Dangerous Decisions Read online

  ‘I hardly think it was trivial, Oliver,’ she said quietly. ‘I would have expected better of you.’

  ‘Helena, she’s a servant, a mere scullery maid. It’s of no consequence, and you must accept that I won’t have my behaviour commented upon.’

  She put down the coffee pot and turned to him. ‘Oliver, I may be a woman, and a very young one, but I’m entitled to my opinion.’

  He looked at the flush of determination on her face and suddenly realised that if he wanted this girl to marry him and provide him with an heir then he needed to make amends, at least for the moment. Any temperamental differences between them he could deal with once she was his lawful wife, and judging by her delicious response to their kisses that afternoon, then perhaps his best option was …

  Gently he took her hand. ‘Shall we agree on that point? Shall this be our first lover’s quarrel?’

  As Oliver raised her fingers and brushed them with his lips, Helena found herself softening at the phrase ‘lover’s quarrel’. Had she exaggerated his reaction in her mind? She knew that an over-active imagination was a fault of hers; both Beatrice and her governesses had frequently told her so. For a few seconds she struggled with her resentment but then relief won. It had been hateful to have such an atmosphere between them.

  ‘Damn the coffee,’ Oliver murmured. ‘We won’t be disturbed, your father made sure of that.’

  His hands were warm on her bare shoulders as he drew her towards him and she could taste wine on his lips. And then his mouth became more demanding, arousing within her a passion that drove all other considerations out of her mind.

  Chapter Seven

  The house party was proving to be a great success, and Helena was reclining on a garden chair with her feet raised, her face shaded from the sun by a wide straw hat. There was a doubles match being played on the tennis court, the relaxing sound of ball on racquet, the occasional shout of ‘Sorry!’ and the umpire’s call of the score. It was, she thought, a perfect English afternoon. Most of all she was enjoying the chance to spend long hours with Dorothy.

  ‘Come on,’ she persuaded. ‘You’ve been here over a day so you must have formed some opinion of Oliver by now.’

  Dorothy, two years older, was regarded by many as something of a bluestocking, even a born spinster. She was handsome, rather than pretty, refusing to curl her dark hair which she always wore in a chignon and preferred plain clothes and quiet colours. Instead of immediately answering the question Dorothy said lazily, ‘How did that brother of mine behave himself in London?’

  ‘Hugh behaved perfectly, to the best of my knowledge,’ Helena told her. ‘Jolly useful too, because when he danced with me I could ask him who Oliver was.’

  ‘He may have known his name, but he seems to know little else about him.’

  ‘They probably don’t move in the same circles.’ Helena stretched. ‘I hope they won’t be long with tea, I’m starving.’ She twisted round. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. I’ve given you the time you asked for – so again, what do you think of him?’

  As Dorothy gazed at her, Helena could see a frown puckering her forehead.

  ‘You don’t like him!’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I think he is incredibly handsome, but Helena, I’m just not sure. I cannot fault his attitude towards you, nor his charm in general. But … I can’t help thinking that there’s another side to him. I find him a bit of an enigma. Still, maybe that’s one of the things you find attractive.’ She laughed. ‘Even I can see that it would be more exciting to marry a man like Oliver rather than Hugh, fond though I am of him.’

  Helena’s peal of laughter rang out. ‘You’re just talking like a sister. Hugh’s one of the nicest people I know.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dorothy said drily. ‘But he’s hardly the dashing hero. Still, I’m sure there’s some nice girl out there who will think he’s wonderful. At least I hope so.’

  ‘But you can understand why I’m tempted, with Oliver?’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be? All I can say, Helena, is that if you’re looking for a tranquil marriage, then I suspect he’s not the man to choose.’

  Helena really hadn’t wanted to hear this, not least because it echoed her own feelings, particularly after that ugly scene the other afternoon. And yet when Oliver held her in his arms she had longings she hadn’t known she possessed. Sometimes she felt guilty, wondering whether she should be allowing him to kiss her before they were betrothed. Was her heart ruling her head, was that what being in love meant?

  Dorothy was thoughtful. ‘Is your papa keen on the match?’

  ‘He has made no secret of it.’

  ‘And Beatrice – how does she feel?’

  ‘She thinks he’s wonderful, and that I should consider myself fortunate.’

  ‘Don’t let yourself be unduly influenced by family pressure, Helena. Mind you,’ Dorothy glanced sideways at her, ‘he is quite a catch!’

  ‘You make him sound like a fish!’

  They began to laugh again and Dorothy said, ‘Well if you do marry him, I shall expect an invitation to Graylings. I’ve never been to Hertfordshire.’

  Helena was wondering whether to confide in her friend about the strong attraction she had felt to the dark-haired doctor during her time in London. Dorothy would approve of her intervention on behalf of the abused horse, but would she dismiss as romantic nonsense the fact that after all this time Helena still felt haunted by the memory of a man who was almost a stranger? While she was hesitating, Bostock and the maids came out of the house carrying trays and tiered cake stands to put on the white-cloth-covered table in the shade. When he rang a bell to summon guests from all corners of the garden and house, Helena felt a sense of relief, deciding it was wiser not to say anything after all. Cook’s delicious lemonade accompanied by cucumber sandwiches, scones and other confections was just the distraction she needed.

  Once everyone was comfortable in the drawing room that evening, at Jacob’s request Helena seated herself at the grand piano. Oliver remained standing, leaning slightly against the wall in one corner. A parlourmaid had been in to light the oil lamps and in their golden glow Helena’s expression was absorbed as her long, slender fingers rippled over the keyboard. Oliver, finding her sensitive interpretation of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ a delight, closed his eyes. The room was silent, captured by the beauty of the melody, and Oliver imagined the same scene in the setting of the large music room at Graylings where the Steinway piano was surrounded by a circle of velvet chairs – the perfect frame for a lovely hostess.

  Eventually the piano keys became silent, and Oliver opened his eyes to gaze directly into Helena’s slightly quizzical ones. He gave a warm, appreciative smile and it was in that moment that he realised that the eighteen-year-old girl he had chosen to be his wife was going to develop into an exceptionally beautiful woman.

  ‘Jolly accomplished, isn’t she?’ Johnnie Horton said later as Oliver strolled over to take a seat next to him on the sofa.

  ‘She is a bit special.’

  ‘Topping, old chap. I must say I’m having a smashing time. I suppose I was invited because I introduced the two of you.’ He glanced around the room. ‘I could have done with a bit more female distraction.’

  Oliver laughed. ‘You’re not enamoured of Dorothy, then?’

  ‘Too clever by half, and the other two girls are hardly beauties.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I shall be visiting the luscious Cora when I get back to London.’

  Oliver frowned at the indiscretion – this was hardly the time or place to speak of such matters.

  ‘Mind you,’ Johnnie said, ‘Hugh’s a decent sort.’

  ‘Indeed he is, so don’t go leading him astray.’ Oliver’s comment was automatic; his interest lay in an intense conversation taking place nearby.

  ‘If you’re really inter
ested in standing, then you need to be putting out feelers now.’ The man speaking, whose weather-beaten face looked like creased leather, was apparently an old friend of Jacob’s. His rather stout wife was on the other side of the room chatting to Beatrice.

  Jacob’s tone was confidential. ‘I thought it might be a bit early.’

  Geoffrey Blundred shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Jacob, I hope you realise what a minefield politics can be. There’s a fair bit of skulduggery that goes on.’

  ‘I still think there’s a place for an honest man.’

  Oliver tucked the useful nugget away as Johnnie nudged him. ‘Are you listening, old boy? I was saying how well old Standish feeds us. That mutton was the best I’ve tasted and the salmon was excellent.’

  In the Servants’ Hall, everyone was exhausted. ‘I don’t know why anyone needs eight courses,’ Molly said. ‘I’ve never had more than a dinner and a pudding in me life, at least not at the same time.’

  Cook was resting her swollen ankles. ‘I can’t deny it’s been hard work these past few days. I told you we would have to entertain. Mind you, at least there should be some tasty leftovers for the rest of us.’

  ‘I suppose that valet of Mr Horton’s is packing, ready for the off tomorrow, same as Miss Dorothy’s maid.’ Ida flopped in a chair. ‘Gosh, I’m tired.’

  ‘Yes, well, tired or not,’ Cook snapped, ‘I want this kitchen spick and span and ready for tomorrow morning. There’s another full range of dishes to prepare for breakfast and kedgeree.’

  ‘I don’t know where they put it all.’ Annie was toiling at the sink. ‘They ought to share it out a bit. When I think how some people have to manage on bread and scrape …’

  ‘There’s one world for us and one world for them. Surely you know that by now,’ Molly said.

  ‘You know, Annie’—they all turned as the butler came into the kitchen—‘in some kitchens the scullery maid would be seen and not heard. You’re far too fond of expressing your opinions.’

  ‘Take no notice, love,’ Cook said once he had left carrying a bottle of Madeira. ‘He’s just tired, like the rest of us. And once all this is over, it’ll be even busier, in fact a flaming nightmare, what with having some of that new-fangled electricity installed.’

  ‘Just think, though,’ Ida said, brightening up. ‘It’ll be a lot less work for us, without so many wicks to trim and everything.’

  ‘Yes, well I still think the light from oil lamps was kinder. My sister says her employers got this electric and it shows up her wrinkles something rotten.’

  ‘I wonder what it must be like,’ Ida said chin in hand. ‘To be one of them. You know, to go away for a weekend with everything done for you. Waited on and pampered, not even having to do your own packing.’

  ‘Nor having to pay a penny for your keep,’ Annie said. ‘When we used to go and visit my granny we had to take our food with us – and a bit extra for her.’

  ‘The upper classes know nothing about real life,’ Molly said. ‘I just hope the guests leave some generous tips when they leave, although I suppose the footmen will get most of them like what usually happens.’

  Two days later, the excursion to Lichfield proved a great success. Jacob was absent, having had to attend a business meeting, while Beatrice, after her initial nerves, enjoyed being driven in a motor car into the small but historic town. The medieval cathedral’s three graceful spires had been visible from some distance and Helena told Oliver that while locally they were known as the ‘Ladies of the Vale,’ in reality they were a symbol of the Trinity.

  The three of them stood for a few moments in the serene area before the cathedral to look up at the magnificent frontage, and then once inside, as Helena and Beatrice went down the centre aisle and slipped into a pew to pray, Oliver strolled around to admire the architecture, the ornate metal choir screen and beautiful stained-glass windows. The existence of God he dismissed as a fairy tale, but even he had to admit that centuries of prayer left their legacy in these ancient buildings.

  He turned as Helena came to join him and slipped her hand into his. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’ She led the way to the South Choir Aisle. ‘It’s called The Sleeping Children,’ she whispered, ‘portraying two sisters who died accidentally in 1812.’

  Oliver gazed down at the long marble sculpture and gave a brisk approving nod. ‘It is very well executed.’ Startled, Helena glanced up at him. Her own emotion whenever she gazed down at the lithe sleeping forms, the younger girl with her arm around her sister’s waist, was one of utter sadness at the loss of such young lives; Oliver seemed almost indifferent.

  Beatrice came to join them with a slight shiver. ‘It’s always so cold in these places. I think I’ll go outside and wait for you there.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Helena said, glad to follow her into the warm sunshine where, as they lingered, she tried to analyse why she felt so disappointed at Oliver’s reaction. After all, how could he know that the sculpture had over the years become rather special to her? Yet surely, anyone seeing and reading of children dying would have felt some pity, not merely remark about the skill of the sculptor? Again, she felt that uneasiness she had tried so hard to suppress, but when Oliver came out to join them, he was in such an infectious light-hearted mood that after a while she managed to put the incident out of her mind.

  Later, as they walked some distance to gaze at the large three-storey house where Samuel Johnson was born, Beatrice said, ‘I read somewhere that he described Lichfield as a “city of philosophers”.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Oliver agreed, moving a little to give her more space. ‘I’d also like to see the Nag’s Head public house. Apparently he wrote some of his famous dictionary there.’

  Helena, her large-brimmed hat held in position by a gauze scarf, was enjoying the slight breeze on her skin, but she sensed from the frown between her aunt’s eyes that Beatrice was either beginning a headache or finding her feet painful. Helena reached out and touched her hand. ‘Are you tired?’

  ‘A little,’ Beatrice said.

  Oliver immediately offered his arm. ‘Then we’ll leave the Nag’s Head until another time. In fact, I think we would all appreciate a rest.’

  As the car wound its way between the hedgerows on the way back to Broadway Manor, Helena began to look forward to the rest of the day with a delicious anticipation. She and Oliver now took every chance to be alone together, with Beatrice considering that it was unnecessary for her to be chaperoned within their own grounds. She turned to gaze at him seated before her beside the chauffeur, studying the back of his head, looking at the way his fair hair curled slightly at the base of his neck. This feeling she had for him must be love, otherwise surely she wouldn’t be longing for them to be alone together? As for her lingering misgivings, she decided that she was merely proving her father right. Jacob had always professed that women were illogical.

  Chapter Eight

  A few days later, after her silk brocade bedroom curtains had been opened to herald another warm day and the maid had left the room, Helena leaned back against the soft pillows to savour her hot chocolate. Oliver had now been at Broadway Manor for three weeks and the whole household was expecting an engagement; even the maids were casting sideways glances. Yet there had been no hint of a proposal. Helena tried to think whether there had been any change in his attitude towards her. But the reverse was true – their private moments together were increasingly more affectionate. However, even Oliver must realise that his delay was beginning to cause her embarrassment. And when after breakfast her father asked her to join him in his study, Helena guessed correctly that he too was becoming concerned.

  Jacob gazed at his daughter whose resemblance to her mother grew with every passing year and was a constant reminder of the poignancy of their loss. How proud Mary would have been of her. In a high-necked white blouse with leg o
f mutton sleeves and long blue skirt, Helena sat in the burgundy leather chair opposite his desk and smiled at him.

  Jacob cleared his throat. ‘My dear, I don’t like to intrude on such personal matters, but I felt that perhaps it was time we discussed …’

  Helena, seeing his discomfort, said swiftly, ‘Are you perhaps concerned about Oliver’s intentions, Papa?’

  He nodded with some relief. ‘He will be leaving us in just over a week, and while your Aunt Beatrice and I feel that the visit has been a resounding success …’

  ‘You are wondering if and when he is going to declare himself.’

  Helena’s voice was quiet and he gave her a sharp glance. The man was inscrutable at times, but then so many of the upper classes were like that, giving the impression that they were a race apart, not quite mortal like the rest of the population. However, if Oliver had been merely toying with Helena’s affections … Jacob’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘That is exactly what I am wondering. I’m sure you are aware of how much importance I place on this match. Tell me, is there anything I should know? Something you haven’t told me?’

  Helena shook her head, ‘Not at all, Papa.’

  ‘And he has given no hint of his intentions, has never talked of your future together?’

  Again she shook her head.

  ‘You will obviously accept him?’

  Helena felt the atmosphere between them change into one of pressure, benign in nature but insistent. A refusal at this late stage when the county was expecting such a prestigious match would cause humiliation not only to Oliver but also to her father and aunt. It was only then that Helena realised that any doubts she had were no longer relevant. ‘Yes, of course I will.’

  Jacob drummed his fingers on the large, highly polished desk. ‘Then I hope you are right, my dear. And that a decision is reached very soon.’ However, as she came over to kiss his cheek before leaving, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he should have probed more into her feelings for Oliver. Did she love him in the way that he had loved his Mary? But how could a father broach such a delicate subject with his daughter, and although he rarely had a critical thought about his sister, Jacob did wish that Beatrice, with her brisk, no-nonsense attitude, could just sometimes forget her sense of duty and remember her womanly side.