Chapter Five

H elen had never particularly liked the colour white, except for the one time she'd seen it worn quite fashionably on a polar bear. Now that white had been spectacular, even though she had wished the bear could have been freed. But the dull white colour that debutantes wore was nothing like it and Helen was a good four years older than most of her peers. After her sister Mantheria's disastrous marriage at seventeen—the appropriate age of presentation in the ton —her parents had waited with their other daughters. Frederica had not debuted until nineteen and married when she was over one and twenty.

Mama had offered to present Helen at nineteen as well, but instead, Helen had chosen to go to Greece with Mantheria, her estranged spouse who was in ill health, his mistress, Lady Dutton, her father and Becca. Helen had wanted to hate the Duke of Glastonbury for ruining his marriage to her sister, but she couldn't. Somehow, they had all become family. An odd, unconventional sort of family. And she hadn't regretted her decision to travel. She loved everything about Greece, from the animals to the mythology.

The ringlet curls escaping from her chignon looked a bit like snakes, but her stare would not turn young men—and some not so young—into stone.

A pity, that.

Her nephew, a young boy of ten, dashed into her dressing room. ‘Aunt Helen, you look like a princess.'

Helen kissed the top of her nephew's head. ‘Thank you, my love. But I'd prefer to be a gorgon.'

Andrew laughed merrily. ‘Great-Grandmother Stubbs's stare can turn people into stone. I've seen her do it. They can't even speak.'

A chuckle escaped Helen's lips as she pictured it. ‘Unfortunately, such a gift is hereditary.'

‘What does hair territory mean?'

‘It means that Great-Grandmother Stubbs married Great-Grandfather, but that we don't share any blood with her. Therefore, we cannot inherit any of her marvellous gorgon abilities.'

Her nephew's face was a study of consternation for a few moments, but then he smiled. ‘I still think that you could turn men into stone, Aunt Helen.'

She swooped over and hugged Andrew, dropping another kiss in his dark curls. ‘Now, you could inherit that from me. We do share blood and, therefore, the same hereditary traits. Although not the same hair colour.'

Andrew laughed.

Linking arms, they left her dressing room and descended to the lower parlour where all her family was assembled, except for her other niece and nephews. Andrew hugged her mother and Mantheria. Her eldest brother, Wick, and his wife, Louisa, were sitting together on a sofa, both with their hands on her growing belly. Helen was pretty sure that it would be a fourth boy. Wick and Louisa seemed to wish to singlehandedly repopulate the human species.

Her brother Matthew and his wife, Nancy, were sitting on a sofa with a giraffe-length space between them. Poor Nancy's usually gorgeous Scottish complexion was rather pale with a tinge of green. She was also holding a bowl in her lap. Helen supposed that she was also expecting again and, like last time, her sense of smell had heightened like a cat's and she couldn't abide any scent. Including her husband's.

Frederica and Samuel were standing in the corner of the room, smiling stupidly at each other. She could only be glad that they weren't kissing. After two years of marriage, their infatuation only seemed to grow. They were always touching each other. A hand on the elbow, the shoulder, the waist, or holding the other's fingers. The connection between them was very physical. They often reminded her of a pair of monkeys, constantly touching and grooming each other.

She couldn't help but wonder if the touches between herself and Jason would become less stilted. More natural. Surely, their kissing would improve with practice? She couldn't see herself wishing for more of the dry brushing of lips. But even if it didn't, she would have her woods and her rivers. Her stars and her streams. And Jason would never expect her to be a society hostess or broodmare.

Mama swept into the room like the Duchess she was, smiling at her children. ‘This is going to be a memorable occasion. The Prince Regent has even promised to stop in.'

Since the Prince Regent was a particular friend of their mother's, it wasn't too surprising or exciting. And Prinny could never get their names right. Unfortunately, the Prince's attendance would set her coming-out ball apart from similar such parties. Which was the last thing Helen could wish for. She wanted to be a failure and a wallflower, while still upholding her end of the bargain with her mother.

Leaning her chin on her hand, Helen sighed. ‘I wish Becca and Papa were here.'

Wick laughed. ‘Papa is lucky to be missing it.'

Shaking her head, Mama cleared her throat. ‘Becca couldn't be left unchaperoned with her new tutor. It is a man this time. University educated. Top of his class. He received a double first like Matthew.'

‘But Papa doesn't truly care about that,' Matthew said with a grin. ‘Any excuse to not have to come to London is good enough for him.'

Helen nodded into her palm, sighing again. How she wished to be with him at Hampford Castle. ‘True. It's probably why he agreed to make me come and made Becca stay home. The selfish wretch.'

Her mother stiffened, humming imperiously. ‘Helen. Remember our bargain.'

Lifting her head, she put on a fake smile and curled her fingers into claws. ‘Yes, Mama. Do you have a list of suitors I am to dance with? Or shall we see if anyone comes up to scratch?'

Her siblings laughed. They had all suffered from their mother's matchmaking attempts when they were single.

‘As a matter of fact,' Mama said in a dignified tone, ignoring her progeny, ‘I have not prearranged your partners. In the past, it has been most unsuccessful. I did not want you to be like your siblings and use it as the list of eligible people to hate.'

Her siblings and their spouses laughed again and Helen's lips tilted upwards despite herself.

‘Nonsense, Mama,' Frederica said, kissing Samuel's cheek. ‘I was very obedient. I married the man you chose for me.'

Mama put her hands on her hips. ‘You eloped with him and I didn't get to come to your wedding. Even though I was in the same city and could have easily attended it without getting in the way of your spying for Wellington.'

Frederica shrugged, beaming. ‘You can't have everything your way, Mama. Even if you are a duchess.'

‘I beg to differ,' Samuel said, lifting Frederica's hand and kissing it reverently. ‘You always get your way, my Duchess.'

They grinned at each other in a special way. It was so disgustingly sweet. She couldn't help but wish Jason was more circumspect with his smiles. He smiled at everybody. It was something that she both loved and hated about him. Jason was all smiles and Helen was all scowls.

Mama clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. ‘Wick, you will take your father's place at my side to welcome the guests.'

He groaned as though he was still a boy and not a grown man with three sons and another babe on the way. ‘Must I?'

‘You must.'

Matthew laughed.

Mama rounded on him, wagging her finger. ‘Matthew, your job is to make sure that your sister never lacks for a partner.'

He looked at his three sisters. ‘Which one?'

Helen giggled. Matthew knew very well whom Mama meant.

Their mother ignored his sally. ‘Mantheria and Frederica, you will ensure that Helen does not escape the party.'

‘We are to be your jailers,' Mantheria said with a wink as she took Helen's arm and squeezed it.

‘What about Louisa and Nancy?' Helen asked, yanking her arm away from her eldest sister. ‘Aren't you going to give them a task for my ball?'

The stern look on Mama's face softened. ‘They are doing quite enough already.'

Louisa held her baby bump. Helen glanced at Nancy, who blushed. She was now sure that her sister-in-law was expecting a child.

‘And Samuel?' Helen pressed, pointing at him. ‘Does he not have to do anything?'

‘I have to keep track of Frederica,' he said, grinning at his wife. ‘And that proves to be a full-time task.'

No one disagreed with him.

‘Samuel will open the ball by dancing with you,' Mama commanded. ‘He is by far the best dancer in the family.'

Helen dutifully took her place by Mama and Wick, welcoming the guests for the early dinner. The only two visitors she smiled at were Grandfather and Grandmother Stubbs. She kissed Grandfather on the cheek and he slipped a necklace into her hand.

‘Grandpapa, you didn't have to do anything.'

He beamed at her. ‘I wanted to.'

Helen looked down at the necklace in her hand—it was one of a kind. It looked like a serpent, with turquoise, silver, gold, rubies, pearls and diamonds set in a scale-like pattern. The end of the necklace had the face of a snake. She loved it with all of her heart. ‘Put it on. Put it on.'

Turning her back to her grandfather, she handed him the necklace and he clasped it around her throat. Helen gave him another hug and kiss for good measure and, in her good spirits, gave one to Grandmother Stubbs as well. Her step-grandmother was a stern woman with definite ideas about appropriate behaviour, but she smiled as Helen kissed her cheek. ‘There. There, now. Only your best behaviour tonight. Yes? And the snake necklace around your throat is the only one on your person?'

Helen touched the turquoise snake. ‘It is the only one, Grandmother. I promise.'

Grandmother Stubbs nodded, wagging a finger at her. ‘Your best behaviour.'

Wick snorted.

Helen elbowed him in the gut. ‘Why does everyone assume I will behave badly?'

‘Because you always do,' Wick said, dodging her second blow.

Despite her eldest brother's ominous prediction, Helen behaved very prettily during the early supper and after, as they greeted more guests, including the Prince Regent, who kissed Mama on both cheeks and exclaimed that she was more beautiful than she'd ever been. Happily, Helen was given only a handshake and a compliment. She didn't want the lecherous old Prince's kisses.

Helen opened the ball by dancing with her brother-in-law Samuel. As the Duke of Pelford, he was also the highest-ranking person at the ball after the Prince Regent and the Duke of Glastonbury. But neither of them danced—Glastonbury because he was unfortunately confined to a chair and the Prince Regent because he was too important. It was rare for him to dignify a party by dancing.

After the dance, Lady Dutton wheeled Glastonbury over to her. Lady Dutton was his mistress, Mantheria his wife and the mother of his son, Andrew. They lived in separate residences in England.

Glastonbury held out his hand. In it was a golden snake arm cuff that twisted around a lady's arm. He must have purchased it for her in Greece. ‘For you, Helen of Troy. The face that launched a thousand ships.'

Helen gave him a quick hug and then Lady Dutton, who was almost like an aunt to her, before sliding the cuff over her long gloves and up her arm above her elbow. ‘Well, now you know why the ships left so quickly. When they saw this face, they wisely made a run for it.'

Lady Dutton put a hand on Helen's arm. ‘Nonsense, Helen. You are very beautiful. You shine like a beacon in the night.'

Helen thanked them and was whisked away for several country dances. Matthew seemed to be taking his role of finding her partners seriously. He had practically made a queue of them.

Breathless and thirsty, Helen escaped the ballroom for some punch. Both of her elder sisters followed her.

Frederica took her elbow. ‘Back to the ballroom with you. The night is not half over yet.'

‘But I'm tired and my feet hurt.'

‘I've seen you stay awake all night for the birth of an animal,' Mantheria said. ‘Surely you can handle staying awake for your own ball.'

Helen opened her mouth to complain, but her breath caught at a glimpse of black hair, too long to be stylish. Its wildness and unconventionality were arresting and, though he'd shaved, Mark somehow still had the air of a pirate. His black suit of clothes was very fashionable and not at all crumpled. Instead of the knee-breeches that most men had worn to the ball, he had full-length trousers on. Even his linen shirt and cravat were black. They made his blue eyes stand out and something inside her belly melt.

Leaving her sisters without a word, she walked up to him. ‘You came, Mark! I didn't think that you would.'

He turned from the gentleman he was speaking to, to look at her, bowing his head. ‘Lady Helen.'

Remembering her manners, Helen gave an obligatory curtsy.

Mark gestured to the man at his side. ‘Allow me to introduce my cousin, Lord Watford. Lady Helen Stringham. Watty is the son of the Earl and Countess of Glencannon.'

She gave the other man a brief nod. His colouring was similar to Mark's, but his build was quite different. Mark was tall, slender, melancholy and achingly handsome. Lord Watford was short, angular, and his jaw was as square as his forehead.

‘You call my cousin by his first name?' Lord Watford said, a condescending smile on his lips. ‘Wouldn't it be more proper to refer to him by his title, Lord Inverness?'

Helen blinked. ‘You're a lord then, Mark ? I suppose your title is not a courtesy one, like Lord Watford's. No wonder you were so stuffy when I broke into your garden.'

The corner of Mark's lips twitched upwards, but it wasn't quite a smile.

Lord Watford guffawed. ‘And what was the penalty for breaking into his garden?'

She smiled, her eyes on Mark alone. ‘A waltz.'

‘But my cousin can't dance,' Lord Watford said loud enough for all the people around them to hear. ‘He doesn't have a leg.'

Peg-leg.

Oh, Mademoiselle Jaune, you clever, clever bird.

Poor Mark. It was no wonder he was surly. He'd lost a part of himself and, unlike a reptile, he couldn't grow it back.

The expression on Mark's face was stormy. ‘I release you from our waltz, Lady Helen.'

Helen took his arm, twining her own through it. Her pulse quickened. ‘But I do not release you.'

‘Don't make a fool of my cousin. He's a cripple. If you want to waltz, I'd be happy to oblige you,' Lord Watford said.

She pressed her free hand to her chest. ‘But you do not oblige me.'

Lord Watford blanched and touched his perfectly arranged cravat. ‘You don't even know me, Lady Helen.'

She gave him her best snake stare. It had been a rude thing to say, but he'd just humiliated Mark and it wasn't nearly as bad as the naughty words Helen had been thinking. ‘I know you quite well enough to be sure that I would rather sit out the dance with him than take a step with you. Come on, Mark. I have the perfect seat.'

He allowed her to escort him through the crowd to a secluded sofa near the stairs that was still in sight of ballroom. She walked slowly, unsure of what pace to set. She had no wish to embarrass him. Quite the reverse, he was her only friend in London who wasn't a member of her family. Helen sat down first. Mark lowered himself with his arms down to the sofa.

Helen bumped her shoulder to his. ‘I hope I didn't embarrass you. Your cousin is more pompous and obnoxious than an orangutan in a troop of monkeys.'

Mark did his half-smile. ‘You don't have to sit by me, you know. I won't be offended if you'd rather dance.'

‘Truly, I am exhausted and my feet ache. I don't want to dance another step. Nor attempt to make civil conversation. I've quite finished my reserves.'

‘Is it exhausting to make polite conversation?'

She briefly closed her eyes. ‘It is tedious.'

‘Shall we have an impolite conversation, then?'

Helen laughed and bumped his arm with her elbow in a friendly gesture. But the feeling in her body wasn't friendly at all. Her pulse quickened and her temperature rose. The sort of thing a female animal experienced before being mated. It was a signal to the male that the female was interested and willing. But why was her body behaving like this? It had never done so with Jason. She had felt warm and happy in his presence, not this heat that spooled in her belly and a pressure tightening in her torso.

What did it mean?

She leaned a little away from him. ‘My family will tell you that my conversation is always impolite.'

Mark took a deep breath. She noticed that his colour was higher as well. His blood circulation had increased. Was he suffering from the same strange bodily reaction that she had from their brief touch?

‘And why is that?'

‘I suppose I am honest to a fault. Human society would prefer that we pretend to be something we are not. Especially young women. We are not to let the world know how clever we are. Or how disagreeable we can be. That is why I hate society. I plan to live the rest of my life in Ashbury near Hampford Castle doing precisely what I please and never being polite again.'

He smiled.

They weren't even touching this time and she experienced the same physical sensations. There was heat everywhere in her body, burning through her veins. A sensitivity in her breasts and her pulse was racing as if she'd been running a marathon like the ancient Greeks.

‘Are all young women secretly disagreeable?'

Helen couldn't help but smile back at him. It was a natural response that she couldn't suppress. ‘When I was in Greece, an old man told me a story about a snake.'

‘Tell me.'

‘He said that a young man went high into the mountains and a snake talked to him. The snake begged the young man to wrap him in his warm coat and to take him down the mountain, lest he should die. The young man had a tender heart, so he lifted the snake in his arms, warmed the snake in his coat and carried him down the mountain. When they reached the bottom, the snake bit him. The snake's venom raced through the young man's body, killing him. The young man gasped in pain and asked the snake why it would hurt him after he had helped him. The snake slithered away, saying, "You knew what I was when you picked me up." '

Mark blinked, tilting his head to one side. ‘That was not quite the ending I expected.'

‘That's why I liked it so much,' Helen explained, grinning. ‘Snakes will always behave like snakes. But humans, you never know what they'll do. How they'll react. When they will bite or betray you.'

She forced her eyes away from his to see her two sisters coming towards them.

Mantheria held out her hand. ‘There you are, Helen. Matthew has a partner waiting for you in the ballroom. It is your come-out ball, you cannot hide in the shadows.'

Frederica smiled as she curtsied. ‘Lord Inverness, how good it is to see you. The last time I saw you was in the hospital.'

‘Now I am death walking,' he said with a thin-lipped smile.

Mantheria tugged on her hand. Helen reluctantly followed, looking over her shoulder at Melancholy Mark. She had wanted to stay with him. He didn't make her feel odd or different.