“How would Garthwood know about anything between you and Sir Edward Blake?” Harry asked.
“Edward wrote to me,” Helena said suddenly. “He sent a letter before he died, but Garthwood kept it. I found it in his desk.”
She felt in her pocket and took out the stained sheet.
“The devil! He opened it?” Harry said.
“My dear Helena,” Richard said softly. “If you could bear to read it now? Only Edward, it would seem, can cast any light upon all this.”
Helena unfolded the crabbed writing that had been so familiar from Edward’s Peninsular letters.
“It’s mostly just ordinary news,” she said after a while. “No! Oh, Richard, listen to this!”
She began to read aloud. “I wonder sometimes if I shall ever see dear old Cornwall again. Although we all believe the war is nearly over and Boney stares defeat in the face, there are too many mishaps here waiting to trap a fellow. If anything should happen to me, dear cousin, I surely shouldn’t want old Garthwood to get his hands on Friarswell. So I am taking the precaution of seeing that he doesn’t. I have written a will leaving everything to you. I had a couple of the fellows witness it. I thought I’d give the document to Richard Acton for safekeeping. You know what I think of him. If he were here right now, I’d have asked him to be a witness, but he’s off on one of his clandestine adventures, as usual. Until he gets back I’m putting the papers in the safest place I can think of—stitched inside the cover of my brandy flask. I’m a dab hand now with a needle, you know—”
She stopped and looked up at them. “I don’t think I can go on.”
Helena laid down the letter and burst into tears.
Richard sat as if frozen, his head buried in both hands.
“Don’t cry,” Harry said gently. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Helena smiled bravely and wiped at her eyes. “I’m fine. Dear Edward!”
“Where is this brandy flask?” Harry asked after a moment. “Buried in France?”
“Not at all,” Richard looked up into Helena’s eyes. “It’s at my father’s house where I left it. Helena, I’m so very sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” Richard said. “We had better get to King’s Acton right away, I suppose, and see if this thing is legal.”
“And if it is?” Harry asked.
“Then Helena is mistress of Friarswell and Trethaerin in her own right. Which means, incidentally, that she had no need at all to marry me.”
What did it matter if she had been rightful owner of her old home all along if Richard didn’t need her?
“Well, you always were a gallant fool, Dickon,” Harry said. “So that’s what Garthwood was trying to get out of me—the whereabouts of the brandy flask. He searched for it at Acton Mead. Then when he failed, he followed me to the inn with the excellent oysters. He must have been in an agony over when you might reveal that you had it. No wonder he thought you’d be better off dead.”
“He would have assumed it was why Richard married me,” Helena said.
“But I was as ignorant of the will’s existence as you were. Unfortunately, Garthwood didn’t know my peculiar character. I suppose to the greedy, everyone is assumed to have the same motivation. If I had known of the will, of course, my reaction would have been the opposite of his. I wouldn’t have married you. I’d have given the document directly into your hands and all of this could have been avoided.”
“Why,” Helena said, choking back her reaction to that, “did he not just murder
me
when he found out about the will?”
“Because he thought that I knew about it and was intending—as he said—to ‘make my claim.’ Otherwise, he might have wanted to kill both of us, hoping that the will would never come to light—or failing that, he’d marry you and thus secure his future, should the will ever turn up. Without Trethaerin, all of his operations would have been impossible. The man must have been in the most dreadful suspense, ever since the day he read Edward’s letter. When he couldn’t find the brandy flask, what more straightforward act to a creature of his type than to see that I met with an accident?” Richard gave a wry smile. “I suppose I must be grateful that he was not more practiced in assassination.”
“And not a decent shot,” Harry said. “Nor familiar with your embarrassing prowess with horses and elephants.” He stood up and yawned. “Do you dear creatures perceive that it’s almost dawn?”
Richard rang the bell. A bleary-eyed servant eventually appeared.
Helena realized that the household staff had managed to sleep through the entire night’s occurrences. Not a sound from the cave would have reached the house, and they had been quiet enough in the study.
“I want my chaise and four brought up from the Anchor in Blacksands,” Richard said, ignoring the man’s dropped jaw at the sight of strangers in the master’s study. “You may tell the innkeeper that the request comes from Viscount Lenwood. I shall trust him to pack for us, and give him this.”
He tossed a purse toward the startled man.
The servant looked past him at Helena. “Is that really you, Miss Trethaerin?”
“That’s right, Purdy, it’s me. You won’t see Mr. Garthwood again, I’m afraid.”
“Then I’m heartily glad to hear you say so, ma’am. There’s been the most fearful goings-on here since you left.”
Helena looked down at her hands, thinking of poor Penny and the other girls, then she raised her head and smiled.
“That’s all over now, Purdy. Please send for the carriage as the viscount asked.”
* * *
The journey to King’s Acton went by in a blur. Helena slept for much of the way. She had not expected to feel so tired, but then, she had never experienced these various adventures before, including the secret that she still kept from Richard.
As before, they didn’t stop very often or very long. When she awoke one time, it was to hear Harry telling Richard about the dramatic cold weather that had seized London before he left.
Helena heard Harry’s account with indifference. Mixed with an enormous relief that Richard was now safe, there was still a dreadful apprehension. She, ordinary Helena Trethaerin, had an estate of her own, after all. Richard had never needed to marry her.
Would he now live to regret his generosity? Would he leave directly from his father’s house for Marie’s company in London? Her mistrust of Harry had helped to turn Richard against her, but that misjudgment had grown only because Richard had never trusted or confided in her.
She remembered what Charles de Dagonet had said:
Be patient with him
.
But if Richard left her alone again at Acton Mead, she would never get the chance to redeem herself, and then Richard was as lost to her as if Garthwood had succeeded. The thought chilled her more than the cold of the ice-bound roads.
* * *
The Countess of Acton came out to meet them in the hall. A moment later the earl appeared behind her and scowled at his sons.
“What on earth are you doing abroad in this horrid weather, children?” the countess said with her beautiful smile. “I thought I would be turned into an icicle on our own trip back from London, and apart from my little room, this place is as cold as the grave. Richard, did Harry give you that appalling bruise?”
“You must believe that I ran into a door,” Richard said, kissing his mother, then turning to his father. “Your servant, my lord. I trust I find you in good health?”
Harry in turn kissed his mother on the cheek, but the Countess of Acton was gazing at Helena.
“How can you drag your wife about the country in her interesting condition, Richard?” the countess said. “Really, you men are about as sensitive as oxen. Come in and get warm, my dear, and have some food and something hot to drink. How long have you known?”
“Known what?” Richard said.
“Why, that your pauper wife is planning to present us with the next generation of heirs to Acton, of course. I have not borne six children only to be incapable of recognizing when a lady is
enceinte
.”
At which Richard went quite white, as his father flushed a deep shade of crimson.
“Is this true?” he said to Helena at last.
She could not avoid his eyes. “Yes. I wasn’t sure until recently, but yes, there’ll be a new Acton in the spring. I meant to tell you, but there never seemed to be the opportunity. Are you pleased?”
Richard looked blankly at her. “Helena, for God’s sake! You mean to tell me that you went all the way to Cornwall while carrying our child? And all those boisterous Christmas games at Acton Mead? How dare you risk yourself? Are you deranged?”
“Of course she’s not,” Harry said quickly. “Congratulations, Richard and Helena! You do realize”—he gave Helena a friendly wink—“that this puts me out of the running for the earldom on a permanent basis, for which I’m very glad. And she’s no longer a pauper, Mother. Tell them why we came, Dickon, because Father’s long silence means he’s about to have apoplexy.”
Richard had taken Helena firmly by the hand. His grasp threatened to crush hers. She could feel the pulse racing through his fingers.
“My lord,” he said calmly to his father. “It may please you to hear that we believe my wife to be the rightful owner of considerable property in Cornwall. If I might fetch the brandy flask that I left here after our last visit? Then there are some other papers I wish you to see, which do not involve the ladies.”
“Damn you, sir, for an irresponsible lout,” the earl spluttered. “She’s carrying the heir to my name, and you have been dragging her about the countryside like a farm girl. Damn the property! I don’t care if she has a penny to bless herself with or not, she’s carrying the Fourth Earl of Acton. Lady Acton, please see to this child!”
“I am in no danger, my lord,” Helena said firmly. “I am young and as healthy, I trust, as any poor girl on a farm. It will be some time before my condition requires that I take any special precautions. I would very much like to see the brandy flask, too, if you would be kind enough to allow Richard to fetch it.”
“There is really no reason why this interesting object cannot be examined in my own drawing room over tea, though, is there?” the countess said. “Before we all freeze to death in the hall?”
Richard was forced to release his wife’s fingers and allow his mother to lead Helena into the comfort of a private room with a blazing fire and elegant spindle-legged chairs.
He still seemed to be in shock when the men rejoined the ladies and he silently handed to Helena Edward’s battered leather case with its silver crest.
She looked at it for a moment. Then, when Lady Acton gave her a pair of embroidery scissors, she carefully picked apart the stitching. She had wanted Richard to keep the flask, all those months ago at Trethaerin, thinking Edward’s death a harder blow to him than to her, but of course it had brought him nothing but a painful memory and he had locked it away. Thus Nigel Garthwood had not found it at Acton Mead and instead had determined to kill his rival.
A single sheet of paper lay between the cover and the flask.
Helena unfolded it.
“The last will and testament of Sir Edward Blake of Friarswell, Cornwall,” she read aloud and silently scanned the rest. Then she handed the paper to Richard.
“It’s all in order,” he said at last. “These witnesses should even be possible to track down. Clever Edward! Helena, you are mistress without question of Friarswell and Trethaerin. This is what Edward was trying to tell me. If I hadn’t been such a damned fool, I’d have guessed.”
“And saved your regrettable involvement with me and my nasty cousin,” Helena said.
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” the countess said, standing suddenly. “And left Richard still wandering aimlessly around the world, no doubt. Now he will have a son to take care of. What will you call the child, if it’s a boy?”
“Edward,” Helena and Richard said at the same time.
“Damme, sir!” the earl said. “I’m glad to see you do your duty by your house at last. Edward! It’s very well. It was my father’s name, of course.”
“I think,” Harry said, catching his mother’s eye, “that it’s time we left the viscount and his wife alone for a moment. Father, there is something Richard and I want you to see. Brother Dickon, let me have those papers and you take care of Helena for a moment, there’s a good fellow.”
Richard laughed and handed Harry a sheaf of documents—the papers they had found in her father’s desk. The sad lists of names of little girls sold into virtual slavery and the records of the money that Nigel Garthwood had made from the trade.
“If you are going to join your brother in cudgeling me about my political views, Henry, I won’t stand and listen to your impertinence, sir.”
“Come, my lord,” the countess said, taking her husband’s arm and leading him from the room. “Only Richard has the nerve to try to cudgel you. You know that Harry would never dare.”
Richard and Helena were left alone.
“I am very happy about the baby,” Richard began. “Are you sure you are well, that you put yourself in no danger?”
“None at all,” she replied. “I talked with the midwife in Mead Farthing, a very sensible country woman who seemed to think that females have babies all the time. In her opinion I should carry on with a normal life and refuse to confine myself until the last possible moment.”
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me when you found out?”
Helena looked away from his dark eyes. “You have not exactly been very available. And then when John became ill, and Williams, there never seemed to be the right moment.”
“When I think what was risked in taking you to Trethaerin!”
Her eyes flew up to meet his. “You couldn’t have left me behind. I was already involved. Trethaerin was my home. And what about you? How can you dismiss the risk to yourself so casually? If you hadn’t married me, you would never have had to face all those attempts on your life.”
He shrugged and then smiled. “Your cousin was a pretty paltry assassin.”
“Did you really suspect me?” she asked.
Richard had begun to pace, but he stopped and whirled around. “I thought that I must. I couldn’t evade what looked like solid evidence. For that, I can never forgive myself. Yet I couldn’t maintain it.”