A Dream of Redemption

by Bronwen Evans

  Chapter 13

  Helen really did hate balls. They were hot and stuffy and full of people trying to impress other people, and usually being insincere in that pursuit.

  She’d accompanied Beatrice tonight as Marisa was staying home. Stephen had a sniffle and like any mother she was worried about him.

  Since arriving Helen had tried to have a private word with Angela but Lord Fairfax had stuck by her side as if she were a ghost and might slip away if he didn’t.

  She had to bite her tongue to stop from scolding the man about his treatment of Clary in the park. She had decided that he wasn’t a very nice person. His behavior at having wagered on her accepting a waltz was ungentlemanly, but to purposely hurt a man who could not fight back was cowardly and cruel. Angela deserved to know she should be a little cautious when dealing with Lord Fairfax. But Angela seemed only to have eyes for the fair-haired lothario. Why wouldn’t she? No man had paid Angela attention all season.

  Finally unable to bear the gushing platitudes Lord Fairfax was saying to her friend, Helen had escaped to the retiring room. When she stepped out into the corridor to return to the ballroom, she was aware of Lord Fairfax’s approach but could not find any way to escape.

  His eyes narrowed as he saw her and his attention focused on her as if he were sighting prey. She looked both ways down the corridor but could see no escape nor anyone to help. She really did not want to talk to the horrid man.

  “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Lady Helen,” he stated as if a man approached a lady in the retiring corridor at every ball.

  “Who did you expect to find near the retiring room? You saw me leave the room and have followed me. Why? I have nothing I want to say to you.”

  He crowded her up against the wall. “But I have something I want to share with you.” He placed his hands on either side of her, blocking any avenue of escape, and she had to push herself hard against the wall to avoid touching him.

  “Once again you are proving what a boor you are. Let me go.”

  He leaned closer and leered, “You will do or say nothing that may influence Lady Angela against me.”

  Helen stared. That was exactly what she had intended to do. It must have shown on her face.

  “If I hear you have been telling tales, I shall tell a few tales of my own, and your Mr. Homeward will be ostracized.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” But an icy fear slipped under her skin. What did Lord Fairfax know about Clary? Did he know she’d been in his lodgings—alone?

  “I know intimate details, very intimate details about your Mr. Homeward. His Grace has managed to spin some tale about his background. No one has bothered to check because Homeward is not important, but you seem to want to raise his profile.” He leaned closer. “Who am I to stand in the way of lust, whoops love, but fair’s fair. You will do the same for me.”

  She didn’t know what to say. How did Fairfax know that Clary’s background was false? She’d only learned of that today.

  “You don’t believe me? Pass my threat, no, pass my promise, on to Clarence and see what he advises. I’m pretty sure he’ll agree with my terms.”

  With that he pressed a swift kiss to her forehead and strolled off as if he knew he had won.

  Limbs still shaking Helen made her way back to the ballroom. The incident in the park flashed in her head. Lord Fairfax wasn’t picking on a man beneath him, he was giving a man he already knew a warning.

  The heated ballroom didn’t chase away the block of ice forming in her stomach. She watched Angela glowing on Lord Fairfax’s arm as he led her out for the waltz. Her loyalty was torn. She wanted to warn Angela but she needed to understand Lord Fairfax’s threat first.

  She searched the room for Beatrice, wanting to go home. Tomorrow night at dinner, she’d talk to her sister and get some answers that were long overdue.

  As she made her way to Beatrice’s side she prayed they would not destroy either her or Clary.

  * * *

  —

  Clary was meeting with Richard and his men at Southwark. Richard had news and it was good to have something to take his mind off Helen. He regretted his harsh reaction to her worry about her brother, but the duke’s conversation coupled with Helen’s fright at him talking to her brother hurt.

  Tomorrow he would try to see her and apologize.

  He should let her go but he couldn’t. She’d turned his life upside down and, as she kept saying, you couldn’t go back.

  “Boon has been busy.” Richard’s words broke into Clary’s thoughts. “Tell him what you have found.”

  “Since we can’t find Glover I thought I’d try something else. I kept my eye out for new children on the streets and followed them. Sure enough, one got grabbed last night. I followed. They took her to the warehouse—”

  “Which warehouse?” Clary impatiently asked.

  “Let me finish. You won’t believe it but it was a warehouse right on the docks. Just off Rotherhithe Street.”

  Clary looked at Richard who nodded. “Aye, it’s Lord Coldhurst’s warehouse.”

  Clary stood and began to pace the room. “Are you sure it’s Glover though?”

  Boon said, “I saw the scarred chap, Stilton. It’s them all right.”

  No wonder they had not been able to find them. They had not even considered checking a warehouse owned by a man of Lord Coldhurst’s standing.

  Richard cursed. “The marquis can’t know, surely.”

  “What if he does?” young Boon spoke what they were all thinking.

  Richard stood up. “If we ask him, and he is involved…”

  Clary swung to face him. “He’s not involved. He loves his sisters and there is no way he’d let Helen visit Southwark if he knew Glover was working out of here.”

  “Are you willing to bet your life—the lives of the children on it?”

  Was he? Clary thought of the man he’d shaken hands with only yesterday. He seemed to be a pillar of society. He knew he didn’t have a mistress. He believed in family. He had a temper, had fought a few duels, and had been a known rake, but he couldn’t see an ounce of cruelty in him. Coldhurst had enough honor to marry a woman because he’d killed her brother and thought he’d left her destitute.

  “Yes, I am. I’ll talk with him tomorrow. Her Grace is hosting a dinner party and Lord Coldhurst is a guest. I shall stay late and talk to him before the dinner.”

  Richard stood shaking his head. “I hope you’re right.” When Clary made to argue, Richard held up his hands. “You’ve always been a good judge of character, life has taught you that, so if you think he has no idea then it must be his manager.”

  “Lord Coldhurst would be the best judge of that, but, Boon, can you find out the man’s name and trail him?”

  The lad nodded.

  “Don’t engage with him, just keep an eye on him. I don’t want to spook Glover now that we have located him.”

  Chapter 14

  The carriage journey to her sister’s house for dinner was short but it gave Helen the opportunity to watch the interaction between Beatrice and her brother. She could not help the burning envy deep in her gut as she watched how he held her hand, linking his fingers with hers. The look of love they gave each other, they both knew how the other felt with no need for words.

  It was the little things that showed how much he loved her, and she him.

  She wanted that connection. Wanted it with Clary. Was the nonverbal communication something that should be there from the beginning or did it develop over time? She hoped her intuition where Clary was concerned would become real the more they got to know each other.

  Helen was looking forward to the dinner tonight. She hadn’t seen the other Libertine Scholars and their wives in a few weeks. She missed Isobel’s teasing and Portia always had the latest details of the fashions from Paris. Besides, there was a chance she might bump into Clary. Not at the dinner of course, but he might be working late…

  She wondered if she did marr
y Clary would her friends welcome them into their homes? Would she and Clary be invited to a dinner such as this, or would she be expected to come on her own? Reality of what her life might become made panic begin to choke her. But then she imagined her life without Clary in it, and her heart squeezed tight in her chest.

  By the time the carriage pulled up at the front steps she was a bundle of nerves. She didn’t know what she’d say to Clary if she did see him. She would have to lay her heart on her sleeve and beg him to give them another chance. What she wanted from him was an agreement that they would take things slow. She loved Clary but if she lost her family because of the inappropriateness of their relationship, would she end up resenting him? Would he wait to see if the feelings they had for each other would last the test of time, and together work on a plan to bring her brother around?

  Brunton took their cloaks and hats and when they reached the landing near the drawing room, her heart leapt at the site of Clary. She beamed a smile at him. “Mr. Homeward, how lovely to see you.”

  He bowed to her and Beatrice. “Ladies.”

  “Do you need to talk to me about the orphanage or the luncheon?” she asked. Hopefully he’d understand that she wanted him to say yes. Then she’d be able to see him alone and arrange a time to talk. Really talk.

  His face heated and he gave a swift look toward Sebastian. “Actually, my lord, I was wondering if I might have a quick word regarding what we discussed in your study yesterday. There have been some developments.”

  Sebastian nodded and slipped his arm free of Beatrice. “You ladies go on, and, Beatrice, could you also ask Maitland to join us in Mr. Homeward’s study.”

  Helen looked between the two men. What had they been talking about? It had to be about Glover but what had it to do with her brother? “Are you discussing Glover?”

  “Just go with Beatrice, Helen,” her brother ordered so she appealed to Clary.

  “But, Clary, you promised me you would keep me informed about Glover.” As she finished her words she knew she’d made a huge mistake in front of her brother. She’d called him Clary. The silence around her statement lengthened.

  Finally Sebastian threw a stern look at Beatrice as if to say, We will talk later. “Mr. Homeward. Shall we?” and he indicated Clary should lead him to his study.

  Beatrice linked her arm through Helen’s. “That was a mistake. Hopefully, he won’t think anything of it. You were probably upset about being excluded from the discussion.”

  “I am upset at being excluded. I’m supposed to be managing the orphanage, would he dare exclude Marisa?”

  “Exclude me from what?” Marisa asked at the door to the drawing room. “You were taking too long so I came to see what was holding you up.”

  “You tell her and I’ll pass the message on to Maitland.” With that Beatrice was gone.

  “Clary has asked to have a meeting with Sebastian—”

  Marisa clapped her hands. “Wonderful. So you’ve told him?”

  Helen shook her head. “No. Tell him what? No. I think they are discussing Glover. Clary came to the house yesterday and met with Sebastian. Now they are meeting again. Why am I not included? Maitland would have included you.”

  Marisa slipped her arm through Helen’s and drew her into the room. “No, he probably wouldn’t have. Men tend to have a sickness called overprotectiveness. But don’t worry.” She flashed her husband a smile as he passed them on his way out of the room. “I’ll find out from Maitland tonight and let you know.”

  Inside Helen fumed. Clary was deliberately keeping her at arm’s length. Isn’t that what he told her yesterday? That he needed to put distance between them and she should step away from the orphanage. Well, he was not her boss and he was not her…anything. She had found a calling. She loved knowing that she was helping those less fortunate and she was not going to let him or anyone stop her.

  As soon as her brother returned to the dinner she was going to have it out with Clary.

  Over dinner, the more she thought about the meeting Clary held with her brother, without her, she got mad. Was Clary punishing her for yesterday? Only one way to find out. She rose from the table on the excuse of needing the retiring room and went in search of Clary. It didn’t take her long to learn he’d slunk off home. Now she was really mad.

  Pleading a headache, she waited for dessert to be served before stating she’d take the carriage home and send it back for them. Marisa escorted her out and at the front door she pressed some coins into Helen’s hand. “I’ve asked Brunton to flag down a hackney carriage.” Helen stared at her sister with an open mouth. “Just go and see him. I know you’ve had a fight; he’s been like a cat with a thorn in its paw all day.” She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the others here for as long as I can.”

  Helen felt dreadful about lying to Beatrice and Sebastian, but she needed to see Clary. She did not have a headache and she was not unwell, but where her heart was concerned perhaps fate needed a helping hand.

  Clary had risked a lot to have a relationship with her, his livelihood and that of Simon’s. She needed him to know what was in her heart, so he could see there was no risk. She would love him and would never leave him to face the wrath of her family alone. She had to understand if he loved her enough to fight for them both.

  The hackney carriage made her feel anonymous, and she grew more confident. With her cloak and hood covering her features she told the driver to wait, and slipped quickly down the stairs to knock on Clary’s door.

  To her surprise and consternation it was Simon who answered the door. She had not considered Clary would not be alone.

  “Lady Helen, what a surprise. Please, do come in.”

  She swept past him and followed the corridor into the drawing room conscious of Simon’s eyes boring into her back. Simon did not look happy she’d come.

  Upon seeing her, Clary jumped to his feet. He seemed alarmed to see her. It was not a good start to her visit. She drank in the sight of him. He wore no cravat, his shirt was hanging open, and his Hessian boots lay discarded in a heap by his stocking covered feet. His curls were askew, as if he’d been running his hands through his hair, and his chin was covered in stubble. He looked tired but still incredibly handsome. Her knees went weak, and her heart did that little flip in her chest. She gave him a tentative smile.

  “I’m sorry I called unannounced but I had to see you.”

  Simon immediately piped up. “I thought I might go out for a drink and catch up with a few friends. I won’t be back till late.” Clary merely nodded at his brother.

  They remained silent, staring at each other until they heard the door close upon Simon’s exit.

  * * *

  —

  Clary ran a hand through his wild curls, not sure where to look. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  She stood tapping her foot. “I had to come because you’ve been avoiding me and we need to talk about—whatever this attraction is.”

  “I have not avoided you successfully, it seems.” He sighed and motioned her to take the chair near the fire. “Perhaps if I tell you of my past, you’ll begin to understand the reasons why none of your family is ever going to approve of me.”

  She started to protest, but Clary held up his hand. “No. It’s time you learned the type of man I am.”

  “Why is it that you persist in focusing on the past, when we should both be focusing on the future?”

  “Because the past haunts us, follows us, and no one lets you forget the mistakes you have made. It would be a misstep for you to marry the likes of me, and society would never let you forget that.”

  He took the seat opposite her and her heart broke when she saw the sadness in his eyes. “If you tell me about your past, and I think it doesn’t matter, will you still consider opening your heart to me?”

  “You already have my heart,” he said. “But I can’t give you anything else.”

  She smiled. “I don’t want anything else.”

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nbsp; * * *

  —

  He simply shook his head seemingly annoyed that she would not understand his point. And he began his tale.

  “I cannot remember my father. I must have had one. He must’ve been there for some of my early childhood, because there is Simon. But for all I know, Simon and I could have different fathers.”

  “You don’t look very much alike, except around the eyes.”

  “I can remember my mother. I used to be able to picture her face but that faded over time. I remember being loved, she used to always cuddle me and tell me stories before putting me to bed. She was a seamstress, taking in people’s linen to mend. We were not wealthy, but we had a clean warm room, a roof overhead, and at least one decent meal a day.”

  He stopped and hung his head. “Christ, this is hard.” He stood and went and poured himself a drink. “Would you like anything?”

  “A brandy please. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Retaking his seat, he continued. “One day, I must have been around nine years old, Simon was only three, she packed up all our belongings, and we left the one room that I called home. She said we were going on a journey. I can remember I was excited. I’d never been more than a few blocks from our home before. We walked for an hour, before she sat me down on a street corner, told me to watch Simon while she ran an errand and to wait for her to return. She never returned.”

  Helen choked on her drink, the brandy going down the wrong way hitting her churning stomach. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more. How desperate must she have been to leave her children abandoned on the street?

  “Something might’ve happened to her,” Helen suggested. “She could have been hit by a carriage or become ill. Maybe she wanted to return but just couldn’t.”

  He nodded. “I told myself that for many years, especially when things got really bad. I will never know what truly happened to my mother.”

  “So you are alone on the streets…”