A companion novel to Saving Grace
A Hearthfire Romance
Copyright © 2015 Michele Paige Holmes
E-book edition
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Interior Design by Heather Justesen
Edited by Annette Lyon, Cassidy Wadsworth, and Kelsey Down
Cover design by Rachael Anderson
Cover Photo Credit: Andreea Retinschi/Trigger Image
Cover Photo Copyright: Andreea Retinschi
Published by Mirror Press, LLC
eISBN-10: 1941145388
eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-38-8
Counting Stars
All the Stars in Heaven
My Lucky Stars
Captive Heart
A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection
Hearthfire Romance Series:
Saving Grace
Marrying Christopher
To Mom—
For all those times you let me keep reading instead of doing my chores.
And for your encouragement and faith that helped me believe I could do anything.
Yorkshire England, October 1827
Helen Thatcher gathered the voluminous skirts of her silk gown as she tiptoed across the small foyer. Stopping outside the double doors that led to the sitting room of Mr. Preston’s guesthouse, she peered through the crack between the doors and spied her lady’s maid, Miranda, busily folding linens at the table. Just as this room filled so many purposes — they visited, dined, read, and sewed here — her maid had taken to doing many tasks outside her usual duties as well. Helen wished it was otherwise, though it did seem that both her servants, Miranda and Harrison, were happier here than they had been since her guardian and grandfather, the late Duke of Salisbury, had died, shortly after which the new duke had summarily dismissed them from his residence.
We might all have stayed and continued on in comfort. The guilty thought plagued Helen, as it had every day the past several months. Had she only accepted the new duke’s marriage proposal, she and her siblings, Grace and Christopher, along with their servants, would still be at the grand estate, with everything they needed — everything they desired — at their disposal.
Yet because I did not desire marriage, we’ve become little more than penniless outcasts.
It had been more than a simple lack of desire that had spurred her refusal — a rejection that the new duke had neither expected nor accepted. At their first acquaintance, it had become apparent that he was a man used to getting what he wanted. And along with her grandfather’s vast estate and wealth and title, the duke had wanted Helen as his wife. He had told her it would be so, rather than asking, much as he told Grandfather’s servants what they were to do and how they were to do it, then disciplined them harshly when they deviated in the least — often simply because they were used to different ways. Helen had seen him throw a pitcher of just-boiled water at one of the maids and kick a young stable boy and had made up her mind that she could not bear to be the duke’s wife. Returning to their estranged father was the lesser of the two evils, for evil was what she believed Grandfather’s heir to be. Grace and Christopher had supported her decision, and they had returned to their father’s home — and a new set of troubles.
After six years away it had been difficult to live again with their father, whose only ambition had been spent in marrying a duke’s daughter — an act that never yielded the fortune or life of ease he had hoped for. They discovered him to be in more debt than ever. In his children he had devised a means of income, intending to marry his daughters off to the highest bidder.
A situation gone from bad to worse. Helen suppressed a shudder as she recalled the events of the last few months. I am safe now, she reminded herself. Yet it might not always be so. It would not be so now, if not for Grace’s unselfish sacrifice.
Because of my cowardice in refusing to marry Grandfather’s heir, Grace has endured much. After offering to take Helen’s place and be married, Grace had been forced to meet with suitors of their father’s choosing, each of whom proved to be wretched, lecherous men. That is, until the last, Mr. Samuel Preston, had surprised Grace with genuine friendship and a concern extending beyond her welfare to that of her siblings.
Helen’s mouth curved in a smile as she thought of Mr. Preston — so gentle and kind to them all. She had never met a man quite like him. It seemed terribly unfair that Grace had met him last and not first. But by the time of their meeting, Grace had already taken drastic action, making certain her reputation was ruined by spreading the tale of a most unfortunate middle-of-the-night mix-up in the bed chamber of Lord Nicholas Sutherland, Mr. Preston’s closest neighbor, former brother-in-law, and sworn enemy.
From what Helen had learned of him, Lord Sutherland did not appear to be much better than some of the other men whose company Grace had suffered, and now she is betrothed to him.
But even amidst the worst of circumstances, Grace worries about us. And so Mr. Preston had arranged for the four of them — Christopher and Helen, and their servants, Miranda and Harrison — to reside at his guest house until the matter of their inheritance could be favorably settled or until Grace was suitably wed.
Would that I had a shred of her courage or selflessness, Helen thought, frustrated with herself yet again. She smoothed the front of her gown, knowing that what she was about to undertake would require at least one of those valiant qualities. She desperately hoped she possessed courage somewhere.
As for selflessness, the plan she’d conceived seemed rather the opposite.
But what else am I to do?
Grace’s betrothal to Lord Sutherland had begun badly, and perhaps it yet might end the same, terminating what little protection it had bought them for the time being. The new duke seemed determined to see that they did not get a penny of their inheritance, while debt collectors banged down her father’s door.
It is only a matter of time before Father thrusts me out to meet them. I will be forced to marry. Marriage was the very last thing she wished. But if I am to be forced to it … At least there was now one option that might be bearable.
Grasping the doors, Helen pulled them open and stepped inside the drawing room. “Good morning.”
Miranda did not look up from folding the linens, and Helen realized she’d spoken too softly. Christopher was forever chiding her about whispering, but it wasn’t something she did intentionally. After so many years spent avoiding Father and the vile men he associated with, whispering was simply something that came naturally. If she’d acquired any talent at all in her eighteen years, it was knowing how to keep quiet and remain unseen.
But now, she was about to attempt the very opposite.
She cleared her throat and tried once more. “Good morning, Miranda.”
“Miss Helen?” Miranda glanced up from her task, then straightened to her full height, her spine as rigid as her rules of etiquette. “What are you doing up already — and dressed without my help?” Her lips turned down in disapproval. “And suddenly out of mourning, I see.”
“I mean no disrespect to Grandfather. Please don’t scold,” Helen said, guessing the direction of Miranda’s thoughts. The poor woman had faced an arduous task from the beginning, taking two girls used to a life of poverty and struggle and turning them into ladies. With Grace, it seemed, she’d nearly had success. Only Father’s debts had forced Grace back to her independent, rash ways of survival.<
br />
“You’ve been working so hard lately,” Helen said. “I wanted to save you some time.” A partial truth, but Miranda need not know that. “What do you think?” Helen held out the sides of the cream gown and turned a slow circle. “I know it is a drastic change from black, but this was a gift from Grandfather. Did I do all right?”
“That depends,” Miranda said, hands on her hips, “on whether you are planning to attend a breakfast or a midnight ball.”
Helen’s fragile confidence slipped a notch. It had taken quite a lot of maneuvering to get herself into this dress with only the chambermaid to assist. And she’d spent over an hour with the curling tongs and burned a few fingertips to achieve the ringlets in her hair. Still, she’d felt pleased with the reflection staring back at her in the glass. But Miranda’s obvious disapproval weighed heavily.
“I know this gown is a bit fancy for breakfast,” Helen said. “But I so seldom go anywhere that I thought it would be all right to wear it.” The gown had been one of the last gifts Grandfather had given her before his passing. Grace owned a similar one and had worn it to Mr. Preston’s, though that occasion had been a ball.
Miranda let out an exasperated sigh. “It is not breakfast attire, but I suppose this one time won’t hurt. At least let me put your hair up properly.” She started toward Helen.
“I — I wish to wear it down.” Beneath the dress, Helen’s heart pounded. She’d never disagreed with Miranda before, had never done other than what her maid told her was proper and fitting.
Miranda’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
“My hair took a great deal of time,” Helen said. “And — I think it looks pretty this way.” She did not mention the information she’d gleaned from Grace’s letters — that Lord Sutherland had ordered her to wear her hair up, though Grace secretly believed that he might admire it on the occasions she left it down. If so, Helen hoped that keeping her hair down as well might capture the attention of a certain gentleman. She needed to use every resource available to her, limited as they were.
“It does look pretty.” Harrison’s rasping voice and hacking cough filled the room as he came through the doors to stand behind her. “Leave her be, Miranda. Miss Helen’s a rare beauty, and there’s no reason to hide it by keeping her in black and tucking away her curls.”
“Thank you, Harrison,” Helen murmured. From the corner of her eye, she saw Miranda marching toward them.
“When you become a lady’s maid, you’ll be allowed an opinion on the subject,” Miranda said, wagging a finger at him. “Until then, I’ll thank you to keep your nose where it belongs — outside and pointed toward the backside of a horse.”
“It doesn’t take a maid to appreciate beauty.” Harrison cleared his throat and sounded a bit better. “There’s no time for her to change, anyhow. Ladies —” He bowed gallantly. “Your carriage awaits.”
Miranda scoffed. “What nonsense is this? We don’t need a carriage. We can see Mr. Preston’s house from here. It’s but a short walk.”
“Over a dewy lawn,” Harrison said. “It could ruin her fine gown.”
“Well, we don’t need to leave now. We’re not expected for another hour,” Miranda argued.
“Breakfast won’t be served until then, but that does not mean Miss Helen cannot enjoy visiting before.” He winked at Helen.
She worked to contain a smile — a task easily accomplished when Miranda turned a severe gaze upon her.
“You two are up to something,” she accused. “I wouldn’t have believed it of you, Miss Helen. Your sister, easily, but never of you.”
Helen’s smile broke free. “Why, thank you.” She felt giddy with confidence. For once she had exerted her will, and Miranda thought she’d acted like Grace — the highest compliment Helen could think of, and it boded well for the adventure ahead. After all, Grace had captured the attention of several men without even trying.
I need secure only one.
Helen had learned from weeks of silent observation that the one, Mr. Samuel Preston, strolled in his garden at precisely nine o’clock every morning. He always walked alone and always appeared somewhat solemn. This morning, Helen intended to join him and attempt to distract him from his melancholy.
Mr. Preston had invited her to breakfast, but she hoped to make much more of the morning than that. Her skirts swished about her ankles as she followed Harrison outside to the borrowed phaeton. He held out his hand and helped her up. Miranda came running behind them, carrying a wrap.
“You’ll catch your death of cold with this nonsense. And Grace barely well herself. I’ll not have another foolish girl to care for.” Ignoring Harrison’s hand, Miranda hoisted herself onto the seat and settled beside Helen. “Let’s get this on you,” she said, laying Helen’s wrap across her shoulders.
“Oh, Miranda,” Helen said. “You needn’t worry so much. The sun is out. It’s a lovely day.”
“Hmpf.” Miranda sat straight. “I wish your brother was here to see what you’re about.”
“Well, he isn’t,” Helen said a little too pertly. Christopher had stayed only one night at Mr. Preston’s estate, just long enough to see that he was a gentleman and that she was safely settled, before returning to London to attempt to work out the matter of their inheritance.
Miranda’s gaze grew calculating as she appraised Helen. “A girl who wants nothing to do with men suddenly does an about face and goes out of her way to dress up for one —”
“A page you might consider taking from her book,” Harrison said, climbing up on the other side of Helen, so she was sandwiched cozily between them.
“And why should I want to do that?” Miranda asked, looking positively affronted by such a suggestion.
“So that the man who favors you —” Helen looked sideways at Harrison — “might take more notice of you and take more care with his words.” She shifted in her seat, giving Harrison a not-so-subtle nudge.
“First there would have to be a man who I would wish to notice me.” Miranda’s words were tart, but Helen thought she saw a faint blush stealing across the older woman’s cheeks.
Helen sighed inwardly, wishing Grace were here, so they could discuss — as they had previously — what might be done for their servants to be more amiable to each other. Grace had often said it was as plain as the nose on her face that Miranda and Harrison cared for one another. What Helen could not understand was why they did not simply admit their feelings and enjoy friendship, at least.
She could not begin to understand it, but then, she also didn’t know the first thing about relationships between a man and a woman, her only example being a vague knowledge of her parents’ ill-fated marriage.
So much I have missed by not having a mother. Grace had done her best as a substitute, but at times — like now, when Helen was about to attempt to gain a man’s interest — it would have been a fine thing to have access to some motherly advice.
Harrison slowed the horses and brought the phaeton to a stop well before they reached the front entrance to Mr. Preston’s mansion. He jumped out and held his hand up to her.
“Thank you,” Helen said, smiling at him as he helped her down.
“What are you doing?” Miranda demanded. “I thought you were worried about spoiling your gown outside.”
“I will help you wash it if it becomes stained,” Helen promised.
It isn’t as if I am unfamiliar with such work. She’d survived her first twelve years by helping Grace launder other people’s clothing. Miranda wouldn’t allow such a thing now. Even with their changed circumstances, she was most adamant that their lifestyle, inasmuch as was possible, remain as it had been while living at Grandfather’s. Helen pulled Harrison aside, waiting a moment for him to cease his wheezing. “Take Miranda for a nice, long ride. And say something kind to her.”
“If that is your wish, Miss Helen.” He bowed before climbing back into the carriage.
“It is,” she said, trying not to laugh when he winked at her again. “Go
odbye. Have a lovely time.” She waved them off, watching until the carriage had gone down the curved lane and out of sight. Then, much more slowly than she usually walked, Helen made her way toward the entrance of the garden on the side of the house.
Many mornings from her upstairs bedroom of his guest house, she had watched Mr. Preston as he strolled in his garden. He was always alone, and he always walked bent slightly forward with his hands clasped behind his back, as if considering a great many things. Helen hoped he would not mind her company and that he might even enjoy it enough to invite her to walk with him again.
Since their first introduction at her arrival, she’d found herself thinking of Mr. Preston frequently. He’d proven to be kind and soft-spoken. He was pleasant to look upon and not more than nine or ten years her senior, she guessed.
And he has money enough to save us. It was a terribly selfish thought, but she could not seem to keep herself from thinking it. If I must marry, why can it not be to a man who is gentle as well as generous? In her heart she cared more about his demeanor than whatever wealth Mr. Preston was in possession of, but her dire circumstances dictated that she also consider his fortune.
A dismal reality, with no help for it. Such was the lot of females: to do their best to marry well. Now that she was a grown woman of eighteen, the time had come for her to join the hunt. She had set her cap for Mr. Preston and must go about securing his interest.
Helen had never expected to find herself in pursuit of any man, yet she could not deny a certain thrill — and a definite terror — to the process. At night she thought of Mr. Preston, oft as she sat at her window, looking out at the lights glowing from his house, wondering which room was his and what he was doing. New feelings stirred within her, emotions she had never expected to experience for any man, and she found them both frightening and exhilarating. As her older brother Christopher had remarked at dinner that first night here, she was growing up.
Loving Helen Page 1
