ThePleasureDevice (3 page)

Helena tugged at her gloves, then traced the arabesque on
the brocade of her silk skirt, then toyed with the fringe on her cashmere
sortie
de bal
. And when the jostling carriage finally slowed to a jerky amble, she
gripped the leather seat cushions for dear life.

“Helena, a lady does not fidget so,” Mama scolded gently as
they pulled up to Lord and Lady Wrexham’s Mayfair residence. “You must calm
yourself. A man does not want a girl who fiddles and twiddles. He wants a fine
young woman who will attend to him without distraction.”

“Yes, Mama.” Helena drew in a fortifying breath as she
stepped down from the brougham and mounted the marble steps of the Neoclassical
mansion. She fought back desperately against pangs of anxiety. The stakes were
high. If she succeeded in a good match, her grandparents, the Marquess and
Marchioness of Richmond, might not look upon her and Mama as the black sheep of
the family.

Well, at the very least, Mama had intimated to her, they
might have more respect for Helena. As far as the Marquess of Richmond was concerned,
Mama was no longer his daughter—much less the Lady Sophia Harwell—after she had
married Joseph Phillips, a commoner and, even worse, an American.

At the top step, Helena sighed, preparing to meet her
destiny.

“Sophie, you’re looking radiant. And Helena, all grown up.”

The familiar voice filled her with a glow of joy. “Uncle
Arthur!”

Uncle Arthur, ever so dapper in his evening attire, stood
next to a column with his arms open wide waiting for her to hug him. Helena
knew she had to restrain herself in such a public place. Still, he was her
favorite uncle, and she, his favorite niece, a private joke since neither had
any more of such relations. He wrapped his arms around her and patted her
politely, then turned to Mama and kissed her on both cheeks.

“I didn’t expect you, Arthur.”

“Ah, but ‘Lord Petersham’ must make an appearance every once
in a while,” he said with a smirk. “Otherwise the gossips of the ton might
think me dead.”

“And not throw eligible widows your way?” Mama teased. She
and Uncle Arthur shared a wonderful rapport.

Uncle Arthur was terrifically handsome yet remained a
confirmed bachelor, something having happened in his past that her parents just
hinted at but would never actually discuss. Helena only knew that the lady in
question had been beautiful and that it had happened a very long time ago,
before she was born.

Uncle Arthur turned to her. “I received a letter from your
father. He told me all about our business overseas.”

“Oh?” Helena tried to be polite, but it was not quite what
she wanted to hear.

“And that he sends his love.”

She bit her lip in abashment. “Thank you.” She smiled up at
him. “Are we allowed to dance?”

“Together? I think not.” He glanced at Mama. “I’m sure you’ll
have legions of suitors and I should not stand in their way.” He winked. “I’ll
keep an eye on you, make sure none of the young men misbehave.”

Like Mama and Papa did.

“Arthur, we must be going in now,” Mama reminded him.

“Yes, of course.” He hugged Helena once again and pressed
his lips to her ear. “You’ll know him when you meet him, Helena,” he whispered.
“Don’t settle for anyone less.”

Helena grinned, then quickly composed herself before she and
Mama stood in line to enter the Wrexham mansion.

“Darling,” Mama said softly with a proud smile, “you look
beautiful.”

“So do you, Mama.” Helena thought she saw her blush. Even at
thirty-seven, Mama was still a captivating beauty. Tonight, though, Helena
sensed a touch of sadness, probably because they were alone. Papa was far too
often in America for his business, and Helena knew Mama missed him desperately.
Her parents had a very enviable connection, a deep intellectual, physical and
emotional bond.

“Mrs. Joseph Phillips and her daughter, Miss Helena
Phillips.” The footman’s announcement when they had reached the front of the
receiving line revived Helena to her surroundings. The entry hall buzzed with
women in gowns the colors of pastels, smiling, laughing, seductively waving
fans while gazing up at men of all sizes, shapes and ages but each wearing
black evening dress. The dull glow of gas lamps and candles made everyone a
little more attractive than they probably actually were.

As Mama and Helena exchanged greetings with Lord and Lady
Wrexham, a rather formidable older woman approached, wearing far too much lace
and reeking of expensive French perfume.

“Oh my dear Sophie!” the lady exclaimed a bit too loudly. “Excuse
me, my lord, Lady Wrexham, I simply must have a word with my friend Mrs.
Phillips. You do not mind?”

Clearly her forthright manner was indulged by their hosts.
Lord and Lady Wrexham said they certainly did not mind.

She grabbed Mama’s arm affectionately before she spied
Helena. “Oh my,” she said with sudden and uncharacteristic delicacy. “This is
your daughter, is it not? She is the very image of you.” She exhaled a sigh of
marvel and approbation.

“Thank you.” Helena curtsied, then flushed with alarm
knowing she must have done something terribly wrong. She had completely
forgotten what one did when complimented.

“Charlotte,” Mama acknowledged with a slight bow of her
head. “Lady Banbury, this is my daughter Helena. She is just eighteen and is
enjoying her first Season.”

Helena knew exactly who Lady Banbury was, besides of course
the wife of the Earl of Banbury. Mama had said Lady Banbury knew everybody who
was anybody and everything about them, and it was a very good idea to get to
know the countess and to do whatever she said.

“Oh my dear,” exclaimed Lady Banbury taking Helena’s arm. “I
must introduce you around. Tell me, what have you done so far this year?”

Helena glanced quickly at Mama, who nodded. “I’ve been
presented to the queen.”

“Of course you have. I remember when I was presented. Mind
you, it was the same queen.” Lady Banbury’s high-pitched laugh put Helena a
little more at ease.

“We’ve been to the Royal Academy exhibition,” Helena
continued.

“Ah.” The countess nodded. “Their new president, Sir
Frederic Leighton, is well represented.”

“Yes,” Mama agreed. “Someone compared his
Biondina
to
Helena.”

Lady Banbury inspected Helena with new interest. “Yes, I
think so,” she mused. “So my dear, I suppose you are here to find a husband—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Helena cringed, realizing she had interrupted.

“Good!” Lady Banbury seemed blissfully unaware of any faux
pas. “Let me think of some fine young men.” She looked around the ballroom,
humming yeas and nays as she spotted various candidates.

With the brash countess at her side, Helena was herself
emboldened to scan the room. The sights, the smells, the sounds were wondrous. The
finery and the spectacle of the fashions, the glitter of jewelry and crystal in
the dim light, the low indistinct hum of conversation and music—

It all vanished when she saw him.

He was tall, elegant in his evening attire, which fit
perfectly on his athletic form. His hair was brown—no, something romantic like
chestnut…no, something darker…maybe…mahogany. Yes, that’s what it was, dark and
sleek and smooth to the touch like gloved fingers sliding along a polished
mahogany table. Or perhaps a rich dark frame highlighting the handsomest face
she had ever seen, made even handsomer by his obviously affectionate rapport
with the woman at his side. He was too far away to see his eyes, but Helena had
a very wicked notion of those eyes gazing at her, twinkling with admiration and
invitation. Brown. His eyes must be a chocolaty brown.

“Lady Banbury,” Helena dared to ask, “who is that tall man
with brown hair standing next to the woman in pale blue?” His stunning
companion was absolutely befitting of his own perfection, tall and slender,
exquisite in her robin’s-egg-blue sheath, her necklace dripping with amber
beads that highlighted the golden brown of her hair and the orange flounce of
her underskirts. Her gestures were practiced, controlled, suggesting she was
older, more mature, probably not his wife.

Please don’t let her be his wife
.

Lady Banbury considered the question for a moment. “Yes,
hmm, I don’t know him well. His companion, Lady Foxley-Graham—she knows
absolutely everybody, my dear,” she buzzed as if to a confidante. “And has a
penchant for moving young men up in Society. Which means he’s quite probably in
the professions.” Lady Banbury glanced briefly at Mama. “I’m sure your mother
is hoping for someone of higher rank.”

Helena’s heart shattered. It crumbled further when she took
one more look at him, smiling and chatting, oblivious to the fact that he had
already broken her heart simply by being a solicitor or an engineer. She tried
to console herself that he must be a bore. Of course, deep down inside, she
knew he wasn’t. Lady Foxley-Graham was laughing too enthusiastically for him to
be anything but fascinating. Helena reluctantly peeled her eyes away, tamping
down fantasies of herself being fascinated by him in another way.

* * * * *

Sophia found her daughter’s enthusiasm for the task of
finding a husband encouraging, despite Helena’s disappointment that the young
man she was most interested in was deemed unacceptable. That Helena was
undaunted by the formidable Lady Banbury was also heartening. Charlotte was a
good ally.

“Oh!” Charlotte chirped in surprise. “Sophie, dear, see that
man with the French beard?”

Sophia looked where Charlotte indicated. “The handsome one
with a touch of gray?” It was the most polite thing she could say. The man was
clearly far too old for her daughter, and she had been afraid that Society’s
matrons might suggest a middle-aged man as the most suitable match. He was,
however, she had to admit, very attractive. Very attractive.

She sighed quietly. Living apart from her husband for months
on end had prompted them to arrive at a unique arrangement. She indulged him
his peccadillos and he allowed her to have her own. Neither discussed the
matter nor questioned the other. Unless there were
complications
.

And the devastatingly handsome man with the beard looked as
if he could be complicated.

“Yes, yes.” Charlotte gave her a queer look. “Oh no, my
dear. Not for Helena,” she lowered her voice, “for you.”

Sophia choked back her utter shock. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean for those times you feel quite distressed and need
some professional advice and care. That man is Dr. Julius Christopher. He works
with all of Society’s women to cure their complaints. From ennui to hysteria.
All the modern ailments,” she drawled, emphasizing the doctor’s keenness for
the contemporary. “I know you’ve been feeling morose with your husband gone for
such long spells. I’ll introduce you.”

Before Sophia could protest, Charlotte had called the doctor
over, and he complied with a confident nonchalance that set him apart from the
frenetic buzzing of the ballroom. Even more handsome up close, he exuded a
captivating warmth, and as he kissed Charlotte’s hand with a bow, Sophia felt a
flutter of envy. “Lady Banbury, how very wonderful to see you.” His bass voice
dripped charm. He flashed a raised brow at Sophia, revealing the most
magnificent eyes. Cerulean. The color of abandon on a summer’s day.

The fluttering spread to her belly.

“Dr. Christopher, likewise,” Charlotte twittered with glee. “I
would like to introduce my very dear friend, Mrs. Joseph Phillips, Lady Sophia.”

Sophia offered her hand and the doctor took it gently, his
practiced touch sending an electrifying thrill surging through her, his brilliant
blue eyes boring into her perceptively, surely knowing how he was affecting
her.

“My lady.”

The low rumble of his voice resonated deliciously in her
core.

“Please, Doctor, I am simply Mrs. Phillips.” Sophia withdrew
her hand reluctantly, then turned to Helena. “And this is my daughter, Miss
Helena Phillips.”

A spark of awe flickered across the doctor’s face. Sophia
knew Helena was beautiful but sometimes forgot just how beautiful.

“Miss Phillips.” Dr. Christopher merely offered a slight bow
of his head. Anything more would have been presumptuous, of course. Sophia
smiled sweetly at him and he returned a devastatingly tempting curl of his
lips, inciting her heart to thrum loudly. For once, she was glad for the
competing clamor of the ballroom.

“Dr. Christopher,” Charlotte began, “I was just telling
Sophie—Mrs. Phillips—how you offer your services to all the fine women of
Mayfair.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“We simply could not survive without you.”

“Much gratitude, Lady Banbury.” Dr. Christopher seemed to be
quite humbled by the countess’s effusions.

“And what, pray tell, are these services, doctor?” Sophia
boldly inquired.

For a moment, Dr. Christopher looked sheepish. “I am a
family doctor really, but I do seem to treat mostly mothers and wives. They
spend so much time looking after others that they often forget their own needs.”

Sophia’s curiosity was piqued by the vague description. A
momentary fantasy of the doctor fulfilling her needs flitted through her mind. “Such
as?”

“Well, I—”

Charlotte emitted a little squeal of delight. “Oh my! I must
fly! I see Lady Roxton with Lady Foxley-Graham.”

Sophia tightened her lips against a grin. Lady Roxton and
Charlotte were rivals in the pursuit of gossip and Lady Foxley-Graham often had
tantalizing morsels of information to offer.

“Please,” Charlotte said, turning to Sophia and Dr.
Christopher, “excuse me.” She grabbed a surprised Helena’s hand. “Don’t give up
hope, my dear. I’ll return shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lavinia!” Charlotte called out in her shrill voice as she
waved and sashayed over to her friends.