by L G Rollins
Heavens, when she listed out all the things she’d experienced in a single night, she was rather amazed she was able to pull herself out of bed at all.
After the dance, after she’d retired to bed and lain awake for some time trying to make sense of it all, she’d come to a conclusion and hadn’t been able to shake it when she’d first awoken that morning.
She was done waiting for her uncle to write.
Helena wanted—needed—her family. Nothing was more important to her. That included her mother’s memory, the traditions she and her father had shared, and whether he liked it or not, it included Uncle Scrooge. Helena reached the entryway and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her bonnet was secure, and her hair seemed safely tucked inside. Her face was a bit drawn, perhaps, hardly surprising since she’d been out late last night and up again early this morning. The butler passed and Helena requested he have a horse saddled for her.
“Perhaps the tan one, Starfire?”
The butler’s eyebrow ticked up a bit. “I would advise against it. Starfire is quite difficult to manage, even for the master. But I will see to it that a proper mount is brought around.”
“Very well.” She’d have to tackle riding the headstrong horse another day.
“Will you be wanting a footman to accompany you, miss?” the butler asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
With a bow, he moved off.
Helena was left with nothing to do but wring her hands until the horse was brought around. What was she to say to Uncle Scrooge? How did one begin a conversation with a man who seemed content to remain strangers? Suppose he refused to see her at all?
“Are you going somewhere this morning, Miss Spencer?”
Helena turned to find Christina coming down the stairs, dressed becomingly in a lovely primrose morning gown.
“I’m just off to town to see to a small matter of business.”
“I see.” Christina reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried up to Helena. “Actually, I’m glad I’ve found you. I feel I need to speak with you . . . about something.”
Christina glanced about, her hands fidgeting. Helena couldn’t imagine what Christina was so scared to say. She reached out and placed a hand on Christina’s arm. “We have become quite good friends. You know you can tell me anything.”
Christina smiled at the reassurance, but it didn’t qualm the agitation in her eyes. “First, I want to say that I didn’t mean for anything to happen. Emma, Eleanor, myself—we all agreed that this Christmas was going to be about finding you a husband. You need it so much more than any of us.”
“Is this about Topper?”
Christina took hold of Helena’s hand tightly. “I promise, I was only trying to help you. I thought if I feigned a headache the other day during our ride, everyone would just stay and listen to you. But then he rode back with me and, oh, Helena, he is so considerate. And we love all the same books and when he takes my hand—” She ended with an intense sigh that conveyed more than words.
Helena couldn’t help but smile. “If he is all that, then I am happy for you.”
“Truly? I have been ever so cast down, thinking you must hate me.” Christina stood up straighter and held Helena’s gaze with a sincere, intense one of her own—apparently Lord Chapman was not the only member of his family who knew how to do that. “Tell me honestly. Are you upset?”
Helena searched her own emotions but could not find any disappointment or regret. “I am in earnest. I only wish you two the best.”
Christina squealed, her hands clasping at her chest. “Thank you.”
Helena did find herself curious, though. “I must ask, are things settled between you two?”
Christina pinkened. “Oh, no. Nothing so far as all that. But . . . last night, we danced twice, and then he stayed and spoke with me nearly the whole night. La, Helena, it was heavenly.”
Helena could feel her own smile tugging hard against her cheeks. How could one not be elated when a friend was so happy?
A footman approached and informed her that two horses had been brought around and saddled, and that he would be accompanying her.
“Thank you . . .”
“Willis, if you please, miss.”
“Thank you, Willis. If you’ll wait just a minute, I am ready.”
He bowed and moved off to give her some privacy.
Helena turned back to Christina and wrapped her in a hug. “I hope he makes you happy.”
Christina squeezed her in return. “I believe he shall.”
“I’ll warn you, though,” Helena said before letting go. “Your brother has been fit to be tied watching him court you.”
“Oh, Fredrick is nothing but a big puppy,” Christina said. “He growls a lot but is soft as butter on the inside.”
With another hug, Helena left her friend smiling in the entryway and followed Willis out the door. The same horse she’d ridden the other day was waiting for her with a side-saddle. Making use of the mounting block which had also been brought around, Helena was soon ready to leave. But her thoughts didn’t drift far.
Emma would no doubt be less than thrilled to learn that Christina and Topper had formed a connection. Helena, for her part, couldn’t find it in herself to be anything less than elated for her friend. Topper, too, was a good man and deserved so kind a wife as the one he would find in Christina.
The real question was, what would Lord Chapman say? The thought of speaking with him brought a heat to her face. Why was she reacting so, even to the mere thought of him? Helena shook off the nonsense.
For now, she needed to focus on her uncle. What he would say or do when she unexpectedly showed up at his place of business, she could not imagine. But as one big puppy had reminded her last night, she deserved family. And right now, the only family she had was about to find her unwilling to silently walk away.
Fredrick watched from his bedchamber window as Helena mounted her horse and rode off, a footman following after. Even after she’d rounded the bend and was well out of sight, his eyes refused to turn away. Gads, but attending the ball last night had proven a monumental mistake.
The sheer curtain slipped from his fingers and fell back into place between him and the window. With a grumble, he finally forced himself away from the snowy view and turned back toward his room. He’d been so convinced that the warmth of Helena’s touch would fade. It had only been a shock the first time she’d unexpectedly rested her hand against his arm—a shock, and that was all. He had convinced himself that all the other times, the heat was growing less and that soon he would know her so well as to look at her as he did either Christina or Eleanor.
Convinced himself? Ha. Deluded himself was more accurate.
He collapsed into a chair by the hearth and, resting his elbows against his legs, dropped his head into his upturned hands. Holding Helena’s face in his hand last night had changed everything.
First off, he was suddenly struggling to think of her as ‘Miss Spencer.’ She hadn’t given him permission to use her given name, nor was she likely to do so. But cupping her face in his hand, looking into her tear-rimmed eyes, seeing her ardent desire to help others and to make a family for herself again—
Blast, even reliving the memory was intoxicating.
Resting back against the chair, he kicked his feet out and folded his arms. The real question was, what was he going to do now?
There was no going back. He knew as surely as he breathed that he was falling in love with Miss Helena Spencer.
And what of her feelings? After all he’d put her through, he should feel grateful she had ever deigned talk to him, but in no circumstance should he ever dare hope for more. She was too bright a woman to be caught up in a moment, an ardent look, the feel of someone standing so near one could smell the rosewater in her hair.
Fredrick shut his eyes, wishing the memory of last night would leave him alone.
He needed to stay focused on the truth. And the truth was, he’d not once caught h
er looking back at him the same way he knew he was looking at her. He’d not heard her breath catch when he reached out to her. She’d not blushed at his compliments nor vied for his attention. After several London Seasons, Fredrick felt he was fairly good at knowing when a woman was flirting with him. Helena had never, not once, flirted.
Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to her.
It was possible. Even likely. But he knew it was far more than that, though. He was drawn to her cheerful disposition and her willingness to find reasons to be happy despite having endured a very difficult year. He was drawn to her desire to help others, to see past her own sorrows. He was drawn to the way she smiled even when crying and to the obvious love she’d had for her father.
There were so many things he loved about her.
And that was a very real problem.
Avoiding her seemed like his best—possibly his only—course of action. The urge to be near her, to consider becoming hers forever, was always stronger the closer he was to her. If she returned to dressing like a lady’s companion, that would certainly help. But that was not going to happen, he was sure. Why did Helena have to be so deucedly beautiful?
He hated the thought of staying away, but it would be for the best. Still, he wished he could do something for her. She’d been quite clearly overwrought last night. What could he do, or give her, to help ease some of her grief?
He stood and took to pacing. Holding her close was tempting; after all, she had leaned into him last night as she had spoken of her desires and heartache. But that would be what he wanted. And it would probably spell disaster. It had taken all of his effort to not kiss her last night.
Kiss her!
Gads, he was in trouble.
A new thought entered and with it a bolt of energy. A harp. That was what he could get for her. Lady Andrews had mentioned she had one in storage. Helena had seemed quite disappointed at not being able to play several weeks ago. If she was anything like Eleanor, playing music would ease some of her sadness.
She was gone at the moment, too. Which meant he was at no risk of running into her if he sought out Lord Andrews this morning. Striding purposefully, he made it through the door and down the corridor quickly. He might not be able to do much for Helena, but he felt hopeful that in this one small way, he could bring her comfort.
Chapter Eighteen
Helena slowly walked up the small path which connected the street to the rickety old door. Her uncle’s place of employment looked far worse than she’d imagined. The slats in the wooden door were breaking apart and were pocked with large holes. Why didn’t the man have the thing repaired? The few whispered conversations she’d happened to overhear as a child all led her to believe that Uncle Scrooge was very successful; surely he could afford to fix a single door.
Then again, it well could be that the imaginings she’d drummed up regarding her uncle were a far cry from the truth.
Lifting a hand, she knocked heavily on the door. Willis stood a little behind her, silently watching. What would Uncle Scrooge say when she told him who she was? What kind of a scene would Willis end up reporting to the other servants at Hedgewood Manor? There was a sound of feet shuffling, and then the door slowly creaked open. An elderly man stood before Helena, his snowy white hair disheveled. Surely this was not Uncle Scrooge. Her uncle was only a few years older than her mother, not a few decades older, as this man appeared to be.
“I am here to see Mr. Scrooge,” she said, hoping she wasn’t about to offend the one and only family member she had living.
The elderly man smiled all the more, bowing. “Yes, please come in. Right this way. Right this way.”
Helena followed the man inside and knew a brief moment of relief. At least she’d assumed correctly that this elderly, smiling man was not her uncle. The hallway she stepped into was far darker than she’d anticipated. It seemed, along with not having money for a door, her uncle didn’t see the need to spend money on candles either. Or, perhaps he preferred the dark? Gracious, but it was unnerving to realize how little she knew about her only remaining relative.
“I am Mr. Cratchit,” the elderly man said. He pointed off to the room on Helena’s right. “Mr. Scrooge is in there.” He offered Helena another smile and bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have many things to see to.” With no more than that, he left her standing in the hallway.
The elderly man had not asked Helena’s name nor had he announced her. That left the divulging of who she truly was all on Helena’s shoulders.
She took a small step toward the dark room. She could not ever recall having seen her uncle. Father had mentioned once or twice that Uncle Scrooge used to join them for this celebration or that. But the rift which ran deep between Uncle Scrooge and the rest of the family had been well-etched even before Helena was out of leading strings.
A man sat behind a wide, old desk. Of a truth, all the furniture in the space looked as old and worn out as the front door. Did the man never repair anything? Helena walked directly up to the desk, trying hard not to wring her hands. But Uncle Scrooge did not look up. He remained bent over, quill in one hand, furiously scribbling on what appeared to be a financial ledger.
Helena stood silent for several minutes, awaiting acknowledgment, aware of Willis waiting patiently in the hallway behind her. The only sound in the room was the scratch of pen against paper, and that was only broken by the occasional sound of a pen tapping against the glass ink bottle.
Well, if Mother’s brother was unwilling to begin the conversation, she would have to.
“Hello, Uncle.”
The pen scratching stopped. The man stilled, his gaze not lifting higher than the paper before him.
Did this man remember her at all? Helena extended a hand. “I am Miss Helena Spencer, Fanny’s daughter—”
“I know who you are.” His voice was gruff and gravelly.
Well, at least she didn’t need to explain her parentage. She waited for Uncle Scrooge to say more, but the man didn’t offer another word.
After a drawn-out moment, Helena motioned toward the questionable-looking chair to her right. “May I?”
Uncle Scrooge let out a gruff grunt. “If you must.”
No doubt that was as elegant an invitation to sit she was ever going to receive. The chair squeaked as she sat, and for a moment, Helena wasn’t fully sure it would support her. But the sad piece of furniture didn’t collapse—that was one good thing that had happened so far this visit.
If only Lord Chapman was here. His presence had the uncanny ability to calm her and set her at ease. She could use a bit of that just now. Her stomach was aflutter and her nerves on edge.
“Why are you here?” Uncle Scrooge asked.
Helena opened her mouth to explain. But how did one explain that she missed having family? How did one ask someone so gruff if they wouldn’t mind being that family after so many years of not knowing each other?
“I’d like to invite you to dinner on Christmas Day,” Helena said. She hadn’t exactly talked it over with Lady Andrews. However, she felt sure, if she explained who Scrooge was, her host wouldn’t mind too terribly. Moreover, even if it was a horrible breach of propriety, she needed her uncle.
“You’ve come to ask to borrow money,” Uncle Scrooge said, still not bothering to look up.
Helena’s eyes widened, and she only just caught her jaw from dropping open. “No, sir, that isn’t—”
“You are an orphan and unmarried. I was not your father’s man of business, but I knew enough of his estate to be fully aware that it was entailed away. That will have left you with only your dowry—a quaint sum, if I’m not mistaken, hardly an amount to be proud of. Moreover, you will not have access to it currently as you do not reach your majority for another year yet.”
Helena was shocked into silence. Slowly her uncle lifted his head. Helena didn’t know what she had expected—she couldn’t remember her mother and only had two small likenesses of her. But this man, with his deep wrinkles an
d perpetual scowl, was not at all how she’d imagined her mother’s brother to be.
“Therefore, I can assume that you are,” he said, “penniless for the time being. Having had no family and no offers these past fourteen”—he paused momentarily—“no, nearer fifteen months, you are reaching the end of what pin money you had stored away before your father’s unexpected death. And so you reach out to me for a loan.” His tone turned toward more of a mutter as he finished, almost to himself. “You would have been wiser to save more before finding yourself alone.”
Helena could do no more than breathe for nearly a full minute. This was her uncle? This was the man who’d been a brother to her beloved mother and was now her closest living relation?
“Excuse me, but I did not come to see you about money, Uncle Scrooge.” She was struggling to form even the most rudimentary words.
“Mister Scrooge will do just fine.”
Good heavens, this was far colder a reception than she’d anticipated, even during her most blue-deviled moments. “Very well, Mr. Scrooge.” Helena drew herself up. “Despite what you clearly believe, I have come solely for the purpose of beginning afresh between us. This time of year, more than any other, I believe is a time for setting aside past hurts and wrongs, and for reconnecting with family and those we hold dear.”
“Humbug.”
She would not be gainsaid so easily. “Please come. We will have a jolly dinner and plenty of games of wit afterward.”
Uncle Scrooge—for such Helena would still think of him—huffed. “Keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine.”
“But you don’t keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone then.”
He could not truly wish to be so miserly. Uncle Scrooge may think he wanted his life to be depressing, but deep down, Helena had to believe there was a heart in there, somewhere.
When she didn’t respond right away, Uncle Scrooge muttered, “What reason have you to make yourself merry? You’ve admitted to being poor.”
