“My apologies,” Mr. Preston said. “Miss Thatcher, Lord Sutherland. Lady Sutherland.”
Lady Sutherland did not return his greeting, and Helen felt the sting of rebuke as if it had been directed at her.
“It was good of you to invite me,” Mr. Preston said to Lord Sutherland. “It is good to be here again.” He glanced round the room before returning his look to them. “Miss Thatcher, may I request the pleasure of your company for the next set?”
Yes. Helen smiled timidly, still frightened by the prospect of actually dancing, but at the same time thrilled that he had asked.
But it was to Grace that Mr. Preston held out his hand, stepping in front of Lord Sutherland to reach her.
“I — of course,” Grace said, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her away.
Lord Sutherland watched them go, looking as stunned and stung as Helen felt. “Would you care to dance?” he asked her in somber tone.
Helen shrank, neither wishing to offend nor to dance with him.
“I do not bite, you know,” he said.
“No, thank you, sir — milord,” Helen corrected. “I am not a very good dancer.”
Lord Sutherland gave a curt nod. “Excuse me, Mother,” he said, and left them, presumably in search of a more willing lady.
Helen watched as Mr. Preston led Grace to the center of the floor. Lord Sutherland found a partner and joined their set, and the dance was begun. In contrast to the waltz, the mood of this dance was fraught with tension. Anyone with half an eye on the participants could not help but notice the stares and mutterings passing between the couples as they completed the steps. Grace seemed caught in a balancing act between two men — the forbidding Lord Sutherland and hopeful Mr. Preston, whose expressions seemed as gentle as Lord Sutherland’s were harsh.
The dance was not yet halfway over when Helen decided she could take no more. She swayed on her feet, feeling ill. Her heart was breaking — for herself and for Mr. Preston, who perhaps really had no idea of the depth of Grace’s feelings for his neighbor.
“Are you all right?” Lady Sutherland asked, not unkindly. “You look a little pale.” She patted Helen’s arm as if offering condolences. “Don’t pine for Mr. Preston, my dear. You wouldn’t want him. It is his fault that my daughter is dead.”
Helen shook her head and backed away from Lady Sutherland. “It isn’t,” she said, defending Mr. Preston against such cruel gossip. “You don’t know him as I do. He would never have hurt Elizabeth. He did everything he could to save her. He loved his wife. He adores her still.”
And he adores Grace.
Turning from Lady Sutherland, Helen fled the ballroom, tears clouding her vision as she ran past the dreaded kissing ball. She had no need to fear it. The only man she might ever have considered kissing was in love with her sister.
Helen trudged through the garden on her return trip to Sutherland Hall after visiting with Beth. At noon, Harrison had driven her to Mr. Preston’s estate, where, for a few brief, blissful hours, she and Beth had played in the nursery with her new dollhouse. Time with Beth had been like balm to Helen’s soul. For, while last night Mr. Preston had made it abundantly clear that the time they’d spent together meant little to him — including the last months’ worth of meals taken together and the many hours they had worked, side by side, on Beth’s dollhouse — Beth, at least, remained loyal in her affection and her desire to have Helen as her friend.
Both her greeting and parting hugs had gone on long enough that one would have thought the two of them had not seen each other in ages or were about to part for years. Beth had elicited a promise from Helen that they would continue their playtime, a promise Helen felt only too grateful to make. Beth’s love was constant, something Helen needed as much as the motherless little girl seemed to need her.
Determined to keep that promise by visiting every day, Helen plodded across Lord Sutherland’s snowy yard, intent on finding a faster way to reach Mr. Preston’s home so she’d be free to come and go as she pleased. Mr. Preston had once mentioned a connecting gate between the two properties, and Helen hoped to discover it sooner, rather than later, if she was to keep her toes from being frostbitten.
Stomping her feet to keep them from going numb, Helen continued, following the fence toward ominous Sutherland Hall looming in the distance and — Mr. Preston and Grace! They stood facing one another, just a short distance from the wall. Beside them, the gate Helen had hoped to find was ajar.
They were the last people Helen had expected to see together today. She ducked behind the closest bush, then watched as Mr. Preston knelt in the snow before her sister and spoke words that she, herself, would have loved to hear from his lips.
“I will spend the remainder of my life in the pursuit of your happiness,” Mr. Preston promised.
Hardly daring to breathe, Helen waited for Grace to answer. How can she refuse? Yet Helen did not know how her sister could accept, either, given her obvious attachment to Lord Sutherland.
Helen watched, her heart breaking as Grace fell into Mr. Preston’s arms, crying even as she rejected his proposal of marriage — a proposal more beautiful than anything Helen could have ever conceived.
Yet Grace had thrown it away, dismissed it along with the near-perfect man who had offered up his heart.
“Why torture me so — and yourself, too?” Grace demanded of Mr. Preston when he confessed that he’d believed she would refuse his suit.
What do you know of torture? Helen thought, trying to keep her bitterness at bay. She loved Grace, adored her with sisterly affection. Grace had practically been a mother to her. Helen wished for her sister to be happy, and she knew from watching Mr. Preston all these weeks that Grace could be happy. With him.
A slushy dollop of snow fell from the bare branches of a tree, landing on the bridge of Helen’s nose and over her right eye. She gasped and quickly swiped the wet snow from her face. Squinting against temporary blindness, she ducked lower behind the bushes and waited tensely, expecting either Grace or Mr. Preston or both to turn her direction.
When neither did, Helen felt irritation rather than surprise. She could probably throw a snowball at them, or stand and wave her hands, and they still would not take notice of her. No one ever did.
Why, just a few days ago, she and Mr. Preston had been close enough that he might have kissed her, and instead of taking notice, he’d laughed the incident off as if it had been nothing. It had not been nothing to Helen, but one of many agonizing moments spent in his presence when she felt that exhilarating, yet distressing, feeling that set her on edge.
She supposed she should have felt pleased that Grace had rejected him. I will not have to endure having Mr. Preston as my brother-in-law. It was small comfort at first and then no comfort at all as Helen watched Mr. Preston produce a sheaf of papers from his coat.
“I asked Christopher to wait until today and to let me tell you the good news.”
Our inheritance. Helen’s heartbeat quickened. We will leave now. We’ll move far away, and I will never see Mr. Preston or Beth again.
Dear Beth. Tears filled Helen’s eyes as she thought of the tiny hands clasped around her, holding so tight. I promised Beth I would continue to visit, but now …
“You may go wherever you like,” Mr. Preston said. “Whenever you like. I have already spoken with several landlords about properties available for rent. I know of some that are far enough from here …”
The rest of his words were lost to her as Helen turned and ran toward the main path. Not wanting to chance Grace finding her — and demanding an explanation for her tears — Helen left the brick walk and ran through the garden, heedless of the mud ruining her slippers or the hem of her dress dragging through the snow.
She knew only that she must be alone, and quickly, where she might cry in private for her heart that had just been broken for the second time in one day.
“Spine straight. Don’t slouch,” Lady Sutherland barked. She walked around Helen, who
stood perched on a chair while the dressmaker pinned the hem of the gown she was to wear to Grace’s wedding. The same day Mr. Preston had proposed to Grace, Lord Sutherland had proposed as well, and his offer she had accepted. In the week since the announcement of their decision to marry, Lady Sutherland had taken on the personality of a general preparing for war, determined to have everything and everyone exactly as she wished — or so it seemed to Helen. She’d born the particular brunt of Lady Sutherland’s rebukes, though Grace had endured her share as well.
“Do you want your gown to drag on the ground so that you trip and fall on it?” the dowager demanded. She stood with arms crossed in front of her, cheeks sucked in and lips puckered. “If you do not improve your posture, that is exactly what shall happen, and I shall be shamed in front of everyone who has come to see my son wed.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen murmured, ducking her head, then lifting it at once after realizing what she’d done.
If only Lady Sutherland understood that her criticisms make me want to shrink even more.
Helen wasn’t certain how Grace managed to tolerate her future mother-in-law with such … grace. But not only did her sister seem unfazed by Lady Sutherland’s remarks, she seemed to be developing an affection for the woman.
Remarkable, what love can do.
Apparently pleased with the dressmaker’s progress — or simply too put out to endure their company any longer — the dowager took her leave, snapping orders to the servants trailing behind her.
The door closed behind Lady Sutherland, and Helen shuddered, grateful to have escaped this latest confrontation with only a mild scolding.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Grace called from across the room where she, too, stood on a stool as her gown was adjusted. “This is the last wedding she will ever plan, and doing so means a great deal to her.”
Helen merely nodded in response, not daring to say anything in front of the other women in the room.
Someone knocked once loudly. The door opened, and Christopher’s head appeared. “Still up here?”
“We’re getting close to being finished,” Grace said. “Another half hour, I’d think.”
Christopher pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the room. He looked from Grace to Helen as a grin spread across his face. “You two look quite fetching. I’m feeling rather grateful that you’re both attached, so I’ll not have to be watching out for you anymore. A brother does get tired of beating off the gentlemen who are after his sisters.”
“What do you mean we are both attached?” Grace asked, brows raised as she looked pointedly at Helen.
Helen shrugged. The only person she’d become attached to was little Beth. And that has hardly resolved my difficulties regarding men.
“Lord Sutherland has just returned from London,” Christopher said, changing the subject, much to Helen’s relief.
“At last!” Grace exclaimed, as if the three and a half days he’d been gone had been thirty. She clasped her hands in front of her chin, only partially hiding a delighted smile that both warmed and wounded Helen.
I am glad she is so happy. I will miss her so much. The past few days had been enough for Helen to realize she could not become a permanent resident at Sutherland Hall. It was too dark and dreary here, and she feared its other inhabitants too much.
“Tell him to come up — oh, wait. He cannot. My dress —” Grace looked down at the layers of lace flowing about her.
“Mademoiselle, hold still please,” the dressmaker admonished. Grace straightened and lowered her hands to her sides once more.
“He wishes to see all three of us, in his study,” Christopher said.
“Now?” Grace asked. She turned away from them as the dressmaker began work on the other side of her skirts.
“Ten minutes ago, actually,” Christopher said. “He made it sound rather urgent.”
“Is he in a mood?” Grace asked, her tone unconcerned.
“Perhaps,” Christopher said. “He’s serious, certainly.”
When is Lord Sutherland not in a mood? Helen wondered. The only time she’d ever witnessed his smile was when he danced or conversed with Grace.
“He did not seem particularly jolly,” Christopher said. “But I’ll go down to meet him now. Come along when you can.”
“We will. And thank you,” Grace called.
“You should go too,” Helen said, fearful that a slow response from Grace might kindle whatever foul mood Lord Sutherland happened to be in. “Allow both seamstresses to finish your hem, and they can help me after you’ve gone.”
“Are you certain?” Grace asked, craning her neck, attempting to view Helen over her shoulder without moving too much. “You must be as tired of standing as I am.”
More, Helen thought. It wasn’t her wedding or gown to be excited over. “I’ll be fine. Hurry now. Finish up and see your betrothed.”
“All right. Will you explain for me?” Grace asked.
Helen addressed the seamstresses. “S’il vous plaît, faites sa robe avant la mienne.”
Grace nodded her consent and sent Helen a look of gratitude.
“I could still teach you French, you know,” Helen offered, as the woman attending her moved across the room to do her bidding.
“I should probably let you.” Grace sighed wistfully. “My inability to communicate with Lady Sutherland’s seamstresses is yet one more fault she finds in me.”
Privately, Helen thought Lady Sutherland required much more than French lessons to improve her communication. Lessons in civility would be more fitting.
But to Grace she simply said, “You learned all you needed to at Grandfather’s. An earl has fallen in love with you, after all.”
“So he has …” Grace said, the same dreamy look upon her face that Helen had seen so frequently the past week. She tried, unsuccessfully, to keep her envy at bay.
French, music, painting, needlework … All the skills she possessed that Grace did not were not important to affairs of the heart. Yet Helen was happy for her sister and could think of no person more deserving of joy than Grace.
Helen waited patiently while the women finished the hem of Grace’s gown and helped her change.
“Merci,” Grace said when she was at last free of the delicate layers and dressed in her morning gown once more. “Thank you for waiting, sister,” she said to Helen as she practically ran from the room.
“You’re welcome,” Helen called. To the dressmakers she added, “Ne pressez vous pas avec ma robe.” She hoped they would take a very long time to finish her gown. In contrast to Grace, she was in no rush to leave the protection of this room. The past three days with Lord Sutherland away had been somewhat less stressful. Like his mother, he made Helen nervous, and she still wasn’t quite certain how to act around him. Grace seemed to suffer none of these concerns. But then, she brings out the best in him.
Harrison would be here with the carriage soon, and Helen looked forward to a delightful afternoon with Beth. She sighed inwardly, longing for the peaceful, happy weeks she’d enjoyed as Mr. Preston’s guest.
She wondered how he was faring, as she had not seen him in the days since Grace had refused him. Even during visits with Beth he had been conspicuously absent. Helen wished she could inquire after Mr. Preston’s well-being without arousing suspicion. She should not have been privy to that intimate and heart-wrenching conversation between the two of them. Indeed, she wished she had not. She could not seem to forget the hurt she’d felt both for Mr. Preston and herself.
All too soon, her gown was finished, and she was being helped from it. When her own dress was back in place, Helen lingered, anxious about going downstairs. She stood at the window, staring off into the distance, imagining that she sat at her window in the guesthouse, overlooking Mr. Preston’s glorious gardens. She remembered the day they’d taken flowers to his wife’s grave and the tender words he’d spoken. How would it be to be loved so very much?
Could Lord Sutherland
possibly love Grace as much as Mr. Preston had loved Elizabeth? Strangely, Helen believed he did. The way he’d waltzed with Grace at his ball, the affectionate looks she caught passing between the two of them at dinner, and even the way his gruff manner seemed to soften when he was around her, all indicated the depth of his caring.
He loves her. And more than anything, I am glad of that.
Raised voices in the hallway pulled Helen from her reminiscing. The door banged open, and Grace rushed in, followed closely by Miranda.
“Oh, Helen.” Grace ran toward her, meeting her halfway across the room. “He is sending me away.” Tears burst forth as she buried her head on Helen’s shoulder.
“What? What’s this?” Helen held Grace close. “You must be mistaken. Calm yourself, and tell me what happened.” She patted her back and spoke soothingly as she had with Beth the day she’d fallen and skinned her knee playing in the garden.
Miranda wagged her finger at the door, as if someone stood there. “No good, that man,” she said, being uncharacteristically vocal. “Knew it the first time I saw him.”
Grace momentarily composed herself. “Do not speak ill of Lord Sutherland. He is a good man. And I love him so.” Self-control spent, she burst into tears once more. “First Grandfather’s inheritance. And now Father is dead.”
“What?” Helen leaned back, holding Grace away from her. “Father — our father is —”
Grace nodded. “Dead, Helen. He shall trouble us no more. And worse, Nicholas knows of our inheritance.”
“Of course he does,” Helen said. “You wrote to me some weeks ago that you had told him. He agreed to help us, remember?” She wondered suddenly if Lord Sutherland’s assistance was what had finally swayed the court in their favor.
After weeks of unsuccessful attempts to obtain their inheritance, Christopher had quite suddenly and unexpectedly been awarded the full amount Grandfather had bequeathed.
“But what has any of that to do with you — with your wedding?” Father is dead.
“There is to be no wedding,” Grace said, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. “Nic —Lord Sutherland wishes to free me from our betrothal. He thinks it best if I leave.”
Loving Helen Page 9
