—almost the last in his line—has been forced to compromise his own position in order to try to redeem what I can only describe as a grievous dereliction of duty on the parts of his uncle and cousin.’ Lifting her handkerchief to her eyes, she dabbed away a non-existent tear. ‘A very noble sacrifice, as I am sure you will agree, Miss Wheatley?’

‘Oh, indeed!’ Helena choked back the gurgle of laughter that threatened. ‘Most noble.’ Then, after hesitating for the briefest of seconds, she asked curiously, ‘Forgive me if I have mistaken the matter, ma’am, but I was given to understand that your ladyship had quite an extended family living in Ireland?’

‘Ha!’ exclaimed the countess, nodding her head in triumph. ‘My daughter’s family. So you were sufficiently interested in Markfield to have done your homework, it seems!’

Helena shook her head. ‘Not I, ma’am,’ she replied evenly. ‘I believe you must have conveyed that information to my father yourself—you have been one of his most valued clients for a good many years, I know. He certainly seems to hold you in some regard, which is, no doubt, why he was willing to consider Lord Markfield’s petition.’

The countess gave a haughty sniff. ‘As well he might, my girl! Standish has been a name to be reckoned with for over two hundred years. You should be thanking your lucky stars that you have been afforded such an opportunity for advancement. Most of the gels in town would jump at the chance to snaffle Markfield and, without so much as lifting your finger, here he is, yours for the taking!’

At Helena’s lack of response to this pompous assertion, a puzzled frown crossed her face. Fixing her young visitor with a penetrating look, she let out a sigh and her tone softened. ‘Come, my child. Unless I have mistaken matters, you seem to be entirely reluctant about the whole affair. Surely the boy cannot have done anything to offend you?’

Chapter Five

Helena was at somewhat of a loss. The very last thing she had wanted to do was to enter into any sort of heart-to-heart discussion regarding either Markfield’s enforced application for her hand or her own feelings about the matter. At the same time, the oddest thought was beginning to occur to her that, despite the apparently crusty exterior, her hostess was, in all likelihood, a good deal more bark than bite. However, no sooner had this surprising conclusion crossed her mind than it was followed by the equally disturbing thought that, unless she extracted herself from this interview very quickly, she might well find herself confiding in the old countess and seeking her counsel.

To a certain extent, Richard had not been far out in his assessment of Helena’s limited social awareness. Her mother’s illness and totally unexpected death, following hard on the heels of the loss of her beloved brother, had left the then nineteen-year-old, poised on the threshold of womanhood, without the benefit of an older woman’s guiding hand. Although it was true that she had eventually managed to take over her mother’s reins, insofar as the running of the Wheatley household was concerned, Helena still desperately missed the older woman’s calm wisdom and forbearance. The fact that she was well able to deal with such matters at all was, for the most part, due to the unwritten precepts that the nobly born Louisa Wheatley had instilled into her from childhood.

At a time when other young women of her circle were involved in the frantic round of assemblies, routs and concert parties, Helena, for two consecutive years, had been in deep mourning and, apart from the occasional morning visits to the few close friends that she had acquired, all social activities had been, necessarily, curtailed. Even after the arrival of her cousin Charlotte, it had been only on the rarest of occasions that her father could be persuaded to pay a visit to the theatre and—unless one chose to count the twice-yearly country dances that were held in the hall of the village where her Uncle Daniels was rector—Helena’s total experience of assemblies had been limited to the rather sedate functions given by one of her father’s business acquaintances.

As it happened, although she had no intention of apprising Lady Isobel of this particular aspect of her life, she and her cousin spent most of their mornings helping out at a soup kitchen just off Chelsea’s Cheyne Walk. Following her beloved brother’s tragic death, Helena had found herself deeply affected by the sight of the scores of destitute and badly maimed ex-servicemen who roamed the streets of the capital at the end of the war. Consequently, when Jenny Redfern, who was sister to the Wheatleys’ family physician, had first told her about the ambitious scheme that she and a few like-minded friends were in the process of setting up in the basement of a disused chapel in Justice Walk, Helena had instantly offered her support and services to the project. Since then, both she and Lottie had taken on the task of helping out at the soup kitchen in accordance with the necessarily tight rota that the sisterhood had drawn up.

Uncomfortably aware that the countess was still awaiting an answer to her query regarding the conduct of her grandson, Helena cast around for what she thought might be considered a suitable reply.

‘I am sure that Lord Markfield has been everything that is proper, your ladyship,’ she managed eventually.

‘And yet you are still far from happy with the situation, are you not?’ persevered the countess, eyeing her visitor closely.

‘None of it is of my choosing,’ admitted Helena, tentatively testing the water. ‘But, as my father has no doubt informed you, he is most anxious to see me settled and I, for my part, have no wish to cause him displeasure.’

The dowager gave her a perceptive look and nodded. ‘How does your father do, child? I understand that he has Thomas Redfern in attendance?’

Helena nodded and gave a slight smile. ‘He tells me that my father is progressing favourably, ma’am,’ she replied. ‘We hope that he will be back on his feet in a matter of weeks.’

‘During which time I imagine that you will be keen to ensure that he is not discommoded in any way?’

‘That is why I am here, ma’am.’

Helena held her breath, waiting for the expected castigation, which, to her surprise and considerable relief, did not ensue. Instead, the countess studied her in silence for some minutes before nodding her head once more.

‘Exactly as I supposed, my dear. And now, it would seem, it is time for both of us to lay our cards on the table.’

At Helena’s puzzled expression, she leaned forwards in a conspiratorial manner, saying, ‘I do believe that you and I will deal very nicely together, Miss Wheatley—I take it that I may call you Helena?’ Without waiting for her visitor’s answering nod, she went on, ‘No doubt we each of us have our own agenda but, as I see it, the plain facts of the matter appear to be that we are doing our best to stave off our creditors for the moment and—correct me if I am wrong—you are intent upon avoiding an unwelcome marriage.’

‘Any sort of marriage, actually,’ said Helena, gazing at the countess in bewilderment.

At her interruption, Lady Isobel waved her hand dismissively. ‘Either way, I believe that we can still serve each other’s purpose perfectly well. Unless I am much mistaken, it seems abundantly clear to me that, despite your father’s continued efforts to secure you a husband, you, my gel, have been doing your level best to bring about the failure of these plans.’ She cast Helena a penetrating glance. ‘Would you agree that this is a reasonable appraisal of the situation?’

Her cheeks turning pink, Helena gave a reluctant nod. ‘It is true that I tried to discourage them, but—’ At her hostess’s quelling frown, she checked herself. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, pray continue!’

‘Humph! I can see that I shall have my work cut out!’ retorted the dowager. ‘However, notwithstanding all the various rumours that have circulated since your father set upon this course of action, I must admit to being not a little curious to hear your side of the tale. How, for instance, did you come to throw your wine over Barrington?’

With great reluctance, Helena related once again the events that had led to that particular suitor’s dismissal. Following which, finding herself unable to parry the countess’s close questioning, she was then obliged to divulge the various ploys that she had used to extricate herself from the previous two suitors for her hand.

The first candidate to fancy his chances at securing the Wheatley fortune had been the thirty-five-year-old Viscount Farley, whose approach to hygiene left a great deal to be desired. Both soap and water were, it seemed, complete strangers to his toilette; instead, he preferred to douse his person with an overabundance of the highly pungent patchouli oil. In addition, due to his nauseating habit of taking great pinches of snuff throughout the entire day, every one of his neckcloths, shirtfronts and handkerchiefs was permanently stained with an unappealing yellowish tint. Fortunately for Helena, Mr Wheatley, having found that his daughter’s objections were entirely justified, had himself been quite willing to give that gentleman his congé.

Hard on Farley’s heels had come the foppish and appallingly henpecked Sir Percival Arnold, who had been bullied into putting his name forward by his impecunious widowed mother, an arrogant and overbearing woman possessed of remarkably poor taste and even worse manners. Regrettably, for Helena, the overly fastidious Sir Percy had proved somewhat more difficult to detach, due to his mother’s constant vigilance.

However, since Lady Arnold’s idea of introducing the Wheatleys into society had proved to be limited to inviting them to attend her dreary card parties, at which most of the guests seemed to be as socially unconnected as was their hostess, Helena had, eventually, been able to persuade her father that it was clear that no amount of consorting with the Arnolds was ever going to be likely to serve his original purpose. Mr Wheatley, who had been less than happy to have to dismiss yet another petitioner, had been placated only by his daughter pointing out that, at least, he would no longer be obliged to suffer Lady Arnold’s outrageously patronising remarks. And so, much to his mother’s shocked indignation, Sir Percy, too, had been given his marching orders.

The slightly questionable events to which her most recent suitor had taken her had done nothing to increase her regard for the so-called ‘upper classes’ and had merely borne out her belief that its members were decidedly lacking in decorum. Furthermore, she was well aware that her mother, had she lived, would have been less than happy to have permitted her daughter to attend such affairs.

Unfortunately, although Mr Wheatley’s subsequent disbelief and outrage, when confronted with the result of Viscount Barrington’s scandalous behaviour, was more than sufficient to eradicate the earlier disappointments from his memory, it also seemed to have the effect of making him more determined than ever to achieve his goal.

‘Hence your father’s determination to draw up this contract that Markfield has described to me, I take it?’ nodded the countess, when the now highly embarrassed Helena’s reluctant explanations came, at last, to a close. ‘Well then, in the furtherance of your own strategy, it surely goes without saying that my grandson’s presence at your side will be more than sufficient to shield you from the unwanted attentions of any other would-be suitor. Therefore, if you agree to have Markfield escort you to some of this Season’s more prestigious events, I will take it upon myself to sponsor your début into society.’

Helena’s brow furrowed. ‘It is very good of your ladyship,’ she faltered. ‘But I fail to see why you should wish to concern yourself with my difficulties.’

The countess gave a graceful shrug. ‘Your difficulties are hardly my concern, child,’ she replied indifferently. ‘My objective is the safeguarding of the Standish heritage for future generations and it would appear that this scheme is, at present, our only hope. To that end, insofar as I am concerned, such time as we can buy ourselves can only be to our advantage. Any received impression that Markfield might stand to benefit from your father’s fortune would do our cause no harm at all and, at the very least, should win us sufficient time to garner whatever resources we still have available.’

Although she managed to keep her features perfectly composed, Helena could not help but feel a little surge of satisfaction at Lady Isobel’s words. The countess, it was clear, was simply proposing an arrangement very similar to that which she herself had put to Markfield barely two days ago. The only difference being, of course, was the fact that her ladyship was looking at the situation from her own particular point of view.

Having quickly assessed her position, Helena soon came to the conclusion that, at this juncture, it would serve her purpose very well to appear to go along with whatever suggestions the countess put forward. In any event, until she had managed to figure out precisely how to rid herself of Markfield in such a way as to satisfy her father’s exacting requirements, she realised that she had very little choice in the matter.

However, before she was able to formulate an adequate response to the countess’s proposition, there came a tap on the door, followed by the arrival of the butler bearing the tea things. The countess’s insistence that she should make herself useful pouring out the tea was sufficient to occupy Helena’s attention for the next few minutes, since she was well aware that her hostess would be assessing her competence at performing this mundane but vital function.

Fortunately, from the slight smile that appeared on Lady Isobel’s lips as Helena placed the cup and saucer carefully on to the small table at her hostess’s right hand, it would seem that the dowager had been able to find nothing of which to disapprove.

‘It would appear that your mother taught you well, my dear.’ Inclining her head, the countess indicated her satisfaction. ‘Perhaps I have been overly harsh in my appraisal of you—your manners clearly leave nothing to be desired. In point of fact, it does seem to me that you would have very little trouble in passing yourself off amongst the beau monde. Come now, Helena, what do you have to say? An offer such as this is hardly likely to come your way again.’

Helena gave a brisk nod. ‘I am prepared to go along with what you suggest, ma’am. Shall we say for a period of two or three weeks, perhaps?’

The countess threw up her hands in astonishment. ‘Two or three weeks, child! If we are to make any sort of an impact, it will require two months, at the very least!’

‘I had not intended that I should make an impact, your ladyship,’ replied Helena, dismayed. ‘I assure you that I would be perfectly content to attend the occasional assembly and, possibly, a couple of visits to the theatre.’

‘That might satisfy you, miss,’ countered the dowager, with some asperity, ‘but it would hardly serve our purpose. For this scheme to have any effect, you and Markfield will need to be seen together everywhere—at the opera house, in the park, at Almack’s—in fact, at any worthwhile social function to which I can procure an invite. Make no mistake, my gel, entry into society is by no means as simple as you seem to suppose!’

‘I had not supposed it to be simple, ma’am,’ protested Helena, growing more and more apprehensive by the minute. What had started out as a straightforward ploy to protect her father from unnecessary stress was beginning to turn into a predicament of a rather different nature. With the strings of control now firmly in the countess’s hands, Helena was conscious that it would take a good deal of ingenuity on her part to find a way to extricate herself from this entanglement.

‘And if Lord Markfield does not agree?’ she ventured, clutching at straws.

‘With what might I not agree?’

With a guilty start, Helena spun round to see Markfield himself crossing the room. Uncomfortably aware that she had now entered into yet another pact, a faint flush spread across her cheeks. Would Lady Isobel divulge the details of their recent conversation to her grandson, she wondered but, more to the point, would he let slip that the scheme to which he had already given his agreement committed him to a far shorter duration than that which the dowager was demanding? Crossing her fingers, she forced a smile.

‘Her ladyship has been making some suggestions as to how we might proceed,’ she said lightly, turning again to the countess. ‘Perhaps you would care to elaborate, ma’am?’

‘Mere details,’ replied the dowager, shrugging diffidently. ‘However, it has just this minute occurred to me that, had I chosen to keep up my acquaintance with the Ashingtons, Miss Wheatley’s mother, Louisa—who, you must remember, was a peeress in her own right—could well have been my goddaughter. Since it is highly improbable that there is still anyone around who might be likely to dispute this point, I believe that this is the story we should put about.’

He frowned. ‘Surely a good many of your acquaintances may well wonder why this fact has never come to light before?’

Lady Isobel glared at him and pursed her lips. ‘Do stop being so difficult, Richard!’ she retorted. ‘You really cannot expect someone of my advanced age to keep a track of every one of her numerous godchildren! It was only when Miss Wheatley’s name was drawn to my attention that I recalled the connection. That this should have occurred at the same time as you succeeded to the title is pure coincidence.’

For one moment, Helena wondered if she could have misunderstood the countess’s words for, if she had not, it would appear that her ladyship was already well into the process of believing her own fabrication. Stifling a smile, she could not resist glancing up at Markfield, in order to gauge his reaction to his grandmother’s performance. To her astonishment, the earl, too, seemed to be having some difficulty in controlling his own mirth. But then, as he caught her eye on him, he winked and gave her a quick grin, causing a sudden quiver of agitation to cascade through her. Blushing, she dropped her eyes and tried to concentrate on the countess’s continuing remarks.

‘In any event,’ her ladyship was saying, ‘it is hardly as though anyone would take it upon themselves to challenge me!’

‘That’s certainly true,’ chuckled her grandson. ‘Who would dare? I swear I have seen both dukes and generals quail at one word of disapproval from you!’

‘Enough of your sauce, my lad!’ Eyeing him balefully, the countess wagged an imperious finger at him. ‘If you have a better idea, then I am sure that both Helena and I would be glad to hear it.’

His lips still twitching, Richard shook his head and held up his hands in a playful gesture of surrender. ‘Consider me at your command, ma’am. In matters such as these, I bow to your greater expertise.’

After eyeing him suspiciously for a moment or two, the countess turned her attention back to Helena, who had been watching the interplay between Markfield and his grandparent with increased interest. It seemed clear to her that, despite the light-hearted sparring that went on between them, the two of them had considerable respect and affection for one another. This rather surprising discovery had the effect of strengthening her growing belief that this particular aristocrat was something of a cut above the likes of the motley crew with whom she had had the misfortune to associate previously. All things considered, she decided, a few weeks in his company could scarcely do her any harm and would certainly afford her father plenty of time to recover from his latest attack. Deep in contemplation, she suddenly became aware that Lady Isobel was addressing her once more.

‘You do ride, I take it?’

Helena barely had time to nod her head before the countess was firing other questions at her, concerning her ability to converse in French, stitch a sampler, play the pianoforte and dance a waltz.

‘Not that you will be allowed to do so to begin with, of course,’ added her ladyship, of the last, which Helena was obliged to admit that she had not come across, since dancing, along with the rest of her tuition, had virtually ceased at her mother’s death.

‘No matter—when the time comes, Markfield shall instruct you.’

Flicking another glance at the now-seated earl, Helena found, to her surprise, that his eyes were fixed searchingly upon her face, no doubt trying to gauge her reaction to his grandparent’s intense barrage. At his clearly concerned expression, her lips curved in an involuntary smile. Their eyes locked and, for one breathless moment, during which time the whole world seemed to shudder to a standstill, she found herself incapable of rational thought. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to tear her eyes away from his mesmerising gaze, furious with herself for having been so foolish as to allow her carefully constructed guard to drop.

All at once, Richard’s spirits rose. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed and, leaning back in his seat, reasoned that the future did not, after all, look nearly as bleak as it had a few hours earlier. Indeed, in the light of the extraordinary discovery that his grandmother appeared to be somewhat taken with her stock-broker’s rather unusual daughter, it was becoming increasingly clear that the bulk of his potential problems might well be on the way to being resolved. Such was Lady Isobel’s reputation amongst the haut monde that, with her at the helm of the project, it was highly unlikely that this particular ship would run aground. Added to which, the idea of spending more time in Miss Wheatley’s company seemed, for some strange reason, to be growing more appealing by the moment.

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