To this, Hedley Swayne agreed readily. Sending silent thanks to her cook in London, who had slipped a bottle of her delicious wine into the provisions Janet had packed, Helen lifted her hands from her basin and looked in consternation at the gooey mess covering her fingers.
‘Er…perhaps if you’d just tell me where the glasses are?’
Appeased by this show of neighbourly good sense, Helen directed Hedley to the cupboard beneath the sideboard. She watched as her visitor arose and helped himself, her brow creasing as she struggled to understand just what he was about this time. His visit was not driven by pure neighbourly concern, of that she was sure. But what did he hope to achieve? His dress was as finicky as ever, better suited to the Grand Strut than a small cottage in deepest Cornwall. The coat of puce cloth was offset by yellow pantaloons; a wide floppy yellow neckerchief tied in a bow proclaimed his allegiance to fashionable fripperies. As with most of the fops, he disdained the highly polished Hessians of the Corinthians, opting instead for heeled shoes, in this case sporting gold buckles. There was a gold pin in the neckerchief and a huge fob watch vied with a range of seals for prominence against a perfectly hideous purple emb
ossed silk waistcoat. Considering the spectacle, Helen reflected that it was almost as if Hedley had dressed to impress. Unfortunately, in his present surroundings, he only succeeded in looking woefully out of place.
Her own dull olive gown, with its round neck and simple sleeves, was far more in keeping with the country atmosphere. Its colour did nothing for her complexion, drawn and sallow after days of weeping. Not that she cared. There was no reason to make the most of herself; she did not desire to impress her neighbours—not even be they Hedley Swayne.
Pouring himself a generous measure of cowslip wine, Hedley returned to his chair. ‘I must say, dear Lady Walford, that it’s a pleasure to see a woman such as yourself engaged in such a womanly pursuit.’
Helen eyed his smile warily. His attitude was one of a man well-pleased, almost smug, as if he had solved some fiendishly difficult problem and was looking forward to claiming his prize. Helen’s unease grew, but she merely nodded, wondering what to say next. Luckily, Hedley had an inexhaustible flow of patter. He rambled on, and, at first, she thought his direction aimless. Then, as she followed his recitation of ton events, she started to perceive a pattern to his revelations. They were all concerned with recent scandals and how these had adversely affected the women involved. In particular, how the unfortunate proceedings had affected the subsequent marriageability of the women involved. She made the right noises at the right places, which was all Hedley required to keep him going while she wondered if she dared guess at his summation.
It was as she had suspected.
‘Actually,’ he said pausing to take a sip of his wine, ‘I left the capital six days ago. So ennervating—the Season— don’t you think?’
Helen murmured appropriately.
‘And then, too,’ said Hedley, examining his fingernails, ‘there was a distressing rumour going the rounds.’
And that, thought Helen, is enough. ‘Indeed?’ She infused the single word with arctic iciness. To her dismay, the effect was not at all what she had hoped.
‘My dear, dear Lady Walford!’ Hedley Swayne was on his feet and approaching.
Helen’s eyes grew round as she saw him place his glass on the table. She stood rooted to the spot in surprise as he advanced on her, arms spread wide as if intending to scoop her ample charms into his embrace. When one arm slipped about her, Helen came to her senses with a jolt. ‘Mr Swayne!’ She brought up her hands to ward him off. To her surprise, he jumped back, as if she had threatened him with a burning brand. Then she focused on her fingers and realised they were still liberally coated with dough.
When Hedley stared, nonplussed, at the threat to his immaculate suiting, Helen struggled to swallow her giggles. Determinedly, she replaced her hands in the dough. As long as her fingers constituted such deadly weapons, she was safe. ‘Mr Swayne,’ she reiterated, striving for calm. ‘I have no idea what rumours you have heard, but I assure you I do not wish to discuss them.’
Hedley Swayne frowned, clearly piqued at having his orchestrated performance cut short. ‘All very well for you to say, m’dear lady,’ he said peevishly. ‘But people will talk, y’know.’
‘I dare say,’ Helen replied discouragingly. ‘But whatever they might say is of no concern to me. Rumour is rumour and nothing more.’
‘Ah, yes. But this rumour is rather more specific than usual,’ Hedley continued, then, when he glanced up at his hostess and saw the wrath gathering in her clear eyes, he hurriedly expostulated, ‘But that wasn’t what I came here to say—dear me, no!’
‘Mr Swayne,’ said Helen, suddenly very weary of his company, ‘I really don’t think that you could have anything to say, on that subject or any other, that I wish to hear.’
‘Now don’t be too hasty, dear lady.’ Hedley Swayne took a step back and, to Helen’s wary gaze, seemed to reorganise his forces. ‘I suggest you listen to my reasoning before you make any intemperate judgements.’
Helen’s lips thinned. Her gaze as bleak as she could make it, she steeled herself to hear him out.
Encouraged by her silence, Hedley Swayne drew a portentous breath. ‘I regret the need to speak plainly, m’dear lady, but your recent indiscretion with a peer—who shall remain nameless—is the talk of the town. We all understand, of course,’ he went on, ‘that this association is at an end.’ He took several paces towards the door, then turned to look sternly at Helen. ‘Naturally, the entire episode, and the consequent publicity, has left you in an unenviable position. That being so,’ he stated, pacing back towards her again, ‘you must be glad of any offer that will reinstate you in the eyes of society—the censorious eyes of society.’
Helen had no difficulty restraining her laughter at his measured periods; she could see where his arguments were headed.
‘Thus, my dear Lady Walford, you see me here in the guise of a knight in shining armour. I am come to offer you the protection of my name.’
There was no help for it but to make her refusal as gracious as she could. Helen suspected his motives were not nearly as pure as he made out, but had no wish to antagonise the man unnecessarily, a neighbour at that. ‘Mr Swayne, I do most sincerely value your proposal but I’m afraid I have no intention of marrying again.’
‘Oh, there’s no need to fear I’ll claim any rights over the marriage dear lady. A marriage in name only is what I propose. Why, you’re a widow and I—I’m a man about town. I’m sure we’ll deal famously. No need for you to entertain any worries on that head.’
Unbeknown to Hedley Swayne, his declaration, far from easing Helen’s fears, only added to the deadening misery threatening to pull her down. Martin had offered her so much more—and she had had to refuse him. How cruel of fate to send Hedley Swayne with his mockery of a proposal in the Earl of Merton’s place. ‘Mr Swayne, I truly—’
‘No, no! Don’t be hasty. Just think of the advantages. Why, it’ll put paid to all the rumours—you’ll be able to return to London immediately, rather than languish in this backwater.’
‘I enjoy the country.’
‘Ah…yes.’ For a moment, Hedley’s lights dimmed. Then he brightened. ‘Well if that’s the case, you can take up residence at Creachley. No problem there. Can’t abide the place myself, but there’s no need for you to come back to town if you don’t favour it.’