The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“I will assist you and apply my own slipper.”

“You mock me, girl. Why is he coming?”

Helen slowly walked away from her father, who stood a good head taller than she. He was, in fact, quite the tallest man she had ever seen. She couldn’t wait to see what Lord Beecham had to say when he craned his neck to look up at him. She walked to the lovely little bow windows in the parlor of their suite. She pulled back the curtain. The month of May was glorious even in London, she thought. At least today was. So many people, all in such a hurry. She hoped they knew where they were going. Sometimes it was very difficult to know.

“I have a use for him, Father. But I just don’t know him well enough. The fact is, I want to see what you think of him. If you do not wish me ever to see him again, you will tell me, and I will show him to the door.”

He beetled his thick arched brows, sleek and white. “I have heard all about Lord Beecham. I have heard no scurrilous tales about him. He appears honorable, though he is a renowned satyr. At least he is tall, I’ll give you that. He’s rich, but you don’t care about that. Are you thinking you’ll marry the fellow, Nell?”

“You know I don’t wish to wed, Papa.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a long time, then turned and said over his shoulder, “I’ll order two bottles of champagne.”

Of course he had not thought to order the dinner with the champagne. She smiled as she rang the bell for their butler, Flock. Flock, so small he fit quite nicely under her arm, could deal well with the Prince Regent himself were the need to arise. He said to his mistress, “Miss Helen, I understand that Lord Beecham is a very intelligent man.”

“Yes, I have heard that too, Flock.”

“You will not worry. I will speak to him when he arrives. If he impresses me with his wit, I will give you a single wink. If he does not impress me, I will open the windows so Lord Prith may toss him out.”

“I could do it just as well, Flock,” she said mildly.

“Yes, I know, but I fancy you will be wearing a lovely gown and I wouldn’t want you to wrinkle it.”

“Very well, Flock.” She couldn’t wait to see whether she got a wink or an open window.

Helen spent more time than usual on her appearance that evening. When her maid Teeny fastened pearls around her neck, Helen said to her image in the mirror, “Have you decided to marry Flock?”

There was a big sigh behind her. “Oh, Miss Helen, I can’t do it, I just can’t.”

“Why ever not? He is an excellent man. He is kind, he is competent. He is ever so forceful, and I have seen you shudder in delight when he tells you he will discipline you if you don’t do as he wishes. He would take good care of you.”

“I know all that, Miss Helen. But don’t you see—my name would be Teeny Flock. It makes my teeth ache just to say it.”

“Good God,” Helen said as she rose and smoothed her skirts. She leaned down to give Teeny a hug. “I hadn’t realized. Let me think about that. It is an obstacle, you’re right about that, but it is not insurmountable.”

When Flock announced Lord Beecham, Helen was already on her feet. Why the devil was she nervous? It was absurd.

Flock gave her a wink.

Lord Beecham, wearing evening clothes that perfectly complemented the arrogance of the man, strode into the room, spotted her, and was before her quickly. He bowed over her hand but didn’t kiss either her hand or her fingers or her wrist. He just smiled at her and stepped away to shake hands with Lord Prith.

“I had the great pleasure to see you once, sir, in White’s. May I inquire the height of your wife?”

“Ah, my sweet Mathilda, named after the conqueror’s wife, you know. She was just a slip of a girl when I met her. No taller than my elbow when I married her. I swear, though, that she grew through the years just to keep up with her daughter. Helen, how tall was your mother?”

“My mother, Lord Beecham, was perhaps an inch taller than I. She swept through East Anglia, gentlemen in her wake, begging for her attention, but then she saw my father, and she stopped sweeping.”

“It is just the same with you, Nell,” Lord Prith said. He added to Lord Beecham, “So many fellows wanting to marry my little Nell. Sad thing is, though, most of ’em are short, more’s the pity. Short men take one look at Helen and swoon. Of course, neither Helen nor I see them when they collapse.”

“Because they’re so short.”

“Exactly,” said Lord Prith. “Flock, bring on the champagne.”

Now, Helen thought, with a smile toward her father, they would soon see what Lord Beecham was made of. She didn’t know what Flock used to measure a man’s wit, but to her father, it was, and always had been, champagne.

Lord Beecham eyed the beautiful goblet filled to its very brim with perfectly chilled champagne. He smiled at Flock as he shook his head. “Forgive me, but I would very much prefer a brandy.”

Lord Prith choked and spewed champagne bubbles.