Dangerous Decisions Page 4

  Trying to calm her nerves, she went into the drawing room to find Oliver already there. He was standing with her father before the ornate marble fireplace and studying the striking portrait of her mother, Mary Standish, hanging above. He turned as she entered and, putting down his glass, came immediately to greet her. ‘Helena, you look enchanting. The country air certainly agrees with you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’ He was even more handsome than she remembered, and it was then Helena decided that she was going to stop this nonsense of fretting all the time. The grounds at Broadway Manor were so extensive that surely when she and Oliver had spent hours alone strolling and talking, her mind would be put at rest.

  They walked together to stand beneath the gold-framed portrait and Oliver said, ‘You are very like her.’

  ‘I just wish I could have known her.’

  ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

  Helena turned to gaze at him with sympathy, remembering that he too had lost his mother at birth. Oliver rarely mentioned his late father and she wondered whether he had been a lonely little boy. She had been so lucky to have someone like Beatrice in her life and as she came in to join them, Helena noticed that her aunt was wearing a new rust-coloured dress. Unfortunately, like most of her clothes, it hung awkwardly on her angular body, but her garnet necklace – a recent present from Jacob – glowed softly against her rather sallow neck and Helena smiled at her with affection, thinking how typical it was of her father to be so thoughtful.

  And so they enjoyed their cocktails seated comfortably around the fireplace, the conversation light and often witty. Helena soon realised that Oliver was socially adept at being a houseguest, striking the perfect tone of respect and interest as he asked about the history of Broadway Manor. She saw his lips twitch slightly when Jacob told him that he had bought the house and its estates only twenty-five years ago. ‘Before then it had been in the same family since it was built. The last inhabitant – a young man of only thirty – was obsessed with travelling the world, exploring Africa and big-game hunting, that sort of thing. The hall was hideous, full of animal trophies. Mary hated them and so we had them all removed and replaced the dark panelling with a lighter shade.’

  ‘What makes people think they have the right to take an animal’s life just to boast how brave they are?’ Helena said. ‘Killing elephants for their tusks, leopards for their skins, even in this country people shoot deer to hang their antlers on the wall.’ She saw Beatrice give her a look of warning that Oliver may have different views. But Helena did not intend to marry anyone if it meant submerging her personality. ‘And I’m afraid that was how he met his death. A distant cousin in America inherited and promptly put Broadway Manor on the market.’

  Oliver’s deep rooted fears and hatred of his own cousin rose to the surface. If he were by some misfortune to inherit Graylings, Selwyn with his gambling debts and weak nature would have no compunction about exposing it to land-hungry vultures. Oliver glanced again at Helena, noticing how the rose silk gown clung to hips that although slim were satisfactorily rounded. He had a sudden, desperate image of white unblemished skin on the entire surface of her body. It was his constant fear that his future wife might prove to have even a slight physical defect. Yet Oliver knew that even his valet’s diplomacy might find it difficult to ascertain something of such a personal and intimate nature. So much would depend on the age and discretion of Helena’s personal maid.

  Later, in the high-ceilinged dining room with long casement windows flooding it with evening sunlight, Oliver found dinner to be equal in refinement and flavour to any meal he was served at Graylings. He turned to Beatrice. ‘You have an excellent cook, if I may say so. The quail was especially good.’

  ‘Yes, Bostock,’ Jacob said. ‘Please convey my compliments to Cook.’

  Oliver was bending his head to listen to Helena. ‘And we could ride,’ she was saying, ‘I’d like to show you the farms. I think the head groom has already picked out a horse for you, unless you would prefer to choose your own.’

  He smiled into her eyes only to look away as a footman hovered at his shoulder waiting to serve the lemon syllabub.

  ‘Helena and I have been making plans for your entertainment,’ Beatrice said. ‘We thought a weekend house party, and perhaps a visit to Lichfield?’

  ‘That would be delightful, Miss Standish.’

  Helena’s initial nerves had vanished and she was enjoying herself immensely. It was fascinating to see Oliver so relaxed in the familiar surroundings of her home.

  Jacob gazed at them both expansively. The couple looked well together; the fact that Oliver was somewhat older troubling him not at all because there had been a similar age gap between himself and his beloved Mary.

  Later, once Beatrice and Helena had withdrawn, Jacob was feeling mellow as he sipped his brandy. He looked across at his guest. ‘Do you hunt? I’m sure I could arrange …’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘Thank you, but it’s not a pastime I enjoy. I have no desire to witness the ugly sight of hounds tearing a fox to pieces. I’m afraid I don’t shoot, either. Certainly I don’t include the Glorious Twelfth on my social calendar.’

  Jacob paused to clip the end of his cigar. He respected a man who had his own principles and upheld them. ‘How do you feel about the present government? I wasn’t altogether surprised when Winston Churchill decided to cross the floor last year.’

  Oliver nodded. ‘He’s been in disagreement with Chamberlain for some time. I am pleased to say that the Liberal Party is certainly growing in strength which augurs well for the next election.’

  Jacob blew out a cloud of cigar smoke and nodded in agreement, relieved to hear that their political views were similar. As their conversation drifted to discussing their approval of the signing of the Entente Cordiale between England and France, he decided that this would be the ideal time to mention that if a suitable constituency arose, he would welcome the chance to serve his country. Oliver Faraday, like so many of his class, moved in influential circles.

  ‘You should see the way he looks at her, if that isn’t true love …’ Molly said. She hadn’t had a chance to see Miss Helena alone since she’d returned from London; once they had managed to exchange glances in the hall, but that was all.

  ‘And is he really that handsome?’ was Annie’s question, as her reddened hands scrubbed away at saucepans.

  ‘I should say so. Some girls have all the luck.’ Molly glanced with exasperation at Oliver’s valet who was enjoying a slice of pork pie and had so far failed to respond to even one of her flirtatious looks.

  ‘Go on,’ Ida said to him. ‘What’s he like then, this master of yours?’

  Jack Hines glanced across at Annie who had her back to him. Then he gave a thin smile. ‘I’m afraid I can’t say.’

  The servants glanced at each other.

  ‘And that’s how it should be.’ The butler came in to join them. ‘Loyalty to one’s employer is an attribute to be admired. Now if everything is finished in the dining room and laid up for tomorrow morning, I think we should all be off to our beds.’

  Later, in the bedroom they shared, Molly whispered to Ida, ‘If we’re not going to find out any good gossip from the valet, I’ll just have to transfer my charms to the chauffeur.’ She slipped her nightdress over her head before removing her underwear then whispered as they got into bed. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit unusual that they’re both so terribly good-looking?’

  ‘They are, aren’t they?’ Ida said. ‘But I think that Mr Hines is aiming higher than the likes of us. He was asking me which of us was Miss Helena’s personal maid.’ She giggled. ‘He’ll have a shock when he meets Miss Hewson.’

  Helena was finding her mind was far too active to be able to sleep. She kept dwelling on the way that Oliver, once the two men had re-joined them in the
drawing room, had managed to convey a silent yet intimate conversation between them. Against a background of polite social chit-chat, sometimes his glances towards her had been full of amusement, at others quizzical, and once the expression in his eyes had been so meaningful that she had to avoid his gaze. And when his fingers had brushed against her own … If this was how he was going to make her feel after only one evening, then Helena was rather hoping they might have some secluded times alone.

  Full of a delicious anticipation, she turned over and snuggled into the soft feather pillow, letting her mind drift ahead. How wise she had been to dismiss those silly doubts about him.

  Yet strangely, that night she dreamt not of Oliver but of the tall and dark-haired doctor, a man she would probably never see again.

  Chapter Six

  Two weeks later, Helena and Oliver rode through the familiar meadow in the grounds of Broadway Manor, beneath trees dappled with sunlight, and, slowing down their horses after the exhilaration of their gallop, gradually came to a halt. Oliver nodded towards an ancient oak, its branches spreading wide, the clearing beneath it quiet and secluded. ‘Shall we stretch our legs?’ With his hands firmly spanning her waist, he helped Helena to dismount from her chestnut mare and then waited as she dusted down her riding skirt.

  ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a wonderful day.’

  She glanced up to see an intense expression in his eyes that made her pulse begin to race. This could be the moment. Would he at last kiss her? She was longing to know how it would feel to be held in his arms. Surely he wasn’t going to wait until he had proposed before he kissed her? Tomorrow people would be arriving for a weekend house party and there would be little time for any privacy at all.

  She remained silent as Oliver led her over to the welcome shade of the stately tree, and Helena, leaning to rest against the rough bark of the gnarled trunk, looked up at him in anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, his lips came down to meet her own and as he drew away, he lifted a hand to trace the outline of her cheek. Smiling down at her, he murmured, ‘I think we’ll do that again.’

  This time he teased her slightly with his lips, tracing the outline of hers before their kiss became deeper than before, longer. She was finding to her delight that the experience was rather a pleasurable one. Leaving their horses to graze, they linked hands and began to stroll along the soft grass to the sound of birdsong and rustlings in the leaves above. ‘These past weeks have been perfect,’ he said, smiling down at her, ‘but I suppose it couldn’t last forever.’

  ‘I know. But Aunt Beatrice would think she was failing in her duty not to arrange some company and distractions.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘I’d prefer to spend the time alone with you.’

  Being in Oliver’s arms, feeling the warmth of his mouth against her own, had reassured Helena far more than all her hours of mental agonising. Then he was turning to her again, holding her close, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, and once more finding her lips.

  And so she was in a contented frame of mind when they went back to the horses and returned to the main avenue that led to the Manor. As they trotted along, Helena waved at Annie who was trudging towards the entrance gates and, slowing down, said, ‘Hello, are you off home?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Helena, just for a few hours.’

  Oliver was reining in his horse with some irritation. Really, Helena was far too familiar with the staff. It had been the same when they had visited the farms. In his opinion a nod and polite good morning was quite sufficient, but to his astonishment, Helena had seemed to know the names of not only the tenants, but also their families. In addition, each needed to be greeted and the children enquired after. She really should be more aware of her position and—

  Just then the girl Helena was bending to speak to turned to look up at him, and the sunlight revealed a hideous scarring down one side of her face. His recoil was instinctive, even violent.

  Helena, seeing Annie whiten with humiliation, her eyes full of distress, swung round to see Oliver’s expression of sheer revulsion. The anger that swept through her was hot and full of shame. She said in a tight voice, ‘Please remember me to your mother, Annie.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  Once the slight, square-shouldered figure clutching a small wicker basket was some distance away, Helena turned in fury to an impatient Oliver. ‘What on earth was all that about?’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Our scullery maid – she was burned in a bonfire accident as a child.’

  ‘And your father employs such a creature?’

  Helena, horrified by the contempt in his voice, snapped, ‘Why on earth shouldn’t he? Her father is one of our gardeners. As for Annie, she is not a “creature” as you so insultingly call her. Really, Oliver, you might show a bit more humanity.’

  She saw his expression darken, his mouth become grim, and without even the civility of a reply, he urged his horse to canter swiftly away, leaving Helena, riding side saddle, to clatter a few minutes later into the stable yard only to find a groom leading the horse to its stable. Of Oliver, there was no sign.

  Suddenly she was glad that her close friend Dorothy Powner was coming for the weekend and that she would be meeting Oliver. The daughter of a judge who had moved into the county when he bought an estate near Stafford, she had been delighted to find a companion approved of by her irascible and strict father, while Helena, then fifteen, had always longed for a friend near her own age. Helena had great respect for Dorothy’s sound common sense; she might be outspoken but her opinion was one to be valued. Would she too find Oliver difficult to understand?

  ‘They’ve had a row, I’d put money on it,’ Ida reported when that evening she returned from the dining room. ‘Miss Helena and Mr Faraday, I mean.’

  ‘Well I don’t like him!’ Annie called, coming in from the scullery. ‘He’s not good enough for our Miss Helena. He’ll bring her nothing but trouble, you mark my words.’

  In a corner, Jack Hines put his Sporting Life down. His voice was quiet. ‘Why do you say that, Annie?’

  ‘They were both riding down the avenue when I was goin’ home, and …’

  ‘He saw you?’ The valet’s voice was so abrupt that even Cook looked up from her task.

  ‘He saw me all right.’ Annie’s voice was grim. ‘Nearly came off his horse, he did. You’d think I was a freak or summat.’

  Molly put down the cotton stocking she was mending and went over to her. ‘Don’t take on, love. Some people can be very insensitive.’ She watched Annie go back to her duties and frowned. ‘Is he like that, Mr Hines?’

  But the valet had returned to reading his newspaper, and Molly sighed with exasperation. It was always the same every time anyone mentioned his master; the man just seemed to close down. Talk about being as ‘silent as the grave’.

  Jacob Standish was well aware that something had happened between his daughter and his guest, and with Beatrice recovering from a cold and having a tray in her room, he was beginning to find the effort of keeping a civilised discourse over dinner rather a trial. He glanced at Helena. She was not a girl normally given to moods, but even he could sense that she was upset about something.

  Helena was feeling utterly miserable. For Oliver to behave in such a way just because of poor Annie’s scarred face, and then to respond like that to – in her opinion – a justified reprimand, after the wonderful romantic afternoon they’d spent together! And now, not once had his gaze met hers, and the coldness emanating from him …

  But this had happened once before. Not so marked but it had been the time he had found her talking to Tristram – which had, for heaven’s sake, only been a bit of light-hearted flirting.

  Yet his appetite didn’t seem to be affected; even after having eaten heartily of pigeon pie followed by sherry trifle, he was now
enjoying his cheese. Were men always so unfathomable? Her father – as long as his wishes were adhered to – had never seemed to be so. Although she knew that her friend Dorothy considered her father to have so many prickles he ought to have been born a porcupine.

  Jacob was coming to a decision. Much as he enjoyed Oliver’s male company over their brandy and cigars, these two young people needed time alone to mend their differences, because until there was a proposal this whole enterprise could fall down like a house of cards. And for Oliver not to offer for Helena – after he had been so closely attentive for months – would be unthinkable and certain to be considered by society as a slight on the whole family.

  With a frown, he gathered up his napkin and put it on to the table. ‘I’m afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to, so if you’ll both excuse me, I shall go directly to my study.’ He turned to the butler who was standing in one corner of the room. ‘Bostock, perhaps you could leave the coffee in the drawing room for Miss Helena to attend to, and I don’t think they will need you any further.’ As he got up he added, ‘My apologies, Oliver.’

  And it was only then, once they had moved to the drawing room and were out of earshot of servants, that Oliver at last turned to Helena. He had taken a seat beside her on the sofa and although she felt his gaze on her she remained occupied with pouring their coffee, determined that he should be the one to speak first.

  ‘Helena, do you think we could forget that trivial incident this afternoon?’

  Her temper flared. Did he think it was trivial to show such distaste at someone’s unfortunate appearance? Helena remembered how she had hurried to the gardener’s cottage as soon as she’d heard of the bonfire accident, how she had held and comforted the ten-year-old Annie as she screamed with the agony of the painful burns. Beatrice too had come with salves and bandages, and her father had paid the doctor’s bills. None of them had been so careless since as to show their horror at the girl’s appearance, and Helena could only imagine how Annie had felt at the shock and disgust on Oliver’s face.