The Rebel’s Daughter (35 page)

More laughter followed the disorderly mob
onto the landing.

“
And you
say this was better than a charivari?” Helena asked.

“
Indeed
yes. Much more refined,” Phebe countered, staring at her as if she
were demented.

Helena stood to one side as the guests
surged past her down the stairs. She arched her neck to release
tense muscles, easing her shoulders luxuriously, and at the same
time taking care not to disturb her elaborate coiffure.

The chatter below receded. In the
comparative silence that followed, Helena sensed she was being
watched. She swiveled round at the same second a young man stepped
from the shadows to her right. He leaned nonchalantly against the
wall, an enigmatic smile on his lips, and his arms folded over his
broad chest.

Helena
’s gaze roved his wine-colored suit
worn with a loose white silk cravat, his brown hair tied back. He
was not wearing a wig, and his air of unadorned masculinity made
the rest of the male guests look overdressed. She placed her right
hand on the rail, aware the pose showed her off to advantage. “I
don’t believe we have been introduced, Sir.”

Her admirer smiled, pushed himself away
from the wall and joined her at the balustrade. Even though she was
wearing heeled shoes, he was taller; an agreeable quality in any
man. Handsome too, with a face that possessed a strong symmetry and
penetrating brown eyes beneath well-shaped brows. The set of his
shoulders and his steady gaze that scrutinised her with easy
confidence gave the impression he did not hope for attention, but
commanded it.

“
Actually,” he responded in a soft,
measured voice that sent ripples of pleasure running along Helena’s
spine. “The bridegroom performed that ritual earlier.” The gaze he
fixed on hers held reproach.

“
Sir, I
do not recall…” she stammered. How could she have forgotten having
met this attractive man? She studied his face, coming to halt on a
tiny dimple in the centre of his clean-shaven chin.

His raised brows made her start, her face
grew warm and she turned away.

“
I have
accepted the slight.” He gave a mock sigh “Which I’ll have to learn
to live with.”

“
Forgive
my defective memory, sir, but I have had duties to perform today.
However, as there is no one present to do so for a second time.”
She glanced round at the deserted landing. “I am…”

“
I know
who you are. It is I who has been overlooked, remember? Guy Palmer,
at your service.” He made her a slow and elegant bow that would
have done justice to any courtier. “I’m a goldsmith banker, like my
friend Ralf; although he has the advantage of a late, great uncle
to accelerate his way in the world. I’ll have to work a little
harder, in a less salubrious part of Hatton Garden, to catch
up.”

“
Do you
resent the circumstances that separate you and Master Maurice?”
Helena asked, detecting a hard edge to his voice

“
Not at
all, one could never resent Ralf. He’s a dear fellow.”

“
I’m
sure you will do admirably,” Helena said. “Even without the
uncle.”

“
I
intend to.” His lips curved but there was no smile in his eyes.
“And I do in fact have an uncle, but he is still very much
alive.”

Helena inclined her head and pretended to
study the closed doors of the ground floor salon, from where
muffled sounds of noisy revels drifted out.

“
Ralf
deserves happiness,” Master Palmer went on. “The acquisition of a
presentable wife and companion will, I am sure, enhance his life in
every way.”

“
You
know the bride well, sir?”

“
Truthfully, I have spoken to the lady but once. However,
today I have had the opportunity to observe her physical attributes
for myself, and like to count myself among the confirmed admirers
of Mistress Maurice.”

“
You
make her sound like a horse instead of an ideal wife.” Helena
laughed, throwing back her head.

“
Both
should be assessed carefully, and with an eye to the long term,” he
looking deep into her eyes.

“
Indeed?
Like a financial investment?”

“
Ah, I
see you understand me perfectly.” He met Helena’s indignant
surprise with a broad smile. “Finance is a subject in which I am
particularly adroit. Now,” he cocked his arm and half bowed toward
her. “Will you allow me to escort you back to the
party?”

“
Master
Palmer,” Helena began, “When you said before you knew who I
was…”

“
You are
Mistress Helena Woulfe, the daughter of Sir Jonathan Woulfe, a
fugitive Rebel wanted by the Crown.” Helena turned a hard gaze on
him, halting on the staircase so that he almost overbalanced on a
step. “I know what it is to have embarrassing relatives,” he
added.

“
Embarrassing?” Helena drew the word out in
enquiry.

He winced. “A bad choice of words, do
forgive me. I was trying to reassure you that we are none of us
untouched by the precarious times in which we live.”

“
I
appreciate your diplomacy, Master Palmer, if that was your
intention,” she bridled, unsure whether she was being insulted or
seduced. “However, I have never regarded my family as an
embarrassment. High principled, courageous, even misguided,” she
loosened her grip on his arm, “but never embarrassing.”

“
Your
loyalty does you credit, Mistress Woulfe.” He covered her hand on
his forearm with her own, and held it there “It is an admirable
quality to disagree with someone’s actions, and yet remain their
champion.”

“
What
makes you think I don’t agree with their actions?” She tapped her
fan against her lips.

The pupils of his eyes expanded into black
circles as he appeared to search for the appropriate response, and
failed.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs,
their reflections in a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall opposite
showed what an attractive couple they made. Helena slowed her steps
to drag out the moment, just as something occurred to her. “Palmer.
That name sounds familiar.”

“
Barbara
Palmer is my aunt.” At Helena’s frown he went on, “the Countess of
Southampton, Duchess of Cleveland, mistress of the late Charles II
and mother of six of his children,” he recited. “It may have been
less, due to there being considerable doubt about two of
them.”

“
Are you
- close?” Helena asked, intrigued.

He shrugged. “Hardly at all, I’m afraid;
we are related by marriage. Her husband, Roger Palmer is an uncle,
but their marriage was not a success.”

“
How
could it be?” Helena knew she sounded cynical. “With a King for a
rival?”

He inclined his head in agreement.
“Besides, the lady - and I use the term purely in respect of her
title - lives in Paris, and has done for the last ten years, since
the King sent her away.”

“
Was it
true she converted to Catholicism to keep the King when his
interest waned?”

“
If that
was her intent, it proved ineffective. King Charles used the Test
Act as an excuse to have her removed from court.”

“
And
you, sir? Are you are a Catholic, Master Palmer?” Helena asked,
unaccountably relieved when he said he was not.

When they reached the door to the party,
Helena found herself reluctant to cut short their conversation.
“Lady Castlemaine was reputed to be very beautiful.”

“
She
was. Once. However, her youth and beauty are both behind her now,
and she has always had a vast appetite for money and a venal way of
life.”

Helena did not know whether to look
shocked or impressed, so chose the latter; their bold conversation
was an exhilarating change from the small talk to which she was
usually subjected to by male acquaintances.

William
’s first instinct when he passed a
looking glass was to stare at himself. During her entire talk with
Mr Palmer, where Helena had sneaked quick glances in the hall
mirror, her companion had been looking only at her.

They entered the dining hall amidst a wave
of high-pitched female laughter, together with the oppressive heat
and odours emanating from sixty warm, confined bodies. A group of
young men clamored around Master Palmer, while Phebe dragged Helena
in the direction of the supper table.

When Helena scanned the faces around her a
little later, he was nowhere in sight.

“
He’s
quite attractive isn’t he?” Phebe whispered.

Helena started. “Who is?”

“
Master
Palmer. I saw you talking to him in the hall.”

“
Do you
know him?”

“
Ralf
has spoken of him on occasion. He’s another goldsmith.” She
shrugged, as if dismissing them as a species. “Handsome enough, but
rather serious.” Then her eyes flashed. “He has a notorious aunt
though, try to guess who she is!”

“
I
couldn’t possibly!” Helena pretended to be affronted, watching as
Phoebe’s smile slumped in disappointment. She smiled to herself,
somehow confident theirs would not be an isolated
encounter.

* * *

Helena tried not to feel the
loss of Celia too much in the weeks after her wedding, and instead
attempted to share in her
friend’s happiness as a new bride. Phebe also
appeared to miss her sister, and sought out Helena’s company far
more often than before. Helena also had Guy Palmer’s visits to
lighten her days, for that young man had lived up to all her
expectations and called at Lambtons requesting to see her, at least
three times a week.

One stifling evening, the family gathered
in the summer salon that overlooked the walled garden. Despite
Alice’s hatred of fresh air, the rear doors stood open to encourage
a cool breeze into the room, bringing with it the scent of roses
and honeysuckle overlaid with a tang of the city.

Robert looked set for a relaxed evening,
resembling an eastern Pasha in his saffron silk banyan, his periwig
replaced with a cotton cap. He found the city unbearable in summer,
and looked forward to a quiet evening, away from the stifling
clatter of the public rooms. Alyce offered wine, but feeling the
heat, Helena declined in favour of lemonade.

“
It
seems that due to the unseasonable cold and wet last month, the
King’s troops packed up their tents and retired to quarters.”
Robert flicked a finger at his copy of the London Gazette,
muttering, “Standing army, indeed.”

He plucked a clay pipe and taper from the
box on the hearth, then intercepted a disapproving glare from
Alyce. Instead, he caressed the bowl in his hand, as if drawing
comfort from its smooth feel.

On the other side of the room, William
bent over the bureau, a quill in his hand.

When Phebe approached and stared over his
shoulder, William shielded his writing with a well-placed arm,
simultaneously taking a sip from a nearby wine glass.

“
I
declare, Will, why cannot I see?” Phebe demanded, sulkily. “I’ll
wager you are composing poetry to some lady you saw across the
“Change and liked the look of.”

“
Go
away, wench. I’m busy.” William snarled, though at the same time a
flush crept up his neck.

A stray fly droned lazily somewhere in the
room, and as William swatted it away, his eyes swiveled to Helena,
who pretended she did not notice.

Helena
’s muslin clung stickily to her back,
strands of hair escaped the pins and curled damply on her neck. The
weather was too hot and heavy to read, and her hands too clammy for
sewing. Restless, Helena crossed the room and perched on a stool
beside Robert, wondering whether she could excuse herself and go to
her room this early, without appearing rude.

“
Ah,
Helena, my dear. How opportune.” Robert removed the stem of the
unlit pipe from his mouth. “I was wondering, my dear. With my elder
daughter settled, and my youngest baulking me at every turn if I so
much as mention the subject.” He shot Phebe a hard look across the
room. “What, may I ask, are your feelings on taking a
husband?”

Helena brought her fan up to her face to
hide an impending blush. “Under certain circumstances I believe it
to be an agreeable institution.”

“
An
oblique answer if ever I heard one.” Robert’s brow rose, and he
inserted the pipe stem into the corner of his mouth. “Do you have a
young man in mind?”

“
Why, I
had not thought of anyone, sir.” She smiled at him.

“
Nonsense. Young Guy Palmer has been hanging around for
weeks now. Surely he has declared himself by now?”