I ask you, dear reader, if we have not acted as dishonorably as his father toward our town champion, Mr. Clark?
Cailean sat in the barn with Alistair while Bears talked to Mr. Tompkins’s horse, Brutus. Bears was the only one capable of calming the animal, and Bears had had a small measure of success in easing its proclivity to tear away Harold’s pantaloons bottoms. “What do you make of Jessamine’s article about Warren?”
Alistair shook his head and crossed his ankles. “I dinna ken. I thought we knew the man, but it seems he’s full of secrets. An’ I ken what she wrote isna the whole story.”
Cailean leaned forward with his arms on his knees. “Jessamine’s a sharp one. She knows Warren’s ways rub some of the townsfolk wrong. But she wrote that in such a manner that we all feel sympathy for him.”
“How could ye no’ feel sympathetic toward him when ye ken he’s doin’ a job he never wanted to do? That he fled from home because of his father’s scandal? That his brother died?” Alistair shook his head. “I dinna ken how he survived that.”
Bears’s deep voice emerged from the stall. “That which seems insurmountable leaves the largest scar. But it doesn’t prevent you from surviving.”
Alistair grunted and shared a long look with Cailean. “I ken there’s more to Warren’s story than was published in that whitewashed version.”
His brother nodded but then shrugged. “But we don’t have the right to demand it of him. He’s private, aye?” He met Alistair’s frustrated glance. “He has the right to his secrets.”
“Do those in town think more favorably of him now than before the story was published?” Bears asked.
“Aye,” Cailean said. “They understand him a bit more. And they sympathize with him.” He ran a hand through his brown hair. “More than that, they relate to him, which is something many didn’t before now.” He watched as Bears exited the stall with Brutus on a harness, leading him to the paddock.
“Then the article was a success. Even if he had to forego some of his privacy to obtain it.” Bears clicked to the horse, which followed him docilely to the paddock.
Alistair watched Bears with his arms crossed over his chest. “There’s a man who guards his secrets from the townsfolk. I dinna see Jessamine writing an exposé about him anytime soon.”
Cailean rolled his eyes and rose, returning to work.
Helen sat with the paper on her lap, waiting for Warren to return home. When he poked his head into the parlor, en route to their bedroom to wash up before dinner, she held it up to him. “Did you know?” She tilted her head to one side as she watched him with a curious expression.
He shrugged and sat on his chair near her on the settee. “Yes. I knew she would publish it at some point. I hadn’t realized it would be today, or I would have told you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you had been interviewed by her? That you had planned this?” She attempted to hide it, but her expression revealed her sense of betrayal.
“Helen,” he said, grasping her hands and kneeling at her feet. “I never meant to hurt you.” He sighed as he closed his eyes. “You were unconscious. And I wanted you to have a husband you could be proud of when you woke.”
Her eyes flashed with ire at his last comment. “You believe having an exposé written about you makes me proud of you?” She shook her head at him. “I don’t understand, Warren.”
“I want to provide for you. I want to remain here in Bear Grass Springs with our friends. I thought, if I could help the townsfolk feel friendlier toward me, my business would prosper again.” He raised and lowered his shoulders in defeat. “When you woke and then didn’t remember me, I honestly never thought about speaking with J.P. while you were unconscious. I thought only of you. Of you improving.”
She cupped his face and leaned forward, kissing his forehead and then his lips. “I don’t care what anyone says about you, Warren. I know who you are. An honorable, respectable man.” Her smile was chagrined as she met his worried gaze. “Although I lie. I do care what people say about you. When they speak poorly about you, I am filled with such rage.”
He nodded and leaned forward to kiss her deeper. “Now you know how I felt for years as the townsfolk disparaged you. And I had no right back then to correct them of their misguided assumptions and notions about you.” He yanked on her arms, tugging her to the floor to tumble into his arms.
“You married a fool, Nell,” he whispered into her neck. “I could have received as much credibility had I simply waited for Jessamine to print the part about my having attended law school.”
“You are no fool. And they might have had belief in your skills again, but they never would have sympathized with you or thought of you as one of us. Everyone has had problems with a parent at some point in their life, and now you are just like the rest of us.” She kissed him and held him close. “I love you, Warren.”
His hold on her tightened. “As I love you, my Nell. I’ll always love you.” He sighed again. “However this only solves one of our problems. We still have your family to deal with.” He felt her shudder and held her closer as they sat in silence in front of the fire.
Chapter 14
Helen rested her head on the medical text, wishing there were another way to learn than reading. Her head throbbed when she read more than a paragraph, and she had made little progress in the three weeks since she had recovered from the attack. She fought sleep and rose to warm herself in front of the fireplace on this cold April day.
She jerked awake from an unplanned nap as someone sat beside her on the settee. She calmed as she recognized Warren’s soothing murmur and his scent. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”
“Shh, love. You have to be patient with yourself and give yourself time to heal.” He kissed her head and then sat at the other end of the settee.
She mumbled her displeasure and moved to curl up against him. “Why are you chuckling?” she asked as she felt his chest rumble.
“Because you are turning into a cat, and your favorite place to rest is on my chest.” He kissed her head.
She rubbed her face against his flannel shirt and murmured her agreement. “How was work today?”
He shrugged, his hands playing in her hair tied in a loose ribbon so as not to cause her any further headache. “I fear I’m not receiving as much business because I am working from my home office part of the time.”
“You need to move back to your law office full-time, Warren. I am fine, and there is no reason to worry about me.”
He snorted. “I disagree, but I will see what can be done.” He extracted something from a pocket and tapped her on the shoulder with it. “A letter arrived for you today.”
“Can you read it? My head hurts every time I try to read. I can barely read one of Jessamine’s short articles without a pounding headache.”
She heard him rip open the envelope and then extract the letter. At the long pause before she heard his voice, she pushed up and studied him. “Warren?”
“I thought there was something strange about this letter. The envelope and paper are thicker than usual, something a lawyer would use with formal correspondence.” He looked at her. “It’s from Helena.” He paused a moment before reading it aloud to her.
Dear Mrs. Clark,
Please forgive my presumption in writing you if I am mistaken as to your identity. I believe you were once known as Miss Helen Jameson, daughter to Margaret and Vincent Jameson, born April 7, 1863. If this is not correct, please discard this letter. If my letter has reached the correct recipient, please read on and respond with all due haste.
Your father, Vincent Jameson, hired me as his attorney. I believe you were unaware that he settled in Helena and that he married Miss Jane Smith soon after divorcing your mother. They had a harmonious marriage, although they were not blessed with children. In one of our many conversations, your father said to me his greatest regret was leaving you behind with your mother and brother.
Contrary to what you might have been led
to believe by your mother, your father was a successful businessman and devoted to the second Mrs. Jameson. He gave up drink. I would not go so far as to say he found God. However, he ensured you were to be well taken care of at his passing.
I regret to inform you that you father died November 13, 1884. I have made numerous unsuccessful attempts to contact you and review the contents of his will. Please respond if you are in fact Mrs. Clark, nee Helen Jameson, and I will travel to Bear Grass Springs to review the contents of his will with you.
Sincerely,
Clarence Hawke, Esq.
Warren lowered the letter and watched her with a concerned expression.
Helen sat in silence and then rested her forehead on his chest. “He describes a man I do not know,” she whispered. “He was always drunk or looking for his next drink.”
Warren ran a hand down her back but remained quiet.
“Perhaps that was more my mother’s influence than anything else. I remember the fighting and the yelling whenever I think about my parents.” She gripped Warren’s arm. “And then overwhelming bitterness from my mother after he left.”
“I promise we will never turn into that, Helen. We won’t always agree, and we will argue, but I promise that our love will be stronger than any disagreement.”
She kissed the underside of his chin and smiled. “I know. And now that you don’t drink, I don’t fear you will do something when you are unaware of what you are doing.” She moved so she could meet his gaze. “What do you think of the letter?”
Warren sighed. “I think the contents of the will won’t be a surprise to your mother, your brother and your cousin. I suspect your father’s will was the reason they are intent on you marrying Bertrand.”
Helen bit her lip. “I thought such things were private.”
Warren’s eyebrows quirked. “Well, he said he’d sent letters, and you haven’t received them. I imagine your mother read them. She visited your cousin in Helena around the time Ewan married Jessamine, which was early December. I always thought she would have been more irate at the loss of the third MacKinnon.” Warren looked over Helen’s shoulder with a distant gaze. “I don’t understand her.”
“What do you mean?”
“If your cousin were to marry you, why allow you to leave her house and go to the Boudoir?”
Helen remembered scenes from her evening at the Boudoir. “I think she manipulated me into going there. That she knew cousin Bertrand would not care if I were a virgin. And Walter was to receive money from the auction.” She shivered. “I think everything, every action, has always been about her obtaining money that she thought was her due.”
Warren moved so that Helen lay on her side, and he perched on his elbow over her. “But what about you? You are precious. Why would she ever be willing to sacrifice you?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away. “She never cared for me. Not like she cared and doted on Walter. He was always her favorite. I was nothing more than an annoyance when I was younger. Then simply their cook and housekeeper later.” She sniffled.
“Our parents’ disregard for us does not mean we are unworthy of love.” He kissed her forehead. “Of being cherished.” He kissed her nose. “Of feeling secure.” He kissed her lips.
“Make love with me, Warren,” Helen whispered. She threaded her hands through his hair as he froze above her. “Yes, I am still recovering.” She arched up and kissed him. “But I need you.” The hope in her eyes dimmed as he remained still and quiet above her. “Please.”
“Helen,” he rasped. “I would do anything you ask, but I refuse to hurt you.” He lowered his head to rest it beside hers on a pillow.
“You won’t,” she said as she kissed his ear and then nibbled on his earlobe. She giggled as he growled. “I love you, and I want to be with you.” She smiled as he pushed away from her and held out his hand.
“Then come to bed, my darling. The settee is too small for what I dream of for us.” He grinned as she giggled again and walked with her hand in hand down the hall to their bedroom.
He held her in his arms afterward, his fingers tangled in her hair. “Don’t tell anyone about the letter.” He felt her take a deep breath and then relax.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Your mother wanted to keep it a secret and worked hard to hide the letter and any hint of your father’s death and his will from you. From us.” He scooted until they looked into each other’s eyes. “She knows you married the town lawyer. And she knows she can’t outmaneuver me.” He stroked a hand over her cheek.
“I think it’s one of the reasons she never wanted you to court me. She knew you would care for me first, rather than for her interests.” She traced a furrow in his brow. “What will Bertrand do?”
Warren shook his head. “I don’t know. They’ve already threatened you. He attacked Sorcha, and I fear what he would have done had Fidelia not been here.” He let out a deep breath. “I know what he said to you. I know I didn’t give as much credence to what he said then as I should have.”
“We can trust the MacKinnons,” she whispered. “Don’t you think we should talk with them? With Bears?” She watched as Warren seemed to consider her words. “I feel that someone else, someone other than you and me, should know about this letter.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Tomorrow we should meet, discuss this further, share ideas, although not with little Hortence around. I’ll speak with Cailean tomorrow and arrange it. If we are seen going to their house for dinner, it will not appear out of the ordinary. No one would believe you, still recovering, would be able to entertain such a group here at our home.”
She sighed and settled next to him. “I still have trouble understanding that I’m not alone. That others will concern themselves for me.”
He chuckled. “Although it is ironic that we ask aid of the MacKinnons. After your history with them.” He laughed as she swatted his chest, grabbing her hand and raising it to kiss her palm. “Sleep, love. Rest, knowing you are not alone. Never again.” He held her close as she drifted asleep. Sleep eluded him as he held his slumbering wife in his arms, his fears and concerns about her family keeping him awake for long hours.
Helen let go of Warren’s arm as Sorcha threw herself into Helen’s arms. “Sorcha,” Helen breathed. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Oh, how lovely to see ye out of yer house.” She squeezed Helen’s arm and then gave Warren a quick hug before leading them into the kitchen. “I ken Warren said no’ to worry about dinner, but ye might as well eat with us. Two more for dinner is no bother.”
They said hello to all present and sat at the table as Sorcha bustled to the stove to dish out bowls of stew. A basket of bread was already on the table, set in expectation of their arrival. The only ones missing from the gathering were Leticia and Hortence. Alistair, who sat next to Bears, said, “Lettie wanted to keep Hortence at home tonight. Although I ken they’ll be sad to have missed seein’ ye out of yer house, Helen.”
“We meant no offense, Alistair,” Warren said as he murmured his thanks to Fidelia as she set a bowl of soup in front of him. “However, what we are going to share with you must remain a secret, and we didn’t want Hortence to accidentally tell a friend at school.” He watched as the MacKinnons watched him expectantly. “Helen?”
“I received a letter yesterday, from a lawyer in Helena. He informed me that my father died.” She gave a small smile to acknowledge the murmurs of condolences from the MacKinnons and then said, “It seems he was a successful businessman there. He left me something in his will.”
Jessamine tilted her head to the side. “This is why your mother wanted you to marry Bertrand. To receive the money she thinks was rightfully hers from the husband who left her for the whore.”
Helen flushed at Jessamine’s frank words. “Yes. That’s what Warren and I believe. We had first thought not to tell anyone, but I worry what would happen should something … occur to either of us. I want someone other tha
n Warren to know of the existence of the lawyer in Helena and the will.”
“What is the lawyer’s name?” Cailean asked.
“Mr. Clarence Hawke,” Warren said. “He is a reputable lawyer in Helena.” He paused as the MacKinnons waited for him to speak. “I wrote him today, informing him that his letter reached the correct Miss Jameson, now Mrs. Clark, and that he is welcome to travel to Bear Grass Springs.”
“His arrival will act as a needle poking a slumbering bear,” Bears said. “Bertrand has been biding his time these past weeks as Helen has improved. Everything will change when the lawyer arrives.”
Jessamine watched Bears. “Those who know Bertrand know who and what he is, Bears.”
His bleak black gaze met hers. “No one in this town does though. They will give the benefit of the doubt to the stranger, as is their way.”
Helen shook her head. “I don’t understand. No one would side with a stranger over someone who is well-known and respected in town.” She flushed as she met Bears’s patient gaze.
“Except for me,” he said in a soft voice.
Fidelia bristled. “There will always be those in small towns who remain blinded by prejudice.”
Bears nodded, his assessing gaze brightening a fraction as he studied Fidelia a moment. “What remains to be seen is, what is to be done with a man like Bertrand?”
Ewan had a hand over Jessamine’s shoulder. “None of us can bring any bodily harm to the man.”
Jessamine looked at Warren, her cognac-eyes filled with a challenge. “You’re the lawyer. You should find a way to bury the man in a way that does not involve a shovel.”
Warren chuckled mirthlessly. “The same could be said of you, journalist.” He shared a smile with Jessamine and then sighed. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve yet to discover his weakness.”
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