Chapter 5

T hey arrived in Helmsley mid-morning.

Rupert yawned and stretched as he climbed out of the carriage in the yard of the New Inn. The earl’s estate was only about two miles from town, and Clarissa tried to insist that she would walk the rest of the way. Rupert would have none of it. He might’ve been tempted to try it had he been on his own. He had his cloak, after all, and having spent the better part of a week stuffed in a mail coach, God knew he could use a chance to stretch his legs.

But it was well below freezing, and Miss Weatherby was a bit under-attired for the conditions. So, he insisted upon renting a post-chaise for them to share.

They settled into an awkward silence in their new conveyance. Although they’d forged an unlikely alliance after being trapped together overnight, Rupert knew she was still upset with him over the rumpus in the press while he’d been abroad. He was going to make that right. He already had a couple of ideas as to where he should start.

But the sad truth was, too much water had passed under that particular bridge, and Clarissa Weatherby was probably never going to like him. Which was a shame. He quite liked her. When they’d been talking last night about his aunt and their mothers and their fathers… he’d felt as if she’d heard him. That they’d made a real connection, that she hadn’t been smiling out of politeness while thinking the whole while, how long until I can get out of talking to this idiot?

He surreptitiously watched her peeking out the carriage window, hoping to get a glimpse of Helmsley Castle, her face bathed in soft morning light.

She really was quite pretty in spite of the dull dress she wore. Brown was probably the most practical color for carriage travel. All the dust of the road and whatnot. But even in her sensible gown, Clarissa was pretty and clever, and she knew what it meant to lose your mother much too soon. It was a shame their betrothal hadn’t worked out. He had the feeling they would’ve done just fine.

Ah, well. You didn’t always get what you hoped for.

Rupert knew the truth of that old chestnut all too well.

He resolved to give Clarissa a wide berth during the house party. That was clearly what she wanted, after all. He could still work behind the scenes to make what repairs he could to her reputation.

The carriage pulled up to Helmsley Castle. It was the home of his old school chum, Lawrence, and a familiar sight. When it came to school holidays, if Rupert hadn’t been visiting Auntie Imogen, he had typically come here, rarely opting to go to the old family pile in Devon.

According to Laurie, there had been a castle on this site for nine hundred years, but most of the present structure had been built by Laurie’s grandfather. Rupert thought the previous Lord Helmsley had done a bang-up job of it. The castle had been built in what you might call a Tudor style, with a pair of octagonal towers flanking the front door and matching towers on each of the four corners. It had all the features you wanted out of a castle—crenellations, arched windows, a roaring fire in the great-hall-cum-dining-room, and every modern convenience a fellow could possibly wish for.

Best of all, it was home to the de Roos family—Lord and Lady Helmsley, Laurie, and his three brothers and two sisters. They were wonderful people, all of them, and Rupert was quite looking forward to spending Christmas here.

Inside, Rupert greeted the butler, Toddington, who had been with the family since Rupert’s first visit at the age of twelve.

Toddington clasped his hand. “Master Lawrence will be beside himself that you’re back in England. James,” he said, turning to a footman, “go and fetch Master Lawrence. Tell him Mr. Rupert Dupree is here.”

Rupert was so busy catching up with Toddy that he didn’t notice that Clarissa was skulking in the corner until Laurie came striding into the entry hall. “Crikey, Rupe—it really is you! Come here, you old dog,” he said, grabbing Rupert by the shoulders.

“Laurie!” Rupert exclaimed, thumping his friend on the back. “Hope you don’t mind me besieging the castle uninvited.”

“You’re always invited, and you know it,” Laurie said firmly. “Mama will tell you the same thing—here she is.”

Sure enough, the Countess of Helmsley had appeared at the top of the landing. She was peering down the stairs. She’d never much liked wearing her spectacles. Thought they made her look old. But Rupert thought she was an exceptionally handsome woman with or without her spectacles, and the sight of her warmed his heart.

“Lawrence, is that you?” Lady Helmsley asked, squinting. “Tell me, is it true? Has Rupert returned to us at last?”

“It’s true, Mama.” Laurie grinned. “How’s that for a Christmas present?”

Lady H. picked her way down the stairs. “It is the best present, the best one we could possibly receive.” Reaching Rupert, she framed his face. “Oh, dear boy—you have been away from us for far too long!”

Rupert kissed her on the cheek. “Hope you don’t mind my imposing myself upon you.”

“Imposing!” She swatted his wrist. “You are never an imposition. Now, Rupert, I must insist that you stay with us through the Christmas holidays. You must not even consider abandoning us to go be with those horrible people.”

Rupert laughed, taking no offense that the horrible people she was referring to were his father and brother. “I should like nothing better.”

Lady Helmsley noticed Clarissa lurking beside a suit of armor. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked, looking at Rupert.

“A recent friend,” Rupert said, gesturing for Clarissa to come forward. “We met on the mail coach. May I present Miss Clarissa Weatherby?”

Lady Helmsley’s mouth fell open, and Laurie’s eyes all but bugged out of his head, suggesting that the rumors Clarissa had mentioned had been every bit as bad as she implied.

Clarissa stepped forward, clutching her valise with white knuckles. “Lady Helmsley, I apologize for the intrusion. Is there any way we could have a private word?”

Lady H. glanced at Rupert. He nodded reassuringly.

“Of course, dear. Of course. Have you broken your fast?” Clarissa shook her head, and the countess turned to Toddington. “Have a tea tray sent to the morning room with some morsels for Miss Weatherby. Come, child.” She placed her hand on Clarissa’s back and led her down the hall.

Rupert turned to Laurie. “Say, I was wondering if—”

“Did you truly meet Clarissa Weatherby in the carriage?” Laurie hissed.

Rupert laughed. “I did.”

Laurie was studying him. “And do you know about…?”

“The scandal? I do now. She told me all about it. Come on.” Rupert put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, steering him toward the library. “That’s actually what I need your help with.”

Laurie asked Toddington to send them one of those tea trays as well, and the next thing you knew, they were settling into the pair of leather wingchairs before the fire.

“I can’t imagine Miss Weatherby was too pleased to make your acquaintance,” Laurie said.

“She was not,” Rupert confirmed. “The thing is, Laurie, I didn’t write that letter. Didn’t even know about it until a few hours ago.”

Laurie snorted. “You think I don’t know that? They ran it the day after you sailed for France. I tried to write to you so you’d know what was going on, but I take it my letters never reached you. The timing was wretched.”

It warmed Rupert’s heart that his friend had believed the best of him. “I appreciate that, Laurie. I really do. I was moving around quite a bit. But now that I do know, I want to set things right. And that’s where I need your help.”

It had occurred to Rupert in the carriage. Laurie was the third son of the earl and countess and a very bright fellow. He had set himself up as a solicitor.

Rupert explained what he had in mind. “I want to make it clear that I never wrote that letter, that I never insulted Miss Weatherby. That every word they printed is a bunch of rot.”

Laurie frowned. “The strange thing is that it wasn’t just one paper that ran it. Almost every paper from here to Portsmouth somehow had a copy. I know it wasn’t you. But who could it have been?”

Rupert made a bleak sound. “I’ve a fair idea. It was two years ago, and I’d gone up to Boroughbridge to meet Miss Weatherby. I’d just arrived at the Crown Hotel after traveling all day, so I figured I’d go to bed early in hopes that I might look a little more the thing the following morning. I was sitting in the common room, waiting for my supper, when who should walk in but Miss Clarissa.”

Laurie tilted his head. “You met her, then?”

“I did not. She was there to collect her family’s post. I happened to be seated just behind her. She had her back to me, so I never saw her face, but I couldn’t help but overhear her conversation with the barmaid.”

Laurie was studying him, no doubt noticing that Rupert’s typical happy-go-lucky expression had taken a leave of absence. “What happened, Rupe?” he asked softly.

Rupert sighed. “The barmaid, Becky, asked when I was to arrive. And…”

“And?” Laurie asked gently.

What made it so particularly painful to recall was that he’d gone and got his hopes up. Lady Milthorpe had assured him that he and Clarissa would suit each other to perfection.

Rupert was not unaware of his own flaws. Indeed, it would’ve been hard to remain oblivious, as glaring as they were. That he’d made it through school was a mark of how much Eton and Oxford had wanted his school fees, because there wasn’t a drop of academic merit involved.

But according to Lady M., Clarissa Weatherby was every bit as clever as Rupert was duncical, which sounded perfect . He needed someone like her who could help him run Drayford House, the small estate left to him by his aunt, to say nothing of the portfolio of investments. He stood about as good a chance of managing those by himself as a rhinoceros did of learning to dance the pas de deux . Some men took umbrage at the notion that a woman might be more intelligent than him. Not old Rupert. He wanted the cleverest gel who would have him.

But then, Lady Milthorpe had gone and done it. It wasn’t just that Miss Clarissa would be good for Rupert.

According to the countess, he would be good for her, too.

“The world has not been overly kind to the Weatherby sisters,” Lady Milthorpe had explained. “And Clarissa in particular has a chip on her shoulder. She needs a kind man, a patient man, and someone who will appreciate her intellect, not take it as a threat.” He could still picture the way Lady M. had smiled as she patted his hand. “And that’s you, Rupert.”

He’d been so hopeful about Clarissa Weatherby. He’d spent most of his life as the butt of everyone’s joke—poor old Rupert, dumb as a box of rocks. It had been nice to think, for once, that he had some positive personal qualities beyond his talents in the bedchamber and the usual stuff about being in possession of enough money to save a woman from destitution.

But Lady Milthorpe had been wrong. Miss Clarissa had not been enthusiastic about the match.

Quite the opposite, as she’d made inescapably clear.

He could still hear Clarissa’s crisp response to Becky’s question. “He’s due to arrive in three days. And he’s not my Mr. Dupree.”

He’d tried not to take that personally. After all, they still needed to meet and make sure they would suit one another and whatnot.

Behind him, Becky had laughed. “Oh, but he will be! And I’ll warrant you won’t have that sour look on your face after the wedding.” She’d dropped her voice low, but not so low that Rupert couldn’t hear. “I hear your future husband knows just how to put a smile on a woman’s face.”

Good lord—how had those rumors reached this little village in Yorkshire? Normally, Rupert didn’t mind people alluding to his eagerness to please in the bedchamber overly much. It was nice for people to have something to say about him other than what an idiot he was.

But it was one thing for a pair of widows to whisper such a bon mot to each other behind their fans, or for Rupert’s friends to joke about it over drinks at their club.

He felt a lot less pleased to hear it being discussed at full volume in the middle of a busy inn, in front of his future bride and a considerable portion of her acquaintance.

Speaking of his future bride, Clarissa had summoned the wherewithal to answer. “He is not my future husband, not if I have any say in the matter. How I wish Lady Milthorpe had never involved me in this ridiculous scheme!”

Rupert’s heart had sunken down to about the level of his spleen. Not that he knew where his spleen was or what it did, but the point was, he was starting to feel deuced disappointed.

Becky’s tone turned somber. “You don’t mean that, Miss Clarissa. Why, he’s the son of an earl, and a right good match, from everything I hear.”

Thank you, Becky , Rupert had thought to himself. He could remember sitting there, shoulders stiff, holding his breath, hoping to God that Clarissa would say, You’re right. I’m just nervous about marrying a man I’ve never met. I should at least give him a chance.

Instead, she had said, “He’s supposed to be a blithering idiot, from everything I hear. What could Lady Milthorpe have been thinking? I would never consider such a man for my husband, not if he were the last man on earth!”

She took her leave shortly thereafter. He did turn his head as she swept out of the room, but the only glimpse he got was of the back of her bonnet.

Ah, well. Rupert should have known it was all too good to be true.

As disappointed as he’d been, he could never find it in himself to be mad at Clarissa Weatherby about it.

After all, who would want to marry a stupid fellow like him?

“Rupert? Are you all right?”

Rupert shook his head, recalling himself to the present. Laurie. Helmsley Castle. Right, right. “Sorry about that. Suffice it to say, Miss Weatherby made it clear that she didn’t share my enthusiasm about the match.”

Laurie’s eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”

Rupert shrugged. “As was I. In any case, I was worried her father would force her into it. From what I’d heard, the man didn’t have a sixpence to scratch with. I therefore determined that I should be the one to release her from any sense of obligation. I figured there was no use making things more awkward than they already were, so I would send her a note.”

Laurie’s shoulders stiffened. They’d been friends a long time. He knew where this was going. “A note?”

“That was my downfall, all right.”

The thing was, whatever the rumors said, Rupert could write. He was just deuced slow at it, and his handwriting was atrocious. Given his exhaustion from three days of travel and the crushing disappointment he’d just had, he’d known there wasn’t much hope of him scratching out a coherent sentence, much less a proper missive.

That’s when he’d spotted a familiar face—William Ellison, a friend of Rupert’s brother, Francis. Not that this was a point in his favor. Francis held no affection for his younger brother and had been horrible to Rupert growing up, both at school and outside of it.

But Ellison had never done anything to Rupert personally. To be sure, he had stood there and laughed while his brother pushed him down the stairs.

But that had been years ago. Surely, he had matured since then!

And Rupert had been desperate.

So, he’d crossed the room and greeted Ellison as if they were old friends. Ignoring his glare, Rupert had pulled out a chair. He’d explained the situation in hushed tones, giving the excuse he always used, even though Ellison knew him well enough that he probably didn’t believe it—that he’d misplaced his spectacles. Would Ellison write out the note for him?

Suddenly, Ellison had been delighted to help. Rupert had told him just what to say. It had been a self-effacing note about how it wouldn’t do for a bright young thing like Clarissa to shackle herself to a dull fellow like Rupert, and he was, therefore, releasing her from any obligation she might have felt toward him while wishing her all the best.

He’d left the note with Becky to be added to the Weatherby family’s stack of mail and left for London the following morning. The situation was resolved.

Or so he had thought.

Laurie was still waiting for an answer. “I needed some help writing out the note. And it happened that someone I knew was there in the common room of the inn. You’ll remember him from school—William Ellison.”

Laurie slumped down in his chair. “Tell me you didn’t ask William bloody Ellison.”

“I didn’t think he was that bad!” Rupert protested.

Laurie gave him a look. “He’s friends with your brother ,” he said as if that explained everything, and honestly, it more or less did.

Rupert leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Is there anything we can do?”

Laurie went and perched on the corner of the desk with one hip. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he began scribbling down some notes. “Damn straight, there’s something we can do. We’ll demand a retraction and threaten to sue for defamation of both you and Miss Weatherby.”

Rupert perked up. “Defamation—that’s the theme. Yes, to all of that.”

“We should write to the Duke of Norwood,” Laurie mused, rubbing his jaw. “The papers insulted not only Miss Clarissa, but also his new duchess. I expect he’ll want to join you should it come down to filing suit. If we can mention his name, that will really put the fear of God in them. He’s got deep pockets and loads of influence.”

“That’s a brilliant suggestion.” Norwood would help him. Rupert knew he would. Capital fellow, absolutely capital, and not the type to brook any insult to his wife.

A footman appeared, bearing a well-laden tea tray. Laurie abandoned his perch on the desk, and they tucked in.

“I appreciate you helping me out of this mess,” Rupert said between bites of scone. “In retrospect, asking Ellison for help was a stupid decision. Possibly the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, in a long line of—”

“Hey!” Laurie punctuated this exclamation by throwing a scrap of crumpet at him. “None of that, now.”

Rupert couldn’t help but smile. Laurie had never tolerated anyone calling him an idiot, and that included himself.

He really did have the best friends.

“So,” Rupert said, “do you really think we can nail Ellison?”

“I do.” Laurie sipped his coffee, considering. “But we must proceed carefully. His father made enough money selling guns to the army over the past two decades to set the family up for life. We’ll need solid proof he was the one who fed those lies to the papers. What we have right now is circumstantial.”

“Right.” Rupert set down his cup, sloshing tea onto the saucer. Suddenly, he felt like he was twelve years old all over again, getting shoved into the wall by one of the older boys looking to curry favor with his brother.

“Don’t look so glum,” Laurie said. “I’m not saying we won’t go after him. We just have to take it one step at a time. As part of my letter, I’ll demand to know how the papers came into possession of the letter they printed. They’ll be eager to give him up, to shift the blame away from themselves.”

“If they even know who sent the letter,” Rupert mused. “They’ll have to maintain that they thought I’d really written it. It’s their only excuse, isn’t it?”

“True. But they may be able to provide us with some details that will help. Was it delivered by a footman? In what livery? If it was posted, where was it posted from? Do they still have the original letter? Is it in his hand? That sort of thing.”

Rupert nodded. It was a damn sight better than sitting around doing nothing. “Good thoughts, all of them.”

“And if we can get Norwood on our side, we can go toe-to-toe with them financially. Then we’ll see what shakes out.”

“Good. Good.” Rupert gave an involuntary yawn. “I appreciate your help.”

“You said you came in on the mail coach?”

Rupert nodded. “Straight through from London.”

Laurie gave a low whistle. “You must be exhausted. James!” he called to the footman standing at attention in the hallway. “Find Mr. Dupree a bedroom, will you?”

James appeared in the doorway. “His usual room has already been made up, sir.”

“Perfect.” Laurie shooed him out the door. “I’ll get to work on those letters. You go get some rest.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Laurie squeezed his shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

Rupert smiled sleepily over his shoulder as he followed James down the hall. “It’s good to be back.”

And it was. He might have been sent here on business rather than pleasure.

But spending Christmas at Helmsley Castle, surrounded by people who were truly his friends, would be a pleasure, nonetheless.