Page 21 of Accidental Courtship with the Earl

‘A n invitation from the Marchioness of Cheswick!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘How very flattering.’

Niamh twirled around. ‘I shall dance the entire night. Poor Mark. Too bad that you cannot dance any more.’

He had danced—once—after his amputation. With Helen. The world had even seemed to slow down for those precious moment she had been in his arms. She seemed to fit there. For once, he didn’t feel the pain in his leg or the missing pieces of his soul.

But he was happy to have an excuse not to lead his cousin out for a set. ‘Alas, I shall have to enjoy your talent from the side of the room.’

‘Niamh could sit out a set with you,’ his mother suggested.

Both he and his cousin said no at the same time.

Niamh laughed. ‘Please don’t take offence, but I do long to dance.’

He raised both arms into the air. ‘None taken.’

Aunt Fiona beckoned her daughter with one hand. ‘Come, Niamh! We must begin getting ready at once.’

Niamh skipped to her mother, taking her hand.

Mama smiled at the pair. ‘I shall send your maids up at once. Perhaps we will receive more invitations after this evening.’

Mark hoped that there would be no more invitations to meet Helen’s secret fiancé or to watch her dance with her two-legged suitor. A younger, whole, and happier man. It would be torture, like her night-time visits.

The hours had passed all too quickly.

Before he knew it, Mark was sitting in the carriage with his mother, aunt and cousin. They all wore new dresses and large feathers in their hair. The green plume in Niamh’s hair kept tickling his cheek and nose. It made him want to sneeze.

When they entered the house, the only difference that he could see between his family and the other beau monde ladies were their expressions. The ton prided itself on not showing emotion or enthusiasm. The fashionable ladies all wore a bored expression the way they would a necklace.

Mark introduced his mother, aunt and cousin to Lord and Lady Cheswick. They smiled and welcomed them warmly.

Lady Cheswick gently touched Niamh’s hair. ‘Another redhead. We must stick together.’

Niamh beamed at her. ‘Yes, my lady. I should like that above all things.’

‘Perhaps I can introduce you to some eligible partners,’ she said, smiling at his cousin and then his aunt. ‘It is hard not to know many people at a party and you are far too pretty to be a wallflower.’

His cousin naively agreed with her.

Lord Cheswick’s lips twitched, but he was all politeness. He nodded. ‘Inverness.’

Mark had only two arms, so his mother insisted that he escort his aunt and cousin. The ballroom was already crowded and a few brave couples were dancing. Including Helen. She was paired with a tall, fair young man. He was as young as she, his face open and happy. He didn’t carry the wrinkles of experience or the scars of the dead. He was as light and bright as she. He was the sort of man Helen deserved.

Yet, watching her dance with him was like experiencing Waterloo all over again. The dead and empty feeling in his chest returned.

The music ended and he watched Helen lead her cheery curate over to where he was standing with his family.

Mark bowed and spoke before she could. ‘Lady Helen, it is a pleasure to see you. May I introduce you to my family?’

A smile lit up her face. She wore a white gossamer dress and with the diamond tiara in her nearly white curls, she looked more like a fairy queen than ever. She curtsied. ‘I should be delighted to make their acquaintance.’

‘Mama, may I present Lady Helen Stringham, daughter of the Duke of Hampford? Lady Helen, my mother, Lady Inverness, my aunt, Mrs Campbell, and my cousin, Miss Campbell.’

Helen curtsied again. ‘It’s truly a privilege to meet your family and please allow me to introduce my friend, Mr Robertson.’

His mother gave Helen a cautious smile as if waiting for her snub.

The cheery curate grinned at his family and Niamh smiled right back. ‘The privilege is all mine.’

The orchestra began to play a lively country tune. He watched Niamh tap her foot to the tune.

‘Mr Robertson, do you know the Roger de Coverley?’ Mark asked.

‘Helen and Becca taught me,’ he said, then blushed. ‘I mean, uh, Lady Helen and, uh, Lady Rebecca taught me.’

‘May I suggest my cousin as an excellent partner?’

The cheery curate smiled at Niamh. There was nothing leering in it. Nothing but good humour and the joy of living. How he despised this young man!

Mr Robertson held out his palm. ‘I should be most honoured if you’d accept my hand in this set, Miss Campbell.’

Niamh quickly placed hers inside it and bounced away with him. He was starting to believe that his cousin never walked. She bounced or skipped wherever she wished to go. It spoke to her youth and to her energy.

He felt Helen move to his side, her shoulder brushing his before she placed her arm on his. Mark didn’t think she even realised that she had done it. Her eyes were on his mother. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey from Scotland?’

‘Pleasant enough,’ his mother said tersely.

Helen turned her attention to his aunt. ‘And you, Mrs Campbell?’

‘Tolerable.’

Mark sincerely hoped that Helen would realise that his mother and aunt were not being unfriendly, they were simply overawed by who she was.

‘And are you enjoying London?’ Helen asked. ‘Where has Mark taken you so far?’

His mother’s mouth dropped open at her use of his given name. For once, he wished that Helen would have behaved more formally. Despite knowing that she would never be his, he wanted her to make a good impression on his mother. His family.

But his aunt smiled. ‘Oh, so many places. We’ve been to St Paul’s Cathedral. To see the Elgin Marbles. The National Gallery and the Crown Jewels at the Tower of London.’

‘Oh, I love the animal menagerie,’ Helen said, smiling. ‘Did Mark take you to see the reptiles? The rattlesnake is my favourite.’

‘He did indeed,’ his mother said, her expression growing even colder.

Helen touched the turquoise snake necklace around her delicate throat. ‘I love snakes. Mark was kind enough to do some illustrations for my book that will be published at the end of this month. The woodcutter is frantically recreating his sketches for the wood blocks, so that they may be printed in bulk.’

‘You wrote a book, Lady Helen?’ Aunt Fiona asked. ‘Is it a work of fiction? Like those lovely Gothic tales by Mrs Radcliffe that you sent me, Mark. I quite enjoyed them all, but The Romance of the Forest was my favourite.’

‘Mine as well,’ he agreed.

She shook her head. He could feel her curls brushing his shoulder. ‘No. My book is not fictional. It is a guide to snakes.’

His aunt gave a full body shudder and he couldn’t blame her. ‘I am afraid that I am not very fond of snakes. Most books that I read are romances.’

‘Or mysteries,’ Mark added.

‘Really?’ Helen said, appearing fascinated by his aunt’s words. She squeezed his arm even tighter, pressing closer to him. ‘What other books do you find of interest?’

Aunt Fiona blushed and her hands fidgeted against her dress. ‘I suppose a fine young lady like yourself wouldn’t have much use for cookbooks, but I like to read through them and give ideas to our chef. I’ve collected over three thousand recipes. I’m also fond of reading fashion magazines and seeing the latest fashion plates from Paris and London.’

Helen leaned her head against his shoulder, moving her upper body closer to his aunt. Setting his body on fire. ‘What sort of recipes, if I may ask?’

Tittering, his aunt blushed as red as her daughter’s hair. ‘French recipes, my lady. A French chef is quite beyond our means, but that doesn’t mean their delicacies must be.’

Mark smiled reassuringly at his flustered aunt. ‘How clever of you.’

Helen nodded her head sharply. ‘Truly, that is brilliant. I cannot thank you enough for your answers. You have been a great deal of help to me.’

His mother sniffed, her teeth clenched. ‘I do not understand the turn of your questions, Lady Helen. Surely our reading habits are of no interest to a young lady like yourself.’

‘Oh, but they are. For you see, I am about to purchase a publishing company and I want it to cater to women. I mean—I want to publish female voices. I want to give women the sort of reading material that they are craving. The market has been too long dominated by the male species.’

Mark couldn’t help but grin at Helen’s enthusiasm as his mother scowled. ‘It seems most improper for a young lady, even the daughter of a duke, to be involved in trade.’

Proper wasn’t the best word to describe Helen, but Mark tried to intervene. ‘Understanding a species and natural science well enough to write a book about it is quite an impressive accomplishment. For a man or a woman.’

Helen squeezed his arm again. She held him tighter than an octopus with eight tentacles. ‘Thank you, Mark. I worked very hard on it. But to your point, Lady Inverness, I am also the daughter of a duchess and my mother owns a very successful perfume company. With the help of my sister Frederica, who is also a duchess, they have expanded their offerings to scented soaps. Have you been to Duchess & Company on Bond Street? That’s her main shop, but she exports her bottles to all of Europe. She’s hoping to expand her wares to the Americas. Would you like to meet my mother?’

‘The Duchess?’ Aunt Fiona repeated, awe in every syllable of her strong Scottish accent. ‘We would. We would very much like to meet her.’

Helen could only smile at Mrs Campbell. She was a great deal more agreeable than Mark’s mother. That woman was as cold as a castle. And the niece, Miss Campbell, didn’t seem to be interested in Mark at all romantically. She’d rushed off to dance with the closest young man in her vicinity. It had been Jason, but Helen did not feel even a hint of jealousy. Something that rather surprised her, for she had a possessive nature.

Still holding Mark’s arm, she led them around the edge of the room to where her mother stood talking to someone. She tapped on her shoulder. It wasn’t difficult to recognise her mother from the backside. She was taller than most women and had the bearing of royalty.

Mama glanced over her shoulder. ‘Helen?’

She gasped when she recognised who her mother was talking to. Letting go of Mark, she dipped into a deep curtsy. ‘Your Royal Highness. Please forgive me for interrupting.’

Helen gulped and looked up.

The Prince Regent smiled at her. ‘You could never be an interruption. You’re my favourite goddaughter after all, Lady Frederica.’

She did not need the glare from her mother to know that she should not correct royalty. She was used to being called by her sister’s name, although they did not look anything alike. Nor were their personalities similar, besides the fact that neither of them followed societies many rules.

Prinny’s eyes went past her to Mark, then to his mother and his generously voluptuous aunt. The Prince Regent’s smile widened and his watery eyes narrowed. ‘Lady Frederica, do introduce me to your friends.’

Bowing her head, Helen said, ‘Your Royal Highness, Mama, please allow me to introduce Lord Inverness, his mother, Lady Inverness, and his aunt, Mrs Campbell.’

They all curtsied and bowed to the ruling monarch. Mark’s mother’s face grew even whiter and colder. Mrs Campbell’s merry pink cheeks turned an attractive red. She giggled and smiled at the Prince Regent.

Prinny’s eyes never left Mrs Campbell’s face and figure. He was nearly salivating at this point. He held out his hand. ‘Mrs Campbell, I believe this is a waltz. Would you do the honour of dancing it with me?’

Mrs Campbell’s hand practically slapped Prinny’s, she placed it in his so quickly. Helen couldn’t help but smile wryly. Mark’s matronly aunt was precisely the Prince Regent’s type .

Prinny gave them one last smile over his shoulder and a nod of his head. ‘Selina, Lady Frederica.’

Mama returned the gesture regally. Then she placed on a polite smile as she looked at Lady Inverness. ‘I can see why Helen was in such a hurry to introduce us. Your son has become an invaluable friend to her. To us all.’

Lady Inverness did not return the smile. ‘So it would seem. But I am not sure it is wise for my son to befriend a young lady who owns a publishing company.’

Her mother could not hide her surprise this time. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘You own a publishing company? When did this happen, Helen?’

Instinctively, she leaned against Mark for support. ‘I don’t actually own a publishing company. I mean not yet. Grandfather is going to give me the money once I form a viable business plan. Matthew has already written the contract and one of the editing partners has signed it. Once the other partner signs and there has been a transfer of funds, I will then own a publishing company.’

Mama took a deep breath, her polite countenance back in place. ‘We shall discuss this later. Lady Inverness, might I introduce you to a few select friends? I don’t recall you coming to London before.’

‘One time was enough.’

Her mother nodded, ignoring the sharp tone in Lady Inverness’s voice. ‘Yes. Well, I am sure you would enjoy Lady Jersey’s company. Perhaps she could give you and your niece vouchers to Almack’s Assembly?’

‘It’s a very select club,’ Helen added, not entirely sure that the Scottish matron would know the significance of the voucher. ‘Only the highest of the ton are included in its numbers. It’s quite an honour to receive one.’

Lady Inverness nodded and followed her mother.

Helen turned to Mark who was strangely quiet during the exchange. He really had the most handsome profile. ‘Well, are you going to ask me to dance, or shall we stand foolishly beside each other on the side?’

His jaw tightened. ‘I don’t wish to make a scene, Helen.’

‘Then don’t.’

She released his arm and held out her hand to him. ‘Waltz with me again. We shall stick to our own little corner and not bother another couple.’

It seemed like a full five minutes before Mark took her hand. It was probably less. It had to be less. Surely they hadn’t stood looking into each other’s eyes for that long, with her hand outstretched between them?

Mark folded her into his arms and Helen’s heart raced. She loved the feel of his touch on her back. His tight grip on her hand. The way their bodies swayed together slowly to the music. They may have been waltzing at a snail’s pace, but every step was correct. She didn’t doubt that before he’d lost his leg, he’d been an accomplished dancer. Her heart ached for his loss, but she wouldn’t have changed anything about him. She cared for him just the way he was.

Closing her eyes, she marvelled at being in his arms. Touching him today at the park had not been nearly enough. She had not been able to smell his scent of leather, tobacco and peppermint. Or feel his gentle breath on her cheeks. The connection between them was primal—animal. Something she did not quite understand but couldn’t let go. Somehow, he made her feel both safe and excited at the same time. Being near him caused her pulse to double and her heart to beat twice as fast. She’d never experienced this feeling before. This compelling need to touch. To be near another. It was as unsettling as it was essential.

‘Have you gone asleep on me again at a ball?’ Mark asked, a tender note in his voice.

Helen shook her head, opening her eyes. ‘Do you not find that all five senses are sometimes too much? That you have to remove one, to better understand and experience the others?’

‘Were you dreaming of dancing with Jason?’

She shook her head, moving closer to his chest. She stood so near to him that a feather could barely have fit between them. ‘Of course not. You fill my senses, Mark. I was wishing this waltz would never end.’

‘All good things must end.’

Helen gripped his shoulder tighter. ‘Why must they?’

He released her and stepped back. ‘Because the music stops and the world starts up again. And no matter how much you want something, you can’t always have it.’

They stood looking at each other. Unmoving. Helen’s feet could not walk away, nor could her eyes turn from Mark.

‘Oh, there you are, Helen,’ Jason said, taking her elbow. ‘Did you forget that I was your partner for the supper dance?’

She shook her head and forced herself to smile at him. She loved Jason. She had always cared about him. Her friendship with Mark had nothing to do with that. They were completely separate things. Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her to the centre of the dance floor, instead of a corner, and they danced a Scottish jig. Helen saw Niamh with Lord Dutton. They were both short, redhaired, and looking extremely pleased with their partners.

Jason placed his hand on her waist and led her through the promenade. His touch felt comfortable.

Familiar.

But it did not excite her senses like Mark’s had.