Chapter Thirty

H elen dressed with great care that morning. It wasn't every day one got married after all. She wore her favourite day dress—a light green bombazine that flattered her tall, willowy figure. She picked a bonnet that had a bouquet of artificial flowers on it. But she wanted real ones to hold. Slipping down to the conservatory, Helen found her shears and cut herself the most beautiful bouquet of snapdragons, lilies of the valley and pink carnations. She was breaking her own rules about killing plants before they'd reached their full life cycle, but brides were allowed to be a little demanding on their special day. She tied the clipped flowers together with one of her hair ribbons. No doubt her lady's maid, Cartwright, would be quite furious when she discovered it missing.

Mark loved her.

He didn't want a proper wife or society hostess. Or even a gentlewoman who was adept at small talk. He wanted her. He loved her. Mark had said those beautiful words to her only yesterday and ever since she'd felt as though she was floating in the air. Her twisty, snake-like self could finally fly. Carrying her boots in one hand and her bouquet in the other, she tiptoed down to the kitchens. She would escape through the servants' entrance. Helen dashed across the kitchen, only to find her mother standing in front of the door that led to the alley.

Helen gulped, clutching her boots to her chest. ‘Mama, what are you doing here?'

Awake at this hour. In the kitchen. Blocking my way out.

Her mother sighed, placing her hands on her full hips. ‘If you think that I am going to miss another one of my children's weddings, you are gravely mistaken.'

Wick had been right! Very little passed underneath Mama's nose that she didn't know about. Including elopements.

Helen felt the blood leave her face. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘Not only am I particular friends with the Bishop of London, I happen to be close to the Archbishop of Canterbury as well. He sent me a missive last evening, letting me know that he'd written my daughter's name on a special licence. He thought it might be of some interest to me and it was.'

She dropped her boots on the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor. ‘Mark doesn't want to be the centre of attention. He is still sensitive about his leg. He'd prefer if we married in private.'

‘Be that as it may, you are not getting married without your family,' her mother said, lifting her chin up. ‘I've sent an express to your father. He and Becca should be here by dinner tonight at the latest. You may marry tomorrow morning with all of us in attendance.'

Helen opened her mouth, gaping. ‘B-but what about Mark? He's waiting for me in the carriage outside.'

Her mother smiled, and there was a predatory gleam to her canine teeth. ‘I will go and meet him.'

A chuckle escaped Helen's lips.

Poor Mark.

He would have to face the wrath of the Duchess alone. She laughed even harder as she trailed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

The female figure who entered the carriage was not Helen, but her mother. The Duchess of Hampford sat on the seat across from his. His muscles clenched. His internal organs stopped functioning. The phantom itch in his lost leg was worse than ever. Touching his neck, he felt the veins standing out against his skin. He swayed in his seat underneath panic-induced vertigo.

Had Helen changed her mind?

He felt like a fly trapped in a spider's web, struggling uselessly to get free. Waiting to get eaten.

Helen's mother eyed him like a mouse in a cat's paw. ‘I take it I am not the lady you were expecting.'

Mark dropped his hand from his neck and bowed his head. ‘No, Duchess.'

The Duchess smiled. It was more terrifying than her frown. ‘Helen has not changed her mind, but I have asked her to wait until tomorrow. Her father and youngest sister will be here and we will all go with you to the church and watch the ceremony.'

Mark swallowed. His throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. ‘I—we—we didn't mean to offend, Duchess. Helen and I only wanted a small, private wedding.'

‘You do not have children yet, but if you did, you would realise how special tomorrow is, not only for yourselves, but for us. Invite your mother. Your aunts. Your cousins. Weddings are a day to feel not only the love of the person you marry, but your entrance into their family. Whether you like it or not, tomorrow you will become a Stringham. Part of our pack. And we stick together, no matter what.'

The Duchess's words warmed his heart. He'd felt adrift since his friends' deaths at Waterloo. His brother's untimely death at Inverness. He'd felt like an island. All alone. But he would be alone no more. Helen would be at his side and she came with a large and loving family that seemed determined to make him one of their own.

‘Very well, Duchess. Might I see Helen?'

‘You may come to dinner tonight,' she said in a firm voice. ‘And you can meet my husband and formally ask for his permission to wed our daughter.'

‘I would be pleased to come.'

Lady Hampford didn't wait for a servant to open the door to the carriage. She jumped out on to the pavement like a woman half her age and strolled into her house with her head held high. Helen didn't resemble her mother in appearance, but he could see the similarities in their strength of personality.

And heaven help him. He was going to have to meet Helen's father.