"You are very quiet, child," the earl said, turning to his youngest daughter, who was sitting very upright in the window seat, her hands clasped in her lap. He was finding himself becoming as irritated with the girl's listlessness as he had used to be with her restlessness. “And are you longing for the parties to begin too?"
Helen looked up with an expressionless face. "I shall be happy with whatever you and Mama plan," she said. "I am in no hurry, Papa."
The earl smiled and turned to the rest of his family. He rubbed his hands together. "I have made a few connections of my own today," he said. "I spent a few hours at White's."
And whom did you meet there?" his wife asked. “Anyone I know, my dear?"
"Yes, indeed," he replied, "and I do not know whether to be pleased or not. I believe I might have cut the man, had he been alone."
"Whomever do you mean?" his wife asked, her interest piqued.
"Mainwaring," he said. "He is not in Scotland after all. He has been here for more than a week apparently and intends to stay for the winter."
"Mr. Mainwaring?" the countess said indignantly. "He would surely not have the gall to present himself here. We really have no need of the acquaintance of the likes of him in London."
"Papa?" Melissa had turned pale and clutched the skirt of her gown. "You surely have not invited him here, have you? I could not bear the humiliation of seeing him again."
"It seemed only mannerly to do so," Claymore replied, "especially when his companion was so very civil. Hetherington, my love," he added, turning to his wife.
"The marquess?" she asked. "A very distinguished gentleman, I remember. How comes Mr. Mainwaring to know him, I wonder."
"This is young Hetherington," the earl explained. "The father died a number of years ago, I gather, along with his elder son."
"And he is a marquess, Papa?" Emily asked sharply.
"No less," her father replied. "And he has agreed to call upon us with his wife, tomorrow afternoon, my love." The earl beamed with triumph at his mate.
The countess clasped her hands against her breast. "You see, Emily?" she said. "I told you it must be just a matter of time before we will be accepted into the very best society. The Marquess of Hetherington! But what a pity that he is married already."
Emily said nothing, but resumed the needlework that she had put down on her father's arrival.
Helen continued to sit in the window seat, as apparently listless as she had been since their arrival in London and, indeed, for some time before that. Inwardly she was in turmoil, the blood hammering in her head so that she was totally unaware of the movement and conversation taking place in the room. William was in London! She was in grave danger of meeting him again, especially if her family became acquainted with his friend the Marquess of Hetherington. She could not. It must not happen. It was bad enough that she could not banish him from her thoughts, that she knew him to have completely ruined her life. She could not see him again. She would die if she were forced to do so.
She watched unseeing the hands that were clasped in her lap. How could she possibly avoid the meeting? Papa had said he was here for the winter. So were they. And it was inevitable that they would move in much the same social circles. Helen had none of her sisters' anxieties that perhaps they would be ignored by the ton. Her father was an earl, after all, and he and Mama had connections, neglected as they had been for several years. Sooner or later she would come face to face with William. It had been a sheer miracle that she had escaped him at home. She could not hope to do so for a whole winter here.
He would know the truth. Not that that mattered longer. She could even feel a sort of satisfaction in thinking of how surprised he would be and how uncomfortable to remember the summer. No, it did not bother her at all that the truth would be known. She felt too much contempt and hatred for Mr. William Mainwaring to be at all concerned about a little embarrassment. She could keep the anger and the deep dislike locked inside her as long as she did not see him again. But how could she come face to face with him, probably many times over the next few months, and not reveal to the whole world how strong her feelings about him were? And how could she face having to acknowledge again her own feelings of guilt and inadequacy?
How would she ever be able to be in his presence without being constantly aware of the fact that there would always be that bond between them, unwanted now by either? Had she merely loved him, she might have turned defiantly from him and lived a full life despite him. But he had possessed her, he still possessed her, and she would forever be bound by what had happened between them. She would never be free, but she certainly did not need his physical presence to remind her constantly of how foolish and how deceitful she had been. She had given herself to a shallow, unfeeling man, a man she had surely deserved at the time, and now she would have to watch him mingle with the ton as if he had every moral right to do so. Perhaps he did. She was not at all sure that his behavior was unusual for one of his class.
The Marquess and Marchioness of Hetherington did indeed make the promised visit the following afternoon. They were not accompanied by William Mainwaring, to the satisfaction or relief of most of the family of the Earl of Claymore. As they left, the regulation half-hour after their arrival, the marchioness placed in the hands of her hostess an invitation to a ball they were to hold the following week.
"It is not to be a large affair, ma'am," she said. "This Is not the Season, and London is not as heavily-populated as it will be then. But our mutual friend, Mr. Mainwaring, is newly arrived and we have planned the ball as a welcome to him. I am sure he would be delighted, as we would be, to see some of his neighbors there. I do hope you will be able to come." She followed her husband from the room after smiling warmly at the countess.
"Robert," she said as she sank into the warm velvet upholstery of their coach and made room for him beside her, "I am so glad you suggested that we visit the earl and his family this afternoon. They seemed almost pathetically grateful to see us."
“I could hardly say no, my love," the marquess said, turning to her with a grin, "when the man himself suggested it at White's yesterday. William had a previous engagement but I had none. But you are right. They have rusticated so long, I believe, that London is like a foreign city to them. You see the dangers of staying in the country for too long, Elizabeth?"
"Oh, well and good," she said, "but you know that once John is past babyhood I wish to spend most of our time in the country, Robert."
He leaned across and kissed her lightly on the lips. "And you will hear no argument from me," he said. "There I shall have you more to myself."
"Robert," she said seriously, a frown creasing her brow, "is it possible to help William become attached to any female? He seems to have been quite impervious to the charms of any of the ladies he has met in the past week or so."
The Marquess of Hetherington laughed and took her hand. "Elizabeth, I quite forbid this train of thought," he said. "William is a grown man, you know, older than either you or I. Let us leave him to manage his own life."
"But he cannot be happy, Robert," she persisted. "There must be someone worthy of him. Do you think he became well-acquainted with any of the earl's daughters during the summer?"
"I doubt it," he said. "I don't think any of them is quite William's type. The oldest one is too haughty for her own good. The middle one is shallow, if I may judge on such short acqaintance. And the youngest one… well, what did you think of the youngest one?"