Chapter Thirty-One

H elen spent the afternoon watching out the front windows for her father and sister to arrive. It wasn't until nearly five o'clock that a chaise and four pulled to a stop in front of their London town house. Flinging open the door, Helen ran out to meet them. Becca came out of the carriage first and squeezed Helen tightly. Helen had missed her little sister dearly. She had missed their talks, hugs and even her sister's persistent snuggling. Becca was her better half. Then Papa embraced her so tightly, that he lifted her off the ground and twirled her around as though she was still his little girl.

When her feet were back on the pavement she kissed his scratchy cheek. He was wearing old buckskins and boots and looked like his usual rumpled self. She half expected him to pull a small creature out of his pocket.

‘I am so glad that you came.'

Becca linked her arm with Helen's. ‘I can't believe you thought of eloping without us. You should have invited me to come with you!'

Becca's words made Helen blush. She had thought of it, but as much as she loved her little sister, she wanted to be alone with Mark. She knew a great deal in theory about mating and she was eager to put it into practice. Besides, something about Becca had changed. Her looks were still as beautiful as ever. Her shape the sort of curvy that Helen had always envied. Becca's blue eyes were dark like a lake and her brown hair shiny. But something was different. Helen couldn't quite put her finger on it. Perhaps it was the way her little sister held herself—taller and more assured than before. With a confidence that Helen could only be proud of.

Clearing his throat Papa, raised an eyebrow, ‘You accompanying your sister on her wedding trip might prove a tad awkward, my darling. Perhaps, later, your mother will talk to you both about what to expect.'

Helen threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh, Papa. She gave us both the talk last year, after Becca asked during a dinner party if human babies were made the same way that animals reproduced.'

Their mother had snorted into her pudding, but quietly suggested that they speak of it later, alone. The next morning, she had sat down her daughters and explained how human babies were made, both like and unlike the reproduction habits of animals. Happily, Mama had not been embarrassed at all and let them ask as many questions as they liked. And they'd asked a lot. Helen had been quite surprised how many ways it could be done between humans. The animal breeds tended to mate in one specific way.

A smile on his lips, Papa shook his head. ‘Where was I?'

Becca giggled, linking her arm with Helen's. She was at least six inches taller than her ‘big' sister. ‘The Vicar of Ashbury and his wife dined with us that evening, along with General Smith. Sadly, you developed a life-threatening illness that prevented your attendance. But it cleared up the next day.'

‘Miraculously,' Helen added, with another laugh.

Papa patted the tops of their heads. ‘The power of prayer, my children. Never underestimate it.'

They entered the house and the butler took their hats and coats. A string of footmen went to the carriage to bring in their trunks. Becca gave Helen one more hug, before dashing up the stairs to her room. She said that she needed a bath before the dinner party that night and wanted to look her best to meet the Earl.

Helen stood alone with her father in the main entry. She fidgeted with her hands and bit her lower lip.

Papa eyed her closely. ‘I have a very important question for you.'

At least she knew that it wasn't about mating. ‘All right, Papa.'

‘Does this one's ears stick out? For it is a hereditary trait that will pass down to your children.'

Helen chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Stop shaming poor Jason. There is nothing that he can do about his ears. And, yes, Mark's are perfectly flat against his head.'

Her father nodded. ‘He sounds like a fine young man.'

‘Based on his ears?'

‘You can tell a lot about an elephant based on the length of their trunk or their tusks.'

Helen shook her head and Papa ruffled her hair. She was glad that her lady's maid had not arranged it yet. Poor Cartwright nearly had a heart attack when she learned that Helen planned to marry the next day and had not procured a proper wedding gown. Mrs May, the housekeeper, had to calm her down before she went into hysterics.

‘I didn't want you to grow up, you know. I didn't want you to marry and move away from me,' Papa said, sighing. ‘But I was wrong and entirely selfish. You were merely a duckling and now you are a swan. Majestic and awe-inspiring. And just as vicious as the one that bit Charles. Never be afraid to spread your wings...but visit us, often. If you don't, we'll simply get a pack of hunting dogs and track you down all the way to Scotland and pitch a tent on your doorstep.'

A solitary tear fell down her face. ‘I'll always come home, Papa.'

He kissed her cheek and enfolded her once again into his strong arms. ‘And I will always be there.'

Mark felt as if he'd swallowed an elephant whole. He'd already survived several unpleasant interviews that day. The first with the Duchess of Hampford. The second with his mama who was shocked and very displeased that he'd meant to marry without her there. For a moment, he feared that all of the progress in their relationship had been lost. But he had apologised profusely for nearly an hour and she'd forgiven him after giving him a piece of her Scottish mind.

The third interview was with Aunt Fiona and Niamh. His cousin quickly congratulated him, but his aunt claimed that he had jilted her sweet daughter and cried loud, lusty tears. It took a quarter of an hour of soothing before she could be brought to understand that neither he, nor her daughter, were interested in the match.

The fourth, with his Aunt Glencannon and cousin, Lord Watford. His fraternal aunt spent the next hour telling him how much she disapproved of his choice. The bad blood in the Stringham family. The Duchess's connection to trade and how Lady Helen's overall manners were unacceptable. Mark listened patiently and ended their discussion by repeating his invitation to the wedding.

Happily, his final interview, with his Aunt Richmond and Cousin Georgy, lifted his spirits. They were both delighted by his choice and happy that he'd finally found love and peace. They assured him that all of the Lennoxs would be there. That his side of the chapel would not be empty.

After a long afternoon, the last thing Mark wanted to do was go to the Stringhams for dinner. His cravat seemed too tight around his neck and the collar points too high near his chin, as the Hampford butler ushered him into the drawing room. His navy-blue striped waistcoat was also too tight, making it very difficult to breathe. The place was already full of Stringhams. They stood to greet him. Lord and Lady Cheswick. Lord and Lady Trentham. The Duke and Duchess of Pelford. The Duchess of Glastonbury and a young woman he'd not met before, but she was clearly a sister. Then the Duke and Duchess of Hampford.

Mark bowed stiffly to the Duke. The tall man had Helen's same bright blue eyes and his fair hair had probably once been the same shade as hers. It was more grey than blond now. He also had the same piercing stare as his daughter. But unlike Mark, he was not dressed in his finest suit. The Duke's brown coat was wrinkled and too loose to be fashionable. There was a carelessness in his appearance.

‘I take it that you want a private interview with me, Inverness.'

He nearly said yes, but then remembered how much Helen wanted women's voices to be heard. ‘I should like that, Duke. But I should like for the interview to be with both you and your wife. I hope to have both of Helen's parents' blessing on our marriage.'

‘But not my permission?'

Mark swallowed, his throat dry. ‘I have Helen's permission and that is all I need.'

The Duchess of Pelford clapped. ‘Hear, hear. Another renegade is joining the family.'

‘Anarchy,' Lord Trentham said, smiling slightly.

‘Progress,' Helen said, from the door to the room.

Everyone turned to look at her and Mark's breath caught. Helen's blonde hair was a riot of curls with a blue ribbon threaded through them. She wore a snake necklace around her throat and another on her upper arm. She had donned a new white net dress that appeared as delicate as a cloud. On the hem there were three-dimensional blue flowers and gold and brown silk leaf motifs. She looked like a walking garden. Full of life and beauty.

‘A lady doesn't ask a man's parents for their permission to marry him,' she continued, a little colour rising in her cheeks and making her appear even more enchanting.

‘Which is probably a good thing,' Lord Cheswick said, with a snort. ‘Lady Inverness would never have said yes to you.'

Helen stepped menacingly towards him and Lord Cheswick hid theatrically behind his very pregnant red-haired wife. ‘Save me, Louisa.'

Lady Cheswick smiled and patted his hand. ‘I will protect you, dearest.'

Turning on her heel, Helen huffed and shook her head. ‘Ignore him, Mark.' She took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. ‘Come, you must meet my sister, Becca. She's quite the nicest of the bunch, unlike Wick.'

Mark squeezed her fingers and bowed to the new sister. She was different than Helen in every way. Her hair and eyes were darker. Her figure full and her countenance open. Even though he knew that she was two years younger than Helen, she looked older. Perhaps it was her air of confidence?

‘Actually, it is my permission that you need to marry Helen,' Lady Becca said with a welcoming grin. ‘And don't think that I shall give it easily.'

He fought to contain his own smile. ‘Of course not.'

‘Make him sweat,' Helen said, giggling and pressing her head against his arm. ‘But don't take too long, Becca. The marriage is in the morning.'

Everyone in the room laughed, including him.