Frail

by Susanna Ives

  “When I first arrived here, I would bring out the lantern and stroll the paths through the woods. Finally, I made this garden for my madness. You can see I have far too much idle time on my hands.”

  Helena knew about such time, the endless race of her mind. She studied the bands of tulips. How liberating it must have felt to do something, rather than being trapped in one’s mind, reliving the same awful things again and again. She glanced at him and wondered what horrible memories had driven him out into the woods at night. What had he seen?

  Megan had already finished the labyrinth and run back out by the time they reached the center stone. Old words had been chiseled into the ancient rock. Helena ran her fingers along the worn grooves. “Do you still think of the war?” she asked. “Are the memories still raw or have they faded?”

  She needed an answer for herself. What she had suffered was nothing akin to the horrors of war, but would her pain ever weaken its grip?

  He looked beyond the garden to some place in the distance. His eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s Roman.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The stone. I found it propped against a wall in the dairy. It could be a major historical artifact for all I know.”

  She held her finger to her lips. “I’ll never utter a word to the British museum. We Brits are notorious thieves.” She laughed until she realized what she had said. Then self-loathing flooded in. Stupid girl.

  “Miss Gillingham, please pardon my presumption,” he said. “but this afternoon I sent a letter to my stepmother Lady Staswick on your behalf.”

  “A letter? Why?”

  “I believe you would make an excellent companion for her.”

  Helena couldn’t reverse the wheels of her mind fast enough. Weren’t they speaking of the war, memories, and Roman ruins? Was he trying to send her away now?

  “What?” she stammered. “I… I hardly know her.”

  “She always enjoyed your company in London.”

  Many people claimed to enjoy her company before her father shot himself. Then they found her companionship quite intolerable.

  He continued. “You shall be safe at their country estate and would have no reason to venture into the neighboring village.”

  Her eyes drifted from the flowers to where Emily sat on her bench. Her daughter had joined her and was saying something that caused them both to laugh. Megan leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, and Emily trailed her fingers up and down her daughter’s arm. Above them rose the sheltering oak, the roof of the castle and the stunning mountains.

  “You really desire me to leave, don’t you?”

  The back of his jaw worked. “My father possesses a grand home with lovely gardens, as well. It’s written up in many guides as one of the more beautiful estates in England.”

  “Beautiful like art on a gallery wall? Cold and impersonal?” She thought of all the empty, lonely nights she suffered in her London home and gestured about her. “Or as inviting and kind as this?” She wanted this beauty. She was greedy for it.

  “The people in this village are hardly inviting and kind to you, Miss Gillingham. Please pardon if I must speak plainly, but I do not think the villagers’ opinions can be easily altered.”

  “I know.” She stared at his hand clenched by his side. “Mr. Mallory, at this time, I cannot claim to know my own thoughts. Thank you for your kind offer. I will certainly consider it.”

  He brushed away a stray leaf from her collarbone. “I assure you I only desire your happiness.”

  Happiness? She had to stifle a bitter laugh. Happiness seemed as remote and unreachable as the icy peaks piercing the sky. In her heart of hearts, she didn’t think she deserved to be happy, not when so many of her father’s victims were suffering.

  Nine

  The flames from the candles in the old iron chandelier flickered on the silverware and crystal glasses and made the carvings on Theo’s dining room walls appear animated like a shadow play. A warm fire hissed in the grate, and the air was rich with rosemary, cloves, and red wine. Efa, excited to have an audience of more than one, had produced creamy carrot soup, lamb stuffed with garlic, turnips in butter, and apple snowballs.

  Branwen deserted her usual post at Theo’s feet and laid her head in Megan’s lap, gazing up at her with pleading eyes, as if Theo hadn’t fed the hound in weeks. Theo kept his hand tight around his wine glass, trying hard to concentrate on its garnet glow, and not Helena’s every motion.

  She had been radiant in the garden, bathed in its light. The devastated look on her face when he suggested that she consider being his stepmother’s companion cut to the bone.

  He had been hesitant to show her the estate, afraid she would somehow desecrate its sanctity to him. An infidel in his church of trees and flowers. Yet, in her face, he saw the gentle wonder for the land and the quaint buildings he had known when first coming to these mountains—when Castell Bach yr Anwylyd was a forgotten mess of tangled vines and nettles.

  She was desperate for safe refuge as he once had been. But he couldn’t offer her asylum. Not here. Not near the man who killed her father, save for pulling the trigger, and had caused her to be hunted like some witch to be burned.

  His father could keep her protected, Theo told himself, and provide the niceties to which she was accustomed but Emily couldn’t provide. He didn’t want her to know any more pain. Or maybe he didn’t want to feel any more guilt.

  Miss Gillingham moved her turnips about the plate, not taking a bite, as Megan led the conversation.

  “I helped plant the very first spring garden,” the girl explained to Helena. “It was when…” she eyed her mother, lowered her head and continued in a careful tone. “When my brother was ill. I came to stay here for a few months. And Mr. Mallory showed me how to plant tulip bulbs.”

  Helena smiled. The candlelight reflected on the surface of her eyes. “How kind of you,” she told him.

  “It was nothing,” he said.

  Damn Megan for bringing up that winter. And damn Helena for looking at him full of admiration. He desired to bolt up from his chair and, in one sweep of his arm, send all the china and crystal flying. I disclosed your father to Scotland Yard! he wanted to yell. Do you still think I’m wonderful? That’s why you must leave.

  He swallowed down the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle to pour more.

  “I understand you asked Cousin Helena to dance at a party in London,” Emily said with a knowing purr. She was persisting in her bloody matchmaking campaign.

  Helena set her fork down. “Actually, if you must know, I asked him.”

  “You did?” Megan’s lips formed an “O” of admiration at such audacity. “Why?”

  Helena’s eyes twinkled with mischievousness like they did that night in London. Theo’s gut tightened with dread.

  “Well, you have to admit,” Helena said. “He is very handsome.”

  The ladies broke into giggles.

  “Come now,” Theo said. “We needn’t talk about that evening.”

  Emily clapped her hands. “Oh! See how he blushes.”

  “I asked him in front at least twenty people,” Helena continued. “To make the matter worse…” He braced himself, expecting her to say how he demeaned her and embarrassed himself before society. But she cocked a brow and said, “…I stepped on his foot.” Her shoulders shook with laughter. “But he was a gentleman and didn’t complain.”

  Her smile, so genuine and happy, made him think she had forgiven him for that terrible evening. Meanwhile, his words, and many other things surrounding the affair, still haunted him.

  “You are instilling Megan with wrong ideas about society,” he said. “I thought you were to help finish her or civilize her or something of that nature.”

  “Wrong ideas?” Emily wagged her fork. “Let it be known that years before Helena asked you, I was dared to ask a certain handsome gentleman attending a Conwy assembly to waltz. And not a week later, I eloped with him to Scotland.”

 
“Truly?” Helena asked, clearly shocked at her cousin’s revelation. She had no inkling of the hellion beneath Emily’s fragile exterior.

  “Stephen was visiting a friend he had met when he had worked for the mines.” She smiled at Helena, but her eyes were far away. “We had buried Mama that summer and Grandmama told Papa I was attending a dull card party at my aunt’s home. Then Grandmama and my aunt made me attend the assembly. Papa had turned mean in his sadness, and Grandmama was afraid he would try to hold onto me.” Emily lifted her brows. “I knew the moment Stephen walked into the room that I would marry him. How easily the knowledge came. He was as solid and handsome as these mountains. I employed every flirtatious trick I knew, and by the end of the night, I had secured him.”

  “Mama!” Megan cried. “You could not have acted as silly as the village girls.”

  “Oh heavens yes, my love,” Emily replied. “When a lady meets a man she desires to marry she surely cannot leave matters up to him.” She winked at Helena. “So you see, audacity and recklessness are some of our more endearing family traits.”

  “What about mule-headedness and troublemaking?” Theo inquired.

  Helena twirled a strand of hair on her finger. “It adds to our charming dispositions.” She purred and peeked sideways at him from under her lashes, a teasing, almost seductive look.

  In his mind, she was nestled under him, the pale, silky skin of her thighs brushing against his, her breasts unbound and bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts. His penis began to harden. What the hell was happening to him? He shouldn’t be thinking this way about her of all women. My God, he had destroyed her. He stared down at his plate, and forced himself to take slow breaths to cool his imagination.

  “I desire to learn to waltz!” Megan piped up, surprising everyone. “I do. Please teach me, Cousin Helena.”

  ∞∞∞

  An hour later, after the cake and bottle of wine were finished, Theo was pushing the furniture against the parlor wall to clear a makeshift dance floor. Emily practiced scales on the twangy harpsichord, original to the house, which had probably never seen a tuner’s hand. Meanwhile, Branwen ran back and forth between people, barking and whacking her tail against the furniture, confused by the whole ordeal.

  “It’s an easy beat, just one—two—three.” Helena raised the hem of her dress, exposing her boots, to show Megan the dance. “You make a strong step on the first beat and then rise on to your tiptoes—your toes, mind you, and not your partner’s—on the other two beats.” She demonstrated as Emily broke a major third chord into an easy 3/4 time.

  Branwen barked, her front paws spread, thinking this was a game. “Think: step, toes, toes. Step, toes, toes,” Helena continued, whirling about the carpet, her black gown sweeping around her.

  “That’s it?” Megan cried, as if some great secret of the universe had been revealed and was disappointingly simple.

  “Waltzing has to be easy, else gentlemen couldn’t do it,” Helena explained.

  At the harpsichord, Emily bowed her head over her fingers and laughed.

  “I’m feeling terribly outnumbered here,” Theo complained. “You ladies ought to be kinder to me.”

  “By-the-by, Megan, let’s pretend we are attending a fancy ball in London,” Helena adapted the nasal tones of Mayfair, flung her arms about in languid fashion. “The room is positively littered with silk, diamonds, pearls, and lace. The Queen and Prince Albert are here, as is a nice sprinkling of Royal Dukes and foreign princes. But we aren’t interested in their likes. Far too dull.” Then seizing Megan’s arm, she gasped. “Ah! I spy one! Do you see that extremely handsome gentleman in the gray coat?”

  Theo crossed his arms and tried to keep a straight face, though his lips quivered.

  She began waving her fingers about her face as if she were talking behind a fan like those excitable society mamas, who had memorized pages of Debrett’s and weighed the marital advantages of their son’s or daughter’s dance partners.

  “I understand he possesses a most impressive garden in Wales,” Helena continued. “Spring garden, summer garden, oriental garden, any garden you can imagine. Absolutely perfect for a farmer lady. You simply must ask him to dance.”

  “Don’t listen to Miss Gillingham,” Theo said. “She’s being silly.”

  To that, Helena wrinkled her nose at him.

  “We must teach the savage properly.” He knelt before the young girl. “My dear farmer lady, I couldn’t help but notice your stunning unaffected beauty and the becoming addition of dog and sheep fur to your gown. Would you please grant me the honor of a waltz?”

  Megan was unable to respond for giggling.

  “She is too overcome for words,” he said, taking Megan’s hands. “It happens with all the ladies.”

  Helena edged into a corner and watched. Mr. Mallory wasn’t the stiff dancer she remembered. He was a patient instructor, putting Megan at ease, never making her feel ashamed of her mistakes. Helena could see the graceful lady Megan would soon become, just waiting beneath the surface. How fortunate she was to have Mr. Mallory acting as her older, protective brother, to guide her through the precarious transition into adulthood. Helena wished she had had such wise counsel. Perhaps her life would have turned out far better.

  Branwen began jumping on dancers’ legs, demanding to be included in the game. “Such shocking manners.” Helena feigned outrage. “I shall have to dance with this jealous hound.”

  She took the dog’s front paws, raised Branwen up on her hind legs, and attempted to waltz. But Branwen was more interested in licking Helena’s hands than dancing.

  “I want to dance with Branwen!” Megan released her partner. “Here, you may have Mr. Mallory.”

  “Here, you may have Mr. Mallory?” he echoed. “I’ve been spurned for a hound!”

  “That is shockingly low, indeed.” Helena shook her head. “I’m afraid the only ladies who shall dance with you now have been cast from all polite society.”

  Mr. Mallory opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Several beats on the harpsichord passed. Embarrassment heated Helena’s skin as she realized he didn’t want to dance with her. “I was merely funning—”

  “I would be honored if you consented to dance with me,” he said woodenly.

  “I was joking. Truly.”

  “But I am not.” He offered his hand.

  Emily, who had been looking over her shoulder at them, missed the chord. She quickly resumed playing with more vigor than before.

  Helena laid her hand in his, allowing him to draw her closer. They danced in silence. Although his fingers were rough to the touch, they held her gingerly. She remembered how easily she had folded into his arms that afternoon outside the church. How safe she had felt snug against his body. She edged closer, greedy to know that feeling again.

  But he released her hands and stepped back. His eyes turned dark and empty, like a curtain had been shut from the inside. “Thank you for the dance,” he murmured. “But the hour is getting late, and Emily needs to rest.”

  He turned and walked away.

  ∞∞∞

  Theo was still shaken from the dance when he saw the ladies to the carriage, which had been brought around to the front door. The wind had whipped up, and specks of rain splattered the carriage windows. He helped Emily in first. He nestled the wool blanket, which had been warmed on a heated brick, about her shoulders, and set the bricks under her feet.

  “Theo, we are not going to Newcastle, but a few yards home,” Emily said of the fuss he was making.

  “We here at Castell Bach yr Anwylyd are extravagant wastrels.”

  Emily laughed and grabbed his arm, tugging him closer. “I was right about Helena,” she whispered. “Did she not seem at home in your gardens?” A knowing purr belied the innocent question. “I know another place where she could feel equally at home.”

  “Emily, please don’t.” He tried to extract himself, but she held tight.

  “You need to feel a lady,” s
he said. “To enjoy her affection and caress.” She squeezed his arm. “See how tense you are? I worry about you.”

  “This is not a conversation I wish to have with you,” he said, gently brushing her hand off his sleeve.

  He stepped out of the carriage. Helena waited under the lantern hanging by the door. She kept her arms crossed tightly over her body as the wind flapped her skirts. He wordlessly offered his hand, and she took it in equal silence. An awkward tension pulsed around them. She hadn’t spoken to him since the dance, and he could feel her hurt. She had interpreted the abrupt ending as a rejection. And it was, but not because he didn’t want her or couldn’t stop looking at her lips, desiring to feel their touch. He must keep her at a safe distance, for her sake, even if it meant bruising her feelings.

  She stepped into the carriage and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Thank you for…” She paused and bite down on her lip. “Your kindness.” She slowly withdrew her hand, trailing her fingers across his palm. Their feathery touch did dangerous things to his body.

  She nestled back into the cushions and gazed out at the blackness beyond the window.

  Megan had knelt down by Branwen and was giving the dog a goodbye embrace. “Don’t worry, I shall return tomorrow,” Megan assured the hound, and rose to her feet.

  “Inviting yourself, are you, brat?” Theo said. “I shall set you and Branwen to work.”

  “Can I bring Cousin Helena?” she asked while Theo assisted her into the carriage. She was too big to lift anymore.

  Helena’s head whipped around.

  “I wouldn’t desire to ruin her pretty gowns in the dirt,” he said damply, in an effort to dissuade any of Helena’s ambitions.

  “Oh, Cousin Helena won’t care,” Megan said, snuggling beside her mother under the blanket.

  He didn’t argue, but bowed and said, “Good night, ladies. Thank you for an enjoyable evening.” With a nod, he signaled to the driver to go. The young man made a clicking noise out of the side of his mouth and the four-wheeler lurched forward. Theo watched the carriage leave and waited until the rattle of the harness grew fainter.