Page 21 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
“I can find my own dance partners.”
“I know that, but I want to make certain we don’t leave anyone out. I know that Stratton isn’t the most exciting—”
“Mama, he’s almost sixty years old.”
“And what does that matter? He’s fit and an excellent sportsman.”
Helena could feel her jaw clenching, but she fought the urge and retained her smile. “I trust you spoke with Papa?” He must have told Mama about their conversation after dinner last week, which had put her into a matchmaking mentality. Not that the idea of matrimony was ever far from her mind; it was only not typically this aggressive.
“I have, but that’s neither here nor there. Stratton would be an excellent match for you. You would be very comfortable with him.”
“Iamvery comfortable now.” Between her moderate income, the townhome, and the cottage in Somerset, she would be able to live the rest of her life in modest luxury. She had no need for more than that.
Mama smiled and waved at an acquaintance across the room. “Do not forget your objective, Helena.”
“And what is my objective?”
“Your home for young women. Stratton seems inclined to indulge you in the endeavor, and his reputation is above reproach.”
“Have you talked with him about my charity?”
“Well, no, not specifically, but he favors you very much.” She gave Helena a knowing look. “With a little finesse, you could have him agreeing to anything.”
Before Helena could answer, Lord and Lady Stampford greeted them. Was this truly how she was supposed to plan the rest of her life? Find a man who would lend his financial support to her causes in exchange for her hand in marriage?
Hand in marriage. No, it was more like her body in his bed. Despite her best efforts, her face flamed at the idea. It felt as if they all walked around using euphemisms because the real words were so unpalatable.
A murmur rose through the crowded ballroom as the Duke and Duchess of Hereford made their way in from the receiving line.
“Ah, the American.” Lady Stampford’s high voice was hard to miss as she practically sneered the word.
The American was how they all seemed to refer to Camille, Hereford’s wife. She had married Hereford about a year ago and had been regarded with various versions of condescension ever since. Everyone knew that he had only married the pretty girl for her wealth, and instead of looking upon Camille with kindness and pity, they all regarded her as a shallow social climber. The censure had eased a bit since the arrival of the Crenshaw heiresses in the spring, but poor Camille still bore the brunt of being an outsider worse than they. She lacked parents who were attempting to expand the scope of their business, which had, at least to a small degree, softened the sharp tongues that would wag about the Crenshaw heiresses otherwise. Camille had beencast to the wolves, all alone to face the wrath of London Society with her parents back in New York.
She was only around twenty, and Hereford was nearing sixty himself. She stared straight ahead as they walked in, her chin up a notch higher than it should be as she faced down the scrutiny of the guests. Everyone fell silent as she accepted a glass of champagne and asked them all to raise their own glasses in a toast to her husband. He didn’t bother to look at his wife once, not even as she spoke, all but praising his virility and youthfulness. He stood next to her, surveying the crowd like a king finally receiving his due.
Helena had to look away as unreasonable fury rose within her. After concerning herself with August’s and Violet’s marriage predicaments earlier this year, and now facing her own albeit minor pressure to remarry, she held a newfound sympathy for Camille. Women were like expensive ornaments to men such as Hereford. They were there to brighten the space around them, to be interesting to look upon, to stroke their sense of pride, to give of themselves so that men could take and take, filling up all the holes and dark places within themselves with women’s light because they lacked their own. What would become of the poor girl when she could no longer fulfill that role for him? She would be relegated to the country to wither away in an old house until she died of boredom. If she was lucky, he would go first, and she would be free.
“She has no shame,” Lady Stampford whispered.
But there was no mention of Hereford’s indignity. Camille wouldn’t be here if not for his need for her money.
Mama shook her head, but Helena couldn’t hear her reply. Her mother was never unduly harsh with someone, but even she disapproved of Camille. She only seemed to tolerate August and Violet because she had no choice. Over the course of the year, the Crenshaws had slowly dug their financial talons into the British upper crust, and while manymight resent them, they were too dependent upon them to act on their feelings.
It only made what she was planning with Maxwell seem that much more provocative.
A large hand on her lower back caused a lovely ribbon of warmth to drift through her belly in recognition as a soft, deep voice whispered near her ear, “Apologies for arriving late.”
Maxwell was grinning down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. The gaslight caught the flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes, making them appear warmer than usual. A thrill of pleasure shot through her stomach. “Good evening, Mr. Crenshaw...” She swallowed then remembered herself. “Maxwell.”
His smile broadened, and he leaned in again. “Helena.”
His hot breath touched her ear, sending a delicious shiver across her skin. She very much felt like a debutante caught in the intoxicating excitement of her first infatuation. He was handsome and charming, and for one night she wanted to allow herself to forget that this was a ploy. For tonight she wanted to pretend that he was wholly suitable for her.
“No apologies needed. The dancing hasn’t started yet.”
Her mother glanced back at her. When she saw Maxwell, she smiled and nodded in greeting, but her gaze caught Helena’s before she turned back around. It held a warning that Helena understood. Something must have changed between them. Something that could be seen by those around them, because Mama was warning her away from him.
He shifted beside her, his thigh brushing the silk of her skirt, and she realized that was why. He stood entirely too close to her. He had dropped his hand from her back, but it rested at his side dangerously close to hers. She could feel the heat of his arm near hers. She smiled as she pretendedto listen to Camille while soaking in Maxwell’s presence. A curious sensation on the back of her neck as if someone were watching her had her turning her head to see Violet and Christian near the entrance. Violet smiled at her in silent greeting, but her gaze immediately caught on her brother’s tall frame beside Helena, and a question crossed her lovely features.
