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.
Would 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.
“Not so much,” Grace said. “We are learning to tolerate each other and which topics to avoid.”
“And does he compliment you on your gowns?” Mr. Preston persisted.
“Yes.”
Helen heard wistfulness in Grace’s reply, and it was all she could do not to march from her hiding place and demand an explanation. What was her sister thinking? Did she care for
both
men? How could she use Mr. Preston like that, and how did she dare to meet him and converse so, with the temperamental Lord Sutherland lurking about?
What game are you playing, sister?
The entire situation was so utterly unlike Grace. She’d never wanted to marry. None of them did. They had plans for an uncomplicated and happy life together, safely away from their father and his debts. Helen could think only that Grace was enmeshing herself in even more trouble.
“You are lost in thought,” Mr. Preston said to Grace. “Apparently his compliments leave you much to contemplate.” Now it was Mr. Preston who sounded wistful.
Helen felt ill and promised herself that she would write to Grace today, at once — as soon as she returned to the guesthouse — to tell her sister about Mr. Preston’s wife and how he still loved her. Surely if Grace knew and understood that, she would not tease him so.
“Tell me more about Elizabeth,” Grace said.
Or would she?
“What would she have done on a day like today?” Grace went on.
“Many things,” Mr. Preston said. “Today is her birthday.”
Helen’s hand fluttered to her throat, which had suddenly constricted. Of all days to interrupt his morning walk!
No wonder he appeared so sorrowful
.
The remainder of their conversation was lost to Helen. She turned from the wall and retraced her steps through the garden, her mind filled only with the image of Mr. Preston, head in his hands, alone in Elizabeth’s garden.
On her birthday.
And I believed he would be pleased to see me.
A burst of his laughter reached her ears, and Helen realized that where she had failed, Grace was having obvious success, making his heart lighter on this somber day.
The courtyard came into view as more laughter — a child’s — came from the opposite direction.
Helen froze, uncertain what to do. She would not mind seeing Beth, but her nanny would likely be with her, and Helen had no desire to explain her lack of shoes and escort, or her proximity to Mr. Preston, who was still conversing at the wall.
No doubt she had a guilty look upon her face.
Because I
am
guilty — and look what it has cost me
.
Ducking into an alcove off the main passageway, she discovered another, less-used path leading from it. This she moved down quickly, until she became aware that the voices had increased volume once more. Though she could no longer view Grace and Mr. Preston, she could hear them again.
He still spoke of Elizabeth
,
clearly seeking comfort from Grace.
Beth’s infectious laughter rang out, followed by her sweet voice calling for her father.
“Do you hear that?” Grace asked.
“I must go,” Mr. Preston said, sounding rather alarmed.
Has something happened to Beth?
“Why?” Grace asked. “Who is it?”
“Daddy!”
A commotion followed, which Helen could not quite make out for all of Beth’s shouting. When at last the child grew quiet, Grace’s voice, subdued now, reached Helen one last time.
“Of course,” Grace said. “I give you my word. I will not tell Lord Sutherland of your daughter.”
Helen’s mind was a whirlwind of thought. Could it be? Had Grace not known of Mr. Preston’s daughter before today? Yet clearly, Mr. Preston admired Grace.
And Harrison suggested that Beth might be the way to gaining Mr. Preston’s affection.
Matters of the heart were not nearly so simple as that — no matter what Harrison said.
How foolish I am,
Helen realized,
to have believed that wearing a pretty dress was enough to catch a man’s attention.
That Mr. Preston still loved his dead wife had endeared him to Helen even more, even if it meant his heart was closed. She’d been crushed to learn that the only hope she’d found for a favorable ending to her predicament was not to be.
Far worse than that, however, more devastating and confusing, was that Mr. Preston appeared to have developed an affection for Grace.
Yet she is betrothed to Lord Sutherland — at least in part because of Mr. Preston’s actions.
Helen wandered until she found herself in the courtyard again, where she dropped onto a bench and tried to reason the situation out and stop the hurt spreading from her head to her heart.
Mr. Preston had described Elizabeth as strong-willed and vivacious — characteristics Grace was very much in possession of. A realization struck Helen, a painful blow to her already tattered soul. If Mr. Preston were ever to fall in love again —
and quite possibly he already has —
it would be with someone like his wife.
Someone like Grace.