Chapter Two
M ark Wallace did not want the title of Earl of Inverness. He didn't want the Scottish estates. And he didn't want the town houses in Edinburgh and London. Mostly, he didn't want his elder brother to be dead.
Two years ago, he'd lost his leg at the Battle of Waterloo, the same battle where all his close friends had also perished. Then to lose his brother a year later, from a digestion complaint, was the final nail in his coffin. He was a walking ghost.
Mark felt the phantom itch in his missing leg. He knew it wasn't there, but he still reached down and scratched the wood of his prosthetic leg. He had been carried safely off the battlefield and taken straight to a surgeon. Yet, it felt as though part of him was still on the fields of Belgium. Scratching the wood didn't relieve the feeling, nothing did. Mark felt a leg that was no longer there.
Like his heart.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not be the light-hearted fellow he was before the battle. That young man was gone.
Nor could he marry his young cousin. A match that both his mother and his maternal aunt were actively promoting. Niamh was only seventeen and a bonny lass with red hair and sparkling green eyes. She deserved someone young and happy. She wanted more than he could give. The only thing that he could do was escape to London and pretend to be looking for a wife there. Edinburgh was too close to home and Aunt Fiona would simply bring his cousin there.
No.
He had to make a fresh start in a new city.
Not that Mark could marry any woman. His body and soul were too damaged from the war. And if he didn't strangle his bride in his sleep, he would scare the wits out of her with his screaming. He had hoped that the night terrors would lessen over time, but more often than not he woke up drenched in his own sweat and in a living nightmare. And he hadn't found pleasure in anything or anyone since the Battle of Waterloo. He was not husband material.
Jason's usually large toothy grin was absent from his face. ‘You're leaving?'
Helen placed her hand on his arm to comfort him. Touch had always been her favourite way to communicate. Animals used it more effectively than humans and she'd often found it difficult to express herself with words. She could never find the right ones. ‘I have to go for the London Season. There is no other way for us to be together.'
And live in Ashbury for the rest of their lives near everything that was familiar and where people were used to her oddities.
He raked his fingers through his fair hair and she couldn't help but notice how much his ears did stick out. But it wasn't unattractive, it was adorable. Jason was tall and had an athletic figure, with dazzling grey eyes and thick, curly brown hair. Every young lady for twenty miles around admired him.
He had a pleasant disposition that was always hoped for in a member of the clergy. He had a smile and kind word for everyone. Jason had known Helen his entire life and had not once ever compared her to one of her better-behaved and prettier sisters. Nor did he criticise her behaviour or blunt manner. He was a dear!
Jason sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘I know that I am not a great match for you, Helen. You deserve to marry a prince.'
Bravely, Helen wrapped her arms around his neck. It felt both familiar and strange to be so close to him. They had been friends for so long. ‘You are a good match for me. You are my best friend. And I made a bargain with my mother. If I go and enjoy the London Season, she will let us become engaged when I return in the summer. And I'll never have to leave Ashbury again.'
His lower lip stuck out petulantly. ‘You'll forget me.'
‘I won't. I couldn't.'
Jason put his hands tentatively on her waist. His hold was light as if he was trying to touch a butterfly. ‘Can I kiss you before you go?'
Helen nodded. She'd been waiting her whole life for her first kiss. She'd always been fascinated by how animals showed affection and mated. Closing her eyes, she puckered her lips and tipped them upwards to him. She waited for what seemed like several minutes, before he bumped his dry lips against hers.
Then he released her, stepping back.
That was it?
Blinking, she couldn't help but feel a keen pang of disappointment. Helen had expected something quite different. Her sister Frederica and her husband, Samuel, were constantly kissing, even after two years of marriage. Helen had to knock before she entered any room when they were visiting. Their kisses weren't at all like the brief embrace she'd just experienced with Jason. Their hands were all over each other and their faces red with exertion.
‘Will you at least write to me?' he asked.
Her heart felt as if it were shrinking inside her chest. There was a heaviness in the air and in her body. ‘Mama wouldn't permit it, you know. Because we are not formally engaged. But I know that Becca will. I'll send your letters enclosed in hers and she can deliver them to you.'
Jason took her hand and kissed the back of it with more passion than he had her lips. Perhaps it had been his first kiss, too. It was natural for it to be rather awkward. Neither of them knew what they were doing. It didn't mean anything that she'd felt cold after. No. Their next kiss would be much better. They had cared each other since they were children. Such a feeling could only grow into something more.
He smiled at her with all of his large white teeth. ‘You have made me the happiest of men, Helen.'
She bit her lower lip. She was happy, she really was. The lowness she was currently feeling must have to do with her leaving him and her home. ‘I had better go.'
‘I will think of you every moment of every day.'
Helen doubted that she would give him that much time in her own thoughts, but she felt the warmth in her heart again. Her relationship with Jason was like with an old pair of slippers: well-worn and comfortable. Smiling, she squeezed his hands one last time. ‘And I will think of you often.'
The heaviness that had weighed her down seemed to lessen as she walked back to Hampford Castle. She found Becca in her room with Mademoiselle Jaune, their yellow macaw, on her shoulder.
The bird spoke first. ‘Small treasure chest. Small treasure chest.'
Helen glanced down at her rather small endowment. Unlike her mother and three sisters, her figure was not voluptuous. She was straight like a rail. Her hair was flaxen and so pale that it almost looked white. Her eyes were a light blue, like her father's. Her features were very similar to her paternal grandmother's, the previous Duchess of Hampford, whom she only knew through a painting in the hall. The poor lady had died young. Wick, her eldest brother, used to tease her that she had been switched at birth with a fairy child, that she was a changeling. But the painting had always assured her that she did look like someone in her family. Even if they were long dead.
‘Oh, be quiet, Bird!'
Mademoiselle Jaune flew around the room and landed near Becca. ‘Large treasure chest. Large treasure chest.'
Helen couldn't help but laugh. Becca did have a large chest and she was amply curved. It was no wonder that their mother hadn't wanted them to debut at the same time. With her more vibrant complexion, rich brown hair and voluptuous figure, she would have received all the male attention. And even though Becca was two years younger than Helen, strangers usually thought that Becca was older. Perhaps because of her curves and her poise or the fact that she was six inches taller.
Becca's cheeks turned red. ‘Am I too plump?'
Helen sat next to her sister, bumping her shoulder playfully with her own. ‘Of course not! I would kill for your curves.'
Her little sister touched her sides and then slid her hands down to her wide hips. ‘Do you think the size of my waist is why Mama will not let me debut this year?'
Helen elbowed Becca sharply. All of the Stringhams were natural elbowers. ‘Now, none of that! Mama is only afraid that you will take all the eligible young men from me and I will have to marry Jason after all.'
Becca looked Helen square in the eyes. ‘Are you sure that you want to marry him? I know that he is your dearest friend, but is that enough to begin a marriage with?'
A bubble of uncertainty filled her chest, but Helen pushed it down resolutely. She loved Hampford Castle and its surrounding fields. They were her home, her natural habitat, and if she married Jason she would never have to leave. They would live in the neighbouring village of Ashbury and she would not constantly stick out like a sore thumb, as she would in London society.
‘What greater love could there be than friendship? It won't fade with beauty or time... Becca, I have a favour to ask of you since you will be staying home. Don't roll your eyes yet. I was hoping that I could include a letter for Jason inside your letters and that you would deliver it to him.'
‘I would be happy to be your personal mail delivery service to one very smiley curate. I only wish I could read well enough to understand the words. I should dearly love to snoop.'
Helen gave her sister a quick hug. ‘Perhaps with the help of your new tutor, you will be able to devour every scandalous detail and society snub.'
Becca embraced her sister again and stepped down, dancing around the room. She spun with her arms out for an imaginary suitor. ‘Thank you for the dance, Lord Tall-upon-Handsome.'
Helen laughed. Her little sister could have all of the lords. ‘I wish you could come as well. I am sure every handsome peer would pursue you.'
Her little sister bowed to her as if Helen was her dance partner, with a great flourish of one hand. ‘Nonsense. I will hold your nosegays while you dance with several dashing admirers.'
‘The only flower I'll have is a wallflower. Because that's what I'll be.'
Becca smiled, wrinkling her nose. ‘Oh, pish posh! Every handsome young man will wish to dance with you and you need to enjoy yourself while you can. Like Frederica did before she married Samuel. For soon you'll be a vicar's wife and expected to keep chickens and set a good example in the parish.'
This image did not please her at all. One of Jason's greatest attractions was that he lived in Ashbury where all the villagers were used to her peculiar behaviours. Helen stuck her tongue out at her sister and Becca laughed. ‘Theodosia would probably eat the chickens.'
‘Besides that, do you intend to be the perfect vicar's wife?'
Helen's insides squirmed. ‘I intend to be the perfect wife for Jason.'
Her little sister shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I am not sure that they are the same thing. A vicar's wife should be seen and not heard.'
‘That phrase refers to children,' Helen said tartly.
‘Have you ever heard Mrs Robertson offer an unsolicited opinion?'
Jason's mother was a kind woman with rather weary eyelids that were always half-shut. She did have a great number of children to keep her busy. ‘Perhaps she has nothing to say.'
‘Or she knows her place as the vicar's wife.'
‘Now you're the one spouting nonsense,' Helen said, leaving Becca's room. But she couldn't forget her little sister's words and wondered if she could become the type of person who was a good wife to a rector. She wished to explore the countryside and the forests and continue her studies in natural history. She was not at all obedient and she insisted on being heard. And she didn't want to stay home and watch her children and chickens.