“How dreadful.” Helena hadn’t been invited to either event, but she didn’t much mind. Last year she would have been mortified to be overlooked for an invitation. To be considered beneath someone’s touch. She was a duke’s daughter, after all.
Back then, she thought Gemma Knox, as well as Gemma’s friend Frances, to be beneath her. Neither of them was as highborn as she, which Mama had taught her was utmost. But Helena had been wrong to judge them, for Gemma had shown her nothing but kindness. Several months ago, Gemma had introduced Helena to her closest friend, Frances, and Frances had been Helena’s only London acquaintance to write to her since her marriage.
Her old friends really weren’t true ones after all, which made seeing Frances now all the sweeter.
The urge to embrace Frances tensed the muscles in her arms. Helena might have begun to understand there was nothing wrong with a hug, but she couldn’t bring herself to show such a display on the street. Instead, she smiled. “We are to visit a physician recommended to us by Mr. Holme at the Edinburgh Relief for the Blind. It is thanks to you we learned of this expert.”
Frances’s gloved hands made a muffled sound when she clapped, an overt display that would have made the Helena of yesteryear cringe. “Wonderful. I shall pray for a successful visit.”
That was Frances. To the point, open about her prayerfulness, without artifice or guile. She probably did not know how pretty she was.
John glanced at the horses, a subtle signal they should be on their way. Helena smiled at Frances. “May I call upon you?”
“Any day.” Another difference between Frances and Helena, or at least Helena’s fashionable mama, who received callers only on Tuesdays. “Papa’s health is recovered, and we would enjoy your visit.”
“Later this week, then.” After bidding Frances farewell, Helena was up in the coach, the warming box at her feet and a lap robe over her thighs. She tucked the robe tighter around Louisa while John climbed into the coach and took the seat across from them.
Louisa’s prattles about her patterns and Tabitha kept Helena and John from speaking much. A good thing, since Helena started to grow more anxious about the doctor visit the closer they came to it. Was there hope for Louisa’s sight? Would the examination hurt Louisa? Her innards knotted like tangled embroidery threads.
She’d never felt like this before, so frightened she was almost sick. Oh, she was scared when she woke from whatever Frederick had done to her. Afraid to go to Scotland and meet John. But this was entirely different. Louisa chatted away in blissful ignorance, so innocent, so sweet, but Helena couldn’t help but worry for her and her future.
Without a word, John reached across the coach and took her hand. It was the first time he’d touched her since the kiss. She couldn’t feel his skin through their gloves, but the pressure around her fingers was a comfort. Did it mean he didn’t completely reject her, after all?
Regardless, she was grateful for his compassion and she held John’s hand until the coach slowed to a stop on a cramped, busy street. The coach jostled as Bill Coachman and Agnes climbed down, and with a scrape, Bill lowered the step and opened the door, admitting a rush of brisk air.
“Do not carry me.” Louisa shirked from John’s touch, preferring to take each step as an independent miss. “My patterns want to be on the snow.”
“Of course, but I should like to hand you out of the carriage, as a gentleman helps a lady.” John winked at Helena.
“And we must let your father take our arms, else he should look ill-mannered.” Helena smiled.
Louisa sniffed, but allowed John to take her hand. Helena took John’s other arm, and they entered the narrow building.
There was not a thing unsavory about Dr. Morse, the balding, plump gentleman whom Dr. Holme claimed was an expert on the eye, but Helena chafed at being left in a sitting room during his examination of Louisa in another chamber. She perched on the edge of a too-hard chair. “What if she needs us?”
“She’ll be fine.” John’s pacing belied his confident words, however.
“This is taking so long.”
“It has been but five minutes. I imagine she is still telling him about Christmas and her new pattens.”
“Her feet are growing. So are Callum’s, but not Alex’s. I’d assumed identical boys grew at the same rate.” She was nattering on, but speaking prevented her from dwelling on what Dr. Morse might be doing to Louisa, poking or prodding with questions and instruments.
“Quite.” John paced.
The opening door brought her to stand. John stopped midstride. Dr. Morse smiled and bade them sit. “I took the liberty of calling your nursemaid to sit with your daughter while we speak.”
So Louisa was not alone. Helena resumed her uncomfortable seat, but this time, John sat beside her. He cleared his throat. “Have you news?”
“She is a charming child, my lord. Quick-witted and kind.”
But what of her eyes? Helena almost growled.
“Thank you.” John leaned forward an inch. “And the examination?”
His smile slipped a fraction. “Alas, I do not believe her vision will return. It occurred after a bout with measles, did it not?”
“Yes.” John’s swallow was audible.
Helena’s stomach plummeted while the doctor droned on about the limits of the examination and the nature of Louisa’s blindness. Her attention returned when he spoke her name. “Lady Ardoch, I commend you for allowing her a sense of independence. Her strong spirit will serve her well as she grows.”
“Thank you, Dr. Morse.” They collected Louisa and returned home with her childish chatter filling the coach as it trudged over the new-fallen snow. John did not take Helena’s hand, but once they were inside the house and divested of their cloaks, he followed her to their sitting room. Before her tears slipped past her chin, she was in his arms, bonnet and all.
“I’m sorry.” Helena had pushed for this. Pushed for change. “I raised our hopes.”
John crushed her against his chest. “You were right to pursue this. I should have had her examined years ago, but I didn’t know such a thing was possible. It is best to know she won’t see again, even though it isn’t the outcome we’d hoped for.”
It did not feel best. Noisy sobs escaped her throat and racked her chest. She had never cried like this before, but she couldn’t stop. She tried to escape John’s strong arms, to free him from the embarrassment she was making of herself, but he clung on.
“Don’t send me away from your grief. You love her with a mother’s love. And I’m so grateful.”
But it wasn’t just her love for Louisa pouring out of her. It felt like everything spilled out. Her family’s coldness. Papa’s horrible cough that meant he was dying, like his father had. And Frederick Coles. Oh, that was a bitter, dark grief.
But worst of all was John holding her. His comfort was like its own anguish. She could too easily grow accustomed to his closeness, but she would never have his love.
Everyone she ever loved did not love her back.
Except God. He’d reminded her of that two days ago when she hid in her parents’ alcove.
Helena sniffed. The tears slowed, and one of John’s arms let go as he produced a handkerchief from his pocket.
“You are a good man.” She swiped her cheeks.
John shook his head. “No.”
“Yes.” She untied her bonnet and set it on the table. “A good father. A good husband.”
“I haven’t been a good father. I’ve been gone from the children more than with them, as you’ve reminded me. And I was not the best husband to Catriona.”
What did that mean?
His hand reached out, palm up in invitation. “You should know about my first marriage.”
Foreboding slithered up her arm, but she took his warm fingers anyway. He hadn’t judged her when she’d told him t
he bad things she’d done, like being willing to secretly meet with Frederick Coles. Had she the right to judge him? She gave his fingers a small squeeze. “What happened?”
“Our marriage was arranged by our parents. Quite early, too. You see, my siblings all died young, one after another in their cribs. My parents’ grief manifested in reminding me of my duty as heir—advising me to have as many children as I could so Ardoch would continue despite potential loss or hardship. Catriona and I were young when we wed, and we didn’t love each other, but we had the boys, and then Margaret came to live with us. And then Louisa arrived.”
He led her to the settee, and they sat. “When Louisa grew ill, Catriona did, too, from worry, she said. I tried to help her, but she wanted nothing to do with the children. Or me.” He tried to smile, but there was a sad turn about his lips. “She spent the next two years shut away in her chambers with naught to comfort her but laudanum and misery.”
He’d said something about laudanum the night she told him about Frederick. Now it made sense. “How sad. For all of you.”
“Even before that, we weren’t close. She was happier when I was in London. But when she chose laudanum over her family, over me, I nevertheless grew desolate.”
So many remarks she could make. So many questions. But only one rose to her lips. “What did you do?”
“I confronted her about the laudanum and vowed to help her wean from it, but she refused. It was—difficult. Then she grew ill. The physician said she had a growth.” He absently touched his stomach. What a horrible time it must have been. Helena kept silent, praying for him as he gathered the words to continue.
“I kept vigil by her bedside, though she didn’t respond to me. Then one evening she grew frenzied, shouting and issuing instructions to be followed after her death. She begged me to never replace her in my heart. I said I wouldn’t of course. A week later she died. And here I am, having broken my word to a dying woman by marrying again.”
“You did not break your word.” Helena’s chest ached for him. “You did not marry for love.”
His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “That’s what I told myself when I married you. The children and I needed someone. The past three years, my duties in London pulled me away, the children have suffered instability with multiple governesses, and I didn’t know what else to do. The children and the house needed someone in charge of them. Catriona was deep under laudanum’s influence when she begged me. She may not even have remembered the next morning. But I still feel guilty.”
No wonder he’d had such difficulty going against Catriona’s wishes with the children. His guilt was woven into the fabric of his being.
Somewhat like hers.
“I’m certain Catriona would understand. She knew you cared for her and always will, and you married me to help look after the children and Comraich.”
“True.” He looked as if he wished to say more, but then he shook his head. “Even though she wasn’t involved with the children, or me, she didn’t want anything in the house to change from the way she left things. But they have. Louisa’s not the same.” He met her gaze. “I’m not the same, either.”
To lighten the mood and ease his guilt, she smiled. “I’m not the same person who fell into the ha-ha and hurt my ankle.”
“We’ve both changed since we married. I think for the better.” His gaze fixed on hers, deep and fathomless, and she wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he minded their hands were still joined, wondered if she’d been in the middle of breathing out or in when he started looking at her like this because she hadn’t breathed since that moment—
“Now you are a mother, Helena, and you’re quite good at it.” He tucked a damp tendril of her hair behind her ear, and her breath left her in a whoosh.
Then John’s hands fell away and he stood. “I should—”
“Yes.” She stood, too. “There’s much to do.”
With what, she couldn’t say. But there was always something to see to in a busy house. And she’d jump into the distraction.
He wouldn’t kiss her again, and now she better understood why. He hadn’t just promised Helena a friendly marriage. He’d made a promise to Catriona, too, and John was a man who kept his promises. It was one of the things she admired most about him.
But it was also the one thing that would always keep them apart.
Chapter Sixteen
That afternoon, Helena couldn’t bear being cooped up in the house with her thoughts. Miss Munro, the governess, enjoyed an afternoon off, so Helena gathered the children for an outing to Hookham’s circulating library. The children expressed excitement to get out, but within five minutes only Margaret showed interest, wandering off to peruse Minerva Press titles. Helena stood before a shelf with the other three children. The twins bore matching skeptical looks and Louisa cuddled Tabitha to her chest.
“There’s nothing here that sounds good.” Callum’s tone was almost a whine.
“What about this one?” Helena held out Godwin’s translation of Swiss Family Robinson.
Alex eyed the book with a suspicious glint. “What’s interesting about them?”
Helena bit back a smile. “A shipwreck and a tropical island.”
“I say, a shipwreck? It might be all right enough, then.” Callum took the book.
“I want Cinderella,” Louisa insisted.
“You have it at home.” Alex folded his arms.
Helena patted Louisa’s shoulder. “We shall read it again later.” The story of the cinder-maiden was all Louisa wished to hear. Everyone in the family knew it by heart, even John. Helena bit back a smile at the recollection of John with Louisa curled on his lap this past Sunday afternoon, one of the few days he was not occupied with political matters until so late at night she’d formed the habit of retiring without waiting up for him. The massacre at Saint Peter’s Field had caused no small amount of debate as to how the government should handle it.
Perhaps tonight’s meetings would not go on so long. If John were home after dinner, he could read Cinderella to Louisa. The thought brought a smile to Helena’s lips.
A soft thud sounded from Margaret’s direction. Margaret and the footman Adam both bent to retrieve a dropped book, but a nearby gentleman was far quicker to reach it and hand it to Margaret. He doffed his fashionable beaver hat, allowing a familiar dark-as-chocolate curl to fall over his brow.
Frederick Coles.
Helena rushed forward, inserting her body between Margaret and Frederick. Her gaze flickered to the footman’s, but only for a moment. “Adam, see about the books and take the children to the carriage. Now, please.”
“Yes, milady.” Adam must have caught the urgency in her tone, for he hastened to the children.
Margaret hesitated. Just once it would be delightful for the child to do what Helena asked of her without argument. Helena glanced at Margaret, forcing a smile. “I shall be along in a minute. Help Louisa, please.”
Margaret spun away. Helena swallowed down the bile burning the back of her throat. “Frederick Coles, what are you doing here?”
No preamble. No well-mannered nod of the head. No swift kick to his shin, as he deserved.
“Good afternoon, Lady Ardoch.” To think that smile once weakened her knees. Now it only weakened her resolve to refrain from violence. “I’m searching for a gift.”
“I meant in England.”
“What becoming children. And you, well, you make quite a maternal picture.” His bright blue eyes dared glance at her midsection, as if judging whether her cloak covered a figure rounded by pregnancy.
“Have you no shame?” Her fingers itched with the desire to slap his handsome face. God help me.
“Steady your hand, Helena, or we’ll be fodder for the gossipmongers.”
She hadn’t realized she’d clenched her fingers. But he was right. She shouldn’t even be
speaking to him. She stepped back, but he held up a hand.
“Have cheer, Helena. Our dalliance turned out well enough. You are wed, although I’m surprised you didn’t marry better.”
“My husband is a fine gentleman, and don’t you dare call what you did to me a dalliance. You attacked me.”
“You’ve no proof. Even if you did, if you sought to prosecute me, you’d only shame yourself. And your family.” His hand ran over the cover of a novel. The same hand that had fed her a narcotic and rendered her senseless. “Look at it with a fresh perspective. You’re free from Bowden, thanks to me.”
“No thanks to you, you mean.” She should leave. Run. But she couldn’t quite move yet.
His smile seemed as boyish as the twins’, but far more practiced. How had she ever succumbed to its allure? “I’d heard talk of you long before we met. Did you know of your reputation? Cold, unfeeling, too good for anyone else. You were so glacial in your manner, one of my friends thought you an impossible icicle to thaw. I took it as a challenge. I’d make you like me. So I ensured we were introduced. It was all rather fun.”
“You—did it for sport.” Her skin slithered, as if it would grow legs and crawl off her bones.
His lips twitched. “Oh, dear, I see I have shocked you. You must have truly cared for me, then. Perhaps you thought we’d marry? How foolish. Your father would never have allowed it. Had we defied him and eloped, we’d have had no money, no friends, nowhere to go. I have no hope of a title until my useless brother dies. The allowance he provides me is such a pittance, I only have one servant, can you credit it? A man must eat and drink and get one’s coats tailored by Weston, but such things are expensive. I’ve learned there are ways to get by. Making my own fun, of course, but secrets are a valuable currency all their own.”
Did he threaten to blackmail her? “You are a blackguard.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m a hero.”
“Deceiver, liar. Those are better names for you.”
A Mother For His Family Page 15
