A Mother For His Family

by Susanne Dietze

Everything was different, now that she knew she cared for him. She attempted to disguise her feelings by giving him her most businesslike nod.

  “All evening, I couldn’t help thinking you might have had your own children if you’d married your, well, the man for whom you felt a tendre.”

  Her hands twisted in her lap. John may be her husband, but he was not her husband. And when she’d asked Mama about love in a marriage, Mama had educated her on the inappropriateness of such a discussion.

  Telling John about what really happened between her and Frederick Coles would be inappropriate, indeed, because men and women didn’t discuss such things, did they?

  Mama would disapprove, but Helena wanted to tell John so badly the words clawed each other trying to escape her throat. And John was her friend. Helena lifted her chin.

  She met his gaze and almost gasped at the gentleness she saw there. Oh, how kind he was, to care for her, even though they’d argued. To know that she might be sad tonight. Thank you, Lord, for giving me a husband who doesn’t despise me. Who even cares for me a little.

  She moistened her dry lips with her tongue. “As much as I envy the family Tavin and Gemma share, you must never believe I would have experienced such tenderness with Frederick Coles.”

  John’s Adam’s apple jerked, perhaps because he knew Frederick. The thought filled her throat with bile.

  “Was marrying him out of the question?” John’s eyes were dark as coal in the firelight.

  “When I first met him, yes. I was taught those below me in society were not worth my notice—including Gemma. I was not warm when I met her, but I followed the example set by my parents. Then I met F-Frederick. He is below me in rank, and Papa had already turned away any suitor he deemed inferior, even a wealthy viscount.” She swallowed. “Papa preferred someone loftier. Frederick’s uncle, the Duke of Bowden.”

  John’s brows rose. “The man is thrice widowed, and five and sixty if he is a day.”

  “But he is a well-heeled duke, with daughters but no son yet. Nevertheless, Papa would have gladly married me to Frederick after I was compromised, had he not fled to the continent.” Heat flooded her cheeks.

  John’s hands gripped the arms of his chair. “I was told he could not marry you. I assumed he was wed or—otherwise engaged. Fled?”

  “Perhaps he feared Papa’s wrath, since I was not a willing participant. But Frederick needn’t have fretted, because my parents would have seen me marry him to cover my ruin. Swift action was best, according to Papa.”

  In one swift motion, John quit his chair and dropped to his knees before her. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You were not a willing participant?”

  A tremor of shame sent a spasm through her. Maybe she had been wrong to speak of this to him. Maybe Mama was right and she should never speak of it again. Ever.

  But the fatigue of the evening and the desire to tell John everything loosened her tongue. She would no doubt regret it tomorrow, because John might well hate her for her weakness, as Mama and Papa had, but she couldn’t stop. The truth wanted out. She looked down again.

  “Mama says I enticed him. She is probably right. I remember the first time he touched my arm. Just a light touch, almost an accident. But I had not been touched in so long, beyond gloved-hands greetings, or a servant combing and pinning my hair. Any moment he could steal, Frederick caressed my cheek, and I allowed it.”

  Her swallow pained her throat. “I thought his touch meant he loved me. I told my parents I wouldn’t marry Bowden, but they refused to hear it, so I disobeyed them and every rule of conduct I was taught by sneaking off to meet Frederick at every opportunity for a few stolen kisses and words of endearment. It was wrong and selfish, and I thought only of myself, not of how my actions might cause scandal or hasten Papa’s demise. Did you note Papa’s cough, when he was here? It was actually an improvement on what he’s suffered for a several weeks. His own father died of a lung inflammation, and no one has said it, but he’s probably dying of the same disease—yet I cared only about myself. So can you see how even though I did not give Frederick my assent for anything more than a kiss, I deserved what happened to me? I caused grief and scandal. I made Papa worse.”

  Tingling shot through her jaw as his fingers gently touched her chin, guided it so her head lifted and she was forced to look at him. With his kneeling, his eyes were level with hers.

  “I regard you too highly to allow you to believe that.” His voice was firm, but gentle. Like the hard muscles of his arm under the soft, fine wool of his coat sleeve. Strength within tenderness. “You are not responsible for your father’s illness. I didn’t know he was that sick, truly. But another thing I never knew? That you were not willing. That Frederick Coles assaulted you.”

  She shook her head, breaking free of his kind fingers. “I think he did, but in truth, I don’t remember.” She enunciated each syllable. “It was at a house party at the Duke of Bowden’s Chelsea estate. Frederick sent me a note, inviting me to meet behind the dovecote. I went willingly.” He had to understand.

  His clear eyes revealed no judgment. Only patience as she paused.

  “We’d met in secret before. Normally our meetings were brief, no more than a minute or two. This time, he had a picnic, with bread and cheese and mulled cider. I took a sip. Then I felt ill. After that, I remember nothing until I came to my senses. Alone behind the dovecote.”

  Something snapped. An ember in the fire. Or John’s knuckle, cracking as he gripped the arm of her chair. The muscle in his jaw worked again.

  “What—” His voice was harsh. He cleared his throat. “What happened after that?”

  She looked down, trying not to think of her parents’ accusations, then silence, those horrible first days afterward. “Frederick was gone. He’d told the Duke of Bowden he’d been summoned to London for some urgent matter, but he wasn’t there. To avoid the hint of scandal, Papa let the matter go. He didn’t even seek the assistance of Frederick’s brother, Baron Shawe, to locate him, because he feared the baron would gossip. Papa would never expose our family to the shame of a criminal investigation or trial. He deemed it best to begin discreetly hunting for a husband for me in case I was with child. Tavin knew of someone who needed a wife. You. And now I am here.”

  John laid his large hand atop her head. For some reason, the gesture resonated, sweet and warm, all the way to her marrow. Tears stung her eyes.

  “I didn’t tell my grandmother or Uncle Cecil’s family goodbye, because of appearances. Mama said she’d tell everyone Papa and I took a brief trip to see Tavin. She has by now invented a story about me meeting you and insisting I marry you. Papa’s sister, Tavin’s mother, eloped, and was snubbed by the family for the rest of her life, as I will probably be.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t work. “None of this would have happened had I not snuck out to meet Frederick.”

  “Nothing you did deserved what Frederick Coles did to you.” His voice was calm, but insistent. “The blackguard drugged and assaulted you.”

  “I know he gave me some sort of sleeping draught, but I was so susceptible to his charms, what if I told him yes and can’t remember it?”

  “I doubt you were sensible enough to speak at all.”

  Her parents had not wanted to hear that. When Helena told them the same things she had told John, they sent her to her chamber. “That is kind of you to say.”

  “There is no kindness in it. It is the truth.” John’s hand disappeared from her head.

  “Why do you take my part?”

  “You are my wife. I will always take your part.” He leveled her with his gaze. “I may not always agree with you, as you experienced earlier today, but I will stand beside you. No matter what. Now tell me, have you any recollection of the cider? It was mulled, you say?”

  She blinked. He believed her. He truly believed her.

  “With strange spices. I remember think
ing how odd it was to see saffron floating in it, all gold, but he told me the recipe was Indian or some such fustian.”

  “Saffron.” He tasted the word. “A known inducer of sleep, but not in such a small quantity. However, I suspect he used several powerfully flavored herbs in his so-called mulling spices, the better to mask the laudanum.”

  Her brow furrowed. “It did not taste like laudanum.”

  “I know something the methods people use to disguise its taste. Catriona was quite fond of it, you see.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Helena, I must say this again, because by your look I don’t think you believe me.” He dipped his head to meet her gaze. “You didn’t deserve this. No woman deserves such an assault.”

  “I know. But I—am still disgraced. Papa was astonished I wore white at our wedding because he said it is a color of joy and purity and—”

  She couldn’t finish.

  “You may wear whatever you like. It means nothing. What is important is you. I don’t want you living in this mire of guilt, nor does the Lord. You are precious and lovely in His eyes.”

  “Someday, perhaps if I’m good enough. My parents brought us to church because it is the thing to do, but they do not believe God cares much what we do. At some point, though, I realized God does care, and He was disappointed in me. I thought if I married, and was obedient at last, God would forgive me, but I don’t think He has. He’s answered some of my prayers, but not that one.”

  “First of all, you did not need to marry to be forgiven. God’s desire to forgive and renew you is not based on your actions, except for your willingness to ask and accept. He delights in you.”

  Impossible. No one delighted in her, ever. They tolerated her at best—

  John rose and pulled her to stand. In a gentle motion, he wrapped his arms around her, even though he had promised never to do that, even though she had sworn she would never let him. He left a proper distance between them, as if they were about to waltz, but this was nothing like a dance.

  This was an embrace. A true, real clasp of his arms around her back.

  She shut her eyes. He smelled of starch and wood smoke and soap, so wonderful, she’d bottle the scent if she could and sprinkle it on everything she owned.

  She shouldn’t prove to him how weak she was, but she let her arms go ’round him, too. Her hands fisted, though. She’d not be so wanton as to splay her fingers on his shoulder blades.

  His breath expelled, whether exasperated or resigned to endure her touch or—Oh! He laid his jaw atop the crown of her head.

  “’Tis all right.” His voice was mild, as if he spoke to Louisa. “You are safe. He’ll not harm you again.”

  “I know.” It was true. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t let her go. Instead his thumb traced lazy ovals on her shoulder.

  There was nothing sensual in his touch, but it was addictive, and she would crave the comfort and closeness of it again, as she had with Frederick. She should pull away before John thought her reckless.

  “I don’t mean to frighten you,” he said against her hair, as if reading her thoughts. “But there is nothing wrong with touch. Appropriate touch, of course. The children need it. So do you. And perhaps I wished for comfort as much as I wished to comfort you.”

  He needed a hug? Something glowed under her rib cage, light and warm. With that, her head dipped against his chest.

  God, is John right about You? Do You love me as I am now, without my earning it? Is my loving You enough of a place to start?

  It made little sense, considering she’d done nothing to earn God’s love.

  Nevertheless, she chose to believe it.

  Warmth suffused her, crown to toe. God loved her. She didn’t deserve it, couldn’t earn it by any effort other than believing Him. And suddenly, her perspective shifted. She was not the same person she was a month ago, or a minute ago. She was someone entirely new.

  God granted her a gift in this moment—the recognition of His love while she was held in John’s arms. She memorized it to treasure later: the warmth in her heart from the Lord, the knowledge she was part of God’s family, the line of John’s jawbone against her head, the breadth of his torso between her arms, the calm spreading through her limbs. He swallowed, and she felt it above her ear, heard its echo. Had she ever been so close to another human being in her life?

  John was so good to her. She didn’t deserve this any more than she deserved God’s love.

  But they were here, anyway.

  Then, as slowly as John had drawn her to him, he pulled away. It was cold without his nearness. But his smile warmed her to her toes.

  “It’s late,” he said, “and you know the children will be eager to hear of Baby Eugenie come dawn.”

  Louisa would hop up and down when she heard the news. Helena nodded at the stack of his correspondence on the side table. “May I suggest you take to your bed, as well? Your business will wait until the morn.”

  “Business? Oh. Yes.” He sounded surprised.

  Hadn’t he stayed awake to work? He certainly wouldn’t have waited up for her.

  “Good night.” She paused at the threshold. “Thank you. For believing me, even though we argued.”

  “Why would our argument inhibit my belief?” His smile once again sent heat through her veins. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

  Not everything. Not how her regard of him had changed and how even now, she wasn’t at all certain if she might be starting to love him like that. Instead, she nodded. “I’m glad we are friends, John.”

  “Always. Though we will no doubt continue our heated debate about my parenting come morning.” He joked, when she’d thought he’d never forgive her.

  Mirroring his smile, she glided down the hall as if in a dance. For the first time in a long while, she felt happy. Her love for Gemma had been enough for tonight. Maybe her new love for God was enough of a place to start, too.

  So this was what peace felt like.

  * * *

  For having prayed, John had no peace.

  His fingers gripped the back of his chair, resisting the urge to break it apart since he could not snap the limbs off the Honorable Frederick Coles.

  God, grant me calm. He breathed, in, out, counted to ten, but tranquility eluded him. He paced, his boots smacking the oak planks. After a while he dropped to his chair, gripped the fireplace poker and smacked the graying logs to ash.

  Helena. Gazing into her wide, vulnerable eyes ’twas all he could do not to crush her in his arms. As it was, he’d held her, a dangerous risk when all he wanted to convey was safety and comfort—something she’d clearly been denied by her parents.

  She blamed herself, and without question, her parents had validated her guilt. It was not a shock the Duke of Kelworth refrained from seeking justice for Helena, since society judged the victims of such attacks harshly, wrong though it was, and justice would have come at a harsh, cold price for her.

  But her parents hadn’t defended her, either.

  John resumed pacing. He’d never been so angry. Not at Catriona, when she withdrew to her dream world of laudanum when Louisa first got sick. Not even at himself, when he had caused Catriona pain.

  But this marriage was nothing like his first. Helena had been brave to share with him, and he’d not allow her to regret it by mishandling their relationship now.

  No matter how John felt, this was about her. Not about a man’s need for justice or revenge or honor. John must do something to help her.

  He hastened to the desk and dug for fresh foolscap. The scent of ink permeated the room as he scrawled.

  The inquiry must be ready to post at first light. This was an act of faith for Helena, and he’d not delay.

  Chapter Twelve

  Considering her confession about Frederick, Helena had feared John
would treat her differently by morning’s light, but he greeted her the next morning with a wide smile and his usual friendliness when they met in the nursery to tell the children about Baby Eugenie. Afterward, he pulled her aside.

  “Have you a moment, Helena?”

  “Of course.” A nervous flutter trembled in her stomach as she followed him into the hall.

  “I sent a letter this morning.”

  To Papa? To hunt down Frederick Coles? “Oh?”

  “To The Relief for the Blind, that school in Edinburgh your friend Miss Fennelwick wrote to you about. I thought we might visit, discern if there’s something more we might do for Louisa.” He looked at her with such tenderness, such expectation at her response, her heart swelled, pushing the breath right out of her lungs.

  “Truly?”

  “We know next to nothing about this school, and I make no promises to apply any of their methods, but I heard what you said about me not knowing my children as well as I might, and needing to help them grow up. So will you go with me?”

  Like partners.

  Words didn’t form, but her enthusiastic nod made John laugh. He didn’t touch her, though. He’d needed a hug last night and known she did, too. If they made a habit of it, though, she might become greedy for more embraces.

  The next ten days were busy for Helena, welcoming the new governess, a tall, slender reed of a woman named Miss Munro, taking the children to visit Baby Eugenie, and preparing for the overnight trip to Edinburgh Helena and John would undertake. At last, the day of their voyage finally arrived, and Barnes’s cool fingers tied Helena’s bonnet ribbons under her chin. “Your heart is racing, milady. Excitement at seeing Edinburgh, I’m sure.”

  “It will be an adventure for you and me both, seeing a new place, will it not?” Helena smiled at the lady’s maid, but the truth was more complicated. After her admission about Frederick and his gentle response, her feelings for her husband grew more pronounced. It was growing far more difficult to not love him beyond friendship. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of sitting alone in the carriage with John, all the way to Edinburgh, and all the way back.