Mary Brendan - Regency Mistresses - A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride

Helen shot to her feet. ‘George brought you home? Where is he?’ she demanded and flew to the window to peer out into the street.

‘He is gone. The whole way home he wouldn’t speak to me, even when I shouted at him that he was overbearing. When we turned into the Square he cast on me one of his black looks.’ Charlotte pursed her lips mutinously. ‘He said he would never give his consent to a man of Goode’s standing and I might as well get used to it. That’s when I told him he was the vilest man alive and I would marry whomever I chose and he might as well get used to it. After that it was as much as he could do to help me down from the carriage. He was so rough with me I feared he might pull my arm from its socket. Before Betty had let me in he’d set off up the street.’

Helen observed Charlotte’s distress and her heart went out to her. It was difficult to comprehend why any decent person would deliberately make a spectacle of a gentleman as inoffensive as Philip Goode. But then George, she reluctantly admitted to herself, had not acted very decently in a long while. Despite knowing it, she still felt lurking within her a sibling’s sadness. A corrosive resentment of the contented, and a grasping wife, were destroying the personable brother who once had taught her how to ride her first pony and fish the streams in the Surrey countryside.

Helen retraced her steps to the sofa and sat down close to Charlotte. ‘From what you have said it seems George has made himself, rather than Philip, appear ridiculous. It is George who needs our pity,’ she added gravely. ‘Perhaps if he had made a successful marriage he might not be so sour at life.’ She enclosed her sister in a hug and planted a kiss on her luxuriant, auburn tangles. ‘We are the lucky ones, Charlotte. You and I both have known what bliss there is in being cherished by someone we love. Poor George! I think at times he knows what he misses and is bitterly jealous.’

Charlotte rested her head on Helen’s slender shoulder. ‘I wish Papa was here. He would have liked Philip. He would have given us his blessing … just as he did to you and Harry.’

‘Yes, he would. Philip is very like Harry. I expect that is why I took to him from the start.’ With a wistful smile she looked down at her young sister. ‘But our papa is not here. Neither is dearest Harry.’ She put Charlotte from her and said briskly, ‘So we must look after ourselves and not let our brother scare the fight out of us.’

‘I do love Philip, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know. And that is why, somehow or other, you must marry him,’ Helen answered softly. She looked off into the distance with a slight frown drawing close her ebony brows. ‘I expect Philip wants very much to see you again, but fears sparking another ugly scene with George. And who could blame him for that?’ She gave Charlotte an encouraging smile. ‘The best thing will be for me to go alone and pay the Goodes a visit. I shall let them know that they are most welcome to call on us at any time. If George gets temperamental over it … well, he shall have me to contend with.’

‘Beg pardon, Mrs Marlowe, but he is back again.’

Helen peered over her sister’s tousled head at Betty. Her maidservant was, once more that day, stationed in the doorway with an apologetic look on her face. Helen sensed her heart falter and then a burst of terrified exhilaration made her feel quite lightheaded. In a breathy rush she demanded, ‘Who is it, Betty?’

‘Oh, not the gentleman, ma’am,’ Betty said with distinct disappointment. ‘It’s Mr Drover. He won’t say what he wants, so I’ve left him on the step this time.’

Within a moment Helen was briskly walking to the front door. ‘My brother is still not here, Mr Drover,’ she announced without preamble. ‘And I am not expecting him to arrive any time soon. I’m very sorry, but I cannot help you.’

‘I’ve not come about him.’ The grocer shifted on the stone step, fingering the brim of the hat that he was banging in rhythm against his knees. ‘I’m sorry for acting hot-headed earlier … end of tether, you understand.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The other gentleman settled my account.’ His tone was level, but a sly glance slanted up at her before he again meekly studied his shoes. ‘I’ve fetched over that order you sent with my boy earlier in the week.’

‘Sir Jason Hunter has settled the bill …’ Helen whispered. It was not really a question at all. Since Jason had been rudely petitioned to pay for her groceries, she had wondered if he might indeed do so.

Helen suddenly became conscious that Betty was hovering behind her. The young woman’s gaping mouth and bulging eyes indicated her great interest in the proceedings. Before Helen could dismiss her entranced maid, Samuel Drover supplied both women with another piece of riveting information.

‘The gentleman left cash on your account, too, so you’re not to fret on this load.’ He gave a sideways nod at his cart. After a silent few seconds he politely queried, ‘Shall I start to bring it in?’

‘Please do.’ It was a firm instruction from Helen, issued after only a tiny hesitation.

Mr Drover lowered his head and humbly backed away a step or two before setting about his task.

Helen proudly elevated her chin. ‘Please set fires in the parlour and the bedchambers. Then when the provisions are checked we will plan what to prepare for dinner.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Betty agreed in a buoyant tone.

Charlotte’s bright words, issued from the parlour’s doorway, reassured Helen that her sister had observed, if not heard, what went on. ‘Heavens! Do you think that George is feeling so guilty over his foul behaviour this afternoon that he has paid the bill at last and sent us some food?’

Helen subdued the sour laugh that scratched at her throat and limited her response to a wry smile. She did not intend to lie to her sister over the source of their improved fortune. But omitting to mention who was their benefactor might be wise until she had a notion of how to present it all to Charlotte.

Besides, Charlotte now seemed too embroiled in her own tribulations to bother with mundane domesticity even if a tasty meal and a warm bedchamber were finally in the offing. Helen could tell that her sister was again lost in her own thoughts as she fiddled with her hat ribbons and sighed loudly. ‘Why do you not go and freshen yourself, Charlotte? Put a brush through your hair and wash your teary cheeks before we dine.’

Charlotte sucked in a rejuvenating breath. With a little nod she turned towards the stairs. Halfway up the flight she pivoted towards Helen with a plea that proved her thoughts were indeed fixed on her beloved. ‘Will you promise me that very soon you will go and see Philip? Please tell him that I am so sorry and that—’

‘Hush!’ Helen interrupted Charlotte, but she gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I have said I will go there and so I shall.’

In a moment Charlotte had skipped out of sight and Betty had bustled into view with the coal scuttle.

Helen quite expected to hear the sounds of Mr Drover whistling and Betty humming a tune. She felt heat flood her complexion as she imagined what occupied their minds as they happily went about their business. The grocer and her servant had come to the same conclusion about what prompted the gentleman’s intervention in her domestic affairs. It had improved their attitudes enormously to think that she was paying in kind for her keep. Helen didn’t for one moment blame either of them for suspecting such an arrangement existed. Had she not already challenged Jason Hunter to clarify what motivated his benevolence? She had received no proper answer from him and was still unsure what prompted him to be generous. But the thought of accepting his charity or his pity was anathema to her.