Loving Helen (A Hearthfire Romance Book 2) Read online

  “What means more to Mr. Preston than anything in the world?” Harrison asked.

  “His daughter,” Helen said, remembering the way he’d held Beth close and introduced her as “my Beth.”

  Harrison nodded. “And you made a connection with her without even trying. It was the best thing you could have done; Mr. Preston has given you the greatest compliment. The way to his heart may well be through his daughter — but don’t you dare use her that way.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Helen exclaimed. And while that was true, she could not deny that she had been somewhat set on that path, of using someone — Beth’s father — this morning.

  That would have been wrong too. No matter that she’d believed she could care for Mr. Preston in return for his name and the money that would save them. But now …

  Now that she’d glimpsed the depth of the feelings he still felt for his wife, Helen could not continue her pursuit. She would not do anything that might hurt him further. But she could befriend his daughter.

  “Simply care for her, as you have already started to,” Harrison said.

  “I shall,” Helen said. It was too effortless to possibly work as a ploy to gain Mr. Preston’s attention, so she would be free from any worry or guilt there. Befriending his daughter might relieve his burden though. It might be one small way she could repay the kindnesses he’d shown to her family.

  “These things take time,” Harrison said, still giving her advice, though she needed it no longer — with regard to Mr. Preston, at least.

  “Don’t go putting on airs. Any man worth his weight will love you as you are.” Harrison smiled at her in a manner similar to that with which Mr. Preston had looked at his daughter. It warmed Helen’s heart.

  “Thank you.” She stepped forward and hugged him impulsively. He patted her back once, somewhat awkwardly then stepped away, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Miranda,” he whispered as the sound of marching feet approached.

  Hugging one’s servants was not proper, but Harrison had always seemed more of a friend than a servant. Still, Miranda would disapprove if she saw it.

  “Tell her how you feel,” Helen whispered back. She turned and once again headed down the lane toward Mr. Preston’s house.

  “Where are you off to now?” Harrison asked Helen as Miranda opened the door.

  “I have been invited to play,” Helen called over her shoulder.

  “In that dress?” Miranda stood on the step beside Harrison.

  Helen walked backwards, watching them both a moment, thinking how fine they looked standing together, and thinking how fine they had been for her and her siblings.

  Almost like the parents we never had. How she loved them. How dear they were.

  “Beth admired my dress at breakfast,” she called. “I am wearing it so we can play Camelot.”

  Helen knocked on the door of Mr. Preston’s residence and waited until the butler came to admit her.

  “I believe Miss Beth is expecting you,” he said cheerfully before Helen had a chance to explain the reason for her visit. He stepped aside so she might enter.

  “I saw you from the window,” Beth said, jumping from the second stair and running across the floor. “Have you come to play with me?”

  “I have,” Helen said, glancing about the foyer and feeling both relief and regret that Mr. Preston was nowhere to be seen.

  “I knew it.” Beth beamed. “Papa said you might come. I’ll show you the nursery.” She took Helen’s hand.

  “If you wish,” Helen said. “Though I thought perhaps you might like to play outside. It is a lovely day, and we won’t have good weather much longer.”

  “Oh, yes.” Beth changed direction and headed toward the front doors.

  “Shouldn’t you ask your nanny first?” Helen suggested. She didn’t want to get the little girl in trouble or cause anyone to worry.

  Beth frowned. She dropped Helen’s hand and retreated across the foyer, dragging her feet. Helen worked to contain a smile. How many times had she seen similar behavior? With her grandfather’s permission, she’d first become friends with, then later tutored, many of the children whose parents he’d employed. Many a time, Helen had witnessed feet dragging across a floor and shoes being scuffed as children left their play — or studies — and went to do their parents’ bidding.

  Perhaps I am qualified to be a governess. The thought of leaving Grace and Christopher to live with strangers rather terrified her, but it did sound decidedly better than ending up married to a stranger like the new duke — or worse.

  Behind her the butler closed the front doors, and Helen wandered farther into the circular foyer, to the center of the room, where a table stood with a large vase overflowing with gorgeous yellow roses from outside. She leaned forward, inhaling their sweet scent.

  “I cut them myself every morning,” Mr. Preston said.

  Helen lifted her head and jumped back, feeling very much like a child caught at some mischief.

  Mr. Preston strode toward her. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Have you a letter you wish me to give your sister?”

  “Not since yesterday. I’ve come to play with Beth.” Helen glanced about the room, eager for Beth to return. “I have thought about what you said — about being a governess. It is a good idea.”

  “And one that took you by surprise,” he guessed.

  “Yes,” Helen admitted. “If you would not mind —” She forced herself to meet his gaze briefly. “I should like to spend a bit of time with Beth each day. Since leaving my grandfather’s house, I have not been around any children, and I realized this morning how I have missed it.”

  Mr. Preston smiled at her so warmly that Helen felt a peculiar fluttering in her stomach. “I would be delighted if you would visit Beth every day. I fear she is often lonely and in want of company.”

  The subject of their discussion appeared on the stairs, racing down, followed by her nanny. When the latter reached the foyer, she looked from Mr. Preston to Helen and caught her breath.

  “Miss Beth says you have come to take her for an outing.”

  “We shall not go beyond the boundaries of the estate,” Helen said, speaking more to Mr. Preston than the nanny.

  “Miss Helen will be spending some time each day with Beth from now on,” Mr. Preston told her. “She is to be allowed to take Beth outside or to visit with her in the nursery as she wishes.”

  “Of course, sir,” Nanny Mary said, looking rather pleased at the suggestion, Helen thought.

  “Thank you.” Helen mustered enough courage to smile shyly at Mr. Preston. She held her hand out to Beth. “Shall we be off?”

  “Where to?” Beth asked, placing her small hand in Helen’s.

  Helen looked down at her charge as they turned away from the others. “Why, to Camelot, of course.”

  Two hours later, Helen limped back toward Mr. Preston’s house, her feet protesting the time spent galloping about on imaginary horses while wearing slippers too fancy and uncomfortable for gallivanting. Beth lagged behind her.

  Helen stopped to wait for the little girl to catch up again. “It seems I have worn you out,”

  “I’m hungry,” Beth complained.

  “Tomorrow we shall see about a picnic,” Helen said, and Beth’s face brightened.

  “With biscuits? Father and I once had a picnic with biscuits that had little sprinkles of sugar. I would like those, please.”

  “Since you have asked so politely, I shall see what can be arranged.” Helen reached out to take Beth’s hand once more. Swinging their arms, they crossed the lawn and made their way through the garden — the great forest surrounding Camelot — to the house — King Arthur’s castle.

  “If this is King Arthur’s castle,” Beth said as they approached the door, “who is the evil king who tried to steal our rubies at breakfast?”

  Helen considered a moment. “He is Arthur’s sworn enemy, Mordred, and he is very jealous of Arthur. While Arthur and his knights
were away this morning, Mordred tried to take over his Round Table and kingdom.”

  “And take our jewels,” Beth said.

  “Yes.” Helen knelt on the top step by the girl. “Thank you for playing today, Miss Beth.”

  “You are welcome, Miss Helen,” Beth said with a curtsy.

  Helen smiled. “Very good.” She had explained the importance of chivalry and manners in the time of Camelot, just as her grandfather had imparted some of his wisdom, decorum, and expectations to Helen, Grace, and Christopher after they’d come to live with him. Instead of lectures, he’d shared stories, which they’d remembered while trying their best to be like the gallant heroes and noble heroines they’d so admired.

  Helen watched to see that Beth was safely inside and met by her nanny, then began the walk to the guesthouse. The day was beautiful, and she found herself reluctant to return inside, where activities limited to reading and sewing awaited her. Instead of following the lane, she decided to enjoy the sunshine awhile longer.

  Once more, she stepped beneath the arbor leading into the garden. Bending down behind a tall hedge, she first loosened her slippers, then removed them, along with her stockings. Miranda would disapprove, no doubt, and Harrison would happily accompany her around the garden, but after listening to Beth’s chatter all morning, Helen longed for some quiet time to reflect.

  How often had she and Christopher wandered in Grandfather’s gardens this way, their bare feet running over soft grass as they played? At eighteen, Grace had been too old for such freedoms or frivolities, and much of her time had instead been monopolized by tutors attempting to teach her all she had previously missed — important skills like learning to dance La Boulangere, how to properly carry a reticule and use a fan, and how to address members of the gentry — all so Grace might be considered an accomplished young woman. Helen and Christopher had received instruction, too, but not in the same urgent and rushed manner as Grace. And because of the attention initially focused on her, the younger siblings had been allowed hours of freedom and idleness, for the first time in their lives.

  Remembering those times with much fondness, and missing her siblings, Helen crossed beneath the arch and into Mr. Preston’s garden for the second time that day. At least one good thing had come of her meeting this morning — Mr. Preston had invited her to enjoy the garden whenever she wished. She intended to avail herself of that offer before the weather forced her indoors for a season — a season sure to be dreary without either Grace or Christopher for company. And now she’d lost her hopes of Mr. Preston’s companionship as well.

  The day had not gone at all as she’d expected, and Helen realized the fault was hers. For all her preparations at gaining Mr. Preston’s attention with her appearance, she had not taken the same pains thinking over what to say to him. Admiring him from afar was one thing; being near him, as she had discovered today, was entirely different. It had not been unpleasant — she still fancied him as much as ever — but she realized that she did not know the first thing about conversing with a gentleman,

  If only Christopher were here. He might have had some suggestions. But his sojourn in London seemed never-ending, as did the fight for their inheritance.

  She followed the path to the courtyard where she’d discovered Mr. Preston that morning. In addition to not thinking through what she might say to him earlier, she hadn’t considered what his feelings might be, either. It had not previously occurred to her that he might still be grieving his deceased wife.

  When her mother died, Helen had been too young to remember whether their father had been sorrowful, but she very much doubted it, other than mourning the income Mother had brought in.

  But Mr. Preston seemed as opposite a man as one could be from her father, and Helen felt she ought to have known that his heart would still be tender. She knew it now and never would forget the forlorn sight of him this morning.

  Instead of continuing around the house, Helen took the second path, taking care with her bare feet and admiring the colors and fragrances of the garden as she walked. Somewhere this direction was the wall separating Mr. Preston’s property from Lord Sutherland’s.

  Grace is on the other side. A longing for her sister filled Helen.

  But Mr. Preston had asked that Helen not let Grace know of her proximity. He did not wish Grace to know her family was so close. At first Helen had believed this to be terribly cruel, but then he had explained himself. He wanted to give Lord Sutherland and Grace every opportunity to work their situation out on their own, even to fall in love with each other — a very real possibility, he believed.

  From Grace’s letters, Helen could see it happening already. In spite of their differences — in spite of Lord Sutherland’s ogre-like nature — Grace was coming to care for him.

  Helen followed the path around another corner and came to the end of both the gate and the stone path as she nearly ran into the very wall she’d been thinking of.

  I didn’t realize I was so close. Mr. Preston might be upset to find me here. But Mr. Preston himself sat perched on the wall only a short distance away, his manner quite different from what it had been when she’d discovered him in the courtyard. He sat casually, folded arms propped on his bent knee, his other leg swinging in time to his whistling as he looked down upon — Grace! She stood on the opposite side of the fence, her head just visible above it.

  “I think I shall lose my mind if I don’t find something more to do here.”

  Helen’s heart squeezed at the sound of her sister’s voice. I should go. It is wrong to be here. But the knowledge could not overcome her desire to stay, to hear Grace’s voice and see for herself that her sister was well.

  Before she dared another peek, she took two steps back, then pressed herself close to the gate and the brilliant red foliage covering it. Grace had disappeared, but she reappeared again a second later.

  “You do realize,” Mr. Preston said to her, “that if you fall off that bench and break your leg, I’ll have the difficult choice of leaving you here to suffer or facing the wrath of your betrothed and admitting to our trysts.”

  Trysts? Helen’s head jerked upright, her hair snagging in the leaves.

  “Don’t call them that,” Grace said. “This is not a tryst. You and I are but friends.”

  “So I am reminded every time we part,” Mr. Preston grumbled.

  “If this is too difficult, I will not come anymore. I can find another way to post Helen’s letters.”

  “No.” Mr. Preston’s sharp answer made Helen jump; one slipper fell from her hand. She tensed, waiting for him to look her direction and wishing fervently that she’d changed her dress when she had the opportunity. The cream silk provided a glaring contrast to the crimson hedge behind her and might be easily spied through the gate. But Mr. Preston appeared not to have heard her. When he returned his attention to Grace’s side of the fence, Helen let out a slow breath and brought a hand to her rapidly beating heart.

  “What is wrong with you today?” Grace’s voice again. “Are you not the one who has been encouraging me to make the most of my circumstance, to try to be on good terms with Lord Sutherland?”

  “Aye.” Mr. Preston’s response sounded rather surly. Helen watched as he drew his knee to his chest and set his chin upon it. “Perhaps I was too generous in my original advice. Can you not make the man despise you — cause him to throw you out of his house so you come running to mine?”

  What? A pang of hurt throbbed in Helen’s chest. Could Mr. Preston care for Grace? When — how...

  “And have Father throw Helen to the nearest shark?” Grace asked. “No, thank you. You realize I must stay here — for now,” she added, her voice quiet.

  Helen’s mind reeled. Mr. Preston cares for Grace. And it sounds as if she may care for him.

  I must leave. She’d heard enough — enough to have whatever faint hope she might have still had concerning Mr. Preston dashed, and to feel somehow betrayed by both. This was what came of eavesdropping. Wou
ld that I had learned my lesson this morning. She crouched to retrieve her slipper, taking care to be quiet.

  “Don’t leave,” Mr. Preston called.

  Helen paused. Is he talking to me?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  For what?

  “You stay on your side, remember?” Grace’s voice rang out, playfully scolding.

  “Bossy today, aren’t we?” Mr. Preston said. But he didn’t sound angry.

  They are teasing each other. Helen retrieved her slipper and stood slowly. She pressed a hand to her stomach and turned her head to better listen, telling herself she would stay only another moment, just long enough to understand. She had to have misheard. I must be wrong in my assumption. After all, Mr. Preston himself had made it so that Grace was forced to stay at Sutherland Hall.

  Their banter continued as they spoke of sewing and a new dress.

  “I am not a Sutherland,” Grace said. “I do not want him to purchase anything for me— not a dress, not even fabric to make one. He’s already spent enough to protect Helen.”

  Don’t blame me, Helen thought, growing more upset by the minute. I did not ask you to ruin your reputation. But she might as well have. Her refusal to marry the new duke had cost them all so much. It is my fault Grace ended up in this predicament.

  A predicament, it seemed, she was rather enjoying at the moment.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Mr. Preston offered, continuing their discussion about a gown.

  “Can you imagine Lord Sutherland’s expression when he compliments me on my dress and I tell him, ‘This gown is courtesy of Mr. Preston’?” Grace said. “You’d hear his shouting all the way in your drawing room.”

  “Does he still yell a lot?” Mr. Preston asked, sounding worried.