by L G Rollins
Fredrick shifted about and lifted her into his arms. The way she sagged was worrisome. Was she conscious at all?
“Can you wake up?” he said as he moved back the way he’d come. “You need to wake up, Helena.”
Her face scrunched up, but she did nothing more.
He jostled her slightly. “Come on, it’s not safe to sleep right now.”
“Fredrick?”
Oh, thank goodness. “Yes, my love. I need you to wake up, all right?”
“I was so scared.”
Being stranded in a maze as dark was falling would be enough to scare anyone. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
“It was just like my nightmare.”
He glanced back down at her. He hadn’t been aware she struggled with nightmares. “What was just like your nightmare?” He needed her to keep talking to be sure she didn’t go back to sleep.
“The hedge maze.” Her words slurred a bit, and she still hadn’t opened her eyes. But at least she was somewhat lucid.
“And I went and dragged you in here, regardless.”
Her hand slipped out from beneath his greatcoat, and she patted him on the chest. “You didn’t know.”
She needed to keep herself inside the coat, but with both his arms occupied in carrying her, he couldn’t put it back himself. “It seems all I ever do around you is apologize.”
“You care . . .” Her hand grew heavier against him, and her words jumbled. “That’s nothing to apologize . . .”
“Helena?” He shifted her about in his arms again. “Helena, keep talking to me. You have to stay awake, remember?” He’d never forgive himself if she wasn’t all right. But no matter what he did, Helena didn’t wake back up.
He needed to get her warm. Surely they were almost out of this cursed maze. A few strides later, Topper came into view. Fredrick instructed the man to hurry ahead to let the house know Helena had been found but was gravely cold.
Topper ran off. He must have met up with some of the other men, however, for soon a great cry started as first one and then another man shouted that Miss Spencer had been found.
Fredrick made the trek back to the house as quickly as he could. Stepping into the candlelight of the back parlor, Fredrick’s fears were confirmed. Helena’s skin was ghostly white and her lips a strange, unnatural blue.
Fredrick paced down the hallway, turned, and walked back, passing Baker pacing the other way. Doctor Lock had come and gone some time ago. He hadn’t had much to say, but he had relayed that Helena had woken up and spoken to him, she was slowly regaining her normal color, and he would be back to check on her again the next day.
With another turn, he moved by her bedchamber door, not bothering to look at Baker this time. Lady Emma, Lady Shakerley, Lady Andrews, and his own mother were in with Helena right now. But they had, understandably, refused to allow any of the gentlemen into the room. Understandable, but frustrating.
“She’ll be all right,” Baker said, pausing across the hallway from her door.
Fredrick shook his head. This was all his fault, and he wouldn’t be eased into false hope.
His silence didn’t stop Baker from speaking on, however. “I’ve grown more fond of that girl than even I expected to,” he said. “She’s sharp, optimistic, and strong.”
If he was trying to make Fredrick feel better, he was doing a lousy job of it.
“You need to know.” Baker’s voice turned firm. “We all have grown fond of her. Your mother, your sisters. We just want to see her happy.”
Something inside Fredrick twisted painfully. He stopped his pacing and faced Baker fully. “Are you saying you two have an understanding?” He hadn’t thought things had progressed so fast as all that.
“I’m saying if she will have me, I plan to give Miss Spencer the best sort of life possible.”
Fredrick didn’t have time to think through what he was hearing before the bedchamber door opened, and his mother stepped out.
“She is awake.”
“How is she?” Baker asked.
At the same time, Fredrick asked, “Can I speak with her?”
Lady Chapman glanced between them. “She’s asked to speak with Mr. Baker.”
What? Fredrick stood there, shocked into silence, as his uncle moved into the room.
His mother remained out in the hallway, the door shutting behind her.
Even with the door shut, Fredrick could hear Baker’s low voice. Someone answered him. Helena, perhaps? He couldn’t believe she was up and speaking and wasn’t willing to see him.
“Is she truly all right?” he asked his mother.
“Yes. She will make a full recovery.”
“And there won’t be any long term . . . problems?”
The corner of Lady Chapman’s mouth twitched up. “We checked each of her fingers and toes. She is going to be just fine.”
Thank the heavens. His gaze returned to the door just behind his mother. Had she been upset he’d insisted she go into the maze? Of course, before that, she’d clearly been hurt at his avoidance of her. And well before that, there had been last summer. But between last summer and Baker showing up, there had been so many moments—intimate, undeniable moments.
“Perhaps,” Lady Chapman said, “if you come back tomorrow afternoon, she’ll be more up to seeing you.”
“Is that what Father would have done?” he asked.
Lady Chapman’s eyes turned sad. “I couldn’t say. He never dragged me into a maze and left me there.” With that none-too-gentle remark, she slipped back into the room and shut the door firmly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fredrick sat down heavily into the small wooden chair. About him, the pub buzzed and hummed with life. After Helena had refused to speak to him, he’d tried going to bed. But he’d hardly slept. When dawn came, he’d dressed quickly and returned to pacing outside Helena’s room. He was informed almost immediately, however, that Helena was sleeping and wasn’t to be disturbed.
After that, Fredrick couldn’t stand to remain at Hedgewood Manor. Helena didn’t need him—didn’t want him. And he was going crazy standing about waiting for her to be willing to speak with him. So he’d had a horse saddled and left. He hadn’t truly been heading any specific direction, but when he’d come across this pub, stopping for a drink had seemed a good idea.
Now, he wasn’t so sure. For such a cold morning, everyone seemed annoyingly cheerful.
“Good mornin’ to ye,” a man in dirt-covered clothes said as he pulled out a chair and situated himself across from Fredrick. “And a merry Christmas Eve, too.”
Fredrick didn’t know what to say; he’d rather been hoping for a few minutes of solitude to better sort through his current predicament. But the man’s second statement caught him by surprise every bit as much as his forwardness.
“Is it Christmas Eve already?” he asked.
“Aye,” the man said, waving two companions over. “It be, and a right happy one at that.”
Gads, he’d completely forgotten what today was. Perhaps he ought to do as Topper had done and buy a present for the woman he loved.
Unasked, the man’s two friends sat on either side of the table. Apparently, Fredrick was not to have a quiet morning to himself.
“I’m Martin,” the first man said. “These be my jolly companions, Captain Bones”—the man to Fredrick’s left, whose clothes marked him as a man from the sea, nodded—“and Thomas.” The third man also nodded; though his clothes showed he was from the working class, like Martin, they didn’t tell Fredrick his profession.
“You must forgive our intrusion,” Thomas said, “but we only get together once a year. Between Martin working the mines, Captain Bones sailing the ocean, and myself seeing to a lighthouse, our time together is short.”
If that was so, then Fredrick could not understand why they’d chosen to sit with him instead of finding their own quiet table.
“Still.” Captain Bones picked up the narrative—and what kind of name wa
s ‘Captain Bones’ anyways?—“We always try to find one soul who looks more downcast than we so that we might cheer him up a bit.”
“Always makes Christmas feel a little brighter when one has helped another,” said Martin.
“The coin you insist on staking on the matter always brings a smile to my face,” added Thomas, sotto voce.
“And I’m that gentleman?” Fredrick asked.
The three men nodded in unison.
“Now, is it money or a woman?” Captain Bones asked. “Thomas is a right dab hand with blunt, and Martin knows a thing or two about wives and the like. He’s had five of them.”
“Five wives?” Fredrick stared at the man in shock.
Martin only laughed. “Not all at once.”
What a peculiar three he’d stumbled upon—or had stumbled upon him, as it were. “And where do you come in, Captain Bones?”
The captain’s smile turned menacing. “Anytime there’s a bloke who needs more of a heavy hand when learning about Christmas generosity, that’s when I come in.”
Good to know.
“All right,” Thomas said, leaning across the table, “now that you know us”—that was a stretch in Fredrick’s estimation—“spill it. Money or woman?”
“A doff like that don’t have a woman,” Martin hissed at Thomas. “He’d have a lady.”
Thomas only lifted his gaze heavenward and shook his head.
Meanwhile, Martin chuckled, “And judging by the doff’s face, it is a lady.”
What was Fredrick to do? There was no point in denying it. He shrugged and agreed with a nod.
“Ha!” Martin crowed, slapping Thomas across the shoulder. “This one’s mine.” He placed his great arms atop the table and leaned over it. “First off, what did you do to make her angry?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. “Recently? Or ever?”
Captain Bones whistled low. “Looks like we found a dilly this year.”
“It’s all very complicated,” Fredrick said.
“You best tell it quick then,” said Martin.
So Fredrick did. He started with his father passing away, then his uncle’s machinations the previous summer and all it had meant for Helena. He told of coming to Hedgewood Manor, completely unaware that she would be there, too. He explained his agreement to help her reestablish herself among society by aiding her search for a husband. Though he didn’t go into details regarding their friendship turning into more for him, he believed the three men were smart enough to figure it out.
Lastly, he told of how he had pulled Helena into the maze the night before and unintentionally left her there, only to find her and hear her confess about her nightmares.
Thomas whistled long and low. “You’ve your work cut out for you on this one, Martin.”
Martin, for his part, was watching Fredrick carefully. For a moment, though dressed in the dirtiest clothes Fredrick had ever beheld, and with a frame which proved he’d worked with his hands all his life, he appeared a most thoughtful, wise individual. The look in his expression denoted someone in deep thought, someone a gentleman would be wise to sit up and listen to.
“You care for the lass?” Martin asked.
“Deeply,” Fredrick confessed.
“She care for you?”
Fredrick hesitated on that one. “I don’t know.”
Thomas and Captain Bones exchanged a glance. It could have been a “yup, this one’s an idiot” look, or it could have been a “how do we let him down easy?” look. Fredrick wasn’t sure. Neither option filled him with very much optimism.
“You plan on bein’ good to her?” Thomas asked.
“Of course.” And yet, Fredrick shook his head and leaned back. “As good as I know how. Lately, I’ve started thinking that’s not nearly good enough.” How did a man live up to all that was expected of him?
“Raised to be a true gentleman,” Martin said with a knowing nod.
Thomas shook his head. “Certainly glad I wasn’t.”
Martin and Captain Bones seemed to be agreeing, wordlessly.
“See,” Martin said, “the problem with expectations is you never actually know if you’ve reached them.”
“The goal keeps moving on you,” Thomas added.
“Sucks the joy right outta life,” Captain Bones said.
“So I should just toss aside all I’ve been raised to be and what? Turn to smuggling?”
The three men laughed, but it was Captain Bones who spoke next.
“Na, there are enough blokes doing that already. Just don’t be so hard on yourself. And, realize, you gotta captain your ship your way.”
Fredrick wasn’t so sure it was as simple as all that.
“He means,” Martin said, “don’t go giving up on your lady.”
“She won’t even speak to me, remember?” Fredrick asked.
“She will.” Martin expressed far more confidence than Fredrick believed the situation warranted. “You stick around long enough, make it clear you aren’t goin’ nowhere, and she’ll speak to you eventually.”
Both Thomas and Captain Bones made silent oohs and gave their companion small nods as though bowing to his significant wisdom. The sight was somewhat comical, but Fredrick couldn’t deny that Martin was starting to make a lot of sense.
“You know,” he said, “you might have something there.”
“Sure he has,” Thomas said, his chair scrapping as he pushed to a stand. “He’s done this enough times, he oughta.”
Both Martin and Captain Bones stood as well and offered Fredrick their best Christmas wishes and farewells. After tossing a few coins to the owner, they slipped outside. Fredrick watched as the door shut. What a strange group of men.
Fredrick downed the rest of his drink. Whoever they were and however their strange Christmas tradition had gotten started, Fredrick was ready to return to Hedgewood Manor and prove to Helena he was as good a man as his father had been. He was ready to step fully into the role of earl and care for a family of his own. And he’d be hanged if he was going to do it without Helena by his side.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Come, my treacle pie, I would dearly like to hear you sing the catch,” Baker said, patting Helena’s hand. “If you are feeling up to it.”
“I believe I am,” Helena said, standing and moving closer to the pianoforte. After sleeping away the morning and half the afternoon, she felt remarkably recovered. Moreover, she had been thankful for the opportunity to place a little distance between herself and Mr. Baker. He was a kind man—overly kind, in fact— but today, she was craving a different man’s company.
She’d turned him away in a fit of anger last night, brought on by the pain which bit at her fingers and toes most horribly, and she hadn’t seen him since.
Miss Wynn sat at the instrument, a smirk across her face. “Treacle pie? How embarrassing,” she whispered softly.
Helena had nothing to say to that. She’d all but consigned herself to becoming Mrs. Baker. She’d wondered when she awoke if perhaps Fredrick would be wanting to see her again, but he was gone. Once again, he’d proved content to let his uncle stand by her side, and he had simply left.
Topper began singing, his voice a deep bass. Christina watched him, clearly in love. Helena was both happy to see her friend so but also dismayed. Had Fredrick only ever seen her as a problem that needed to be solved? As a blight on his conscience? Or, perhaps, he merely considered her a good friend?
It was possible her mind was still working through healing from last night, but she was too confused to know what to think.
Lord Forbes picked up the round next, and only a few measures later, Helena began to sing. Their voices did harmonize well. If she were to spend a Christmas among strangers, confused and alone, at least she’d had plenty of music to help her through it. It felt good to focus on the pleasing things happening in her life. As a woman, there would always be so much she couldn’t control, but what she chose to focus on was something no one el
se could take. She would hold to that now.
The song faded to an end, with first Topper ending his part, then Lord Forbes, and lastly Helena. The applause was light, all except for Mr. Baker. He pounded his two great hands together as though he alone was making up for the absence of an entire audience-filled theatre. Feeling pleased, if slightly embarrassed, Helena moved away from the pianoforte.
Mr. Baker stood and met her halfway back to her seat. Lady Chapman sat beside where he’d been only moments ago. Helena had not noticed the woman had joined them. She was smiling up at Helena, her sincere joy prophesying something more was about to happen. Mr. Baker took hold of her hand and looped it around his arm. “Take a turn with me. There’s a book in the library I wish to show you.”
The look in his eye seemed to say that a book in the library was the last thing Mr. Baker truly wished to discuss. Nonetheless, had not Helena determined that a lasting connection with a gentleman of status was precisely what she needed? Steeling herself, Helena nodded her consent. Words would have been better than a mute gesture, but, though she was determined to see her end goal achieved, she had not the heart to actually speak.
Silently, she allowed him to walk her out of the room, down the corridor, and up the stairs. They reached the library doors, and Helena drew herself up as she passed into the room. What she needed—not wanted but needed—was a man who would save her from a life of poverty and rejection. It wasn’t as though she was marrying an ogre. Mr. Baker would always treat her well, of that she was convinced.
As she suspected, Mr. Baker made no effort to find, or even look over, the books in the library. Standing near the center of the room, with empty chairs all around and the grand windows raining winter sunlight onto them, Mr. Baker turned and faced her, taking both of her hands into his.
