Chapter One

A horse picked its way carefully among the shadows in a dark narrow lane leading to open ground above the cliffs. Overhead the night sky was surly with massing clouds. The rider cursed the inclement weather, worrying that the ship would not make the rendezvous on time. He did not want to be dallying near the shore at Dungeness in these difficult times. Above all, he had no wish to mistake a revenue cutter for the ship he was expecting. It had been known for the excisemen to set a trap. He fervently wished to be anywhere but this. His blackmailer knew this no doubt—would take a perverse pleasure in knowing his lack of courage when it came to things military.

He resolved to find a way out of this mess before his life was forfeit. Every trip to the coast laid him open to the chance of disclosure.

He halted his horse a safe way back from the cliffs and waited.

****

“Helena, we shall go for a walk. It’s a lovely day, and I wish to see if Anna and Charlotte are walking in the park this morning,” Ariadne Yardley announced to her companion.

Helena Marshfield placidly took a sip of tea before answering. “That sounds delightful, Ariadne. You will be able to show off your lovely new walking dress to all your friends.”

Ariadne cast her erstwhile governess a sour glance, and her sister Caroline smothered a giggle. The late morning was breezy and warm—an ideal day for a stroll. Had Ariadne not suggested it, Helena Marshfield had been going to propose that very thing. Not, of course, for the same reasons as Ariadne. Helena doubted whether anyone would so much as even glance at her worn walking dress of sober lavender cambric and her plain bonnet. Nobody ever did notice a governess. They were invisible. And as she had no wish to cut a dash, it suited her to be invisible.

She would certainly enjoy a walk. It might help to dispel her looming worries, and hopefully a meeting with Ariadne’s friends might put that young lady in a better humor. Ariadne’s ill humors were the scourge of the household.

“We have plenty of time to tarry over breakfast. Ariadne will take at least an hour to get ready,” Caroline remarked cheerfully when her sister had left the breakfast parlor. Helena smiled her agreement. Ariadne was exceptionally pretty, prettier even than Caroline, but her studied beauty was not obtained without a certain amount of devotion to curling-tongs and even occasionally to the judicious use of a haresfoot. In spite of her beauty, however, she was beginning her second Season without any favorable offer in sight. That could be because she was the much-indulged daughter of a Cit—an accomplished businessman and a warm man—but with no claim to being a true gentleman. However, it might also be attributed to the fact that Ariadne delighted in being the center of attention, even if the attention was sometimes adverse. A complete absence of self-discipline had gradually been replaced with a coating of ‘manners’ thanks to Helena’s conscientious ministrations, but Helena knew that Ariadne would revert to her temperamental self the moment her will was crossed.

She said now as she rose from the breakfast table, “Dress warmly for the breeze, Caroline.”

An hour later the young women left Russell Square and headed toward Hyde Park. It was a considerable distance away, and Green Park was much closer, but of course you did not walk in Green Park at this hour if you wished to be ‘seen.’

Once there, they sauntered in an aimless perambulation which passed for exercise down The Walk. Occasionally they encountered acquaintances; more often they passed by members of the ton who ignored them frostily. No matter how rich Mr. Yardley was, there would always be some members of the ton whose only concern was breeding. Helena allowed herself a half-smile. She doubted that the Yardleys cared overmuch. They might emulate their ‘betters’ but they were not noticeably cast down by the snubs of people they did not know.

What a glorious spring day! How Helena longed for the Marshfield stables on a day such as this. There were many people riding this morning, but neither Caroline nor Ariadne enjoyed riding. They were city dwellers whose inclinations were to call for a hackney.

“Oh, drat!” Ariadne’s attempt to keep the hem of her new, summery dress away from the dirt on the paved paths was not being met with success. Helena wondered how long it would be before the girl was forced to don her pelisse to prevent the wind from chilling her to the bone. However, as Mrs. Yardley had said as they departed, “The child does look a picture, don’t she, Miss Marshfield?”

Ariadne’s York tan gloves exactly matched the bunch of ribbons trimming her bonnet and the fawn of her walking dress was a color that only a young woman with a perfect complexion and bronze ringlets could carry off. Her lovely eyes sparkled with the anticipation of taking the shine out of those young ladies whose papas were not so well endowed with worldly goods.

Helena suddenly became aware that the ‘child’ was no longer walking alongside them. She had stopped to smile and nod to a well-dressed gentleman astride a beautiful bay thoroughbred. A pair of broad shoulders sprang to mind. “Caroline, who is that person? Isn’t he…?”

“Yes, Miss Marshfield. He’s the gentleman who opened the door at Hookham’s Library for us yesterday.”

Helena closed her eyes, feeling a blush heating her face. Heavens above! She would rather be anywhere else than here. She had spent a great deal of last evening chastising herself over her idiotic behavior yesterday at Hookham’s. Merely because the gentleman had held the door open for her, she had behaved with something less than her usual decorum. It was unusual for men to bother with civilities when it came to companions and governesses. They were invisible.

Surprised at his kindness, she had cast a fleeting glance back over her shoulder. To her discomfort the tall gentleman had been standing, looking after her, his brows slightly raised. In response to her surreptitious glance he had gazed steadily at her, and Miss Marshfield had cast her eyes down with all the natural embarrassment of a mere governess caught putting herself forward. She, who prided herself on correct behavior, had been caught out. So much for being the good example that the Misses Yardley looked up to.

Fortunately he had done nothing to discompose her. He had merely looked puzzled, as if trying to place her in his memory.

And now here he was again. Fate certainly had it in for her.

“Now, where was Ariadne introduced to him I wonder?”

Caroline laughed. “She probably hasn’t been introduced at all! You know how Ariadne is sometimes.”

Inwardly Helena shuddered. She must do her duty and would be unpopular with both Ariadne and the gentleman. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward and touched Ariadne on the arm. “Come, Miss Yardley. We must hurry if we are to meet with Anna and Charlotte.”

Predictably Ariadne pouted. She could not be made to understand that, hovering on the fringes of the polite world as her family did, any unacceptable behavior could ruin her own and Caroline’s acceptance to the untitled lower echelons of the ton and the Indian nabobs’ and merchants’ families which made up their milieu.

Helena gritted her teeth. She desperately hoped Ariadne would not defy her. A tantrum now would be embarrassing for everyone—except Ariadne.

The gentleman’s big bay horse had stirred restlessly at Helena’s approach and, without thinking, she raised a hand to gentle it. Curious, the horse stilled its shuffling and lipped at her gloved hand. A voice above her said, “Thank you, ma’am, for not startling him. He is a trifle resty. You are familiar with horses I think?”

Resty! Well, that was a polite term for a frisky, high-blooded creature such as this. Helena, forced to acknowledge the gentleman’s presence, glanced up at him with a vague, artificial smile.

And found herself trapped in a steely gray gaze from eyes the color of the English Channel in winter. The severity of his Brutus cut emphasized the hard cheekbones and leanly sculptured face. His skin was lightly tanned and set off those eyes that could no doubt be exceedingly very, very chilly. At the moment they held only polite inquiry. Helena raised her chin.

“You need not keep your horse waiting, sir. We must be on our way.”

She was astonished to hear him chuckle. “That may be beyond your powers. From what I’ve seen lately, this young lady might have other ideas. I don’t envy you your task.”

Ariadne stared at him with a half-smile, not one whit put out that the gentleman was not exactly complimenting her.

His eyes now held a distinct twinkle as he glanced from Ariadne to Helena and back again, with an invitation to Helena to share his amusement. She smiled ruefully in response. “Perhaps the cold wind may achieve what I cannot.”

“Perhaps. May I introduce myself, ma’am? There appears to be nobody else to do so. Ivor Stafford at your service.” He leaned down, ignoring Ariadne to that young lady’s obvious annoyance, and clasped Helena’s hand. Not an easy gesture with the bay on the que vive, anxious to be off and trotting. As he straightened in the saddle Helena’s brain snapped to attention. Sir Ivor Stafford! She was doing Ariadne a disservice by assuming that the girl had scraped acquaintance with him in a hobbledehoy way, because it was common knowledge that Mr. Yardley and Sir Ivor Stafford had business dealings together. Well, that decided it. Ariadne had committed no indiscretion after all. Not this time, thank goodness.

That was why she had thought he seemed familiar. She had seen him occasionally from a distance. ‘Sir Ivor’ featured regularly in Mr. Yardley’s conversation. He was always happy to let people know that he hobnobbed with the gentry.

She relaxed visibly, and Ivor Stafford’s mouth curled upwards. “Happy now you’ve placed me? Liable to strike up acquaintance with all sorts of undesirables, is she?” he baited.

Helena’s lips tightened, and she wisely ignored temptation. “Come, we had best not keep Sir Ivor’s horse standing, ladies. Say your goodbyes, and we’ll be on our way.” She stepped back briskly, but at the same time Ariadne surged forward, bumping Helena to one side as she gazed meltingly upward. Her pretty face was raised to allow Sir Ivor to fully appreciate its finer points. The governess seethed silently and prayed that such blatancy would be overlooked.

However, it appeared that Sir Ivor was busy controlling his sidling horse, made nervous by Ariadne’s heedless approach. Or perhaps he had the good manners to ignore so blatant an invitation. Helena knew from her salad days that many matchmaking mamas taught their daughters to gaze in just that way at susceptible gentlemen, although Mrs. Yardley lacked the subtlety to train Ariadne in such a trick. Ariadne was doing what came naturally.

This gentleman did not appear to be susceptible. Possibly he was experienced at fielding the approaches of over-eager young women. He hardly spared a glance for Ariadne, busy as he was controlling the bay. His horsemanship could not be faulted. After a little jostling, the bay stood still, flicking its ears.

“And you are?” he inquired directly of Helena.

“Oh—that’s just Helena Marshfield, our companion.”

Dear Ariadne. She did not fortunately say it in quite the same tone as she often used to her female acquaintances, but it was still said with an inflection which left the listener in no doubt about Miss Marshfield’s station in life.

Helena gritted her teeth and preserved her calm but Caroline, who had moved closer in spite of her shyness, said hotly, “She is our good friend, not just our companion!”

“Hush, Caroline,” Helena murmured softly, placing a gloved hand on Caroline’s arm to prevent further outpourings. Caroline blushed, and Helena smiled to soften the blow. She knew that Ivor Stafford was watching the by-play.

“Oh yes…well…I’m so sorry! Sir Ivor, this is our ‘friend,’ Helena Marshfield. As you can see, Caro and Helena are boon companions,” Ariadne snapped. To Helena’s experienced eye, Ariadne was working herself into a petulant snark which meant the end of a peaceful walk.

“Oh,” said Sir Ivor vaguely. “I had thought her name was Athena.” Ariadne looked completely blank. Caroline giggled, and Helena blushed painfully again. Damn the man!

He held his head to one side consideringly, as if he were judging horseflesh. “Yes…the Marshfield is rather an anticlimax, but I agree wholeheartedly with the ‘Helena.’ It suits you.”

How dare he? Just because she was a companion, he was baiting her. “Thank you.” Helena knew she sounded as though the words were painfully extruded from between her teeth.

“Not at all, Athena.”

The Yardley sisters were watching the sparring match wide-eyed. Helena had not bantered with a man like this for some years and was sadly out of practice. She was not able to think of a single stinging retort to put him in his place. Athena indeed! She had nothing but contempt for a man who toyed with the feelings of a governess who was, because of her station in life, unable to answer back. She turned to the girls. “Come,” she said firmly. Ariadne glared at her. Fortunately, Sir Ivor was gathering his horse’s reins together preparatory to departing and did not appear to notice the mutinous expression on Ariadne’s face. Either that or his manners were excellent—except when it came to governesses.

They all stood well back from the horse’s hooves. He raised a hand and the bay trotted away, playfully sidling and jerking its head.

“I don’t know what Sir Ivor must think of you, Ariadne, staring up at him like that.” Helena purposely used Ariadne’s first name because she knew it irked Ariadne to be spoken to as if she were still in the schoolroom.

“Good heavens, Helena. At least I wasn’t blushing and stammering as you were. Anyway, we are in fact quite good friends,” Ariadne stated grandly, smirking. “I took tea with him only last week in Papa’s study.”

Oh? Although she was aware of the social ambitions of the Yardleys, Helena had not realized that Mr. Yardley was as assiduous as Mrs. Yardley at matchmaking. His business acquaintances would feel every bit as hunted as did the titled gentlemen of the ton during the Season, if Joshua Yardley continued to throw his daughters in their way.

She shrugged. No doubt Sir Ivor could look after himself. He seemed on short acquaintance to be an intelligent man, and even if Ariadne’s beauty appealed, he was awake to her disposition.

Helena thought none the worse of him for that. She felt sorry for any young man who aspired to Ariadne’s hand, but Sir Ivor was not young enough to be strongly affected, as were some of the youthful, naïve town beaux when they first set eyes on Ariadne. Her incandescent smile and abundant curls inevitably floored them. Some even saw her vanity as justified and her uncertain temper as ‘fire and spirit.’ Fortunately for them they did not have to live with all that ‘fire and spirit,’ and as for the man who eventually did marry her, he was much to be pitied.

****

Helena would have been startled to know that that was precisely Ivor Stafford’s opinion too. He rode away, an amused smile curling his lips. So she was a companion. He had never seen eyes that shade before—a deep purple-gray. The goddess Athena was reputed to have had eyes like those. He recalled that unconsciously ‘come hither’ backward glance at Hookham’s Library and smiled. Miss Marshfield might try to be the soul of decorum but there was a strong character beneath that façade.

Then he caught himself up short. Forget about the woman. He had not escaped the clutches of hordes of ambitious mothers and daughters for the past ten years in order to fall under the spell of a young woman at this moment. Not now when he had almost succeeded in the most important task of his life.

The young woman’s station in life would not worry him if he were hanging out for a wife. He wouldn’t care if she were a washerwoman. He was not of the haut ton where such a thing was unthinkable. But he was not looking for a wife. And that lady with the mesmerizing eyes was destined to be a wife, not a chère amie. Breeding showed in every inch of her from her glossy hair down to her cheaply shod feet. What had happened that she should be reduced to chaperoning Joshua Yardley’s daughters? Totally absorbed in worrying the conundrum, he completely missed seeing poor Harry Cargill, one of his closest friends who was sauntering alongside the carriageway.

****

The Yardleys did not encounter Anna or Charlotte Morris, so Ariadne was unable to dazzle those young ladies with her expensive new toilette. As the breeze freshened, they turned back for Russell Square. Ariadne, having been balked of her prey, was savage in her disapprobation of Helena’s ‘untoward behavior.’ She would not let go the topic and was like a terrier at a rathole. “Sir Ivor must not have known at first that you were just our companion or surely he would not have talked to you as he did. Next time we meet him please remember that it is I whom he wishes to converse with. It was not well done of you to keep him talking in that manner, Helena.”

Helena closed her eyes for a second. A governess or companion was at the beck and call of whomever employed her and was sometimes unjustly accused of all sorts of peculiar things. But to accuse her of attempting to attach Sir Ivor’s interest was ridiculous. It was Sir Ivor’s fault for singling her out. Heaven help her for the next few days until Ariadne found someone else to torment.

For the past five years she had relegated herself to the ranks of the employed, never once putting herself forward, for she had seen what happened to those who displeased their employers. A natural strength of spirit allied to the self-confidence of having ordered a household from the tender age of sixteen served her well. But oh, she had to struggle to remember her place sometimes when Ariadne Yardley tried her patience.

Her self-confidence had taken some vicious blows since she had begun governessing, not to mention the buffeting it had taken at the hands of her erstwhile ‘friends’ when the scandal of her father’s death had first come to light. She had to struggle to hold her chin high on bad days. It would have been better for her had she been born a meek and mild person, but she had not been.

“And another thing—” Ariadne began.

“Oh, be quiet, Ariadne!” Helena had come to the end of her tether. Ariadne opened and shut her mouth a couple of times.

Caroline giggled. “You look like a baby bird, Ariadne.”

“How dare you!” Ariadne gasped, presumably to Helena.

“I dare because you are an unprincipled little baggage. There! I have said it at last. If you stopped to think for a moment, you would be aware that Sir Ivor was merely playing a joke on me. What else would he be doing with a governess? The poor man has no doubt been hunted and haunted by hundreds of young ladies such as yourself. From what I hear it is no fun being an eligible bachelor these days. No doubt he thought I was of an age where I could share his joke. As well as being a mere governess, I am past the age where I might take his joking seriously. As you appear to have done,” she added for good measure.

“Dear Miss Marshfield,” Caroline said, tucking her arm through Helena’s. “You are only a few years older than Ariadne.”

“Thank you,” Helena said dryly. She might only be four and twenty but after two years of dealing with Ariadne she felt more like a hundred.

Already she was regretting her luckless tongue. Ariadne would of course run straight to Mr. and Mrs. Yardley to complain. Would she be dismissed? Would she have time to find another position before she had to leave? Mr. Yardley was a fair man, but the Yardleys were inordinately proud of their daughters and spoiled them outrageously. She hoped desperately that they would not condemn her for losing her patience with Ariadne. After all, they had found it impossible to curb her behavior and had left Helena to be the arbiter of all decisions pertaining to Ariadne’s upbringing.

She had nowhere to go if she lost this position. Well, not quite true. She could always return to Miss Fichton’s Academy for Young Ladies in Bath. Back to stultifying boredom.

Her throat sore with the sharpness of unshed tears, Helena raised her chin. No, she would not let that little baggage see how badly she was hurt. Drat Sir Ivor Stafford or whatever his name was. He might be the possessor of a wonderfully wide pair of shoulders, and he might be kind enough to converse with a mere governess, but she wished he had left her alone. No doubt he had not considered what a mare’s nest he had stirred up. It was Helena’s experience that gentlemen rarely considered the consequence of their actions. Her own father had certainly not done so when he had killed himself, leaving her brother and herself alone in the world without a penny.

“Cheer up, Miss Marshfield. Nothing will happen.” Caroline, a great deal more sensitive than her older sister, could see that this argument had shaken her governess badly. “I promise I shall tell Papa exactly what happened.”

“Caroline, it is kind of you to intercede on my behalf, but I must face your father’s wrath alone.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Ariadne demanded.

“Nothing,” they both chanted in unison. Caroline smothered a giggle, but Helena could only smile wanly. Dear Caroline. Ariadne might be a thorn in Helena’s side, but Caroline was a sweet young woman and Helena was proud of her young charge. She was lovely, but set next to her older sister she lacked sparkle. She was quietly enchanting but still a little naïve. She would learn. She was a quick learner. Caroline would be the ideal helpmate to a young budding politician or a wealthy tradesman with ambition.

And most important of all, Caroline and Helena were friends—in fact, Caroline and Miss Fichton, her old governess, were the only true friends Helena had.

How strange that after years of being her father’s spoilt darling, and that one fascinating Season where she’d felt she had all the time in the world to worry about her future, that her once interesting world should narrow down to this focus of just two real friends.

“I shall speak to Mama and Papa as soon as we reach home.” Ariadne’s sharp eyes bored into Helena’s. “You might be turned off, Helena.” Her gleeful, self-righteous expression made Helena’s hand itch. She stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Did it not occur to Ariadne that if she were dismissed, another companion would take her place? No, probably not. Ariadne was not overly endowed with intelligence. It would serve her right if the replacement companion was a real bitch. It would give Ariadne some competition.

Helena struggled to maintain her usual placid demeanor. She had no intention of letting that little horror know how badly her temporary loss of self-control had startled her. She sighed. If it had not been for her father’s untimely death, she would probably be mounted on a horse from the Marshfield stables right at this moment going down The Ride. She would have the right to acknowledge Sir Ivor Stafford as an equal, or anyone else for that matter. She did not know why she felt so desolate today. She had had five years to come to terms with the knowledge that her future probably held many charges like Ariadne—young women who would, no doubt, be insolent, hot to handle, possibly even downright vindictive—so why should she feel today, suddenly, that she could not bear it?

She became aware that Ariadne’s pace had quickened. The young woman was determined to get to her parents before Caroline did.

“Mama! Papa!” Ariadne practically ran up the front steps of Yardley House, ignoring the butler. Stalley raised his eyebrows. Helena stripped off her gloves and remained in the foyer.

“Caroline, I shall wait down here for your father. If he is at home, he will want to speak to me immediately, I should think.”

“Oh, but Miss Marshfield, you only told her to be quiet and—”

“No. I should see him straight away. He may want to dismiss me formally. I hope to see you later, darling, to say goodbye.” She swallowed.

Stalley, who had been on his way to the butler’s pantry, stopped dead in his tracks. He swung around, but before he could speak, Helena chivvied Caroline up the stairs. From halfway up, Caroline hung over the banisters.

“It’s not fair, and I shall tell Papa so, Miss Marshfield.” Her lovely eyes were swimming with tears now that she saw how seriously Helena regarded her own conduct.

Helena remained standing, staring into space. It was an unspoken rule that no matter how insolent one’s charges were, no matter how difficult they were, a mere governess had no rights. She must never retaliate.

“Miss Marshfield!” Stalley hissed. “What happened?”

“Miss Yardley finally tried me too far.”

His lips folded firmly together. “How you have tolerated that young woman for two years, I don’t know. Well, if you go, then I go.”

“Good heavens, Stalley, no! You must not.”

“Miss Marshfield, you run the household. Mrs. Yardley is not capable of doing even half of what you do. I could not work here if we had to go back to having Mrs. Yardley ordering the household.” He shuddered. “Before you came it was bedlam. Housekeepers came and went. Housemaids came and went. Then you arrived, and within a month all was serene. I’m sure Mr. Yardley won’t want to lose you.”

“I hope not, Stalley. Thank you for your confidence.” She felt better knowing that at least somebody appreciated her efforts. Stalley never forgot that he used to be employed in a titled gentleman’s residence. His contempt for the Yardleys was kept barely within bounds. He had never questioned any of her orders, but she had not realized until today that he actually respected her.

She waited, not knowing what to do. “Stalley, is Mr. Yardley at home?”

“As far as I know, Miss Marshfield.”

“I had best stay here then.” Her nerves had all congregated in the pit of her stomach where they scrabbled to maintain a balance. She could feel her palms sweating, and a trickle of moisture dribbled down her back. She tried to make her face as expressionless as she could as she crossed the foyer to wait at the door of Mr. Yardley’s study.

Upstairs a door slammed, and heavy footsteps tromped to the top of the staircase.

“Miss Marshfield?” Josh Yardley leaned over the banister. “Would you be so good as to step into my study? I shall be down directly.”

Stalley whispered, “Good luck” and disappeared into the butler’s room.

Well, here it was. She might have to go back to Miss Fichton’s if she could not secure a new position in London. At least she had Miss Fichton’s excellent reference that might find her a position somewhere in the shires, but it was doubtful she would get another job in London again if the Yardleys turned her off without a reference and traduced her character to any possible employers. The Ariadne Yardleys of the world were responsible for ruining many careers.

Mr. Yardley thundered downstairs in his usual manner. “What’s this I hear?” He had a habit of talking and moving at the same time. He rarely sat down before he burst into speech. “I have heard two conflicting stories from my daughters and would like to hear your version.”

Suddenly, Helena was weary. Weary of everything. Weary of worrying about her brother; weary of Ariadne Yardley; weary of trying to steer Mrs. Yardley away from social faux pas. She really didn’t care anymore. Even if he asked her to stay, she would visit the agency to see about another job. Enough.

“I don’t think my version will vary from your daughter’s, sir.”

“Ah, but which daughter? Did you really insult Ariadne? And you flirted with an eligible man who had been talking to her and forced your attentions on him? My goodness, Miss Marshfield, you have had a busy morning.” His eyes twinkled.

She smiled wanly. “It was not like that at all. But I suppose I did insult her.”

“Hmm. All this can easily be overcome by an apology. And then we can all forget it.”

Forget it? Ariadne would bring this up time and time again. She would have no compunction in telling all her friends how her companion had been forced to apologize to her. She would dine out on that tidbit for weeks.

Her heart promising to gallop from her chest to her throat, Helena raised her chin. “No, Mr. Yardley. I don’t think I shall do that. I have borne many insults from Ariadne over the past two years, and she has never once apologized. I cannot therefore bring myself to apologize to her for merely one incidence of rudeness on my part. I think it would be best if I remain in my position only until you find another companion. Unless you prefer me to leave immediately,” she added. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t want her to do that. As Stalley had said, her place in the household was a responsible one.

****

Josh Yardley was not surprised at her refusal to apologize. She was a proud woman, for she had little left in the world except her pride. And he knew darned well that his little Ariadne was remarkably hot at hand. He would have to work quickly here. He was surprised at Miss Marshfield’s vehemence. Most uncharacteristic. He peered closely at her. She was neat as a pin as usual but there were dark rings under her eyes, and she seemed to lack her normal vitality. Fretting about her brother, no doubt. She must have read the papers and seen that his regiment had been engaged in the retreat on Corunna.

When he had first approached Miss Marshfield at Miss Fichton’s Academy for Young Ladies where Ariadne and Caroline had been boarding, he had been prompted by the enthusiasm of his daughters for their favorite tutor. But she had rejected his offer of private employment on the grounds of loyalty to Miss Fichton. He had been much struck by Helena Marshfield’s cool elegance and her loyalty to her employer, and had set out in his usual way to garner as much information as possible about her. What he had found out had satisfied him greatly. This particular young woman would give his daughters the town polish that he and his wife could not.

He was sorry that her circumstances had forced her into the life of a governess, but he was pragmatic. He intended to profit from her misfortune. Nobody amongst his acquaintance had such a well-born young woman as a governess.

He knew she worried about her brother, which was not to be wondered at, as she had no other family. He was aware that Helena scanned all available newspapers for army news, and the latest news was very bad. He was himself extremely interested in the war news. He had a vested interest in the outcome of the Peninsular campaigns. He could not help but think that Miss Marshfield’s unusual conduct was the result of hours of worry about her brother.

“I did not expect you to apologize to Ariadne. From Caroline’s description of the incident, the boot is on the other foot. The apology should come from Ariadne.” He hoped she believed him. As a face-saving trick it lacked subtlety, but he had to move quickly. He had not expected her to seriously consider leaving their household.

She stared blankly at him.

“Ariadne is presently penning an apology to you. It may not cover all incidences of her bad behavior over the past two years, but as many as Ariadne considers to be ‘bad’.” His eyes twinkled again. “Mrs. Yardley and I are well aware that you have done wonders for our daughters, Miss Marshfield. As well as that, you have the ordering of the household. We have no intention of letting you leave our employ.”

****

She looked up. He had made it sound almost like a threat, and his face was shuttered. “Furthermore, I wish to talk to you about Caroline’s coming-out.”

Poor Caroline. She was sweet and shy and something of a bluestocking, all traits that Helena had fostered to a degree as the question of Caroline’s coming-out was to have been deferred until the following year. But Helena was afraid that the influence of an empty-headed mother and a vain older sister would gradually erode that bright intelligence and replace it with a fashionable passion for à la modality and nothing else. God knows Mrs. Yardley and Ariadne had scarcely any thought in their heads apart from morning visits and clothes, and it had been extremely difficult during the past twelvemonth for Helena to focus Ariadne on anything except folderols.

It was “Helena, don’t you think this dimity is absolutely divine?” from Ariadne, or, “Miss Marshfield, may I see you for a moment? What do you think of this villager bonnet in La Belle Assemblée?” from Mrs. Yardley.

Was Caroline now to be dragged into that milieu?

“I know you do not feel that Caroline is ready yet, Miss Marshfield. But I am aware that my daughters will need all the polish they can get in order to make good marriages even though my money will gild the lily.” His acerbic tone made Helena’s lips twitch. “I’d like them to enter the shoals of the social whirl as soon as possible to gain experience and polish before they attach themselves in marriage. There are some charming but impecunious and untrustworthy men in town at present, and I want Ariadne and Caroline to be able to make shrewd judgments. That can only come from experience.”

“You intend to let them choose for themselves, sir?”

“I should prefer it if I could guide them but not coerce them.”

“Your daughters are very fortunate, sir.”

“Then we are in concert.” Josh Yardley just had to have the last word. No, Helena thought rebelliously, they were not in concert. She thought that Ariadne had been brought out at least two years too soon; her lack of maturity proved that, and now they were doing the same thing to Caroline. Fortunately they could trust Caroline’s intelligence, and Helena was determined to guide Caroline much more firmly than she had Ariadne. Ariadne had spent most of her time with her mother since her coming-out.

Presuming that her interview with Mr. Yardley was at an end, Helena dipped a curtsey.

“Have you had any correspondence from Sir Robert recently, Miss Marshfield?”

She paused. “No. I have heard nothing for three months. I am extremely worried.”

Josh Yardley still persisted in calling her brother Sir Robert. It was an empty, useless title but the Yardleys adored titles.

“Shall I make some inquiries of my own?”

Helena’s spirits lifted. “Thank you, sir,” she said with real gratitude.

“Now I believe Ariadne wishes to speak to you upstairs.” He bowed his head over some work on his desk, and she was dismissed.

As Helena climbed the two flights of stairs up to her room she wondered if amongst all the polite platitudes she had heard an unspoken plea from Mr. Yardley. Well, she would stay a little longer, but if Ariadne’s jibes became unbearable, she would move on before her self-respect lay completely in tatters.

On reaching her room she discovered that there was, as yet, no penned apology from Ariadne. She might still be writing it. Her penmanship was not speedy. But Helena did not really expect to receive an apology from the young woman. In the three years she had known Ariadne, she had never heard her apologize to anyone for anything, not even at Miss Fichton’s Academy. No doubt Ariadne had pretended to begin writing an apology and had screwed it up the minute her father was out of sight.

Helena sighed and threw herself down on her bed. What fun the Season was going to be! It had only just begun, and already she did not see how it could possibly get any worse.