The Weary Heart

by Lancaster, Mary

The knowledge lifted her chin, allowed her to change direction and walk toward Lady Overton instead. The matter was clear. Sir Marcus had taken pity on her as he had on Anne Marshall for her wallflower status. Neither she nor Anne could have refused him with civility. It was not acceptable to refuse an invitation to dance.

  “Miss Milsom.” Lady Overton turned from her conversation to acknowledged her. “Is all well?”

  “Yes, my lady. The children are in bed. Is there anything I can do for you before I retire?”

  “No, my dear, you’ve managed very well and may consider yourself free for the rest of the evening.”

  Helen curtsied and left the ballroom, thanking God for Lady Overton’s good nature and inattention. Her employer’s opinion was the only one that affected her, and yet those other knowing, contemptuous glances bothered her still because they sullied her wonderful, even beautiful moments with Sir Marcus.

  At the top of the ballroom steps, a movement in the ante-room on her right drew her attention. The room was dimly lit, and a familiar figure stood by the window. Anne Marshall, quite alone.

  “Miss Marshall?” Helen said, going into the room. “Are you quite well?”

  Anne turned hurriedly. “Oh, it is only you! Yes, I’m fine, just escaping the crush for a few minutes.” She looked hunted. “My parents are not looking for me, are they?”

  “I didn’t notice them,” Helen said. “But they probably will be if you stay away too long. Are you not enjoying the ball?”

  Anne shook her head. “No. I never do enjoy such things. I know I should, because everyone else does, but the truth is, I feel…out of place, constrained, trapped. And I want to run away.”

  Helen came and stood beside her at the window. “Have you told your parents this?”

  Anne nodded. “They tell me I am shy, or stupid, and will grow out of it.”

  “Well, you are not stupid,” Helen said firmly, “but it is possible you will grow out of such feelings.”

  Anne sighed. “Do you ever feel like running away, Miss Milsom? Escaping the weight of duty and expectation?”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted.

  “Where would you run to?”

  Helen thought about it and smiled. “To the Hart Inn near Finsborough, probably! It is a place of great comfort and discretion. I once stayed there when I was ill, and they were so kind to me. I suppose that is why I associate it with escape. Where would you go?”

  “Oh, some imaginary, deserted island in the sun,” Anne said vaguely. She waved one disparaging hand. “It doesn’t matter when it isn’t real.”

  “Bear up, my dear,” Helen encouraged. “I’m sure your parents will come to understand, and you will get more used to things. In time, you’ll meet at a position that suits you all.”

  “Perhaps,” she said doubtfully and smiled. “You are very kind, Miss Milsom. And I should go back or I’ll be scolded.”

  “Good night,” Helen said.

  “Good night,” Anne replied with more than a hint of envy.

  Discovering all the children to be sound asleep, Helen entered her own chamber at last and collapsed into the battered armchair by the dying fire. She should probably ring for someone to help her unfasten the gown. In the midst of a ball, it would take a while for a maid to be free, unless Cranston was willing to answer the summons of someone other than her own mistress.

  But she found she didn’t yet want to take off the gown. She liked the rare feeling of elegance. She liked that Sir Marcus had touched it. She even imagined she could smell his subtle, manly scent.

  She jumped up and walked to the slightly rickety desk next to the window to light another candle. By their glow, she drew a piece of paper toward her and picked up the pen. Dipping it in the ink well, she began to write a letter to her aunt, beginning with her arrival at the deserted Audley Park and finishing with the evening’s ball. Although she didn’t mention Sir Marcus by name, she knew he permeated the whole epistle, as he seemed to occupy all her thoughts.

  She could not send such a letter.

  Without reading it, she threw it on the fire.

  She realized the faint strains of music drifting up from the ballroom had stopped. No wonder. It was after three o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t, in all conscience, summon a maid to her now. Perhaps she could just sleep in the gown.

  A breath of laughter shook her. She reached over her shoulders and unfastened what she could before approaching the fastenings from beneath. The gown would come off easily enough. Yet, still she hesitated. Her hands fell away.

  On impulse, she picked up the shawl her aunt had given her and threw it about her shoulders before going to the window, unfastening it and stepping onto the narrow balcony. The night was very still and sharp. Frost glistened on the ground below, showing white on the trees and gentle hill. And with the house now in almost complete darkness, the stars were glorious.

  Gazing upward, she allowed her gaze to shift to the balcony above and to the left. A dark, still figure stood there. She knew who it was. He was the real reason she had come out, wasn’t he? Idiocy beyond reprieve.

  “A beautiful night,” he observed softly.

  For an instant, she closed her eyes. “It is.”

  As once before, he crouched down, giving the dangerous illusion of intimacy. “I hope our dance didn’t cause you problems.”

  “I caught a few disapproving glances, but nothing that will hurt me.” I hope.

  “I was very aware of your situation, which was why I left you as quickly as I did.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said, unreasonably annoyed. “It would have been simpler if you had not asked me in the first place.”

  “Simpler,” he agreed, “but duller. Do you wish I had not asked?”

  “No,” she admitted, incurably honest. She took a deep breath. Now was the moment to mend—to end—whatever this was, even if it was only in her own mind. “I appreciate the kindness.”

  His head leaned to one side. “You do?”

  “Of course. I wonder if I might ask another kindness.”

  “Certainly.”

  She lowered her voice further. “Miss Marshall. Do you mean to offer for her?”

  For an instant, there was stunned silence. Then he said flatly, “She’s a child.”

  “She is, but whatever their reasons, her parents have put it into her head that you will make her an offer. If you wish to make her more comfortable, you will set her mind at rest.”

  He was silent again. “And your mind, too?”

  “Mine is of no account,” she said quickly.

  “On the contrary.” He glanced back toward the room, as though he heard some noise within the house. She thought he swore beneath his breath. “Helen, may I come down and talk to you?”

  The world tilted. She didn’t know what he was asking—exactly what he said, or something more, perhaps, to be her lover… Shocked and seduced in equal measure, she could think of nothing to say except, “No.”

  Laughter hissed between his teeth. “I thought you would say that, and you are, of course, quite right. Forgive my insensitivity. Tomorrow will do almost as well. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she managed, backing into her room.

  “Helen.” His soft voice drew her back on to the balcony. She looked up to where he still crouched, gazing down at her. “You are beautiful in that dress. More beautiful.”

  “Nonsense,” she muttered. Hastily, she stepped back into the room and closed the window. After a moment, she fastened it.

  He had called her beautiful. He wanted to talk to her. She didn’t know whether to laugh, jump for joy, or run. Had he meant to swing down to her balcony like an agile boy? Remembering the way he had shinned up and down the tree, she didn’t put it past him. For the rest, she was sure she must be misunderstanding his intentions, though she doubted she would sleep now for wondering what it was he wanted to talk to her about. Part of her wished she had let him come down to her, just for that reason.
/>   She went to the washing bowl and splashed the cold water on her burning cheeks. She was not making a good job of either mending or ending this obsession. Every encounter, every exchange, seemed to make it worse.

  *

  Marcus lay awake in the dark. The possibility of sleep was miles away, and he didn’t even mind, for every nerve in his body, every thought seemed to focus on Helen Milsom. He supposed it was because she was different—maintaining her dignity and an attitude of fearlessness and humor from her lowly position. If there was beauty in her deceptively severe countenance, latent passion in the charming body he had held in the waltz…well, it all contributed to his fascination.

  He wondered what would have happened if he had simply climbed down to her balcony, or if she had agreed to let him. Would he have remained a strict gentleman? Would he have been able to resist tasting the passion he sensed? Or would she have dismissed him with one of her freezing glares? Or even a buffet over the balcony rail. He smiled to himself. Perhaps best not to have found out. A talk in daylight was much more sensible, for if she wished to remain a governess, her reputation was everything.

  He turned onto his back. Was he insane to be contemplating anything else? He barely knew the woman and yet…the urge to possess her was powerful. An engagement while she remained with the Overtons was surely time enough for her to find out if she liked him enough for marriage.

  But then, would any penniless governess not jump at the chance of marrying a wealthy baronet? Even a bad-tempered one of erratic habits? Although no longer young, he was aware he was still considered a valuable catch. What made him think such worldliness would not sway Helen Milsom? The softness of her eyes when she looked at him, her occasional flush, the breathlessness she tried to hide. She was no more indifferent than he. If she did not love him—and indeed how could she on such short and frequently combative acquaintance?—then she felt something for him. Something warm and eager, like his own feelings.

  Restlessly, he threw himself onto his side, trying to ignore the burning of his body.

  In fact, none of this mattered if he could not fulfill his duty and at least part of his promise to Ilya Robinov in Russia. Tomorrow, he would lay the whole before Helen and hope she would wait for him. And then, when he returned from Russia, he could court her properly.

  It was dawn before he fell into a fitful doze, from which he seemed to be wakened almost immediately by Norris, his valet, bearing coffee and a letter. In reality, at least a couple of hours must have passed, for it was fully light behind the curtains Norris insisted on pulling back.

  Marcus struggled into a sitting position and reached blindly for the coffee. A warm excitement surged through him because today he would speak to her, and hopefully change the direction of both their lives for the better. He knew a powerful urge to kiss those shapely lips that had so often told him off. Or curved in laughter, parted in surprise…

  Clearing his throat, he raised the cup to his lips once more, gulped down half the contents, and reached for the letter. The feminine writing seemed vaguely familiar to him, though he could not recall exactly where he had seen it before. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper.

  His cup clattered into the saucer. Dear God, there was nothing like being overtaken by events.

  Grief swamped him, drowning everything but his relentless sense of duty.

  Shoving the tray at his man, he jerked back the bedclothes and strode to the washing bowl. “Send ’round to the stable, Norris. I need my curricle in twenty minutes.”

  *

  Helen woke with rare happiness in her heart and excitement in her bones. Sir Marcus…

  The twins sat at the bottom of her bed, grinning at her. “We brought you breakfast,” Horatio said. “To say sorry about the marbles. Although I still think it would have been really clever to get them right across the dance floor to the other side.”

  “And how many people might have slid on them and fallen over?” Helen demanded.

  “Well, that would have been the funny part.”

  “No, it wouldn’t! What if someone—what if many people—had broken bones?” She frowned direly, then picked up a slice of toast. “However, I thank you for the breakfast.”

  Eventually, she shooed them away so that she could rise and dress, and had just done so when a knock at the door heralded Cranston, looking anxious.

  “Ah, have you come for the gown? It’s hanging—”

  “No, no, I believe her ladyship means you to keep that. I just wish to ask…did I come to you last night to help you out of the gown?”

  “If you did, I was already asleep.”

  The dresser rubbed her forehead. “I meant to, but I think I forgot… I was so tired… But I was hoping I had left them here, for I have run out of other ideas.”

  “Other ideas about what?”

  “Where her ladyship’s emeralds are.”

  “The ones she was wearing last night?”

  “She took them off herself, and I can’t recall putting them away,” Cranston said miserably. “They are not where they should be, not even in his lordship’s chamber, nor in mine. My last hope was that I had them in my possession when I came to help you and perhaps laid them down here.”

  “Oh, dear. Is her ladyship very upset?”

  “I think she is. They were a gift from his lordship.”

  “Surely they will turn up,” Helen said encouragingly. “And I’m sure her ladyship does not blame you.”

  Cranston grimaced. “Perhaps not, but others will.”

  “I’ll help you look when I can,” Helen offered.

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  It seemed to be a day of missing items, for not very much later, as Helen accompanied the children to their mother’s chamber, they encountered Philip Marshall on the landing, interrogating two maids, one of whom was saying, “No, sir, I swear I haven’t seen her.”

  For no obvious reason, a sense of foreboding seeped under Helen’s skin. Philip caught sight of them, and at once abandoned the maids, who scuttled off in relief.

  “Helen, have you seen my stepdaughter this morning?” he demanded.

  “No, but I have only this moment left my own chamber.”

  He turned his frowning gaze on the children. “Perhaps she has been with you. I know she has taken a liking to you.”

  The curl to his lip left no one in any doubt of his disapproval, indeed his entire incomprehension of such a liking. The children shook their heads.

  “Perhaps when you were fetching my breakfast?” Helen prompted the twins, for Philip seemed genuinely troubled by Anne’s absence. But they only shook their heads again. “I suppose you have looked in the breakfast parlor? But she has probably just gone for a walk, you know.”

  “Yes, but Helen, her bed does not look as if it was slept in,” Philip said grimly. “Her mother is beside herself.”

  “I’m sure she will appear at any moment, but I’ll help you look for her.” Not, she thought, as they continued toward Lady Overton’s chamber, that Anne would necessarily thank her for being found. All the same, something nagged at the back of her mind. So much so, that having left the children with their mother, she asked if she might be excused for a few minutes and hurried out of the house toward the stables.

  Since she had not waited to fetch any outer garments, the icy wind seemed to whip straight through her. One of the grooms, brushing a fine black stallion, paused in his work to come and greet her.

  “What can I do for you, Miss?”

  “Has anyone been out riding so far today?” she asked.

  “Oh, much too early, Miss. Everyone sleeps late after the ball.”

  “I’m aware. But you haven’t actually answered me.”

  He knew her position as well as his own, and he only looked at her stolidly, saying nothing. Her stomach tensed, not because of his insolence but with fear for Anne.

  “Show me Captain,” she said, naming the quiet horse she had begun riding on the castle expedition and had then
exchanged to Anne.

  His eyelids flickered, and she knew she was right. Still, he said nothing until she marched determinedly toward the stable door.

  “You’re right, Miss. Captain’s gone with the young lady, but she asked me not to say.”

  “Was she alone?”

  He nodded miserably.

  “When?” Helen demanded.

  “’Bout seven o’clock this morning.”

  Helen drew in her breath, trying to think, to plan. “There’s to be no gossip about this,” she said severely. “And you had better pray for the young lady’s safety!”

  With that, she marched back toward the house.

  Anne had had enough. Pursued and nagged beyond bearing, she had bolted. Helen did not believe there was any young man involved, but she did not underestimate the dangers to a naïve young girl traveling alone. And even if she survived that, there was her reputation to consider.

  Do you ever feel like running away, Miss Milsom? Anne had asked her. Where would you run to?

  To the Hart Inn, Helen had replied. Could Anne have taken that to mean it was safe there for a young lady traveling alone? Once she got there, Helen did not doubt the Villins would look after her, but that would not prevent the ruin of her reputation should it ever come out that she was staying there without a chaperone, that she had charged alone across the country to get there.

  Helen sped up the steps to the house and went straight to Lady Overton’s chamber, where the children were entertaining their mother.

  “I have been wondering, ma’am, will Audley Park House be staffed again by now?” she asked bluntly.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Lady Overton. “The servants only had four days off to see their families before Christmas. Everything will be back to normal now.”

  “Then I was wondering if I might take the children back today? Eliza’s lessons are sadly neglected here.”

  “Of course,” Lady Overton said in her vague way. “If you think that is best. We will return in a day or two anyhow.”

  “Thank you,” Helen said, ignoring the glares of the children. She hesitated over the subject of Anne, but in the end said nothing. It would come better from Henrietta, whom she hunted down in the breakfast parlor.