Page 1 of Falling For The Dowager

CHAPTER 1

Mayfair, London

August 1809

Helena, Dowager Countess of Sidney adjusted her sombre bombazine black mourning dress as she entered the sky-blue salon in her husband’s townhouse, and her eyes swept over the room. Time had passed, and yet the chamber retained its formality. She greeted the three gentlemen and one lady, who stared back at her with equal solemnity and with little fanfare.

I do not belong here, Helena thought as she swallowed nervously with so much attention on her. It was not done to be in London as part of the beau monde during the height of summer. No indeed, members of her class and status were meant to be enjoying a riotous house party somewhere in the rolling green hills of the Cotswolds or sunning themselves in some scandalous seaside resort. Yet, here they all were. All because of her husband, Benedict, and his ill-timed, stupid gamble that had led to his death. There was a great deal of adjustments with her new position as a widow.

“Hel,” the nearest gentleman whispered consolingly as he moved closer and offered out a hand. Gratefully, Helena accepted her brother’s comforting touch as he took her arm. Walter walked her to the nearest armchair, stiff backed but welcome. Her brother might be her junior by six years, but he was a sincere, kind man, who had come into their father’s title with as much grace as anyone could expect, and she was grateful for his presence here today.

Such kindness would be too much to expect from her mother-in-law, Rebecca, Dowager Countess of Sidney. The woman was now sitting opposite her on the settee closest to the empty grate. She fixed Helena with an unfriendly, hard stare. An equally frosty grimace came from her husband’s cousin, Eustace Kingston, the new earl, who had never liked Helena. His wife Cressida, now the new countess, was even worse, but that particular blonde wasn’t here today.

Once seated, Helena turned to look at the only man she did not recognise in the salon, a prim-faced little man of middling years, with a narrow frame and watery blue eyes. He resembled a shrew, his beady gaze watching her closely.

“My lady,” he offered her a neat bow. “I am Mr. Gilberts. Now that you are all present, I believe we can begin.” He unrolled from a reticule a stack of papers, and Helena had no trouble remembering the man’s name and therefore knowing this was her dead husband’s solicitor.

“We all know the facts of the matter,” Lady Sidney spat. “My son dying without an heir means only one thing. Eustace will inherit.”

Mr. Gilberts shifted uncomfortably, and Helena had the distinct impression that he was sympathetic towards her. That Mr. Gilberts wished nothing more than to be kindly and compassionate towards her. Many people were, but it didn’t help much with her empty womb or the last fifteen years of a barren marriage. Not when you were wed for the production of an heir, and not one had been forthcoming. All the sympathy in the world did little to help.

“No one present,” Walter said, “is planning on disputing your nephew’s claim to the title.”

Eustace made a hideous sort of noise, halfway between a guffaw and a snort. For a moment, Helena glanced at him, thinking he might be ill before she realised that sound had been an unpleasant mew of laughter.

“Not likely to slip a babe under your dress, coz. Suppose no doctor would buy that sort of wager,” Eustace added with real triumph as he eyed Helena’s gown with the sort of unpleasant unctuousness she associated with him.

For over the last years, Helena had been on the receiving end of many such comments. From the ton. From all the Kingstons. No doubt the servant class even talked about it behind her back. Even her husband was not beyond expressing his fury at the continuance of her barrenness.

Walter moved behind her armchair and gripped Helena’s shoulder. His strength seemed to flow into her, bolstering her flagging courage. “Perhaps we could focus on the matter at hand. Rather than throwing around recriminations.”

Mr. Gilberts cleared his throat and then made the primary requests for servants and the specific amendments which Benedict had drafted years ago. There were a few outstanding debts the solicitor said had been dealt with. The numerous entailed properties, which were to be passed on to Eustace, along with the title. Patiently, Helena waited for some notice on what was left to her as Benedict’s widow, what annuity would see her through for her remaining years. She had once loved Benedict, and he had claimed the same on the wedding day. Surely, he would have seen to her comfort.

“Lastly, there is a letter. The dowager countess has been provided for from the estate, which states it was in her husband’s hand a few weeks before his untimely death.” Mr. Gilberts held up a cream-coloured envelope. An uneasy forewarning gripped Helena, the snaking sensation that she should be scared, but as she stared up at the cream stationery waved before her, nothing would have prepared her for the reality of what Mr. Gilberts read out.

It has come to my attention that my mistress, Mrs. Lawe, is pregnant with my child. If the babe should be born between October and December, I will be happy to support my baseborn son.

Mr. Gilberts looked between the inhabitants of the room before adding: “The dowager assures me this is her son’s handwriting, and this request should be given all due consideration. She hopes the sums of money unconnected to the estate would be allocated to Mrs. Lawe’s child, rather than his widow. An additional sum should be given to the unborn child.”

Pandemonium broke out as Walter started to yell that this matter would be fought in court whilst Eustace insisted this bastard would never take his family’s money.

“How dare you!”

“Can you imagine the shame?”

“Please, my lord, your inheritance is not under threat.”

Helena’s mind seemed to be full of further voices, shouts and recriminations, the past arguments and gruelling attempts at making a family playing out before her eyes. But all she could vaguely think was how Benedict had been unfaithful to her. The shock rocketed through her, robbing her of a real response whilst, at the same time, the deep-rooted knowledge that she had always known this to be the case.

“Ahem.” It was only when she turned to her mother-in-law that she saw the true level of hatred painted over Lady Sidney’s face. The dowager leant closer with a muttered comment. “My son would not have strayed had you been able to fulfil your purpose.” The dowager’s dull grey eyes were alert with malice. “It is your fault my son died without an heir.”

Blinking, Helena tried to think of a suitable response as the parlour descended into further shouts and taunts. Servants hurried in, with the dowager’s maid rushing to her mistress’s side, fanning the woman and offering her smelling salts, despite it being Helena who thought she might faint.

Finally, calm descended and the talk continued, but none of it seemed to break through to Helena until finally Walter knelt down in front of her armchair, his dark head bent toward her, the familiar family cerulean eyes he shared with her, looking up into her face. “Hel, we need to leave. There is nothing more to be gained here. My lawyers will deal with it.”

Numbly, she followed him out of the townhouse and down the steps to the waiting carriage. The squab bench beneath her rattled and shook as they wheedled their way through the hot streets of Mayfair. All the way, Walter ranted and cursed the Kingstons for their treatment of her, but Helena could not find the strength to do likewise—she was too drained.

“What would you have me do?” Walter turned in his seat to look at Helena’s face.