Chapter 1

August 1819

Belmont Hall, Devon

'Wakefield, where are you?' The imperious voice of Lady Helford boomed across the bedchamber and penetrated the wall of the adjoining dressing-room.

Helen knew only too well by the familiar querulous tone in her employer's voice that there would be no pleasing her.

'Wakefield!' Lady Helford commanded. 'Come here immediately.'

Ever since she had returned from Spain, after the death of her husband, Harry, Helen had been working for Lady Helford. That had been six years ago, and there seemed to be no end to the purgatory she lived in every day. Helen had no family of her own, and when she had returned to England, after Harry's death, she had thrown herself onto the mercy of her late husband's father, Lord Brentford.

Lord Brentford had never approved of her as a daughter-in-law. She was only the daughter of a rector, and he considered her far too below his own social standing and certainly not worthy to bear the Wakefield name. When she had turned up at the door of Hidcote Manner in 1813, after the death of her husband, he had refused to provide for her. Instead, he had insisted that she should become the companion to his aunt, Lady Helford. The humiliation that her father-in-law had put her through nearly had been too much to bear. Helen would have refused to obey, if it had not been for her son, Georgie.

Georgie had now been living with his grandfather for the past nine years, and even though she was the mother of the child, she had no say in his upbringing. Her husband, Harry, had signed documents without her knowledge, making Lord Brentford, Georgie's sole guardian. If she wanted to see her son, she would have to submit to Lord Brentford's orders. In return for satisfactory service, as Lady Helford's companion, she would be allowed to see her son once a year on his birthday. However, if Lady Helford, for any reason, was displeased with her, or if she left her employ, she would forgo her rights to see her son.

Lady Helford was not an easy woman to please. She was a petty, selfish, cantankerous old woman, and she did not like Helen being forced upon her by her nephew. During the early years of her employment, Helen had occasionally reacted to Lady Helford's unreasonable demands. However, the negative reports, made by the spiteful Lady Helford, had meant that Helen had not seen her son for several years. Initially, Helen had railed against the decision, complaining bitterly to both Lady Helford and Lord Brentford. However, Helen soon learnt that her protestations only hampered her chances of seeing her son.

Eventually, Helen concluded that if she wanted to see her son again, she would have to dowse her rebellious spirit and do the best job she could possibly do under the circumstances. Putting to death every emotion, except for the love of her son, she had somehow managed to live within the oppressive regime set by Lady Helford. It had not been easy. At first, her emotions, still raw from the death of Harry and her unhappy, tumultuous marriage, had been difficult to quell. However, as the years rolled by and her soul had become dull and lifeless, it had become easier to endure. The only time she ever let her true self show was in the presence of her son.

Helen took a deep breath. It was time to break from her reverie and face Lady Helford's ire.

'There you are,' Lady Helford said petulantly as Helen joined her in the bedchamber. 'I must say, I think this arrangement will work out very well. I wasn't at all certain about it when Arabella proposed it, but now I've had time to think about it, I see that it will do very well for you.'

Helen sighed. They had arrived at Belmont Hall, after a long, arduous journey, just that afternoon. At the best of times, travelling with Lady Helford was a trial. However, during this particular trip, from London to Devon, it had been worse than usual. It had taken nearly a week to travel across the breadth of England to the South West of the country. The roads were poorly maintained and full of potholes, and Lady Helford's ancient carriage was not well-sprung. Not only had Helen been jolted from side to side the whole journey, she had had to withstand Lady Helford's constant whining. Every hostelry they had visited along the way had not been to her liking, and it always seemed to be Helen's fault if her ladyship's impossibly high standards were not maintained.

When they had finally arrived at Belmont Hall, the principal seat of the Earl of Huntingdon, they had been informed that there was not enough room for Helen and Marie, Lady Helford's maid, to have a room by themselves. Lady Huntingdon, Arabella, had come up with a suggestion that Lady Helford had initially found inconvenient. In the absence of a room for Helen, they would put a truckle bed in the dressing room of Lady Helford's bedchamber. Helen was hoping that Lady Helford would object. It was not the fact that it was humiliating that bothered her. She had ceased to care about the shame of her situation years ago. It was the fact that she would not get any privacy. Those few minutes in the morning and before she went to bed, were precious. It was the only time she had to herself to think about her son.

'It will save me having to bother Marie in the middle of the night,' she said as she looked over to Helen with haughty disdain.

A tart reply was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. It had already been a long, arduous day, and all Helen wanted to do was return to the dressing room, shut the door, curl up on the uncomfortable looking truckle bed and give in to the feelings of self-pity she felt welling up. Helen did not often give in to these intense feelings of melancholy, it was far too dangerous to let them have their way. She was exhausted and had had just about enough of Lady Helford's condescension.

'It was only right that Arabella invited me. I am, after all, one of her oldest and dearest friends,' she said, using the overbearing tone she often used when she spoke to Helen.

Helen knew that it had not been an invitation that Lady Huntingdon had issued out of friendship. Lady Helford, after she had heard about the house-party, had manoeuvred Lady Huntingdon into reluctantly issuing the invitation.

'At a time like this, Arabella needs the support of her oldest and dearest friends,' said Lady Helford. 'Finding a wife for your eldest son and making certain that the succession is secured, is of the greatest importance. Arabella has invited all the best families with daughters of marriable ages. I will be there on hand to advise her about which ones will suit.'

Helen bit her tongue against the caustic response she would love to deliver. The last thing Lady Huntingdon needed was Lady Helford's interference.

'Poor Arabella has been trying to find a wife for her son, for the past two years. He is an extremely handsome man with money and property. Even with his rakish reputation, he should find it easy to secure a bride over the coming fortnight. Apparently, according to Mildred, Arabella has given him an ultimatum to marry by the beginning of the next season.'

Lady Helford paused and looked over to Helen. 'Tonight, I will wear the black silk I had specially made in Paris,' Lady Helford said in a commanding voice. 'Wakefield,' she ordered, 'bring it here immediately.'

Helen went over to the large trunk that contained Lady Helford's extensive collection of dresses that all looked the same. After she rummaged in the trunk, she eventually found the silk dress that Lady Helford had wanted. Marie, instead of being present to help, had disappeared some time ago to run a useless errand. The maid had the knack of being able to disappear when she was most needed. Helen often thought of why Lady Helford put up with her. She was flighty, rude and workshy. As Helen gently pulled the dress from the trunk, she noticed deep creases running the length of the skirts. No doubt, in Marie's absence, she would be the one that would have to shoulder the blame and take the brunt of her ladyship's displeasure.

'Hurry up, Wakefield,' Lady Helford said sharply, 'I haven't got all day.'

Helen sighed. She shook the dress and tried to unsuccessfully rid it of its creases. Once it was evident that they were not going to magically disappear, she presented the dress to Lady Helford.

Lady Helford looked scornfully at the dress. 'Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you and your incompetence,' she said as she snatched the dress from Helen. 'Where is Marie?' she said, looking around the room, 'she will know what to do.'

Helen did not reply. What could she say to make her situation any better? She could not tell Lady Helford what she really thought of her. Where would she go? Her father had died soon after her marriage, and she had no other living relatives. And, of course, there was Georgie to think of. If she upset Lady Helford, she would be putting this year's visit to her son in jeopardy.

Marie, as though she had been listening to the conversation outside the room, happened to choose that moment to enter. 'My lady,' she said in a soothing, sycophantic tone. She looked over to Helen and theatrically put her hands to her mouth. 'My lady, your Paris silk,' she said in horror as she ran over to Helen and snatched the dress from her. The maid held the dress at arm's length and began to tut loudly. 'I will see to this, my lady. I did warn Madam Wakefield, that such a delicate silk should not be put into the trunk.'

Of course, Marie had said nothing of the sort. In fact, she had been the one to pack the dress and was responsible for its travel-worn state.

'Marie,' Lady Helford said, 'you are a marvel. I do not know what I would do without you.'

Lady Helford then turned to face Helen. 'I was rather relieved when Arabella said that you would not be able to join us for dinner. I am always a little worried that you will embarrass me. I do not know why my great-nephew ever married you when he could have had his pick of any society beauty. Or why Brentford foisted you off into my household? I suppose he was only too pleased to be rid of you. How you ever conducted yourself as the wife of an officer is completely beyond my comprehension.'

Helen clasped her fists together until her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. It was all she could do to stop the bitter retort that was on the tip of her tongue. But what would that achieve? Only the brief feeling of satisfaction that she was telling the old virago the truth.

'However,' Lady Helford said haughtily, 'I will still expect you to join us in the drawing-room after dinner. I will need someone to fetch my wrapper if I get a little cold. You do know how these draughty old houses affects my rheumatism.'

Helen had been relieved to find out that she would not have to face the ordeal of dinner. It was always a little awkward when she accompanied Lady Helford to social functions. The other guests present, never really knew how to communicate with her. Sometimes they would be polite and make small talk, other times she would be ignored entirely. She had not, however, been excused from having to attend her ladyship in the drawing-room after dinner. Helen knew that as soon as she was reunited with Lady Helford, she would not get a minute's peace. She would be sent on countless futile errands. At least, she would not have to talk to any of the other guests. Lady Helford would make sure that she was too busy to socialise with anyone who may have taken pity on her.

'I am sure Marie will send up a plate of food for you, and you can eat in here. Just make sure you do not get any crumbs on my dressing table,' Lady Helford said, 'Now, where are my pearls?'

Later that evening, Helen entered the drawing-room before the ladies had retired from the dining-room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. She found a chair tucked away at the back of the room, far away from the fireplace and sat down. The meal, promised by Marie, had not materialised. To take her mind off her hunger, she busied herself with her embroidery and found a measure of comfort in placing the intricate stitches.

Helen had not always disliked being in the company of others. She had once been the respected wife of an officer in the Hussars and had been fully involved in all the social functions organised by his regiment. She had enjoyed being the centre of attention with the other officers vying for her favours. At the time, Helen had been just seventeen. Young, beautiful and vibrantly full of life. Now, ten years older, she was an unrecognisable shadow of her former self.

She heard the drawing-room door open, and the ladies entered the room, chatting away in high spirits. Helen saw Lady Helford scan the room looking for her. Once she had been spotted, Lady Helford motioned for her to join her. There was no friendly look on her face, in fact, Lady Helford looked positively daunting.

'There you are, Wakefield,' she said in a commanding voice that seemed to boom across into every corner off the room, drawing attention to her. 'Fetch my shawl,' she ordered when Helen had reached her side.

'I took the liberty of bringing your black silk shawl down with me. I will fetch it for you,' she replied. Helen had decided to bring Lady Helford's favourite shawl to avoid having to make at least one journey up and down the stairs to her bedchamber.

'What! that old thing!' Lady Helford said, lifting her nose high into the air. 'I want the purple silk with the silver fringe,' she ordered.

Lady Helford never wore that shawl, and Helen knew that she was only asking her to be awkward.

It took Helen about ten minutes to find the shawl and return to Lady Helford's side. Marie, as usual, had not been cooperative, and she had refused to help. Once Helen had returned to the drawing-room, Lady Helford was in a foul mood. She raised her lorgnette to the bridge of her nose and looked at Helen imperiously. 'If I knew you were going to be such a long time, I would have gone myself.' Lady Helford turned to the lady sitting next to her and said, 'I do not know what Brentford was thinking of when he foisted Wakefield onto me. I have never had to put up with such incompetence.'

The other lady, who completely ignored Helen, put her hand gently on Lady Helford's arm and said in a soothing tone, 'I know Honoria. I have found it quite impossible to find anyone with any common sense. Girls these days show no initiative, and they need to be told absolutely everything. It is enough to drive anyone quite mad. Brentford should have sent her packing years ago.'

'Well, don't just stand there like a fool, go and make yourself useful and fetch me a cup of tea,' Lady Helford said sharply, addressing Helen.

Helen went to the tea-tray, where Lady Huntingdon was overseeing the serving of tea. She saw a few young ladies, who looked like they were barely out of the schoolroom, clustered around the pianoforte. One of their number sat on the piano stool and attempted to play a Mozart concerto while an older woman, presumably her mother, critically watched from a distance. The girl, who obviously sensed her mother's scrutiny, stumbled through the difficult passages of the piece. Helen felt sorry for her. It was always the same at gatherings like these. Young ladies had to show off their accomplishments to society. No doubt, the girl's mother had her sights on securing the earl for her. It was the way of the world, and there was nothing Helen could do to change it.

Once the young woman had stumbled through the last bars of the piece and the polite ripple of applause had died down, Lady Huntingdon turned to Helen. 'And who are you? She said, looking at Helen suspiciously.

'I am Mrs Wakefield, my lady, Lady Helford's companion,' Helen replied, looking directly at her. 'She sent me over to fetch her a cup of tea.'

'Does she still take it with milk?' Lady Huntingdon said without any preamble as she poured some tea into a delicate china cup.

'Yes, my lady, and a touch of sugar,' she said as another young lady began to play the pianoforte. This young woman was more confident than her predecessor and played the difficult Bach fugue with flair.

Lady Huntingdon handed her the cup and immediately turned her attention to her other guests. Helen then made her way across the room carefully carrying the rather full cup of tea, knowing that if any spilt in the saucer, she would have to return for another cup. She had almost reached Lady Helford side when she heard her name being called from the other side of the room. She did not immediately turn around to see who it was. Helen was a common enough name, and she might not be the only one in the room.

'Helen,' the strangely familiar voice called out again, 'Helen Wakefield is that you?'

She turned around in the direction of the voice to see who had called out her name. Two gentlemen were standing by the door to the drawing-room. One of them she recognised as Lord Huntingdon, the other was Lieutenant Tom Harris, who had briefly served in her husband's regiment after the Siege of Badajoz, seven years ago.

As the Bach fugue reached its climax, she felt the cup slip from her fingers and clatter onto the floor by her feet. 'Tom,' she said in disbelief as she felt her head begin to spin, 'You are alive. I thought...'

'By George, it is you,' he said as he came over to her. 'I almost didn't recognise you.'

How could it be him? She had last seen Tom just a few days after the Battle of Salamanca where her husband had died. The physician, who had been tending him, had told her that he would not survive the wounds he had received.

'I thought you were...' She stopped suddenly. She felt the room spin and black spots dance before her eyes.

'Helen,' he said, his voice full of concern, 'you need to sit down. You look like you have seen a ghost.'