Chapter Seven

H elen did not know why she liked spending time with Mark so much. It was as if there was an affinity between them. He never seemed shocked by what she said. Nor did they have to speak. Yesterday afternoon, she had fallen asleep against his leg. Helen could not understand why she had leaned against it in the first place. She had been awfully tired from the ball, but that wasn't it. She'd simply wanted to touch him. To be near him. She felt so marvellous when she touched him. It made her blood thrum quite delightfully.

Helen asked her lady's maid to prepare her blue walking habit and hat. Dressed and pressed, she descended the stairs. Samuel and Arthur were waiting for her in the foyer. Her brother-in-law was bent over, holding the hands of his little son. Arthur waddled back and forth, giggling. Helen saw that his two top teeth had finally come in. The one on the bottom was still just beneath the skin of his gums.

‘Where are you going?' Samuel asked.

She stepped passed him and said over her shoulder, ‘To the Tower of London to sketch snakes.'

He nodded, following her. ‘And who is going with you?'

Oh, dear. Propriety was about to bite her and it was going to sting.

‘A friend.'

‘Nnnn...' Arthur cooed, walking towards her.

Helen scooped him up and covered him with kisses until he squealed with giggles. She truly couldn't help herself. Arthur's chubby cheeks were made for kisses. She set her nephew back down on his small feet and walked him the few steps to his father.

Samuel gave her a quelling look. ‘What species is the friend?'

It was at moments like this that she wished her brother-in-law had not known her for her whole life. ‘Human.'

‘Gender?'

Tying her bonnet, she looked down at the ribbon. ‘Male.'

‘You know that your mother would not approve of you travelling alone with a young man. You need to bring your lady's maid along.'

‘Cartwright is a wonder with hair, but she is as stiff-necked and starchy as Grandmother Stubbs. She is tedious company and frowns at me the entire time.'

‘Frederica and your mother are both at the perfume shop today, there is no other female to accompany you.'

‘You could let me go alone, just this once. Or I could bring a footman.'

Samuel shook his head, blocking her exit with his broad shoulders. ‘You know that your mother would have my head and Freddie would eat my gizzard, if I did.'

Helen huffed, letting her chin fall to her chest. ‘I suppose you and Arthur can come, but don't hover over me like a nurse. And don't frown at me if I say or do something naughty. Mark is not my suitor so I don't have to pretend to be a proper debutante.'

‘I never hover or frown,' Samuel said indignantly.

Arthur responded by blowing raspberries.

She waited for them to put on their coats and hats. Samuel hailed a hack, because her mother had already taken the carriage.

‘Where are we picking up the male human?'

Helen wrinkled her nose. ‘I don't rightly know his address. He lives in the town house directly behind us.'

Samuel laughed. ‘Do you happen to know his name? Or do you just refer to him by his place in the animal kingdom, family, phylum, genus and species?'

‘His name is Mark—Lord Inverness.'

Samuel waggled his eyebrows. ‘Ooh.'

Arthur who was sitting in his lap, cooed along with him. ‘Ooh...'

‘You're worse than Frederica,' Helen said, leaning back in her seat, unable to keep her mouth from forming a small smile. Not that she was romantically interested in Mark. She wasn't. He was a peer and he was from Scotland. She didn't want to be a countess, nor to be so far from the family and home that she loved.

Samuel only chuckled again and gave the driver the instructions for Mark's house.

If Mark was surprised to see Samuel with her, he didn't show it. Using a cane, he limped down the steps of his house. He paused before entering the carriage, switching the leg that went in first. Using his upper body strength, he lifted himself inside and then sat down beside her. His left leg stuck out straight.

Leaning over, he bent it back. ‘Lady Helen. Pelford.'

‘Inverness, allow me to introduce you to my son, Arthur,' Samuel said formally.

Mark tipped his hat. ‘A pleasure, young master.'

Arthur waved one chubby fist and blew more raspberries.

Helen felt the invisible pull to slide closer to Mark. To press the side of her body against his. To feel the thrill she experienced when they touched. So different from the comfort of Jason's skin.

She didn't move. Instead, she scowled at her brother-in-law. ‘They insisted on being our chaperons. I told them I didn't need one. That this was a business meeting.'

‘You don't,' Samuel said with a half-smile. ‘Poor Inverness is the one who needs us. Otherwise, he'll be forced to offer marriage to you and what will your cheery curate who has followed you around for the last decade think?'

She had never thought about it that way. Having a chaperon protected the young man just as much as it did the young woman. ‘Jason would trust me.'

It was the truth. But for some reason it made her feel guilty. Jason had no guile and her entire soul was made up of it.

Samuel only raised an eyebrow, but didn't reply.

Arthur nearly flopped out of Samuel's lap, leaning towards her with his arms outstretched.

Helen eagerly picked him up. ‘Come here, monkey. I don't mind that you're here. Just your papa.'

She smothered his chubby cheeks with kisses and he called to her. ‘Nnn...'

Arthur tugged on her hair, before diving for Mark's lap. She nearly dropped him and would have, if Mark hadn't put out his arm.

‘Monkey, what do you want?'

Arthur reached out his hands to Mark. Helen looked at Mark and realised that he looked a little alarmed at the prospect of holding a baby. ‘Do you mind holding, Arthur? He seems to be quite taken with you.'

Tentatively, Mark held out his arms and Arthur needed no further encouragement to tilt his entire body and weight towards him. Once nestled on Mark's lap, Arthur grabbed the cane at his side and sucked on the silver ball at the end.

Samuel laughed, appearing proud and pleased. ‘Pretentious, isn't he? Won't have a thing to do with a wooden rattle, only pure silver for this future Duke.'

Helen watched her nephew's drool slide down the cane. ‘He gets his snobbery from your side of the family.'

Her brother-in-law shrugged, nonplussed. ‘And the slobbering from yours.'

She turned her gaze back to Mark who seemed transfixed by Arthur. ‘Do you want me to hold him?'

‘Oh, no,' Mark said quickly, glancing up at her and smiling.

Helen wasn't sure if she'd ever seen him smile before. The expression had all the charm of a gentleman and the swagger of a pirate. It made her catch her breath. She was used to her dour, reluctant friend who didn't bother with civilities, not a man who was so handsome that she could think of little else. It made her heart skitter.

Mark unsettled her.

They arrived at the Tower of London. Samuel took both Arthur and Mark's cane. ‘Are you sure you don't need it, Inverness?'

Mark shook his head. ‘It's more an ornament than anything else.'

Helen put her hand through Mark's arm. ‘I hope you don't mean to hover, Samuel. No one likes a gooseberry.'

Her brother-in-law laughed. ‘Not at all. If you need us, we'll be playing on the green where Anne of Boleyn lost her head.'

Helen's lips couldn't help but quirk up on one side. It was the sort of macabre history Samuel knew that she was fascinated by. And it was also the only lawn in the entire complex to play on.

She steered Mark towards Lion Tower to where the creatures were on display. They walked slowly, but his limp was barely noticeable.

‘You don't have to hold my arm. I am not an invalid.'

Helen's eyes met his. ‘I didn't think that you were.'

‘Then why are you clinging to my arm?'

‘Because I wanted to touch you.' It was the sort of honest statement that made her mother cringe in embarrassment and her brothers laugh. Helen didn't usually care what others thought of her, but now she felt strangely light-headed and there was a tightening in her chest.

‘Why do you want to touch me?'

This time she didn't look him in the eye, but stared resolutely forward. He was not her suitor. ‘I don't know. I simply wanted to. Don't you ever do things just because you want to?'

‘Rarely.'

She stole a glance at his handsome countenance and her chest tightened again. ‘Because of the war or because you're a lord?'

Mark stopped, glancing down at her. ‘Both, I suppose.'

‘Duty is dull. That is why I avoid it whenever possible.' As well as proper society.

‘My brother was the original heir and I feel obliged to do my best in his place.'

Helen squeezed his arm. ‘I am so sorry. How devastating for you. Have you any other siblings?'

He shook his head.

She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. There were no good words for mourning in any human tongue. She understood why wolves howled and crows cawed. Such intimate pain could not be expressed properly in any other way.

Mark allowed her to hold him for a minute or so, but then stepped back. ‘Do you know the way to the reptiles?'

‘Of course. It's my favourite part of the menagerie. I have visited it at least a hundred times.' Helen intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him towards the enclosure with the Indian boa. ‘Isn't she gorgeous? And very poisonous.'

The boa was sixteen feet long and yellowish-brown in colour. Her back was elegantly marked with a series of large irregular brown blotches bordered with black and numerous smaller spots scattered along the sides.

Mark released her hand and stepped up to the cage for a closer view.

Helen hailed the nearest keeper and asked him to bring them a pair of chairs, wisely slipping the man a guinea. Doffing his hat to her, the keeper assured her that he'd be back in no time at all.

The keeper made excellent time and brought out two wooden chairs. Helen sat down first. Mark looked at the chair and his colour heightened. Did he think that it was because of his wooden leg? She'd simply wanted him to be comfortable while he sketched.

‘Do lords not sit on chairs?'

One side of his lips quirked up. ‘Never.'

‘Very well then, I shall sit comfortably while you stand and draw,' Helen said, stretching out her arms above her head. ‘We have the anaconda next, followed by a rattlesnake.'

With a sigh, he lowered himself down on the chair. Opening his sketchbook, he began to make long, decisive strokes.

‘I've always wished that I were a rattlesnake.'

Mark lifted his pencil. ‘And why is that?'

‘People would fear me, simply by my sound. The rattle of my tail.'

He touched the top of his graphite to his lips. She wondered if they would be dry like Jason's or soft and moist. ‘Why would you want people to fear you?'

Helen shook her head slightly, clearing the image of her lips pressed against his from her mind. ‘I want them to leave me alone.'

Putting his pencil back to the paper, Mark continued to sketch in silence. She watched in amazement how a few strokes of black could somehow so accurately represent the reptile in front of them. Helen had no artistic abilities herself. Becca had managed to steal all the drawing skills of the family, but she didn't draw accurately. Or rather, she drew caricatures that were both eerily accurate and offensive. Mark's pencil managed to capture the majesty of the creature in real life. If only the poor snake were free in the wild.

If only she could do what she liked.

Jason was her dearest friend after Becca. She didn't have to pretend to be a proper lady with him or pretend to be someone she wasn't. Helen could just be her sour self and wander the woods, studying animals. But would that change when they were married? Would his church duties require him to behave differently? As a vicar's wife, would she have more freedom, or less? Hampford was her haven. She would hate it if it became her prison.