Loving Helen (9 page)

“Fireplaces go here.” Mr. Preston pointed to walls on the lower and upper floors. “Cabinets on the wall here. Some of the furniture I’ve ordered, and I’m making some as well.”

“You’ve less than a month until Christmas,” Helen said. “You’ll need to hurry.”

“Do you think you can suffer my company that long?”

Suffer
was certainly the right word. It would be torture to be near him so often and reminded that it was Grace —
not I —
who held his interest. Attempting to pretend that his proximity would have no effect whatsoever, Helen brought a hand to her chin, pursed her lips, and pretended to consider. “I suppose we shall bear it somehow.”

Across the room, Miranda rolled her eyes, and Mr. Preston’s brows drew together quizzically as he looked at Helen, as if not certain he’d heard her correctly.

“I mean, we will be most happy for your company,” she hurried to amend. She’d only been jesting, but he did not seem to realize that.

Because teasing is not my place. I am only Beth’s friend.
A position she might very well lose if he thought her rude and unfeeling.

She tried once more. “I am sorry. Forgive me. I only meant —”

“I know what you meant.” A grin swept the disbelief from his face. “It was an unexpected, but delightful, change, I must say.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, his eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing her. “Dare I hope you are no longer afraid of me, Miss Helen — as your ability to tease would suggest?”

“I was never afraid of you. However —” Helen ran a finger along the sloped roof of the dollhouse — “the evil king continues to give me nightmares.”

“Does he?” Mr. Preston’s voice softened, and his look grew searching. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope it is a situation that may yet be remedied. It is not good to be fearful — of anything, pretend or real.”

Beneath her gown, Helen’s heartbeat raced. Mr. Preston sounded almost as if he knew what she spoke of — and as if he understood. She turned from his gaze, forcing her attention to the dollhouse before she gave herself away entirely.

“But what about the inside?” she asked. “You’ll need curtains and bedding and rugs.”

“Yes, well …” Mr. Preston leaned a hand on the table. “Fathers are only good at so many things. I’m afraid that sewing is not one of them.”

“I could do it.” Helen knelt, peering into the small rooms, imagining how they might look properly decorated like a real house. “Miranda will help me, won’t you?” She glanced across the room and smiled encouragingly at her maid.

“If it will keep you out of trouble,” Miranda said, sounding more like the mother of an errant child than a lady’s maid.

“Perfect. We will begin tomorrow.” Helen realized she’d left him no room for argument.
I sound rather like Grace.
Worried she’d displeased him, that she’d been too forward, Helen scrambled to think of an apology as she stood.

But before she could speak, Mr. Preston collapsed on the settee once more, a grin on his face and hands behind his head. “It appears I have come to the right place.”

My Dearest Helen,

Lord Sutherland has decided to host a Christmas Eve ball, and his mother said it is for me …

Samuel watched from the hall above as his butler opened the front doors and Miss Helen entered the foyer. Samuel had sent his carriage for her just fifteen minutes earlier, thinking, as he had before, how having her so close was convenient. He could not have chosen a better influence for Beth. Indeed, her behavior and demeanor had changed markedly since Miss Helen’s arrival. Their friendship had proved just the thing, and while he knew it wasn’t the same as having a mother, Samuel had to admit that his guilt regarding Beth had lessened with Miss Helen’s presence.

At the top of the stairs he was joined by Beth dressed in a clean frock with her hair tied up prettily for dinner. Samuel took his daughter’s hand, and they hurried down the stairs to greet Miss Helen, eager for her company. They’d dined together for a week now, and he’d found the change a most pleasant one, as were the evenings spent at her side while they worked on Beth’s dollhouse.

They reached the foyer just as the butler finished helping Miss Helen from her cloak.

“Good evening.” Samuel bent over her hand as he kissed the back of it. As he straightened, he took in her trim figure dressed in an amber gown. It was simple in adornment, yet somehow it gave her face the appearance of glowing, complete with a halo of golden curls on top of her head.

Beth rushed forward to hug Miss Helen, though it had been but a few hours since they’d played together. “You look like an angel.”

My thoughts exactly. Samuel glanced at Beth briefly before his gaze slid back to Miss Helen, who looked nothing like a governess at the moment. How are governesses supposed to look? He felt suddenly uncomfortable that he had suggested such a path to her. A young woman with her beauty might be seen as a threat by the lady of a house. And Samuel could well imagine a gentleman being distracted by Miss Helen’s appearance. And if that were to happen …

It didn’t bear thinking about, but he felt that he must consider it and somehow advise Miss Helen of the potential dangers. Beth had been so taken with her that first morning at breakfast —
as was I
— that he had thought of nothing but Miss Helen’s apparent way with children. Only now did he realize there were other, very serious matters to be pondered, if she was to find a suitable and safe position.

I would have to know the couple very well,
Samuel realized, feeling an odd surge of protectiveness for the woman before him, busily exclaiming over Beth’s simple frock.

“Good evening to you both.” Miss Helen curtsied, and a few seconds later Beth, looking remiss, did the same.

Samuel took a lady on either side, holding his arm low for Beth, and escorted them into dinner. Remembering Miss Helen’s awkwardness the day they’d breakfasted some two months earlier, he’d come up with the idea to have Beth join them the first night Miss Helen came to dinner. His plan had gone spectacularly well. Not only had Miss Helen seemed more at ease, but Beth had eaten her dinner, used her utensils, and remained in her chair throughout the entire meal. Such success demanded he continue the pattern, unheard of as dining with one’s children was.

If he had any hope of taming his daughter’s wild ways, including her lack of manners when eating, it lay in the beautiful woman beside him.

Once they were seated and had been served by the staff, their usual conversation began. He began by inquiring after their day. “Were you in Camelot again this afternoon? Or was it—”

“Sherwood Forest,” Beth interrupted with a mouthful of food. Across the table from her, Miss Helen pressed her fingers to her lips and shook her head.

Beth closed her mouth and swallowed before saying more. “We were in Sherwood Forest, fighting Prince John.”

Samuel had been pleased to discover that nearly all of the adventures Miss Helen’s imagination conjured were based in literature. Without her even realizing it, Beth’s education had begun.

“And why were we fighting Prince John?” Miss Helen asked.

“He took everyone’s money,” Beth said. “And they were going to starve.”

“Unfair taxation,” Miss Helen clarified.

“He was bad.” Beth reached for her glass and tipped it sideways.

Samuel caught it before her drink could spill, then helped her bring the glass safely from the table to her lips. “Let me guess,” he said. “You were Maid Marian.”

Beth scrunched up her nose and frowned. She set her drink at the edge of the table. “I was Robin Hood. Watch me shoot an arrow.” She jumped up, knocking the glass on its side as she thrust her left arm forward. Her right arm drew back, fork still clutched tight in her fist.

“No, Beth!” Samuel and Miss Helen exclaimed at the same time.

“Whish,” Beth shouted. Her right hand punched forward, fingers straight, mimicking an arrow, and the fork flew from it, across the table. Miss Helen ducked, but not quite fast enough, and the potato-laden fork stuck fast in the curls topping her head. Beth clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes grew large.

“Beth!” Samuel reprimanded sharply. He stood, then reached for her as she turned from him. He leaned forward, hand outstretched to grab her, but again she was too fast, and he found himself with only a sleeve dipped in gravy for his efforts as she ran from the room, crying.

“Please see to it that she gets safely to the nursery,” Samuel instructed the servant closest to the door. With a nod the man was off, and Samuel and Miss Helen were left alone, each appearing somewhat worse for the experience.

As he returned to his seat, he watched her work to dislodge the fork from her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she began, but he held his hand up before she could say more.

“Do not apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”

“But it was I who told her of Robin Hood, who gave her the idea.”

“You suggested she throw her silverware at you during dinner?” Samuel asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

“No.” Miss Helen succeeded in extracting the fork, though a sizeable dab of potatoes remained.

He looked away, but not before a burst of laughter sprang from his lips. He brought a fist quickly to his mouth, attempting to cover his mirth, but it was no use. She looked so utterly ridiculous.

Instead of seeming affronted by his behavior, Miss Helen’s shoulders sagged with evident relief, and her mouth turned up in a smile as well. “You are a fine one to laugh, with your sleeve dripping gravy on the tablecloth.”

“So I am,” Samuel said, holding up his arm and laughing harder. “We’re quite a pair.”

Miss Helen’s smile faltered.

“I know I should not be amused,” Samuel said, believing she did not find the situation humorous after all. “Beth’s behavior was atrocious; I am a terrible father.”

“You are a wonderful father.” She reached out, placing her hand on his arm. “Beth is a very fortunate little girl. She loves you dearly, and she will grow out of these behaviors.”

Samuel looked down at Miss Helen’s hand on his arm and constrained himself from placing his hand over it. During the past weeks, he’d learned that she did not like to be touched, especially unexpectedly. That she had voluntarily reached out to him said much — both about the changes she’d made since her arrival, and about the level of friendship they had attained. He dared not jeopardize that by reciprocating her warmth.

“Thank you.” He lifted his gaze to hers and was pleased when she did not look away. An entirely pleasant, comfortable feeling settled in his chest. “Beth and I are both fortunate to have found a friend in you, Miss Helen.” The truth of his statement tempered his laughter. They were most fortunate. He did not wish Miss Helen to find a position elsewhere. He wished, somehow, that she might continue on here.

Samuel attached the miniature fireplace to the dollhouse wall while Miss Helen hung the last of the curtains on the windows. Between the two of them, over the past few weeks, the house had transformed into a masterpiece. He had built the furniture; she’d painted it. He’d finished the stairs; she’d laid carpet. He’d shingled the roof; she’d papered the inside. He’d added a rail to the porch; she’d worked a miracle with her needle and thread, covering the tiny beds with quilts and the tables with cloths. He could hardly wait for Beth to see their creation.

With the last piece in place, he backed up, turning his head at the same moment Miss Helen did.

“Oh!” she exclaimed at their faces so close, noses nearly touching.

Samuel laughed, then grabbed her elbow to steady her as she reeled back. “If we’d been racing to see who finished first, we’d have to declare it a tie.”

“Are we finished, then?” she asked, blushing prettily as she extracted her arm and stepped back, putting more distance between them.

He almost wished she wouldn’t, then mentally scolded himself for the thought. Miss Helen was much younger than her sister, and he had no business thinking of her as other than a friend. Something he would do well to remember if he did not wish to scare her off.