She would keep as busy as she could to distract herself from thoughts of John.
Perhaps she overexerted those first few weeks, because one afternoon during a paper theater performance of Cinderella, her skin began to ache. So did her head, right over her eyes and at the base of her skull.
When the performance ended, her applause sounded weak, even to her.
“You didn’t like it?” Alex, clutching the paper board character of the prince, gaped at her.
She forced a smile. “Forgive me, of course I loved it. Marvelous, everyone.”
“What’s wrong?” Callum squinted. “You’re yellowish.”
“I’m fine.” But when she stood, dizziness overtook her, and she plopped back into the chair.
She was not fine. Not at all.
* * *
After a few days with only Iona to keep him company, John felt the quiet in the house on Saint James’s Square would drive John mad. By the week’s end, he’d taken to eating at the Clarendon Hotel with Carvey. Tonight, however, several days after Helena and the children returned to Scotland, he had a houseguest, and a most welcome one at that.
John offered his Perthshire neighbor Tavin Knox his usual wing chair by the fire, sitting his bones down in Helena’s chair. “You are good to stay with me.”
“On the contrary, you’re good to offer, since I do not keep rooms in London anymore.” In his black mourning garb, Knox looked different from how he did in his usual vibrant colors. Less sociable. Perhaps even dangerous.
“You’re here for the king’s funeral, I take it?”
“And a matter for the Home Office. I cannot explain further, however. Forgive me.”
John learned of his neighbor’s occupation as something of a spy when he and Mrs. Knox purchased the adjacent property in Perthshire and set about restoring the old castle ruins. “I would not dare pry, except to ask of things at home. How is your family?”
“The nephews are taller, the baby grows plumper and Gemma thrives.” His small smile conveyed deep emotions. “Only the Crown’s call could tear me from them.”
“And Helena? Did you see her before you left?”
He’d received her letter informing him of her safe arrival a few days ago. He’d worn the foolscap soft from so many readings. Had they received any of his letters yet? He’d started writing the day after they left, filling the missives with tales of Iona’s antics rather than the details of his political discussions and lonely meals.
Knox’s smile widened. “Briefly, before I left. They seem well. Helena is changed since your marriage. I confess I hoped you would make a match of it. I wasn’t certain at first, when you mentioned looking for a convenient wife. But when I came to London and Helena was in need, as it were, I knew she should wed you.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“‘Twas more than that. I thought you might be good for one another. And I see from your faces I was right. She is as miserable apart from you as you are from her.”
John’s gulp of coffee burned down his gullet.
Knox studied his boots. “I know it can’t have been easy for you, having been wed before.”
“I beg your pardon?” John had never spoken to anyone but Helena of his promise to Catriona. Had she told her cousin?
“Vows are made to be kept, and I’m certain you will never forget your first Lady Ardoch. You vowed to honor her until you were parted by death, and you did. I’m certain she would wish you happy.”
Would she?
Catriona’s face flashed before him then. Not in her haggard delirium at the end, but in their early days, before the troubles that came after Louisa’s birth. She’d been pleasant, if not a friend. No confidante, Catriona, but she cared for him as he cared for her. That Catriona smiled at him in his thoughts.
Then a rush of memories filled him, one after another. Walks in the garden. Dancing a reel at the neighbors’ summer ball. Their wedding day, when he promised to care for her. Recalling her now, and his parents and their expectations, too, there was far less pain than usual. Did that mean he was free to love Helena?
John shifted his legs, unsure. But it was healing. What a surprise, considering he mourned so much right now, including his short career in the House of Lords. All he’d wished to accomplish, and now his chance was dead with the king.
But God would give him something to do, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind not knowing what the future held. Carvey was right: John was a changed man.
“I say,” Knox intruded upon his thoughts. “What time do you leave for Windsor on the morrow?”
“Eight.” John smiled as they spoke of safer things. The king’s lying-in tomorrow at the Royal Apartments in Windsor, where he had died. The funeral and internment at Saint George’s Chapel the following day. The news that the king’s heir, Prince George, was gravely ill. There was talk of burying two kings within days.
But despite the grief and uncertainty in the country and in his heart, something shifted in John. He felt hopeful. God would make clear His purposes for John—and his relationship with Helena—when He saw fit. In the meantime, John had work to do.
Through the busy following days, John prayed about his feelings, Catriona, Helena, work, all of it, his emotions unchanged, but still feeling hopeful.
His hope deflated when he arrived back to the town house several days after the king’s funeral to a letter from Comraich.
Helena was abed with fever and delirium.
The letter crumpled in his fist.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Helena’s hand pressed flat against her bodice, as if by constraining her rib cage the ache would lessen. A feeble act, as every breath was agony.
She swayed into Margaret as she succumbed to a fit of coughing, then righted herself at once. Margaret wouldn’t like the touch. But Margaret took her arm and held her upright until the coughing passed.
Each cough reminded her of Papa. Her illness wasn’t like his, though, and she was blessed to be improving. Unlike him. Had he grown sicker since she’d left? God, help him to know you.
“Better?” Margaret asked once Helena caught her breath.
“Much.” The damp, cool March air soothed her raw throat like balm.
“You shouldn’t have left the house yet.” Margaret was bossy as ever, although concern furrowed her brow. “It’s starting to rain, and you’re still weak.”
“This seemed a good idea an hour ago.” Helena tipped her head, indicating they should continue up the road back to the house. The gatekeeper’s cottage was off a dirt track past the end of the drive. Not so far she should feel this tired.
Then again, she’d been quite ill.
She could have sent a servant with the soup for poor Mrs. McGregor, the gatekeeper’s wife who burned her arm and juggled half-dozen children under the age of twelve. But she’d grown weary of her bedchamber walls, and calling on tenants was a privilege and a duty for the lady of the house. It was also far more enjoyable than she’d anticipated it would be. She’d never expected to feel such pleasure at becoming part of the village community.
Margaret peered under Helena’s bonnet brim. “The doctor wouldn’t like you being out yet. Neither would Uncle John.”
“What’s a little rain?” Nevertheless, the sound of her boots on the drive’s gravel was a welcome sound. Almost home.
The rain fell harder. It was much like the day she first met John. Not as warm, of course, since it was spring now, but as wet, and the lower third of her white cloak was flecked with mud.
Back when she met John, she wouldn’t have imagined she’d someday stride arm in arm with Margaret. An everyday thing, but so precious. This was all she’d hoped for: a home, children to love and who, miraculously, loved her in return. God had given her far more than she deserved.
They rounded the copse o
f trees, and Comraich’s blue freestone walls came into view. They’d not taken more than a few strides when the front door opened and a furry wheat-hued creature bounded over the gravel toward them.
Margaret hopped up and down, but Helena froze. The dog. Iona. That meant—
John strode out the door, Louisa in his arms, the boys at his flanks. And—Papa, too? What were they doing here?
Callum cupped his mouth with his hands to yell at her. “Papa is home!”
Indeed he was, tall and hale and stomping toward them, passing Louisa off to Margaret with a kiss for each. Mercy, he looked wonderful. Except for his glower.
“What are you about, woman?” His rough words were not the reunion she expected.
“I—”
In an instant, she was lifted off the ground and hoisted in his arms, basket and all. She’d dreamed of curling against his chest when they reunited, but never in her imagination had it been like this, with servants and Papa watching and the children clamoring around them and the dog weaving between everyone’s legs.
“John.” She pushed at his chest. “Set me down.”
“I will, where you belong.” He carried her into the house. “What’s in the basket?”
“Nothing now.” Margaret must be behind them, so close was her voice. “We took soup and a salve to Mrs. McGregor. She burned her arm.”
“Foolish female.” His voice rumbled under Helena’s cheek as he mounted the stairs. “You, not Mrs. McGregor. You’re the one needing soup.”
Servants stood out of the way in the hall, their gazes downcast. Heat crept up Helena’s cheeks. “John, really.”
He pushed open the door to their sitting room. Barnes poked out of Helena’s dressing room, and then, wide-eyed, stood back.
“I shall summon you if her ladyship requires you, Barnes.”
“Yes, milord.” She dashed out. John had Helena through the dressing room in three strides and crossed into her bedchamber. None too gently, he dropped her onto the pale blue coverlet and took the basket from her arm.
“John.” She scuttled onto her elbows. “How rude. You’re never so gruff.”
“Sorry. I’m not usually so terrified.” He was already at her feet, tugging the laces of her boots.
“You are not terrified.”
“Every day, since I married you.” His warm hands rubbing her stocking feet felt better than a coal brazier. Then they were gone, and he leaned over her, loosening the ribbons of her bonnet. His gentle fingers left trails of fire on her neck, but it was nothing compared with the blaze in her core when he drew close, his gaze on her lips—
He kissed her brow, nothing the least romantic about it.
“Are you checking me for fever?”
“Yes. You’re fine.” He shifted back.
“I thought that was established already.”
“Not to my satisfaction. You are cold and wet.” His words were brusque but his touch was tender as he unfastened her cloak and tossed it onto a chair beside her bonnet. He was so close, she could see every plane of his angry face. The blond stubble shadowing his clenched jaw, the soft hair curling about his ears. And then she couldn’t see anything because a fit of coughing overtook her and her eyes began to stream.
John dabbed her cheeks with his handkerchief. “I’m calling for the physician.”
Helena rose from the bed and flapped her hand. “He was here this morning. He said I’m recovering well.”
“You should change into dry clothes.”
“I do not need to. My cloak took the worst of it.”
He glanced at it. “You wore that cloak the day we met, when you fell down into the ditch.”
Doon, doon, doon. She’d missed his voice. “It’s a fine cloak.”
“I’m glad you wear white again.”
“If the color is a symbol, it is not of purity or my lack of it. It is a sign of God’s grace. I am new.” She grinned, reaching to don her house slippers. “I may wear whatever color I wish. Tomorrow it may well be green.”
“Indeed, and now that the matter of your wardrobe is established, we can move onto other matters.” He reached for her hands and led her to the settee near the hearth, where he pulled her down beside him. He smelled of horse and dust and the spice that clung to his clothes. “Can you guess, lady wife, how I felt receiving a letter from Kerr? The butler had to write because my wife was too ill to lift pen to paper.”
“I sent you a letter. Four days ago.” When she could sit up without feeling dizzy.
“It crossed me on the road, then.” He settled closer to her. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry, John, but I’m fine now.”
“I’m glad you are, but I’m not sure I am.” But he smiled, belying his words. “Marrying you, I expected life not to change much. I’d stay in London and the children would be safe at Comraich. But we hadn’t been married a full day when you challenged Catriona’s rules. Remember?”
How could she forget? “You didn’t want us playing nine pins on the lawn.”
“Because I knew bad things would happen if I raised the children in a way she didn’t wish, and lo and behold, when I relented a few weeks later, Louisa encountered the bull. ’twas awful.”
This wasn’t making her feel any better. “But good things happened, too. Look at Louisa.”
“You’re right. The children are healthier, happier and more independent. I’m a better father, I think, because we’ve adapted some of those rules. I’ve learned circumstances change, necessitating an alteration of how I view my promises to Catriona.” His gaze met hers. “But my promise never to replace her in my heart isn’t one I can break.”
She knew this going into their marriage, but hearing him restate his intention to keep their marriage convenient stung. The old feelings of inadequacy and rejection made her skin hot and itchy. “I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do.” His warm fingers intertwined with hers. “Despite our promise to keep things, well, as they are, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
He what? Her lips popped apart.
“I’m sorry if this distresses you, Helena, but you must know my feelings so there are no secrets between us. I’ve struggled against my feelings because of my promise to Catriona as well as my promise to you, for a friendly marriage, no more. I convinced myself I didn’t love you, which would be easier for both of us, wouldn’t it? Then that letter from Kerr arrived, and at once I understood. Catriona will always be in my heart. She’s the bairns’ mither, but my love for you is something altogether different. Something I’ve never felt before.”
Oh. Oh!
“I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” John’s gaze seemed to burrow into her being, leaving her breathless. “I want a real marriage, and yellow-haired children, if God wills, who take after their brave, beautiful mother. But I will never speak of this again if you wish to keep things as they are. Nothing needs to change—”
“I want it to change.” She blurted it so fast it was almost funny, but he looked as serious as when he’d confronted Frederick Coles.
“You do?”
“I love you, John.”
Words she feared never speaking to him. Words she never expected would make a man look as happy as John did right now.
Then she wasn’t looking at him at all, because his lips met hers in a kiss that was nothing like the first kiss he gave her in the alcove on Christmas. This one left her breathless, and not because of her recent illness. At length his lips left hers to roam her jaw, her chin, the hollow of her throat, before finding her lips again. And again.
“I need you, Helena.” His words were intoxicating and warm against her cheek. “I needed you to love. To love me. To make me a better man. And I think you needed me, too.”
“Not just for your roof and name and protection. I needed you so much, John.”
/>
John’s head tipped back and he looked deep into her eyes. “I want to be your husband, Helena. If you’ll have me.” He spoke it like his wedding vow, his voice clear.
“I will.” Her vow matched his.
For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health, which she must recover at once so she might start her marriage aright.
They stood together. Arm in arm, they went out to find the children and her father. Helena felt like a bride at last.
Epilogue
August 1820
John took Helena’s face in his hands and grinned down at her. “Are you certain?”
“I am.” A thrill of joy shot to her toes. “A school on Ardoch land for poor boys and girls is a wonderful idea. You know Frances and I have been corresponding with ideas for ways to improve girls’ education.”
“And Carvey wishes to help, too. It sounds as if we have the leadership and funds to create a fine institution. Thank you for your support, darling.”
“No thanks necessary, but you may repay me in kisses later.”
“Your wish is my command.” He settled for kissing her hand now, as they were out on the green behind Comraich, the children busy at nine pins with Papa while Iona snuffled through the grass. Papa smiled at the children. Alex issued instructions to Callum for a change. Margaret looked up to wave at them. Louisa dropped Tabitha to the grass, took the ball and tossed it at the pins.
Helena’s heart swelled within her ribcage. “You thought you could not serve unless you stood in Parliament. Yet look at you, starting a school, helping fund the blind school in Edinburgh, continuing to petition your peers to work for educational reform. You’ve influenced Papa, you know. This morning he said he’d make a large donation to the blind school in Liverpool.”
“God’s grace indeed.”
And God’s healing. Papa’s visit in March when Helena was ill seemed to have had a positive effect on his health, and his cough almost vanished. His energy had improved, too, but both worsened again when he returned to London. He’d determined the foul city air to be responsible for his malady, so he’d returned quickly to Comraich. He hadn’t coughed much since, and he and Helena had continued to repair their relationship.
A Mother For His Family Page 24
