Chapter 10 Morning ride, Hyde Park

"Mamma…?"

"Hmmm?" Venetia, occupied without sorting through the morning's mail, did not look up.

Helena took a sip of her tea and set the cup back in its saucer. Across the table, Penny glanced up from her buttered toast with interest. "I've been meaning to ask: are you acquainted with Mrs. Roger Stanhope and her daughter Beryl?"

Venetia laid a square, cream-colored card to one side with others of similar size and shape. "I know them by sight. I've had Miss Stanhope pointed out to me any number of times. She's too lovely to go unremarked."

"Yes," Helena persisted, "but do you know her? Have you met her before?"

Venetia paused in her sifting to regard Helena directly. "Not that I know of. What makes you ask?"

"She claimed an acquaintance yesterday when we crossed paths at the art exhibition, and, for the life of me, I can't recollect any such meeting."

"That's odd," Venetia allowed. "Where and when were you supposed to have met?"

"At one of Cassie and Iris' birthday parties many years ago. She was staying with one of our neighbors — an aunt — and was invited to the Priory along with her cousins."

"And the aunt's name?"

"She wouldn't say. She alleged there wasn't time as Lord Hartshorne, who'd escorted her, was obliged to keep an appointment, but I suspect she held it back on purpose."

"Why ever would she do that?"

"For the pleasure of teasing me, I expect."

"Perhaps," Penny ventured, "she did not name her aunt because such a one does not, in fact, exist."

"That thought occurred to me as well," Helena said. "But what motive could she have to invent such a tale?"

This question proving unanswerable, Venetia supposed, "There must a grain of truth in it. Let me think…"

Penny applied herself to the riddle, too, and remembered before her mother, "Mrs. Yardley had a niece to stay one summer. I've forgotten her name, but I do recall her coming to the Priory with Dennis and Will."

A reminiscent smile lit Venetia's face. "That was Angelica Denny, Mrs. Yardley's brother's girl. An enchanting child, delicate as a pixie, and more of an age with Cassie than you and Helena."

"That lets her out. Besides, Miss Stanhope made a point of the aunt's being on her mother's side."

"Did she now!" Venetia resumed pondering the problem, and at long last, on a doubtful note, said, "Your Aunt Charlotte has a sister, and Fanny does have a daughter but, if memory serves, Fanny's married name is Throckmorton, and the daughter's name nothing so exotic as Beryl. It is something plain, like Anne or Susan." She brightened of a sudden. "I have it! It's Jane! She was named for her grandmother, Jane Storrier."

Helena allowed her mother her moment of triumph, then pressed, "Is there anyone else you think of? Someone living farther afield perhaps, or in Thirsk?"

Cast her mind back as she might, Venetia could hit on no one who met all the criteria and gave the effort up for lost. "There is nothing for it, I'm afraid, but to wait for Miss Stanhope to explain."

Miss Stanhope, however, did not take advantage of the next, or indeed any subsequent opportunity, to elaborate on her long-ago visit to Yorkshire. In the days that followed, at the afternoon teas, musical evenings, and balls they both attended, Miss Stanhope seemed always to be occupying the opposite side of the room from Helena, and was, moreover, so continuously engaged with her various acquaintances and admirers that Helena could not have approached her without putting herself forward in an unbecoming manner. Not that Helena was at all inclined to take the initiative. It was Miss Stanhope who had raised the subject, and she who had deferred answering Helena's question. The onus was on her to follow through, and if, as it appeared, she did not intend to do so, Helena was not about to seek her out. In the first place, her curiosity was not so acute, and, in the second, Miss Stanhope's elusive behavior argued strongly in support of the aunt's being purely imaginary. Why Miss Stanhope should have gone to the trouble to invent her remained a question, but it was a mystery Helena had little interest in plumbing. She put the fabrication down to some malicious streak in Miss Stanhope's nature, and was rather more content than grieved at being ignored.

She had more important matters to occupy her after all. It was rare on her morning rides with her father that he did not inform her of having been applied to for permission to court her. Some applicants, like the poet Mr. Anstruther and the debt-ridden Lord Norton, Damerel rejected out of hand and Helena, when apprised of these dismissals, had no objection to raise. If, as in the cases of Mr. Rutherford and Lord Maxwell, the prospective suitor was respectably established and financially sound, Damerel did the man the courtesy of consulting Helena's wishes before rendering his decision. In no case had Helena urged him to consent, and so he had, with no little satisfaction, turned away the first dozen suitors for her hand.

One crisp May morning, they'd enjoyed a fine canter and were walking their mounts when Damerel remarked, "An old friend ran me to ground in Brooks's the other day. Flavell's his name. Hadn't seen him in years."

"Cousin Will has a great friend called Walter Flavell," Helena said. "Are he and your friend related?"

Damerel nodded. "They're father and son, and it was to talk about Walter, actually, that Flavell sought me out."

"Did he ask you to use your influence on Walter's behalf? He's mentioned wanting to serve in the Foreign Office."

"Nothing along those lines, no. It seems, Lena, the boy's fallen in love with you, and has notions of making an offer. Flavell wanted to sound me out as to his chances which, as a father himself and a practical man, he knows must be slim. Walter is, in Flavell's own words, a solid young man, a loving son and devoted brother. In time, he'll inherit his father's barony and the comfortable income that goes with it. There is nothing to despise in that, but he is not your equal, Lena. You can do better. A duke, in my opinion, would not be aiming too high! That being said, position and wealth aren't everything. What your mother and I want for you above all, Lena, is your happiness. If you return young Flavell's feelings…"

"No, Papa," Helena put in quickly, discomfort making her curt. "I… I like Walter very well. He's excellent fun and very amiable, but marry him…" She gave her head a rueful shake.

The tension drained from Damerel's posture and he settled more easily in his saddle. "Very good. I'll pass the word on to Flavell and he'll put a flea in Walter's ear. In the meantime, I need not remind you, I know, to take special care not to encourage him."

"Yes, Papa."

They continued along Rotten Row in silence, Helena, for her part, grieving the necessity of disappointing Walter and praying the pain of it would not be too severe. At length, as they neared Hyde Park Gate, her father, voice low and unusually tentative, broke in on these sad thoughts to ask, "Is there any man you are drawn to, Lena? I don't mean to pry, but if there should be…"

As if the question had conjured him out of thin air, Helena spied Lord Percy riding toward them down the Row. He was unaccompanied, for once, by any of his relations, and he no sooner caught sight of Helena than he smiled with open pleasure. He slowed his mount as he approached, tipped his hat in greeting, and would likely have passed on by had Helena not brought her own horse to a halt. Her father reining in as well, Lord Percy took this for the invitation it was and drew up beside them.

"Miss Damerel, good day!" he said. "Beautiful morning for a ride. I trust you enjoyed yours?"

"I did, thank you. Very much." Turning to her father, she said, "Papa, may I present Lord Percy Claiborne? Lord Percy, my father, Baron Damerel."

"Honored to meet you, sir," Lord Percy said, taking the hand Damerel extended.

"You'll be the new owner of Harebell Hall, if I don't mistake. Sir Gerald Maitland's heir."

"I have that good fortune, yes. You knew my uncle, I believe."

"I did. A more cantankerous man I've yet to meet, but when it came to knowing horses, there was no one like him. I did a deal of business with him over the years and never had cause to regret it. Helena's mare, now. She was bred at Harebell."

"Was she, Papa?" Helena leaned forward and gave the chestnut's neck an affectionate pat. "I'd quite forgotten."

Lord Percy ran his eyes appreciatively over the animal and then, raising his gaze to Helena's, said, "A real beauty."

Fortunately for Helena's blushes, the mare, as if divining herself the center of attention, gave her head a proud toss and shook out her mane. "And a prima donna, too," Helena laughed.

"She's as prideful as her sire, Vickers," Damerel said. "Now, there's a horse I would have dearly loved to buy, but your uncle wouldn't part with him for any sum." He regarded Lord Percy with a suddenly calculating look. "Would you be willing to sell him? You could name your price."

Lord Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Ordinarily, I'd be happy to oblige you, sir, but, as it happens, just now I can't afford to sell him. If not for the fees he brings in, the Harebell stables would not return even a meager profit. Should circumstances change, though, and I be forced to sell, you have my word you will have the first option to purchase him."

Damerel inclined his head. "Can't say fairer than that. If not Vickers, there is, now I come to think of it, another purchase you might help me with. I'm in the market for another mare — a gift for my middle daughter, Cassandra — but we've already kept the horses standing, and you from your business, long enough. If you're agreeable, we can discuss the matter later, at Storborough House or at Brooks's, as you prefer. It will have to be soon, though, as time is short."

"I am at your disposal, sir. Will tomorrow at Brooks's suit?"

They settled on a time, and then, farewells having been exchanged, Lord Percy continued on his way and the Damerels started once again for home. They had covered only a short distance when Damerel observed, "A pleasant fellow, that young Claiborne."

Helena, forgetting caution in her delight, turned a radiant face his way. "I'm glad you like him, Papa."

Damerel stilled suddenly, and, twisting in his seat the better to study her, said, "Are you, now? And why is that?"

"Oh…" Helena, flustered, attempted a careless shrug. "No particular reason. I'm just glad when we like the same person, is all. It gives me confidence in my judgment."

The answer was so lame, Helena had scant hope her father would accept it, but, amazingly, after a few long moments more of scrutiny, he appeared satisfied and returned his attention to the path ahead. Helena breathed easy once again, but had she been privy to her parents' conversation later that same day, her relief would have died a quick death.

Damerel entered Venetia's bedroom to find her in her dressing gown and her maid, Webster, braiding her hair for the night. They chatted of this and that while the maid finished her task and then bustled about collecting the discarded clothes for laundering. When she'd gone, Venetia settled into an armchair to one side of the hearth and beckoned Damerel to take the one opposite. "What's troubling you, Jasper? No, don't protest! You've been pacing back and forth."

He sank into the indicated chair and treated her to a wry smile. "I'm not troubled, exactly, but I did want to ask…" He hesitated, then brought out, "Lord Percy Claiborne. What do you know of him?"

"Lord Percy?" Venetia echoed in some surprise. "Why, what everyone knows, I expect. He's the Duke of Claiborne's youngest son, and a connection of Lord Hendon's. That's how we came to meet him in York. Lady Callista introduced him as her cousin and the new owner of Harebell Hall. I mentioned it at the time. You must remember."

He conceded this with a nod. "And didn't you tell me the manor house was severely damaged lately in a storm?"

"Yes, much of the left wing collapsed. Why this sudden interest?"

"We chanced upon him this morning in the park, Helena and I, and she introduced us. I'll be seeing him tomorrow about buying a horse."

Venetia quirked an eyebrow. "And you're wondering if he's trustworthy?"

"No, no! The fellow's such a greenhorn, I'm more likely to get the better of him than he of me. No," he said again, "what interests me is his intentions, if any, toward Lena. I sensed something between them this morning. A kind of spark, if you will. Has he shown her any marked attentions? Singled her out in any way?"

"Is he courting her, do you mean?" She entertained the question for a moment, then, shook her head. "Honestly, Jasper, I've seen nothing to suggest it. Lord Percy is perfectly cordial, never fails to ask Lena to dance or converse with her when we're in company, but a dozen other mothers — including Louisa! — could say the same of their daughters. He's high on every hostess' list precisely because he doesn't dance attendance on any one girl and can be counted on to partner any unfortunate left standing on the sidelines. Besides, what with having to rebuild Harebell Hall, he can hardly afford to marry just now."

"He can if he pursues a well-dowered girl," Damerel said pointedly.

"Ah! I see." Venetia leaned back in her chair and eyed her husband knowingly. "You're thinking he may be a fortune hunter."

"It's a possibility, you must admit. "

Venetia thought this over, and, once again, shook her head. "I don't believe it, Jasper. Lord Percy's too frank and has, I believe, too high a character to marry for money. If it came to it, I wager he'd put Harebell Hall on the market before he'd sell himself to finance its repairs."

"Strong praise, indeed."

"And my honest conviction. All the same, my intuition may be wrong, and, it is true, I have not been as watchful as I might be where Lena is concerned. I shall keep a sharper eye out, and if I see anything to support your sense of an attachment forming between them, I will tell you at once."

He rewarded this concession with a smile. "Thank you, my dear."

For his part, he would take the fellow's measure on the morrow and form his own impression.