Westlea House. Walters, the family’s old retainer, closed the front door behind Helen before turning to give her a stump-toothed smile.
‘Miss Anne will be pleased to see you, Mrs Marlowe.’
‘I … actually, is Mr Philip Goode at home?’ Helen asked. ‘It would be nice to see him too whilst I am here.’
‘He is at home, Mrs Marlowe but he has an important gentleman with him at present.’ The information was imparted with a hint of confidentiality and a twinkle in the eye. Walters was plainly impressed by the fellow’s identity if not about to reveal it.
‘Helen! It is good to see you. Is Charlotte not with you?’
Helen twisted about to see Anne Goode flitting down the stairs. ‘Charlotte is indisposed … a slight headache, but nothing to worry about,’ Helen quickly added as Anne showed concern. ‘Perhaps I ought come back another time as you have company.’
‘No, please stay!’ Anne urged. ‘Come to the drawing room. Philip will like to see you.’ She linked arms with Helen. ‘I had just slipped away from there for a second to change into my best shawl when I thought I recognised your voice.’ Anne gave an absent stroke to the lustrous silk swathing arms that were lightly freckled. ‘I think our distinguished visitor is only planning to stay a short time. Do come and say hello for it might delay him. I’ll wager he is too mannerly to take his leave soon after someone new is introduced.’ Anne gave a little giggle. ‘It is hard to credit that we are related to such a grand family. In fact, it is so long since Goodes socialised with Hunters that I had quite forgot our connection.’
‘Hunters?’ Helen’s tone held sharp enquiry.
Helen abruptly halted and Anne was jerked about to face her, for their arms were still entwined as they took a promenade along the hallway. Being so close Anne spontaneously hugged Helen in excitement.
‘Sir Jason Hunter is visiting us. We are distant cousins, you know,’ she proudly informed her.
A startled tenseness shaped Helen’s features on discovering the identity of the eminent guest.
‘Do you know the Hunters?’ Anne asked on a frown.
Helen managed to execute a jerky nod. ‘Sir Jason and my brother, George, were friends when younger. When we lived in Surrey our house was quite close to Thorne Park.’ The explanation was brief and abstracted—already Helen’s mind was attending to the consequences of what she’d heard.
She had promised Charlotte that she would relay a message to Philip today, but she needed an opportunity to be alone with him. With Jason Hunter present there would be even less chance to engineer a private conversation and discover if her sister was to have her heart broken.
But there were other issues besides Charlotte’s happiness rotating dizzily in her mind. When she had left Westlea House this afternoon her first task had been to take to the post a letter for Jason Hunter. In it she conveyed her regrets at Mr Drover’s conduct, but its proper purpose was to ask him to again visit her. She was reasonably confident that her phrasing and his sophistication would ensure he understood her objective.
Infuriatingly, the two gentlemen with whom she had pressing business were in the immediate vicinity, yet nothing would be gained by seeing either of them now.
It seemed an odd coincidence that Jason Hunter should have recently renewed his acquaintance with her and also with distant cousins he had not seen in an age. Helen felt inclined to ponder if it was connected to the association between Charlotte and Philip.
Charlotte had defiantly told their brother that she would marry Philip despite his objections. George did not like to be thwarted and could bear ferocious grudges. The roses, put in Helen’s cheeks by her brisk walk, faded away. Her reasoning veered between possibility and probability. Had George stooped to enrol Jason’s help in ensuring Philip stayed away? There was no love lost between her brother and Jason Hunter, but she had bitter proof that they could successfully deal together in business.
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