Loving Helen (12 page)

She realized that it did not matter that she had failed to gain Mr. Preston’s interest. It would not matter — for Grace, at least — if they never received a penny of their inheritance. She had found herself both a husband and a home and would be well cared for.

Helen knew it was probable that she and Christopher could live at Sutherland Hall as well. She wished Christopher had stayed this evening, but, detesting balls and dancing, he’d already excused himself, to return to Mr. Preston’s to help move Beth’s dollhouse to the Christmas tree in the main house.

As for herself …

Helen sighed inwardly. Grace might be happy here, but Helen was certain she could never be. She could never feel comfortable around someone as stern as Lord Sutherland, and she would feel an intruder in his home.
Even if it is Grace’s home too.
Something —
many
things, likely —
had changed since Grace had come to Sutherland Hall. For the first time in her life, Helen realized that she and Christopher were not the center of her sister’s focus. Certainly Grace still loved them both, but Lord Sutherland now occupied her mind and heart.
As he should.

Helen felt happy for Grace, yet she could not deny that a part of her felt sad at this change and knowing that their life together would never be as it was before.
I cannot stay here. This is not my place.

But what was?

Her
heart yearned for the warm hearth of the house that sat but a mile or so up the road. She wished she were there with Christopher and Mr. Preston now and that she could be there tomorrow morning to witness Beth’s delight when she first saw the dollhouse, to share Christmas with the little girl she had come to love.
And her father.

It seemed that Grace was not the only one who had changed.

“Well done,” Lady Sutherland said, clapping as Lord Sutherland and Grace returned to the side of the hall following their waltz.

“It was lovely,” Helen agreed. “Though I could never dance like that.”

“Nor should you,” Grace said, with a sideways glance at Lord Sutherland.

He answered with a wicked grin. “If you will excuse me a moment, ladies, I must greet our latest arrivals.” He bowed and turned away just as Mr. Preston entered the ballroom.

Helen’s heart leaped at the sight of him.
He came! Has it been but one day since we parted?
It seemed much longer than that; Lord Sutherland’s estate seemed so far away from the cozy world she’d inhabited.

She watched as Mr. Preston scanned the room and stopped when he’d spotted her.
Or Grace?
Without hesitation, he began making his way over to them. For a moment Helen worried that he did not know the extent of Grace’s affection for Lord Sutherland. Then she remembered that it was Mr. Preston who had spied them kissing at the crossroad.
Surely he must know of their feelings for one another.
Helen felt a surge of hope as Mr. Preston continued walking toward her.

Instead of going to greet other guests Lord Sutherland stayed at Grace’s side. He moved closer and placed his hand at her elbow. “Are you thirsty after our dance? Would you like some refreshment?”

“Mr. Preston!” Helen exclaimed as he arrived at their group. She rose to greet him.

“Good evening, Miss Helen.” Mr. Preston bowed, then turned to Grace.

“Hello, Grace.”

“Miss Thatcher to you,” Lord Sutherland snarled, stepping forward.

Mr. Preston called her by her Christian name.
Helen felt as if she’d been struck.

Beside her, Grace held a restraining hand upon Lord Sutherland’s arm as she sent a pleading look to Mr. Preston.

“My apologies,” Mr. Preston said. “Miss Thatcher, Lord Sutherland. Lady Sutherland.”

Lady Sutherland did not return his greeting, and Helen felt the sting of rebuke as if it had been directed at her.

“It was good of you to invite me,” Mr. Preston said to Lord Sutherland. “It is good to be here again.” He glanced round the room before returning his look to them. “Miss Thatcher, may I request the pleasure of your company for the next set?”

Yes.
Helen smiled timidly, still frightened by the prospect of actually dancing, but at the same time thrilled that he had asked.

But it was to Grace that Mr. Preston held out his hand, stepping in front of Lord Sutherland to reach her.

“I — of course,” Grace said, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her away.

Lord Sutherland watched them go, looking as stunned and stung as Helen felt. “Would you care to dance?” he asked her in somber tone.

Helen shrank, neither wishing to offend nor to dance with him.

“I do not bite, you know,” he said.

“No, thank you, sir — milord,” Helen corrected. “I am not a very good dancer.”

Lord Sutherland gave a curt nod. “Excuse me, Mother,” he said, and left them, presumably in search of a more willing lady.

Helen watched as Mr. Preston led Grace to the center of the floor. Lord Sutherland found a partner and joined their set, and the dance was begun. In contrast to the waltz, the mood of this dance was fraught with tension. Anyone with half an eye on the participants could not help but notice the stares and mutterings passing between the couples as they completed the steps. Grace seemed caught in a balancing act between two men — the forbidding Lord Sutherland and hopeful Mr. Preston, whose expressions seemed as gentle as Lord Sutherland’s were harsh.

The dance was not yet halfway over when Helen decided she could take no more. She swayed on her feet, feeling ill. Her heart was breaking — for herself and for Mr. Preston, who perhaps really had no idea of the depth of Grace’s feelings for his neighbor.

“Are you all right?” Lady Sutherland asked, not unkindly. “You look a little pale.” She patted Helen’s arm as if offering condolences. “Don’t pine for Mr. Preston, my dear. You wouldn’t want him. It is his fault that my daughter is dead.”

Helen shook her head and backed away from Lady Sutherland. “It isn’t,” she said, defending Mr. Preston against such cruel gossip. “You don’t know him as I do. He would never have hurt Elizabeth. He did everything he could to save her. He loved his wife. He adores her still.”

And he adores Grace.

Turning from Lady Sutherland, Helen fled the ballroom, tears clouding her vision as she ran past the dreaded kissing ball. She had no need to fear it. The only man she might ever have considered kissing was in love with her sister.

Helen trudged through the garden on her return trip to Sutherland Hall after visiting with Beth. At noon, Harrison had driven her to Mr. Preston’s estate, where, for a few brief, blissful hours, she and Beth had played in the nursery with her new dollhouse. Time with Beth had been like balm to Helen’s soul. For, while last night Mr. Preston had made it abundantly clear that the time they’d spent together meant little to him — including the last months’ worth of meals taken together and the many hours they had worked, side by side, on Beth’s dollhouse — Beth, at least, remained loyal in her affection and her desire to have Helen as her friend.

Both her greeting and parting hugs had gone on long enough that one would have thought the two of them had not seen each other in ages or were about to part for years. Beth had elicited a promise from Helen that they would continue their playtime, a promise Helen felt only too grateful to make. Beth’s love was constant, something Helen needed as much as the motherless little girl seemed to need her.

Determined to keep that promise by visiting every day, Helen plodded across Lord Sutherland’s snowy yard, intent on finding a faster way to reach Mr. Preston’s home so she’d be free to come and go as she pleased. Mr. Preston had once mentioned a connecting gate between the two properties, and Helen hoped to discover it sooner, rather than later, if she was to keep her toes from being frostbitten.

Stomping her feet to keep them from going numb, Helen continued, following the fence toward ominous Sutherland Hall looming in the distance and —
Mr. Preston and Grace!
They stood facing one another, just a short distance from the wall. Beside them, the gate Helen had hoped to find was ajar.

They were the last people Helen had expected to see together today. She ducked behind the closest bush, then watched as Mr. Preston knelt in the snow before her sister and spoke words that she, herself, would have loved to hear from his lips.

“I will spend the remainder of my life in the pursuit of your happiness,” Mr. Preston promised.

Hardly daring to breathe, Helen waited for Grace to answer.
How can she refuse?
Yet Helen did not know how her sister could accept, either, given her obvious attachment to Lord Sutherland.

Helen watched, her heart breaking as Grace fell into Mr. Preston’s arms, crying even as she rejected his proposal of marriage — a proposal more beautiful than anything Helen could have ever conceived.

Yet Grace had thrown it away, dismissed it along with the near-perfect man who had offered up his heart.

“Why torture me so — and yourself, too?” Grace demanded of Mr. Preston when he confessed that he’d believed she would refuse his suit.

What do you know of torture?
Helen thought, trying to keep her bitterness at bay. She loved Grace, adored her with sisterly affection. Grace had practically been a mother to her. Helen wished for her sister to be happy, and she knew from watching Mr. Preston all these weeks that Grace could be happy. With him.

A slushy dollop of snow fell from the bare branches of a tree, landing on the bridge of Helen’s nose and over her right eye. She gasped and quickly swiped the wet snow from her face. Squinting against temporary blindness, she ducked lower behind the bushes and waited tensely, expecting either Grace or Mr. Preston or both to turn her direction.

When neither did, Helen felt irritation rather than surprise. She could probably throw a snowball at them, or stand and wave her hands, and they still would not take notice of her. No one ever did.

Why, just a few days ago, she and Mr. Preston had been close enough that he might have kissed her, and instead of taking notice, he’d laughed the incident off as if it had been nothing. It had not been
nothing
to Helen, but one of many agonizing moments spent in his presence when she felt that exhilarating, yet distressing, feeling that set her on edge.

She supposed she should have felt pleased that Grace had rejected him.
I will not have to endure having Mr. Preston as my brother-in-law.
It was small comfort at first and then no comfort at all as Helen watched Mr. Preston produce a sheaf of papers from his coat.

“I asked Christopher to wait until today and to let me tell you the good news.”

Our inheritance.
Helen’s heartbeat quickened.
We will leave now. We’ll move far away, and I will never see Mr. Preston or Beth again.

Dear Beth.
Tears filled Helen’s eyes as she thought of the tiny hands clasped around her, holding so tight.
I promised Beth I would continue to visit, but now …

“You may go wherever you like,” Mr. Preston said. “Whenever you like. I have already spoken with several landlords about properties available for rent. I know of some that are far enough from here …”

The rest of his words were lost to her as Helen turned and ran toward the main path. Not wanting to chance Grace finding her — and demanding an explanation for her tears — Helen left the brick walk and ran through the garden, heedless of the mud ruining her slippers or the hem of her dress dragging through the snow.

She knew only that she must be alone, and quickly, where she might cry in private for her heart that had just been broken for the second time in one day.