Helena waved off the happy couple as they departed down the rutted driveway in the somewhat old-fashioned carriage and as she went indoors she felt a sense of dread falling upon her. The preparations for her sister’s wedding, modest though the occasion was, had distracted her from the consequences of that match.
She looked around the shabby drawing room, now empty of revellers as they were still outside chattering. Despite the floral tributes she had arranged in honour of the celebrations, the empty room looked tired and ill-cared for. She sat heavily in the one good chair, ignoring the fact that the stuffing was escaping the cushioned seat and pondered over her fate.
It was all very well for Miss Mary Wollstonecraft to have expounded on the on the vindication for rights of women in the dying years of the eighteenth century. But some years later such modern-minded theories did not apply to rural gentlewomen in the depths of Wiltshire.
Despite being five full years her junior, her sister Catherine had married before her. This very fact was something that was somewhat frowned upon in the polite society their family clung to the fringes of. However, the main problem was that Catherine has married purely for love and a complete disregard for money. In any other gentleman’s household, this would not be regarded as disastrous, after all, she had married respectably enough to the son of a nearby gentleman-farmer. However all this domestic bliss this left Helena is a very tenuous position.
The bleak reality was that her own family faced financial ruin; not a discreet and gradual slide into genteel poverty but precipitous disaster. Her father and her oldest brother were both cursed with the disease of gambling. Again, this was not an unusual habit of the times, especially in the great houses of the land and she had heard tales of the scions of many a noble family who had squandered thousands of guineas in one night at the tables.
However, her family’s means were comparatively modest and her father’s and her brother’s extravagant habits had reduced them to penury. While her mother had been alive she had tried to keep some control over the spendthrift ways of her menfolk, but her final illness had stopped even those modest economies and now they were facing what was popularly known as an execution in the house; the threat of bailiffs coming to take away their worldly possessions, shabby as they were.
She thought of her farewell with Catherine, the bride’s face glowing with happiness under her bonnet as she kissed her sister’s cheek and whispered her hope that one day Helena would be as happy as she. The irony was, that in choosing to marry her true love and childhood sweetheart, Catherine had actually robbed away Helena’s chances of choosing a marriage partner for affection’s sake. If both daughters of marriageable age had wedded a modest fortune then the family would be back on its feet again, at least temporarily, but as Catherine had chosen to marry purely for love it was up to Helena to marry only for money.
Her Great Aunt Mathilda had made this very plain the day before the wedding.
“This is a very pretty pickle,” she said in her acerbic way. “It’s all very well for your sister to be floating about like love’s young dream, but that does not provide for any of you.”
And she took a sip of tea made with twice used tealeaves, one of the family economies, trying to hide her quirk of distaste before setting down her china cup and saucer with a rap.
“It’s a shame that you did not have your chance at the Season and were not presented at Court like all the other debutantes.” She said with a degree of asperity, but then her voice softened.
“I am well aware of the sacrifices you made to nurse your dear mama in her last ailment, which is a credit to you. However;” her voice grew business-like again. “You are past your first youth, which narrows your chances in matrimony.”
As her aunt looked at her critically, Helena knew that she was saying nothing but the truth. At the age of twenty-five, she was no longer considered in her prime, and her lack of dowry did not help her marriageability. She knew without her aunt having to tell her, that the best she could hope for would be an older man, perhaps widowed and with a family who would be grateful for a “sensible sort of girl,” as her aunt referred to her, to run the household. Hee duties would be to look after the offspring of the previous marriage and, although this was not mentioned explicitly, occasionally share the marriage bed to ensure children of her own.
This eminently practicable plan made her heart sink, but there was nothing for it. Although she despaired of her feckless father and scapegrace brother who was fast following in his elder’s footsteps, she loved her smaller brothers and sisters dearly and would do anything to secure their futures. Her two younger brothers would need entry into some kind of respectable profession, as there was no provision for them to lead the life of the gentlemen they were born to be. And Helena would make any sacrifice to make sure that her two younger sisters, who were still only children, could have all advantages that young ladies should have and not have to make the compromise that was now required of her.
So within a few weeks of her sister’s wedding she had followed her aunt’s plan and leaving that good lady to care for the household in her absence, Helena had made the journey to Bath by public coach. This location had been chosen both for convenience and economy, as her aunt had reasoned it was much closer and far less expensive than London.
There she was placed with a Mrs Warner, of a modest address just off Princes Street, just far enough away from the poverty of Westgate to be considered respectable. As Aunt Mathilda had informed her, this lady of limited means managed to supplement her late husband’s income by specialising in finding indigent young women like Helena entry into society with the hopes of finding a suitable husband.
Helena had thought that under different circumstances she might have enjoyed Bath, despite it having fallen out of fashion with the highest of society who followed Prinny’s inclinations for seaside watering places. She admired the elegant, flat-fronted facades of the golden stoned terraces gleaming in the early spring sunshine, and found Mrs Warner’s modest home which was tucked in a side street behind the Theatre Royal both comfortable and conveniently placed. It was within walking distance to the Abbey, the Pump Rooms and even the Assembly rooms; all the more vital since that worthy lady could not afford her own carriage.
Helena learned from a welcoming Mrs Warner that due to the close proximity of the London season, everyone who was anyone would be repairing to the capital within a matter of weeks. In Mrs Warner’s experienced view, this made time an important factor and so Helena was thrown into the social whirl as soon as she was declared presentable. Her clothes were looked over carefully to assess what could be re-trimmed or refreshed. As her wardrobe was lamentably short of occasion wear, inexpensive but pretty muslins were bought from the market and made up by a local woman, who no doubt had much of her regular custom from Mrs Warner and her charges.
Despite it falling from high fashion, Bath, and especially the Pump Room was still was popular with the ailing and those who imagined themselves to be so; and amongst them were powerful dowagers who could make or break a young woman’s reputation and entrée into society. Mrs Warner was careful to be on the best of terms with these ladies and due to her influence, Helena had passed muster in the Pump Rooms, that watering place that was the hub of Bath gossip. Although privately Helena found the waters disgusting to taste and the company dull, she fixed a polite smile on her face and let herself enjoy the elegant proportions of the room and the sound of the violins as the musicians performed in the upper gallery.
When she made a passing comment to Mrs Warner about the music the subject had turned to the one defect in social Helena’s armour.
“You can’t dance?” She exclaimed as though Helena had suddenly sprouted two heads.
Helena explained patiently that her years when she should have taken up such accomplishments were occupied with caring for her ailing mother until her passing. Mrs Warner clucked sympathetically, but her face showed her alarm at this deficit.
However, her eyes flicked over the Pump Room crowd and on finding her quarry she took off into the scrum and within seconds she was talking animatedly with someone that Helena could not quite see, so great was the press of people there. The mission must have been successful as Mrs Warner came back to her side wreathed in smiles.
“We are blessed by good luck indeed! The best dancing master in town and he is free!”
As Helena said what was appropriate, she hoped that her aunt’s dwindling supplies of money would be well spent. Then, when he arrived at the house at the appointed time, she was taken aback that the dancing master was not only young and dashing, but also French!
Despite this defect, M. Ambroise was an efficient teacher, and led her round Mrs Warner’s rather cluttered sitting room with ease, patiently taking her through all the dances that would be necessary at the Assembly. Although he was handsome and charming, even when he took her into his arms for the daring waltz she felt no flutter of the heart, merely pleasure at following the steps correctly.
He seemed to enjoy her company in turn and as they were of a similar age, they chatted easily together. So when they arrived separately at the Theatre Royal or the Pump Rooms they looked for each other to engage in some lively conversation amongst the tedium of the spa.
She was faintly puzzled that she felt so hint of romantic attraction for such a debonair gentleman, nor did he show any such interest in her, but all was explained when she perceived Jean-Claude (as he had insisted she call him) exchange discreet but impassioned glances with a handsome young man who was waiting on his extremely rich grandmamma who was there for the waters. Jean-Claude caught her looking at him in mid-glance and with a rueful shrug of his shoulders he grinned at her, and the incident cemented their friendship.
And now, after all the preparations that Mrs Warner had gone to with such attention, it was the night of the Assembly Ball. Helena felt unaccountably nervous as she regarded herself in the mirror. Her straight dark hair was not cropped in the latest fashion, but put up in a simple and elegant style, which gave her an air of dignity. Her skin glowed and her inexpensive but well-cut gown showed a decotellage that Mrs Warner judged was sufficient to attract the gentlemen but not too revealing to gain the disapproval of the dowagers.
She had remarked during a dress fitting that Helena was fortunately slim enough to suit the high-waisted gowns of current vogue, and regretfully mentioned a young lady who had been in her care the year previously, who was as wide as she was tall; and so unprepossessing did she look in the prevailing fashion that she went on her way home again husbandless. But the approving looks she gave Helena’s appearance and demeanour made her feel as though she would be of some success. Mrs Warner called her from her thoughts and affixing her mama’s good pearl necklace around her slender throat, Helena descended the stairs ready for the ball.
It should have been an exciting night, with the bustle of the well-dressed crowd filing into the magnificent building. But although she smiled charmingly as she was introduced to one gentleman after the other Helena felt privately as if she were a prize steer in her local cattle market as she was being eyed up and assessed at every turn. The room glittered with candlelight on the gleaming chandeliers and the musicians played as Helen accepted dances and thanked heaven for Jean Claude’s expert teaching; she spoke when spoken too and smiled until her jaw ached.
Having been leered over by an ancient dandy in far too tight clothing, with what she suspected was neither his own hair or teeth, Helena was rather relieved when a respectable looking man claimed her attention and was introduced as Colonel Matthews. He was an older man, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties, and deeply tanned, which Mrs Warner explained away later by him having spent some time in India during his career.
The very next day, the good Colonel left his calling card at the house, along with a pretty nosegay of flowers for Helena; and given an obvious sign of interest, this was efficiently followed up by a formal visit. Mrs Warner provided her with any details she had gleaned on her inquiries. That Colonel Matthews was twice widowed; his first family quite grown up and the second still mere children in the nursery of his country home just outside Richmond.
Although he had retired from active service he spent much of his time in London at Whitehall and the Horseguards giving military advice during the longstanding war with France. He seemed to find Helena very much to his liking and his attentions led to being accompanied to the theatre or a musical evening at the Assembly Rooms and even a ride in his barouche up to Lansdowne Hill accompanied by an eagle-eyed Mrs Warner.
However, Helena was only mildly flattered by all this. She was all too aware that if his attentions were serious, it was not because he was smitten with her but because he wanted a housekeeper, a nursemaid and someone to look elegant and fitting on his arm at state occasions. His attentions remained steady in the days following and an understanding was established between him and Mrs Warner. Helena’s opinion on the Colonel was never requested.
During this critical juncture, Helena felt de trop to the conversation between her elders and was walking dejectedly along Milsom Street when she found herself being hailed by Jean Claude.