Chapter Thirty-One Tea for Two and Two for Tea

Meanwhile, in the parlor at Reading House

"You were positively incandescent at the ball last night," Constance Roderick, Marchioness of Reading, stated as she led Helena into her parlor. A maid followed, pushing a tea cart with all manner of biscuits and a cake.

"As were you," the duchess said, her face displaying the high color of a blush. "One might think Reading had had his way with you before the guests arrived," she teased. Her best friend had frequently hinted her husband was guilty of having the horn.

Constance tittered. "He tried, but I had to put him off until after the last guest left at three o'clock this morning." She rolled her eyes. "I'm always amazed at that man's appetite," she added in a whisper.

"But you're not complaining," Helena remarked.

"Never," the marchioness confirmed, grinning in delight. "For a man who was a rake when I married him, I have always been surprised he has never employed a mistress."

"He would never," Helena stated. "He is so beholden to you, and he wouldn't have a decent horse racing stable if it weren't for you." The marchioness had taken over Randall Roderick's horse breeding program twenty-five years earlier, producing a dynasty of horses that were frequent winners on the racing circuit.

Constance gave her an assessing glance as she offered her a cup of tea. "Now, you really must tell me what's going on with you and this... Fenwick. Do I have that right? I don't recall ever hearing of him before I joined Duchess Katherine for tea a couple of days ago."

Helena accepted the tea and nodded. "You do." She deliberately held her cup so the ring on her finger was aimed in Constance's direction. She wiggled it, and grinned when the marchioness' eyes widened in wonder.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "He's already proposed marriage?"

Inhaling to answer, Helena remembered Constance hadn't been living in Mayfair back when she and Michael had secretly courted. "For the second time," she said. "This time in your gardens. He's been waiting for me for thirty years." She tittered when she saw her hostess' expression of shock. "And I suppose I have been waiting for him."

Constance seemed especially pleased to learn where the proposal had taken place. "When will you marry?" Her eyes rounded. "Oh, and what will you have him make with the treasure chest of jewels he discovered last night? He certainly won't be keeping them for himself, I should think."

Helena chuckled as she took a lemon biscuit from the plate Constance offered. "We'll marry as soon as Amelia and Weston are settled," she replied. "And I rather expect an emerald and amethyst parure is in my future. I'll have to have my modiste make me a suitable gown."

Constance sobered after her momentary delight at hearing about the parure. "It could be years before your children are married," she complained.

"It could, but..." She glanced around as if she feared eavesdroppers. "I spoke with Alfred prior to coming here, and he had just concluded the arrangements for Amelia's betrothal. She is marrying Fenwick's son, Philip."

"Lord Crawford," Constance said on a sigh. "Those two will be having the most beautiful children on the planet," she murmured.

Helena giggled. She hadn't even thought about grandchildren when she learned of the betrothal. "It's a relief, really. It seems Amelia and Crawford have been secretly courting for a year," she explained. "And despite the fact that she always has a chaperone, I've thought for some time my daughter was off gambling at cards. For the past few days, I've been so vexed trying to decide which I preferred."

"Crawford, surely," Constance remarked. "I do see Lady Amelia at the bookshop on Tuesdays," she murmured. "Nearly every week."

"In his company?" Helena asked, suspicious.

The marchioness furrowed a brow. "Come to think of it, I have seen him there, too, but not with her. He is always very amiable. Much like her," she stated. She turned to pull the plate of cake closer to her. "Has Weston started courting anyone?" she asked, using a large knife to slice the sugar-frosted confection. "I saw him waltzing with... with Lady Violet, was it?"

"Fenwick's daughter," Helena said, an elegant brow arching. "I rather doubt it was anything more than a dance, though. He doesn't seem inclined to court anyone. Duty and whatnot." Although she considered mentioning that she thought she might have seen him in the gardens the night before, she decided in favor of not mentioning it.

"His duty includes seeing to an heir," Constance remarked, placing a slice of cake on a plate and handing it to the duchess.

Helena accepted the plate with a nod. "We have discussed it," she murmured. "He was able to hire a secretary who I think will work out for him. That should free up some of his time. He doesn't get out of his study much, and it's made him quite cross."

Constance turned her attention back to the cake. "A daily ride in the park will help with that," she remarked, preparing a slice of cake for herself. "A bit of time on horseback always makes everyone happier."

Taking a bite of cake, Helena made a purring sound. "I am so hungry," she whispered, arching a suggestive brow.

Tittering in delight, Constance said, "It sounds as if a particular marquess hasn't forgotten how to please his woman."

"He has not," Helena affirmed. "However, living arrangements are going to be a bit awkward until Alfred is settled."

"Whatever you do, don't give up your apartments until you have another home to move into," Constance warned.

"Oh, I won't."

"And Fenwick can do what Torrington did all those years ago."

Helena displayed an expression of confusion before her face lit up. "Oh, yes. He simply moved into Adele's house and took it over, did he not?"

Constance nodded.

"Except, they didn't have grown children living there at the time," Helena reminded her. "And Weston Hall is Alfred's house. It's an entailed property of the dukedom."

"With Lady Amelia marrying Crawford, won't she be the mistress of Fenwick House?"

Helena nodded. "Indeed," she replied. "Fenwick says we can either move into our own townhouse or we can move to his country estate."

"Do you have a preference?"

Angling her head to one side, Helena said, "I recall only a week ago thinking that I wanted to move away from London, so yes, playing house at Fenwick Park would be my preference, I suppose."

Constance inhaled softly. "Country living for you?"

Helena winced. "I'm afraid my time in mourning only reinforced my desire to remove myself from the capital. I think the clean air would do me good. And I would have more opportunities to ride my horse." This last was said to placate her friend, whose expression conveyed her disappointment.

"We'd miss you," she whispered.

"Oh, I would come back on occasion," Helena replied. "For your balls, and to see the grandchildren," she said as a grin split her face.

Tittering, Constance offered her another slice of cake.

"Thank you, but no. I should be going. I rather imagine there's a wedding to plan, and I am curious as to what Crawford might have had to do to gain Weston's permission," she said.

Constance's eyes rounded. "Oh, yes. There was some sort of disagreement between the two of them at university," she remembered. "Did you ever discover what had them coming to blows?"

Helena shook her head. "Alfred never said, and I'm not sure I want to know. Probably just some schoolboy prank gone wrong." She noted how Constance stared at her and added, "You have boys. You know how it is."

The marchioness rolled her eyes and sighed. "You have the right of it," she admitted. She led Helena down to the vestibule. "I am glad you're out of mourning and that you finally have a man worthy of you," she said as her butler saw to helping Helena with her pelisse.

"Thank you. Do pay a call in a day or two. You have experience in weddings, I do not," Helena said before she took her leave of Reading House.

She ordered her driver to take her back to Weston Hall. Given the short distance in Park Lane, it didn't take long. She stepped out of the coach, surprised to see Pritchard holding the door open for her even before the driver could step down from his seat.

"What is it?" she asked, noting his look of fright.

"His Grace. He is... angry, I think. Lady Amelia has been asking for you, I believe because Lady Violet left here in tears only a few moments ago."

"Tears?" she repeated. "Did she and Amelia have a falling out?"

The butler shook his head. "It was Weston, Your Grace. Amelia and Violet went into the study together, both very happy. Amelia came out first, and when Lady Violet emerged, she was quite distraught. Unconsolable."

Helena allowed him to help her with her pelisse and gloves before she made her way to the study. As usual, the door was closed.

Knocking three times, she called out, "Alfred?"

"Go away."

Had it been any of the other days in the past six months, she might have heeded his command, but not on this day. She turned to Pritchard. "Bring tea and brandy. And cake, if there is any."

The butler hurried off as Helena regarded the door with a wince. Determining it wasn't bolted from the other side, she pushed down on the handle and entered the study.

She stopped short.

Papers were strewn about the floor, the ink pot lay on its side on the desk, its contents spreading over the blotter in an expanding black pool, and several items had been knocked off their shelves.

As for Alfred, he wasn't sitting behind the desk but rather in the leather sofa at one end of the study. He was practically doubled-over, his head hanging down almost between his knees.

Moving to rescue whatever was about to be covered with ink on the desk, Helena ignored his sound of protest. She righted the ink pot, did a quick perusal of the rest of the damage, and finally faced her only son.

For a moment, she was tempted to allow anger to get the better of her. Then she noticed how he shook. Tremors had his entire body vibrating.

She approached him and knelt, determined to look him in the eye. "Whatever is wrong?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "What happened here?"

He didn't seem to hear her at first, his gaze on his mind's eye. When he finally acknowledged her existence, he cleared his throat. "It seems I have been playing a fool," he murmured.

"I can't imagine how," she replied, displaying an expression of confusion.

"Will you tell me the truth if I ask it of you?"

Taken aback, Helena considered the question before she moved to sit next to him on the sofa. "If I know it, I will."

He struggled to clear his throat before he asked, "Is Fenwick my real father?"

Shocked into momentary silence by the query, Helena had to suppress the urge to scoff. "I sometimes wish he were, but he is not." She wasn't surprised when he turned to regard her with dark eyes, as if he suspected she might be lying. "You are Weston's son," she added.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, but didn't offer a response.

"Did you... did you wish to be?" she asked. "Fenwick's, I mean?"

He shook his head. "I thought I would know for sure when I met him last night," he murmured. "That I would look upon him and recognize some resemblance, no matter how remote."

"Why?"

Glancing over at her, confusion apparent on his face, he asked, "What do you mean?"

She lifted a shoulder. "Why did you wish to be Fenwick's son?"

He audibly sighed. "When I think about it now, it all seems so stupid of me," he whispered, running his fingers through his hair so it was left in spikes.

"But at one time, it must have been very important to you," she reasoned.

He nodded. "Crawford and I used to be the best of friends at school."

"Oh?" If he had ever mentioned it, she couldn't remember. Surely she would have, though, given the identity of Crawford's father. She only knew they had been involved in a row during their last year at university.

"He's a lot like Amelia. Always cheerful. Happy. He never seemed to have a care in the world," Alfred said in a quiet voice.

"They will make a perfect couple, then, won't they?" she responded, not sure what else to say.

"He apologized to me today. I was sure it was only because he wanted Amelia, but his overtures weren't forced. They weren't practiced," he said on a sigh. "He said he would like us to be friends again. Not just brothers by marriage."

"Did you accept his apology?" she asked gently.

Nodding, he said, "I thought of Amelia. If I didn't accept it, and if I didn't agree to their betrothal, she would never forgive me."

"You probably have that right," Helena said softly.

She sensed an undercurrent of something in his manner. Not anger, exactly, but certainly frustration. "Why is it you wanted Fenwick to be your father?"

Alfred leaned back on the sofa, slumping into the cushions. "Crawford's father wrote to him while we were at university. Frequently. I used to read those letters and think what it would be like to have a father so... interested in me, in what I was—"

"Weston was interested in you, darling—"

"He never wrote to me once," Alfred claimed.

Helena gave a start. "Probably because he knew I did. I always passed along his greetings when I wrote to you."

The reminder seemed to calm him a bit, but she still felt his body trembling where her hand rested on his shoulder.

"He never taught me what to do."

"He thought he was going to live forever," she countered. "A bit arrogant on his part, yes, but that's why he insisted you enjoy a long Grand Tour. So you'd have a chance to see as much of the world as you wanted to," she insisted. When he gave her a look of suspicion, as if he thought it was because Weston didn't want him in London, Helena added, "The Napoleonic Wars prevented him from taking a Grand Tour when he was your age."

"Really?" He scoffed and made an odd sound in his throat. "Did you know Fenwick has already put Crawford in charge of his marquessate? He's been seeing to it for almost a year. Acts as if it's just another class at university."

"I rather imagine the stakes are a bit higher than the marks he might earn in a class," she argued.

"He's had a professor of sorts in his father, though," Alfred countered. "Fenwick taught him what he needed to know."

"While you think you've had to learn how to run a dukedom all on your own," she said for him.

He grunted his agreement. "I feel as if I'll never know how to do it all."

"That's because you won't," she stated, making it sound as if it was nothing of which to be concerned. When he turned and regarded her in disbelief, she lifted a shoulder. "Why do you think Weston insisted he was going to live forever?" When she noted his questioning expression, she added, "It would take him that long to learn it all."

"Damnation," he muttered.

"You've taken the right step in hiring a secretary. You have a competent solicitor. You already know you can handle the ledgers. The invoices. The payments. Once you're married, you'll have a helpmate to see to the things you needn't worry about." When Alfred rolled his eyes, she was quick to add, "And speaking of marriage, I've accepted Fenwick's offer."

Alfred stared at her, but didn't say anything.

"Which means you'll get your wish in a manner of speaking, since he'll be your stepfather," she said, smiling for the first time since she entered the study. "However, I told him I wasn't going to marry him until you and Amelia were settled."

A groan erupted from her son.

About to rise from the sofa, Helena remembered Pritchard's comments when she returned from Reading House and settled back into the cushion. "Whatever did you say to Lady Violet to make her cry?"

He lifted his face to stare up at the ceiling. "I suppose Amelia told you?" he complained.

"I haven't seen Amelia since this morning."

"Fenwick?" he guessed.

"I haven't seen him since this morning, either," she claimed.

He sighed, the butler's name coming out as a quiet curse. "If I told you it was a misunderstanding, would that be enough?"

She regarded him with suspicion for a moment. "Probably not."

He gave her a quelling glance. "If I told you she was pretending an interest in me to keep me from learning about Amelia and Crawford's courting, would that be enough?"

This had Helena arching her brows. "Play-acting, you mean?" she said softly.

He nodded.

"Perhaps if I hadn't paid witness to the two of you in the gardens last night..." she whispered, letting the sentence trail off.

As she expected, Alfred's face reddened with his embarrassment. "You... you saw us?" he asked in surprise.

"Oh, so it was you in the hedgerows," she accused, a grin lighting her face.

"Mother!"

"I was sure I recognized the scent of your cologne," she said as she beamed in delight. She quickly sobered, though. "So I ask you again, whatever did you say to Lady Violet to make her cry?"

Alfred stared at her for a long time before he finally shook his head. "I told her to leave Weston Hall and to never come back."

Not sure what to say to her son, Helena stood from the sofa and made her way to the door. She was about to open it when she turned and said, "You should probably apologize. She's going to be your stepsister someday."

She didn't wait for him to reply before she opened the door to discover Pritchard standing on the other side of it with the tea tray.

Helping herself to a slice of cake, she stepped aside to allow him entry, and made her way to the stairs.

The cake was gone before she reached the landing.