Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

H elena Emerson could not imagine a worse fate than her own. Not only had she been compelled to leave the marvels of London for the desolation of Nottinghamshire, but every soul in the vicinity was hovering at death's door due to advanced age.

Even the maid employed by her aunt was older than she.

One day soon, Helena was convinced, they would all contract some illness—possibly a cold, this coming autumn—and expire in unison, abandoning her in this remote backwater, like an orphan in a novel.

She entertained herself briefly with the possibility of the Duke of Haynesdale himself nursing her back to health. She had asked her brother, Nicholas, about the duke's inclination to heal the sick, since they were both friends and former comrades, and Nicholas had laughed so hard that tears had leaked from his eyes. He said that the duke was more likely to order a person to get on with it and keep up the pace. It was clear that her older brother, despite being recently wed, had no proper sense of romance.

Helena could only hope the duke returned home soon. No one seemed to have any notion where he had gone, how long he would be there and when he would arrive at Haynesdale.

Worse, no one seemed to care.

Helena could make no sense of it. Perhaps senility addled their wits. The duke was the most important person in the vicinity, but everyone acted as if he was of no relevance whatsoever. His mother was planning a ball, which Helena had been certain must be intended to herald the duke's return, but that lady had laughed when asked as much. Damien, the dowager had confided, did much as he wished, regardless of her thoughts upon the matter. Even if her son was in residence on the date of the ball, there was no guarantee he would attend. He might, his mother had assured Helena, simply sit in his library and brood in privacy. Lady Haynesdale seemed to find this prospect amusing.

Helena would never permit that to happen.

At least on this day, she would finally escape the prison known as Bramble Cottage. Her aunt had no horse and no carriage, not so much as a cart, and the walk to the village was ridiculously long. Helena had realized within hours of her arrival that she was doomed to die of boredom there, forgotten by all the world.

Her aunt would be too busy choosing draperies and cushions to even notice her ward's demise.

Further, it had rained for three entire days, making it impossible to even wander through the gardens of the cottage—such as they were. Her aunt was full of plans for clearing the weeds and planting perennials, even wretched roses, to the point that Helena almost began to wish her death would occur soon.

Matters improved with Lady Haynesdale's invitation of this day. The dowager duchess had invited Helena and her aunt to tea and had even sent a coach to Bramble Cottage for them. Helena could not disguise her admiration of the vehicle, running her hands over the upholstery and bouncing against the cushions. It was not the largest or the best coach owned by the duke, but it was the finest she had ever ridden in. The four horses pulling it were as white as snow and perfectly matched, like they had drawn it out of a fairy tale palace.

Soon it might be her own to request!

She waved to all and sundry from the windows with such enthusiasm that Aunt Fanny chastised her. Helena did not care. This sign of the dowager's favor could only be a hint of alliances to come! She blew a kiss in the direction of Southpoint when they passed that house, even though there was no sign of Nicholas or Eliza to witness her triumph.

Helena's first glimpse of Haynesdale House, however, was somewhat of a disappointment. While the house was large, it sprawled in every direction, burdened by additions and a woeful lack of symmetry. It was beyond ancient and though Aunt Fanny thought it glorious, Helena knew it would need considerable improvement to be suitable. She did not doubt that the chimneys smoked and that there were too few of them. The roof must leak in some areas, and the floors were undoubtedly in need of repair. Goodness only knew how many creatures had taken refuge within its walls and cupboards over the years. Clearly, the place was in need of the governing hand of a young duchess like herself.

Upon arrival, they were informed that Lady Haynesdale was reviewing the plans for the replanting of the rose garden. Helena watched a familiar gleam light in Aunt Fanny's eyes and groaned silently. The discussion and dispute between the two older women about roses was seemingly endless. Her aunt followed the butler to the drawing room with purpose as Helena strove to resign herself to yet more interminable discussion about the plants in question.

Perhaps when she was duchess, she would have the roses removed from the gardens of Haynesdale House and a terrace created instead. There could be columns and a reflecting pool, and no one need ever talk about roses again.

It was a most admirable notion and one that might allow her to tolerate the inevitable discussion topic of the afternoon. She considered the proportions of the foyer with appreciation, noting that a lighter hue on the walls might favor the space better. Oh, she would see every detail changed to her satisfaction! She could not wait to begin.

To Helena's surprise, there was a gentleman already with Lady Haynesdale. Introductions were made and Aunt Fanny positively preened when she learned that the other guest was Joshua Hargood, the Seventh Viscount of Addersley.

Helena smiled politely, if only to prove to the dowager duchess that she had sufficient grace to become the duke's bride.

She stole a look at the gentleman through her lashes and caught her breath. He was certainly not as venerable as others she had met in Haynesdale. He might even be younger than her brother, Nicholas. He appeared, Helena had to admit, markedly more youthful and vigorous than the duke, who used a cane and often looked disgruntled.

Even with due consideration, she could not imagine how he might be more handsome.

The viscount's expression was polite but calm, as if he was in the habit of hiding his thoughts. (Perhaps he had none at all.) His hair was chestnut brown and wavy, and he was tall. His boots were polished to a gleam and his jacket of dark green was perfectly tailored. His cravat was not as flamboyantly large as Mr. Melbourne's had been, but it was tied with precision. He wore no gem in it and no flower in his buttonhole; there was only one ring on his smallest finger and no other ornament about his attire. Helena ceded that his valet was skilled but found herself reluctant to give more credit to the man himself.

It was a tragedy his father had not anticipated that his son would need a higher rank to wed well.

The viscount bowed to Aunt Fanny then to Helena, but offered only a minimal greeting before returning his attention to his tea. Helena imagined she might have a more enthusiastic discussion with one of the statues in a London park.

Perhaps he suffered from the liability of being dull.

"It is a delight to meet you, sir," Aunt Fanny said, settling onto her chair with purpose.

"My pleasure, Lady Dalhousie," he said, his voice lovely and deep. It was a little rough in a most appealing way. Truly, the sound of it made Helena feel a little shivery, in a very good way. She stole another glance at him, only to find him watching her. What was he thinking?

There were shortbread, which thrilled Aunt Fanny, though Helena accepted only a small one and did not eat it.

She dared not become plump in the duke's absence.

"And is your wife in London or in the country?" Aunt Fanny asked the viscount, so direct that Helena nearly winced.

"Lord Addersley is unwed," Lady Haynesdale interjected quickly, though Helena wished she had not. She would have liked to hear the viscount's delicious deep voice again. "It is not yet two months since he inherited the title. We all miss his father a great deal."

"You have our sincere condolences, sir," Aunt Fanny said.

The man in question nodded agreement. His gaze flicked to Helena and lingered.

His eyes were green, his chin square with a cleft in the middle. He would be utterly dashing if he had a dimple. Or perhaps if he smiled at all.

On impulse, she smiled at him.

For a heartbeat, something flared in his eyes that made him look too dangerous and disreputable to be sipping tea in Haynesdale House. There was suddenly a vitality about him and Helena had a thrilling sense of power held in restraint. She envisioned him outdoors, perhaps striding to the stables, or riding to hunt. No, he would be fighting a duel at midnight, defeating his opponent with confidence and skill. His cravat would be loosened, his jacket discarded, his hair tousled, his hat lost.

Oh. Yes. Helena caught her breath, feeling a flush right to her toes. The viscount, apparently unaffected, averted his gaze and the moment, if it had existed, was gone.

He was as inscrutable as earlier. Had Helena glimpsed his truth though a chink in his armor? Or had she had seen more than was present? Perhaps her hopes of adventure tinted her view of her mundane surroundings. Perhaps her imagination ran rampant.

She sighed and sipped her tea.

The viscount did not speak again but neither did he leave. The two older women filled any deficiency with their chattering, and Helena had heard it all before.

"Mr. Marchand is quite adamant that the Great Maiden's Blush roses will not flourish in the position we had assigned to them," Lady Haynesdale said to Aunt Fanny.

Helena barely refrained from grimacing. The viscount examined the pattern on his saucer with apparent fascination.

Perhaps they had something in common.

"But they must!" her aunt insisted. "I had mine in just such a position at Hexham and they were the subject of considerable admiration."

"Perhaps the air is cooler there," Lady Haynesdale suggested. "As Hexham is further north."

"Not so much as that," Aunt Fanny replied and partook of her tea for fortification. Her tone hardened. "We are in Nottingham, after all. Remind me—how long has Mr. Marchand been tending to roses?"

"Twenty years!"

Aunt Fanny shook her head sagely. "Yet he is mistaken ."

Lady Haynesdale caught her breath, her indignation clear.

Aunt Fanny did not so much as blink.

The air crackled between them, as so often it did.

For that moment, even Helena did not dare to breathe. She noticed that the viscount looked between the older women with the barest curiosity, then Lady Haynesdale swept to her feet and gestured imperiously to a large table on the far side of the room. Those wretched garden plans were spread across its surface.

"Perhaps we might review the plan," she invited in a tone like steel.

"Perhaps I can divine your gardener's unfortunate error," Aunt Fanny countered. Lady Haynesdale's eyes flashed and the pair turned to march toward the table in unison, spines rigid.

When they were out of earshot, Helena could not keep silent. "They will argue for hours," she confided quietly to the viscount. "It might be prudent to make your excuses. I, alas, am doomed to remain until the final foray."

His eyes were a vibrant hue of green when his gaze fixed upon her. "But it would be unchivalrous to abandon you, Miss Emerson."

Oh, that voice!

Helena wanted to hear more.

No, she wanted him to whisper scandalous suggestions into her ear, at midnight on the heath, immediately before fighting that duel. She smiled at the unlikelihood of that, given his advanced age. Undoubtedly such an elderly man would be in bed alone with his hot brick by nine each night.

"Alas, I am accustomed to it," she said when the silence grew long. "The ride from London seemed twice as long as it was in truth, for all the discussion of roses and soil. This rose and that rose, this hue and that, shade and sun and terroir ." She shrugged and sipped her tea.

The viscount nodded, his gaze unswerving. Did the man even blink?

The silence set Helena's teeth on edge.

"You have no fondness for gardening?" he asked finally.

Perhaps it was because of the splendor of the duke's abode – or the feminine décor—that he was so quiet. Helena felt obliged to prove herself a good guest and make conversation.

After all, Lady Haynesdale might tell the duke of it.

She shook her head with a smile. "Perhaps in my dotage, I will find it more interesting. I do like flowers. My aunt says that I have a gift for arranging them, and I enjoy that task. Not that we have so many flowers as yet at Bramble Cottage." He gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement. "Are you interested in gardening, Lord Addersley?"

He lifted one brow, which made him look diabolical for the barest moment—then he was impassive again. "I am not yet in my dotage, Miss Emerson."

"Oh, but you are so old! You must be nearly thirty, if not more."

Were his eyes twinkling? She could not be certain for he looked across the room. "I am thirty," he acknowledged in a low rumble that made her shiver, then set aside his tea.

She had no notion why it should amuse him to be so very old, much less why she should be so affected by a few words from a man who should be utterly lacking in appeal. It must be his voice, so rich and dangerous, it seemed at odds with his composed manner. Her imagination made too much of little. Again. "And are you plagued by many ailments?"

The viscount shook his head, once more, he was solemn and watchful.

She dared to lean closer, dropping her voice in confidence. "You need not be proud with me, sir. I am only curious. One day, I may reach your advanced age and it would be better to be prepared for the challenges that beset me in my infirmity."

"Or you might not reach such an advanced age at all," he countered. "Which I can hardly believe is a preferable alternative."

It took Helena a moment to understand his meaning, then she gasped, feeling her cheeks flush. "But I am in the most robust health, sir!"

"You do appear to be. But future prospects, Miss Emerson, have a way of being unpredictable."

What a grim prognosis. He turned then to watch the two older ladies and Helena missed his attention just a little.

She cleared her throat slightly. "Is Addersley in the vicinity of Haynesdale, sir? I confess that I know little of the neighborhood."

"I understand you have recently come from London."

"Well, yes." His silence invited her to continue. "It is the wrong time of year to leave, you know. We should be going to London for the season instead of lingering here. But Aunt is most content at Bramble Cottage." He neither concurred with this nor showed any empathy for her situation. "Do you know it?"

He nodded. "It has been vacant for some time."

"Well, not any longer, thanks to my brother. Perhaps you know him? Captain Emerson, who now resides at Southpoint."

The viscount nodded again. "With his new bride, the duke's sister."

"Precisely. Nicholas has let the cottage to Aunt Fanny. She is my guardian, so we are there together." She pursed her lips, aware that she was chattering but unable to stop. "Do you like small dogs?"

"Not particularly." He lifted a brow. "Do you?"

"I don't know. I've never had a dog, but Aunt seems resolved to get a small dog, perhaps to see me entertained." She grimaced. "I am not certain I should like to have a dog at all." She studied him, then. "Why do you not like small dogs?"

"It is my understanding that they are inclined to bite."

"But you are not certain?"

He shook his head. "Large dogs are all I have ever known. They are even of temper, every one of them."

"Truly?" she asked. "How large?"

The viscount held out a hand. If he had been standing, it would have been at his hip.

"So big as that?"

He nodded. If her brother had made the claim, Helena would have thought he teased her. Such a dog would be almost as large as a pony. But the viscount's gaze was steady and his manner sincere, an indication that he told the truth.

There was something to be said of a man whose word could be trusted.

She would not remember her folly over Mr. Ethan Melbourne, a man whose every declaration had been a deception. He had been fulsome, all the time, a marked contrast to the viscount.

Hmm.

"Goodness. They must eat a lot," she said.

The viscount chuckled then, surprised into it, and amusement transformed him utterly.

Helena smiled at his pleasure, savoring the sight. If he looked like this all the time, she might have been unable to resist him, duke or not. If he had been outside, doing some purposeful deed, she might have lost her wits over him. If he had possessed a dimple, well, her heart would be captive. She could envision a man with just such a small confident smile fording a stream in a storm, the water surging around him but unable to slow his progress, to pluck a lost child from the churning waters.

Or climbing a tower, oh yes, to free a maiden locked in its highest room. Storm clouds would churn behind him, waves of the sea would crash against the rocky shore, the wind would snatch at his cloak, but he would be undeterred in pursuit of his goal. Oh, yes, he would be the silent hero, upon whom everyone could rely.

He sobered as he studied her, his gaze falling to her lips with such concentration that she caught her breath. She watched his eyes darken in a way that reminded her suddenly of that forbidden passage she had read in Eliza's letters.

What had it said? Something about the signs of a man's interest in a lady, how it might be revealed by a quick inhalation or the darkening of his eyes. Helena had thought it must be nonsense but as she held the viscount's gaze, she wondered.

In his youth, the viscount must have been most alluring.

Suddenly, as if shutters closed against the sunlight, his expression became composed again, his very soul seemingly hidden from view. The viscount looked again into the depths of his tea, as if he had forgotten her.

Helena was irked by the change.

On impulse, she abandoned her seat and moved to sit beside him. The viscount did not retreat or visibly disapprove. He simply flicked a glance at her, as if she were unpredictable.

Truly, his wariness made her feel bolder than was even her custom. "I must ask you, sir, since you abide near Haynesdale, if there are any highwaymen in the region?" The question fell from her lips unplanned, but made a kind of sense, given her impression of him as a man of daring. The viscount might, in fact, make a good highwayman, if he could abandon his reserved manner for longer intervals than he had thus far.

She wondered whether it was possible to provoke him to do as much.

She was tempted to try.

"Of course not," he replied stiffly and Helena almost sighed in despair.

"Aunt said that Robin Hood was believed to have lived in Nottinghamshire, and there are highwaymen everywhere else. Why should there not be any in these particular region, especially if tradition supports it?"

"Because any such person would be swiftly made to face justice," he replied, his tone crisp. "You may be confident, Miss Emerson, of your safety in Nottinghamshire."

"But safety is dull, is it not? Even at your age, you must yearn for a little adventure."

His tone was stern when he continued. "Miss Emerson, you cannot wish to encounter a renegade, outlaw, or other individual pursuing some view of rough justice beyond the measure of the law."

He was so severe that Helena had to defy his expectations.

"Oh, but I would," she assured him. "Next to a duke, a highwayman would be the most enticing of men to encounter, especially one who stole from the rich to give to the poor as Robin Hood was said to do." She sighed. "So dashing and dangerous, but governed by a noble need to ensure the welfare of all. Of course, he would be handsome and reckless, braver than most men."

There was another of those painful silences.

Then the viscount cleared his throat slightly. "If not a nobleman in disguise?" he asked.

If his expression had not been so impassive, she might have thought he teased her.

"Oh! A duke and a highwayman both! That would be best of all!" Helena agreed and he shook his head as he looked down, as if she were a foolish child. His lashes were dark and thick, and Helena wondered whether they were as soft as they looked.

She also wondered what he was thinking.

This time, she waited in silence, though it was a ferocious challenge.

"You would have liked my brother, Gerald," he said finally, his voice husky.

"Is he dead?" she asked in a horrified whisper and he nodded once. How could he insist that he was not ancient when his brother had already passed away? He might himself be at death's door, despite his assurances. "I am sorry," she whispered, knowing she had blundered, and impulsively put her hand on his sleeve. She could feel the tense strength of his forearm beneath the cloth and she thought she heard the viscount inhale sharply.

Just as the pages had noted.

She had no opportunity to see if his eyes had darkened again, for he rose abruptly to his feet.

"I regret that I have an appointment," he said, then bowed to her. Helena offered her hand and he bent over it after a moment's hesitation, then kissed its back. She felt the heat of his lips through her glove, which was inordinately thrilling.

"It has been a delight to meet you, Miss Emerson," he said politely. "Perhaps our paths might cross again."

She knew she should not ask, but she could not help herself. "Will you be attending Lady Haynesdale's ball?" The more gentlemen in attendance, the better, in her view. She hoped to dance for the entire evening.

"Yes, Lord Addersley, will you be?" Lady Haynesdale asked, returning with Aunt Fanny in such a timely manner that Helena knew their conversation had been followed by the two older ladies. "You have not given me your reply."

"I should be delighted, Lady Haynesdale," he said, his tone decisive.

"How wonderful!" Lady Haynesdale enthused. "I am pleased."

"Doubtless you will be overwhelmed with partners," Aunt Fanny said.

He looked a little grim at the prospect. "As mentioned earlier, I do not dance."

Helena was not truly surprised. Perhaps he was too old to dance well. Elderly people could have arthritis and rheumatism. Helena knew this because of her aunt's consistent complaints. Perhaps he had sustained an injury in his youth that precluded such merry doings now that he was so aged. Or perhaps he was going deaf, like Aunt Fanny, and could not hear the music.

Truly, the possibilities of infirmity were sufficient to make a person wish to die young.

"In the meantime, perhaps you might visit Addersley Manor," the viscount said to Aunt Fanny, whose features lit at the unexpected invitation. He granted Helena a polite smile, one that convinced her she had imagined any roguish glint or darkening hue of his eyes. "Miss Emerson may pick a puppy from the new litter in my stables, if she chooses."

"How generous you are, Lord Addersley!" Aunt Fanny cooed, her eyes alight with familiar ambition.

"But I wager it will become a large dog," Helena guessed, hoping to provoke his smile again.

Her effort failed. "Undoubtedly, Miss Emerson. You will be able to see the parents to gauge your expectations." That twinkle did not reappear, much to her disappointment. "Good day, ladies."

Then he was gone and the room seemed to echo with his absence. Helena went to the window, hoping to glimpse his departure, though she told herself that she simply sought a diversion from the topic of roses. The viscount rode a horse alone, a large chestnut hunter, and urged it to a canter as he left the drive. He did make a fine figure as he rode away.

The wind was not wild on this day, but if he had removed his hat, surely his hair would have been tousled in a most satisfactory manner.

He did not look back at the house, which disgruntled Helena a little, if for no good reason.

Evidently life in the country had bored her beyond desperation. She took solace in anyone's companionship and contrived tales to make them more interesting than they were. Perhaps she would descend into madness in such isolation and end her days, confined to some horrible institution, but imagining herself at court.

She returned to her tea, wishing there was a way to convince Aunt Fanny to return to London. Did she wish a large dog? Helena could not be certain, but his offer was generous. And she was curious about Addersley Manor.

Not that it could possibly compare to the rambling dimensions of Haynesdale House. She surveyed the drawing room, thinking that the pink might have to be replaced. A pale green or a sunny yellow might favor her own coloring better.

She hoped the duke returned soon. They would have to be wed almost immediately to have the house ready for the arrival of their first child.

Not only was Miss Emerson alluring but her company was delightful. Her whimsy about highwaymen troubled Joshua even as he rode away from Haynesdale House. Her mention of such desire for peril had sent a pang through him, igniting a need to ensure her protection from such ills.

Had he not already lost a lady to folly?

He could not permit such an incident to occur again. Indeed, he must offer for Miss Emerson with all haste, lest she find disaster before their vows were exchanged. He knew full well how rapidly a young lady resolute upon her objectives could find trouble.

Joshua's first task was to ascertain that the way was clear. On the way home to Addersley Manor, he could stop to confer with Nicholas Emerson about the prospects of that man's younger sister.

She might have a suitor, a betrothed or an understanding with another gentleman.

Joshua checked his pocket watch and noted there was yet time before his meeting with Mr. Newson, but clicked his tongue to the horse all the same.

Even he could not fail to notice the change in his perspective. He found himself filled with a welcome purpose, if not a measure of urgency. Clearly, he chose aright in pursuit of this goal.

He need not abandon the promise to his father. He need not gamble, duel, dance, or otherwise waste his advantages in foolish endeavors. He need not return to London and its temptations. He would take a bride and bend his considerable energy upon making her happy.

The lovely Miss Emerson would suit him very well, indeed.