Loving Helen (28 page)

He stepped close, extracted Beth from Helen’s arms, and helped Helen to stand.

“I wonder …” He patted Beth on the head, then watched as she ran over to the window. Slowly his gaze returned to Helen. “I wonder if
I
might ever hear a similar sentiment fall from your lips.”

What is he saying?
Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he must hear it. “If it was something you wished to hear — ”

“The weather has turned worse.” Harrison appeared in the doorway behind Samuel, water dripping from his hat and already pooling at his feet. “Best not to tarry any longer.” Helen followed his gaze toward the window and outside, where the rain was beginning to turn to sleet.

“Roads are already muddy. It’ll be slow going, and if we don’t leave at once we’ll risk being stuck somewhere before nightfall.” He wiped his sleeve across his brow, flicking droplets of water across the rug. “And I don’t care to have another accident in the middle of the night.”

“There will be
no
accidents,” Samuel said, speaking more to Helen than to Harrison. “Your brother’s presence ought to assure that.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin Helen did not understand. “And this time you are traveling with a proper escort.”

She nodded, grateful for the two extra men Samuel had employed to see she and Christopher safely home.
Except that it will not feel like home.

“Your brother is already outside,” Harrison said.

“Gallant of him to wait for me,” Helen said with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Harrison coughed into his hand and cleared his throat. “He asked that I inform you that Lord Sutherland will not be here to see you off. Due to the inclement weather he has decided to stay home this morning. And so Mr. Thatcher said your earlier
requirement
before departure is no longer necessary.”

“Christopher is already outside because he is fearful I’ll strangle him,” Samuel muttered.

“No longer necessary.” Helen shook her head. “Do not worry. I have seven hours before me to make him pay.” She turned to Harrison. “Thank you. Please inform Christopher that I shall be along shortly.”

“He asked that I wait for you,” Harrison said, his face a perfect mask of respect, yet Helen sensed his own mischief lurking below the surface.

Samuel and Helen glanced at each other, then back at Harrison. Helen silently wished him to go away. Regardless of whether or not Lord Sutherland was here, she wanted a goodbye kiss.

“I’ll just wait — over there.” With a nod, Harrison turned from them and walked exactly five steps away, no longer in the sitting room doorway, but close enough that he might still see what was going on inside. Helen sighed inwardly.

Samuel moved closer, took both of her hands in his and leaned close. “It seems we are destined to be forever interrupted.”

“Not forever, I hope,” Helen said, then immediately worried he would misinterpret her words. “Not interrupted, I mean.”

“I know.” His voice held a confidence that had not been there a few minutes earlier. “I will miss you, Helen, but I shall see you next week.” He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

Her eyes must have betrayed her disappointment, for Samuel’s mouth quirked upward. “Patience,” he whispered, then glanced at Harrison, pretending to study some point on the wall beyond them and Beth, busily licking her fingers and trailing smudges on the window pane. “This is not goodbye. And this is most definitely not our moment alone. But it shall come.”

Helen sat at the one dressing table in the tiny upstairs bedroom of the cottage. She brushed her long hair, then began the process of plaiting it, while across the room, near the fire, Miranda did the same for Grace.

“If you’ll but wait a minute, I’ll take care of that for you,” Miranda said, censure heavy in her voice as she looked over at Helen.

Proper
ladies
do not plait their own hair.
Helen silently repeated the admonition that had been spoken to her many times. “Of course.” She allowed her hands to go slack and stared forlornly into the mirror. The face reflecting back at her did not appear worried or frightened as it had so many times in the past. Rather, the deep blue eyes were filled with acute longing, and the pouting mouth confirmed impatience and displeasure.
Not a pretty look.

Helen sighed and turned away from the mirror. “I think this must be what it feels like to be homesick.”

“You mean lovesick,” Grace corrected, then winced as Miranda pulled her braid tight.

“That too.” Helen rose from the chair and went to stand before the window, looking down at the dark and unfamiliar yard below. “I miss Samuel terribly, but I also miss Beth. I miss the breakfast room and the nursery and the gardens. I think that I have never cared for a place so much — even Grandfather’s home was not so dear to me.”

“I know what you mean,” Grace said, a slight catch in her voice.

Helen closed her eyes and heart against her sister’s silent plea for comfort.
I promised not to say a word of Lord Sutherland or his plans.
Oh, but it was difficult to keep her promise when she knew she might end Grace’s misery now, or at least give her something to hope for.

“I promise you will have that feeling of being home again one day,” Helen said, praying she had not hinted at too much yet had somehow offered the comfort she longed to give. She turned from the window to assess Grace’s reaction and saw her smile bravely — if not falsely.

“I know I shall come to feel the same about this dear old house quite soon,” Grace said.

“Old it certainly is,” Miranda grumbled. “Fireplaces that don’t air properly. Windows that don’t shut or open. Floors squeak. Water has to be pumped outside. Drafts something terrible in every room. Your grandfather is like to haunt me for letting you girls live in a place like this.”

Helen and Grace exchanged surprised looks then Grace’s smile turned genuine. “Oh, Miranda. We are used to this and worse.”

“
Much
worse
,
” Helen said, thinking of the hovel they’d grown up in. “Here the air is sweet, the meadows wide around us, and everything inside is neat as a pin.”

“Not room for much more than a pin.” Miranda tied a ribbon at the bottom of Grace’s braid. Helen returned to the dressing table and allowed Miranda to finish her hair and continue her muttering. “Nothing is as it should be. Your brother’s working outside like a common laborer. Harrison’s putting on airs and bringing me trinkets.”

“What?” Grace and Helen exclaimed together. Helen caught Miranda’s eye and blushing face in the mirror.

“What trinkets has he brought you?” Grace asked.

“Do tell us — or better, show us.” Helen turned in her seat to appraise their blushing maid.

“Nothing. Forget I said it.” Miranda resumed her task with a strong hand that soon had Helen feeling tears in her eyes.

“Not so tight, please,” she begged. “I am only going to sleep. Not out riding.”

Grace, safe now — having had her braid finished already — seemed not about to let the matter rest. Leaving her chair by the fire, she came over to sit on the bed, only a few steps away from the dressing table in the crowded room. “If you will not tell us, we shall guess.”

“
Hmpf
,” Miranda said, sounding decidedly like the person she did not wish to discuss.

“Did Harrison give you a special piece of jewelry, perhaps a family heirloom he’s held onto all these years?” Grace asked.

Miranda made no reply but continued plaiting Helen’s hair in a torturous manner.

“Or perhaps he picked a bouquet of wildflowers for you,” Helen suggested.

“In February?” Miranda rolled her eyes, but Helen had the strangest feeling that their maid was rather enjoying this attention and game.

“He brought you a sweet?” Grace guessed.

Miranda shook her head, and her lips remained pressed together.

Helen sighed dramatically. “If she will not tell us, we shall simply have to ask Harrison.”

“Splendid idea.” Grace clapped her hands and rose up on her knees on the bed. “We shall tell him how Miranda was speaking of his gift in such loving terms.”

“Oh no, you won’t.” Miranda pulled the ribbon on Helen’s braid with finality. “That’s all I need is the man thinking I’m so taken with him that I talk about him.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Grace asked.

“He is quite taken with
you
,” Helen said, remembering her conversation with Harrison months earlier. “He admires your strength of character and your caring, giving ways.” She grimaced as she ran a hand over her braid, wishing Miranda had been a bit
less
caring with it.

“Harrison said all that? He admires my
character
?”

Helen nodded. “That and more. He cares a great deal for you, Miranda.”

“He does,” Grace agreed. “If I had someone as good as Harrison who cared for me, I would do my best not to lose him.” Her voice had grown quiet, and Helen came over to the bed to sit by her, putting her arm around Grace’s shoulders.

“Will that be all?” Miranda asked, considerably subdued from moments earlier.

“Yes,” Helen said, answering for them both as she sensed Grace no longer felt like talking. “Thank you.”

Miranda gave her usual curt nod, then turned to leave the room. She opened the door but paused before going out to the hall. “Harrison brought me the fixings for a hat, as mine became crushed during the move. He brought me ribbons and flowers and such so I could make it new.”

“That was quite thoughtful,” Helen said.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Miranda spoke as if this was revelation to her.

“Very,” Grace added as Miranda left them, closing the door behind her.

“Harrison loves her.” Helen rested her head upon Grace’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Grace agreed. “But will they ever be together? Or will they keep doing the same circles around each other as they have been all these years?”

“I don’t know,” Helen said, wondering why love had to be so complicated. “Do you think if Harrison told Miranda he loved her it would change anything between them?” She waited, but Grace did not answer, so Helen asked another question, one she had wondered about lately. “When did Lord Sutherland tell you that he loved you?”

“
After
I had taken a chance and declared my feelings.”

Helen lifted her head and turned to Grace. “After? You spoke the words first?”

“I did not exactly say that I loved him …” Grace smiled wistfully. “It was more that I asked him to hold me and admitted that I would like to be kissed.”

“
You did
?” Helen felt properly shocked. She could not imagine admitting something like that to Samuel.
Yet didn’t I do as much — by meeting him at the gazebo?

“I do not regret it,” Grace said, sounding quite stoic. “When I am an old maid I shall always have that memory to look back upon and treasure.”

“You shall
not
be an old maid.”
Why did I ever give my word to not say anything?

Ignoring Helen’s prediction, Grace asked, “Has Mr. Preston declared his feelings for you?”

“No — not really.”
I am still not entirely sure what was real and what was pretended.
Helen fell back on the bed. “But we have kissed.”

“Goodness!” Grace flopped down beside her, then rolled to her stomach. “Tell me everything.” She placed her hands beneath her chin and waited expectantly.

“It was perfect.” Helen sighed, remembering the feeling of being in Samuel’s arms and those moments of bliss. “He teased me from my nervousness, then instructed me to place my hands on his shoulders so I might push him away if I wished.”

Grace laughed. “That sounds like Samuel.”

Helen’s smile vanished. She sat up. “Did he ever kiss
you
?”

“No. Of course not.” Grace leaned away as if offended. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

“I did not mean —”

“A ruined one,” Grace said soberly.

“No Grace. You are not ruined,” Helen said. “No matter what the gossips say. Please forgive me for asking such a question.”

Grace sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, careful to pull her nightgown over them. “It is all right. Do not worry yourself over it.” But she did not sound all right or as if she were not worried.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry,” Helen said.
I am the worst sister ever. It is likely Samuel and Lord Sutherland swore me to secrecy because they were afraid I’d open my mouth and bungle the whole thing.

“I am sorry too,” Grace said. “I regret that I ever entertained the possibility of feelings for Samuel. It has made things difficult for you, and it has cost me dearly. And I am sorry I have shamed our family.”

“You haven’t,” Helen said. “It was but a misunderstanding that —”

“— landed me in Lord Sutherland’s bed and ruined my reputation,” Grace finished. “That is the worst of it, Helen. I have but a kiss to remember the rest of my life, yet the world will judge me for far more.”

Helen took her sister’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Let the world think what it will.
I
know the truth — that Miss Grace Thatcher, age twenty-four, and presently of the run-down cottage at the edge of nowhere, is the most noble, generous, kindhearted, and self-sacrificing woman ever to walk England’s soil.”