Chapter 2: Three Long-shots and a Favorite

As regarded Helena's establishment, Damerel was principally concerned with the dangers awaiting her in the treacherous whirl of the London Season, but he was not, on that account, oblivious to the interest of certain young gentlemen in their immediate neighborhood.

These, to his knowledge, numbered three, none of whom sensible Helena showed the slightest sign of favoring. At seventeen, the youngest and least notable was Dennis Yardley, who, much like his Uncle Oswald before him, had taken it into his head to believe he was in the grip of a grand, romantic passion, rendered all the more tragic for being cruelly unrequited. Whereas Oswald in his folly had identified with Byron's Corsair, his nephew saw himself reflected in Keats' "palely loitering" knight-in-arms with Helena figuring, naturally, in the role of his "belle dame sans mercy." His longing gaze and helpless sighs when in his idol's company were enough to set the younger Damerel girls to giggling behind their hands and openly mocking him when he was gone. As his friend, Penelope was embarrassed both for and by him, and on one memorable occasion, was so exasperated by his lovelorn airs as to advise him sharply to "stop making such a cake" of himself. The effect of this reprimand was to wound Dennis profoundly and to open his eyes to a want of feeling on Penny's part which he had not theretofore suspected. Their friendship suffered as a result but not his devotion to Helena, at whose feet he continued to worship in a mute and hopeless fashion.

Helena could not help but be aware of this adulation, and took precisely as much notice of it as it deserved, which is to say none at all. She adopted the same course of action with regard to the second of her admirers, the Rev. Richard Hutton, albeit for a very different reason. This estimable young man, who, the year before, had succeeded the Rev. Appesett as parish vicar, was Dennis' polar opposite in that he struggled to conceal his attraction and betrayed it only involuntarily by blushing or growing tongue-tied in her presence. As a matrimonial prospect, he had much to recommend him: youth, good-looks and health, an active disposition and, in no small part due to having been tutored at Cambridge by no less a scholar than Aubrey Lanyon, a well-informed and agile mind. As concerned his family, he was, being the fourth son of a baronet, and, on his mother's side, distant cousin to an earl, of unimpeachable lineage, and, it could be argued, Helena's social equal, but, even given these considerable advantages, he knew that, with only a comfortable living and a respectable position to offer, he could not hope to aspire to a wealthy baron's daughter. Had Helena returned his regard, the disparity in their fortunes might not have presented an insuperable barrier, but her feelings for him were no warmer than liking and respect, and so he, perforce, was reduced to loving her discreetly and from afar.

In sharp contrast to the Reverend, the third of Helena's suitors was no gentleman, except by birth, and had constantly to have his monstrous conceit that she was his to wed slapped down. This was her cousin, Roland, an insufferable boor so high in his own esteem that nothing she could do or say convinced him of his error. His misapprehension was based on two deeply flawed assumptions: the first, that he was irresistible to all women, and the second, that he and Helena had been promised to each other, by mutual consent of their parents, since they'd both been in the cradle.

On the first count, Roland could partly be excused, because, in fact, women did tend to fall for him, and, at twenty, he could already boast a long list of conquests (as well as, it was rumored, an unacknowledged by-blow or two). Objectively, he was a striking fellow, taller than average, with handsome features, and, in consequence of his endless sporting pursuits, a well-muscled physique that earned him many an appreciative female glance and not a few come-hither looks. He was, in addition, much cosseted by his grandmother in whose eyes he could do no wrong, and who'd taught him to believe himself a nonpareil among men. He'd become, in this way, so assured of his fatal appeal that Helena's protests of immunity, however oft repeated, failed to make any impression.

As to the existence of a family-sanctioned betrothal, this was a fabrication based on nothing more substantive than Lady Lanyon's having once exclaimed how wonderful it would prove should the cousins grow up to fall in love and marry, and Lady Damerel's having returned a noncommittal answer. What was true was that Sir Conway had broached the possibility of a match with his brother-in-law, a step which had irritated Damerel without precisely surprising him. Between the mismanagement of his estate by an incompetent, if not outright criminal, bailiff and of his household by an incorrigibly profligate Mrs. Scorrier, Sir Conway's finances were in bad repair, and he stood in fairly desperate need of the infusion of funds Roland's marriage to Helena would net him. He took the position that it made good sense to keep the money in the family — why should some stranger benefit when it could be used to good effect at Undershaw? — and he even intimated, unwisely, that, Venetia having tantamount to robbed him of his third of their mother's estate, he was practically owed Helena's dowry in recompense. These arguments did not advance his cause with Damerel who replied that for his part, the example set by the Royal Houses of Europe notwithstanding, he didn't hold with marriages between first cousins, and was, on those grounds, unalterably opposed. Sir Conway was obliged to admit defeat, but didn't, on that score, entirely despair as he fondly imagined that Roland could still succeed with the girl where he'd failed with the father.

In this, however, he could not have been more wrong. Roland stood no chance at all with Helena, and not merely because she disliked him, but because someone else had caught her interest, a man she'd chanced to meet in York at the last of the winter assemblies, and whom she had every expectation of encountering again in London.

The evening in question, this gentleman and his companions had caused something of a stir upon entering the Grand Assembly Room, in part because of the lateness of their arrival, but mostly because they were five young persons of aristocratic bearing, two women and three men, whom no one appeared to know. Heads turned, and eyes frankly followed as they strolled the perimeter of the room, looking about them and remarking to one another on the grandeur of the space, the impressive neoclassical columns with their ornamented capitals, the crystal chandeliers seeming to hover in mid-air and bathing all below in honeyed light. Helena, catching glimpses of their progress from the dance floor, wondered with the rest who they might be, and was never more surprised than to see one of the ladies give a startled gasp, and, breaking into a smile, move purposely toward none other than her own mother.

She was impatient, then, for the dance to end, and, upon being escorted from the floor, was relieved to see her mother still engaged with the woman while two men from her party looked on. "Helena, my love," Venetia said gaily, once her partner had bowed himself away, "Only look who is here!"

On closer inspection, Helena saw the pretty blonde was hardly more than a girl, perhaps only slightly older than herself. She had bright blue eyes that brimmed with merriment, and a smile that brought out the dimples in her cheeks. "Never say you don't remember!" she begged. "That would be too, too crushing!"

It was the laugh that triggered memory. "Callista?" Helena said in wonder. "Oh, your pardon! Lady Callista, I should say."

"Now, now, none of that! I am hardly going to stand on ceremony with a former playmate! We were hoydens together, don't forget, and a sad trial to our governesses! And now, look at you! So grown-up, I daresay I shouldn't have recognized you, either. Fortunately," she said, with a smile for Venetia, "dear Lady Damerel never seems to age a day." She turned gracefully, and gestured to the taller of her companions. "You remember my brother, Simon?"

"Of course." Simon St.-Cyr, Viscount Devlin, was five years his sister's senior, and so had never figured in their games, but he had such uncanny yellow eyes, that to meet him once was never to forget him. Helena had only ever seen such golden eyes in one other person: Sebastian St.-Cyr, who, before succeeding to his father's earldom, had resided with his family in a house in Brooke Street very near the Damerels' own. In addition to his distinctive eyes, Lord Devlin had, the stories went, inherited his father's preternaturally sharp vision and hearing. As a child, Helena had found him somewhat scary. She inclined her head in greeting. "Good evening, my lord."

"Miss Damerel," he said, returning her nod. "A pleasure to see you again."

"And this," Callista pursued, drawing the other gentleman forward, "is our cousin, Lord Percy Claiborne. Percy, Miss Helena Damerel."

Lord Percy offered a smile, and bowed from the shoulder. "Miss Damerel."

Helena dipped her head. "My lord." Absurdly, as she met his gaze and saw his candid admiration, she colored up. He was a most pleasant-looking gentleman, nearly as tall as his cousin, and admirably broad in the shoulder, with honey-gold hair that swept back from a noble forehead in a rather dashing wave. His face was lean, with good bones — high cheeks, straight nose, square jaw — and, but for slender sideburns and a very modest mustache, he was clean-shaven. His best feature, though, were his eyes, cornflower blue like Callista's, and twinkling.

"It's because of Percy we're all here," Callista offered.

"At the ball?" Helena asked.

Callista chuckled. "No, no, that's all my doing. Mine, and Enid's. Another cousin," she explained. "She and George — that's her husband — are about here somewhere…" She cast a hopeful look around, but, failing to spot them, continued, "In any case, as I was saying, we all came into Yorkshire to lend Percy our support and any use our advice or opinion might be. He's recently come into some property, you see, a great, ramshackle place just north of here near Moncton."

"Callie!" Devlin said, in a sharp voice.

A hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, my! Was that horribly indiscreet? I do beg your pardon, Percy!"

"Not at all," he assured her.

Venetia, heartened by Lord Percy's indulgent response, dared to venture, "Would you, perhaps, be speaking of Harebell Hall?"

He brightened. "Yes! Do you know it?"

"Not well. I visited only once, many years ago. Sir Gerald wasn't one for entertaining…"

"To say the least!"

"… but he and my husband were well-acquainted, and Damerel often called at the Hall. He had the greatest respect for Sir Gerald's knowledge of horses, and, if I'm honest, envied him his stable in no small degree."

"Ah! Is Lord Damerel a devotee of racing, then?"

"Oh, yes!" Helena said. "Papa always has a horse or two running at Epsom and Doncaster. And he dabbles in breeding them, too." She flushed pink at having introduced so indelicate a subject, and hurried on, "It's a small operation, a hobby, really."

"Well, I can see, then, they'd have a good deal to talk about. Thoroughbreds and racing were Uncle Gerald's ruling passion, all he truly cared for."

There was a flurry of movement as, the next dance, a quadrille, having been announced, couples began to move out onto the floor. Helena's partner for the set approached, but before he had quite come up, Lord Percy said, "I suppose it is too much to hope, Miss Damerel, that you might yet have a dance free?"

She shook her head with genuine regret. "I am sorry, my lord."

He took his disappointment manfully. "It's no more than I deserve for arriving so late."

"And now you shall have to make do with me," Callista told him, threading her arm through his. "Let that be a lesson to you not to drag your feet in future!"

None of Helena's subsequent partners was so obliging as to neglect to claim his dance, and so, to her chagrin, the evening ended without Lord Percy's being able to lead her out. For his part, he danced with Callista and Enid, and, when these two were engaged, lent himself with good grace to being presented to some young lady stranded on the sidelines. In this way, he was continuously on the dance floor, and, if he and Helena did not stand up together, they did sometimes stand in close proximity, and, in moving through the figures, did sometimes clasp each other's hands or lock arms and swing about. Helena had ample occasion to notice that he danced very well, especially the waltz, and wished as she was steered more clumsily across the floor that she could trade places with his partner.

The ball at last over, the Harebell Hall party stopped to take leave of the Damerels, and express again their delight at having so serendipitously met with old friends. "We should not have enjoyed ourselves half so well if not for you!" Callista said.

"Do you remain in Yorkshire yet awhile?" Venetia asked.

Lord Percy shook his head. "The Hall's not fit to live in, I'm afraid. Falling down around our ears is, sadly, not just a figure of speech. We're returning to London directly."

"That is too bad. We should have been glad to entertain you at the Priory."

"Perhaps," he said, with a quick glance at Helena, "we might call on you in town, instead. You are going up for the Season?"

"Oh yes, at the end of April. And you would be very welcome, my lord. We would be pleased to see you, all of you, again."

"Splendid!" Callista said, clapping her hands in satisfaction. "Then, we shall all meet again very soon! Good night, dear Lady Damerel, Helena!"

Lord Percy, having said his good-byes to Venetia, turned finally to Helena, and said, "Miss Damerel, it's been a very great pleasure to meet you. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance in London."

"As do I, my lord."

That earned her a smile. "Until then, Miss Damerel."

"Until then, my lord."

A/N: Sebastian St.-Cyr (and Simon) are creations of C. S. Harris and feature in her detective series set in Regency England. I have taken advantage of the St.-Cyrs residing in Brooke St. to introduce them into this story.