Across the room, those friends were now valiantly trying to extricate themselves from Lady Dunwick’s loud opinions on literature. Helen caught Lady Margaret’s eye, sending a clear plea for help.
‘That may be so,’ His Grace said. ‘But it has been noted in town that he has visited your address a number of times.’
Was he repeating gossip? Or was he having the house watched, like the library?
‘There is no mystery to that. Lord Carlston is related to my family. Naturally he would visit.’
‘Yet, as I understand it from your brother, that connection between Carlston and your family is no longer welcome.’ His shrewd gaze searched her face. ‘Particularly after your ball.’
What had Andrew told him?
She saw him note the flicker of her eyelids, the catch in her breath. She had to end this interview. Now.
‘Then you understand more than I do, Your Grace,’ she said, her tone as clipped as she could manage. ‘I am honoured by your attentions, but I have released you from your obligation. You have no need to concern yourself with my welfare.’
He leaned closer. ‘You may have released me, Helen, but I have not released you. Not in my heart.’ His voice held a new implacability. ‘I am not a man to give up, and I have your family’s blessing for our union. Do not think I will sit by and watch that man draw you into his corruption. He has already stolen one future from me. He will not take another.’
He made a graceful bow and strode to the door. She watched him pause outside and draw a deep breath, as if to collect himself, then he crossed the street towards Raggett’s Club again.
What did he mean, stolen one future?
Of course: he had courted poor Lady Elise and lost her to Lord Carlston.
Helen took her own steadying breath, and glanced around the library. Holy heaven, every eye in the room was fixed upon her, only now sliding away from her affronted stare. This was not quite the unobtrusive visit to town that Lord Carlston had envisioned.
Chapter Three
Helen quickened her pace up the hill of Marine Parade, her speed fuelled as much by agitation as the need to get away from Lady Margaret’s accusing tone.
‘I do not understand why you allowed private conversation with the Duke, Lady Helen. You should have made your curtsey and moved away.’
‘He contrived the meeting,’ Helen snapped over her shoulder, the sea breeze whipping at the end of each word. She glanced at Mr Hammond, who, as ever, walked at his sister’s side. At least his face held understanding and some sympathy. ‘If I had refused to speak to him on this occasion, he would have just arranged another.’
How many times did she need to say it? She caught a moment of Lady Margaret’s sucked-lemon mouth then turned back to her march. They underestimated the Duke: he was a man of resolution, and now he had declared he would not give up his pursuit of her under any circumstance. Helen held no delusion that it was her charms that made him so determined; she was not one of those fascinating females who could crook a finger and bring a man to her side. No, it was his hatred of Lord Carlston and their shared history with Lady Elise that had brought the Duke to Brighton. A most worrisome situation. By all reports, the Duke had not come out well from his last physical confrontation with Lord Carlston. Selburn had threatened to flog his lordship and had his own horsewhip turned upon him. Would he be so foolish as to challenge the Earl again? Perhaps Andrew was encouraging him to do so; her brother had made it very clear that he did not want her to associate with Lord Carlston. She stifled a groan. Andrew’s imminent presence in Brighton was going to complicate matters a hundredfold.
Mr Hammond drew up by her side, his breathing laboured. ‘Slow down, Lady Helen. You are moving like a Reclaimer.’
It was true; her body had angled forward ready for the uncanny speed of her calling. She eased back to a more sedate pace.
‘Margaret is not blaming you,’ he said, matching her slower stride. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later.’
Must he always smooth the edges of his sister’s tongue?
Helen rounded on him. ‘You both knew the Duke was here in town. I saw it in your faces. Why did you not tell me?’
Mr Hammond shrugged. ‘His lordship did not want you distracted from your training.’
‘Does he think me so weak-willed that just the presence of the Duke would pull me from my purpose? Surely even he would not be so insulting.’ Her vehemence caused her to accelerate again. With gritted teeth, she steadied her pace and forced moderation into her tone. ‘No, he did not tell me because it is a habit with him to keep his own counsel.’
‘You do not know his lordship well enough to make such comment upon his character,’ Lady Margaret said, catching up to them. ‘Besides, why should you expect him to tell you anything? You have been with us for little more than a month. We have been with him for five years.’
‘He was in exile for three of those years, Margaret,’ Mr Hammond said.
‘That may be so, but my point is that he does not tell us — his aides — everything, and we have proved our loyalty. Lord Carlston always has good reason for what he does. Everything is planned. He understands the whole canvas, whereas we see only a small corner of it.’
‘Perhaps we would see more,’ Helen said, ‘if he were not always standing in front of the canvas and obscuring whatever part of it he does not wish us to … or that we should be …’ She broke off: the metaphor was in danger of imminent collapse. ‘All I am saying is that he keeps from me — and undoubtedly you as well — information that is important.’ She turned to Mr Hammond. ‘Do you not agree?’
‘Of course not,’ Lady Margaret said.
‘I think Lady Helen has a point,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘His lordship has always had an inclination to secrecy, and since his return from exile it is worse. He has been by himself far too long and has been reclaiming too many offspring souls.’
His sister gave him a long stare. ‘Is that so, Michael?’
‘It is what Quinn says,’ Mr Hammond said, returning her stare.
They had reached German Place. In heavy silence, they walked along the narrow pavement to Number 20, the townhouse that Mr Hammond had rented on his sister’s behalf. Although not situated on Marine Parade itself, the five-storey dwelling was close enough to that fashionable address to be beyond reproach, and was furnished, according to Lady Margaret, in an entirely adequate style.
The front door opened as they climbed the steps. Garner stood at the threshold, ready to take parasols and hats as they entered. The butler’s bony face was, as ever, set in the dour lines of the upper servant, but Helen saw a slight tightening around his watchful eyes.