by Susanna Ives
Several seconds passed in a painful hush until he whispered. “Helena.” She inhaled a sharp breath when he rested a hand on her taut shoulder.
“You yearn to stay, don’t you?”
She still couldn’t speak. But her raw want was patent on her face.
He knew what she wanted, what she was afraid to articulate. A home, compassion, people whom she could love with her entire heart and to be loved back in kind.
He came to these mountains seeking something different. But he and she came seeking.
He wanted to hide her in his chest, wrap his arms around her so she wouldn’t see his face torn with conflicting emotions. He wanted to penetrate her, take her maidenhood, irreversibly claiming her as his to keep her locked safely in his gardens. In this moment of weakness, he was willing to conceal every crime he had uncovered about her father to give her what she wanted.
He remained still, his hand unmoving on her shoulder. “I’ve come to tell you that dinner is about to begin.”
∞∞∞
Theo raised his glass above Efa’s grand banquet. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. He had thought up a dull, dry toast yesterday—benign words about good friends, delicious food, and merry times.
But now Helena sat to his left, tugging at his emotions like a gravitational force. Her eyes were dilated with fear as she stared down at her plate, the light from the chandelier dancing on her cheeks. He could feel the heat of everyone’s gaze on his skin. Waiting. He opened his mouth, but made no sound.
The faces of dead soldiers began to overlay those of his neighbors, their eyes solemn, mouths grim, awaiting the words he had spoken to them before battle. Words like “loyalty,” “duty,” “honor,” “your queen,” “your country.” Words to calm their fear of death. But what words did he say now?
His men waited.
She waited.
Beyond the window, the trees and old stone wall were black against the lustrous hues of dusk.
The reverend cleared his voice. “Mr. Mallory?”
“Who has not been lost?” Theo began, his voice low and halting. “Who has not mourned? Who has not searched for mercy?”
Chairs creaked as people shifted uncomfortably.
Theo drew a small line on the table linen with his index finger. He hadn’t gone too far yet. He could say something about friendship and merry times together and end it all. His gaze strayed to Helena. She now looked at him, tears in her lashes, her lips parted. He clutched his glass.
“When I met Miss Gillingham in London months ago, I thought she was what society had led me to believe—vain, boisterous, and seemingly indifferent to the suffering of others.”
“Theo!” Emily hissed.
“But I was wrong,” he continued. “What I saw then was pain. I should have recognized it. I who acted so angrily and violently after the war that many thought I was mad. Well, perhaps they were right.” He chuckled dryly. “I came here…” He paused, trying to find more words. Although he wasn’t looking at her, he knew her throat burned, that she couldn’t see for her tears, and that she pulled at the edges of her sleeve under the table linen. He felt her as if they shared the same body. “You know I came here a broken man. You showed me compassion. Understanding. You took me in, provided me a home and a new life. Now I beg you do the same for Miss Gillingham. Today we are gathered with our families, our neighbors, with the people we love. But Miss Gillingham has never known that kind of love until she came to Mrs. Pengwern… to you. Give her the compassion you gave me. Give her a home—a true home in your hearts. She is innocent of her father’s crimes—”
“No,” she whispered.
“Let him finish,” Emily said, walking around the table to her cousin.
“But I am not innocent of my father’s crimes!” Helena cried.
Gasps echoed around the table.
“No, Helena,” Theo said, trying to stop her from this course. “You blame yourself—”
“I should have known what my father was doing.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. The tears falling down her cheeks spilled over her fingers. “How could I have not seen his crimes? I ruminate on every little sign I missed, every awful thing I said or did. My father was destroying lives and I only cared about my gowns or what balls I attended. How horribly I lived while he… I’m so ashamed.” She covered her face. “I’m so ashamed. I’m sorry. Believe me, I’m sorry. But that doesn’t make what happened any better.”
Emily drew Helena to her thin chest. “Quiet now.”
Theo could do nothing but watch, unable to go to her, pull her into his arms, and carry her away from the table. The room remained silent as her sobs abated. She kept her head cradled in the crook of Emily’s arm as her cousin soothed her hair.
“Croeso yma,” the reverend said quietly. Welcome here.
In a lovely unison, the guests repeated, “Croeso yma,” and tilted their glasses.
Theo’s muscles quaked. Sweat dripped down his back and pooled under his armpits.
“Now, if you don’t eat a portion of each dish, Mrs. Gordon will be acutely disappointed.” He laughed, forcing levity. The guests joined in his stiff laughter, all wanting to chase away the awkward emotional outburst.
He sank in his chair and closed his eyes, so he couldn’t see the ghosts of his soldiers staring at him. He had managed to give her sanctuary. The one thing he needed to avoid.
When he opened his eyes again, he found Helena gazing at him. A frail, loving smile graced her lips.
Sixteen
The dinner continued for hours. More and more wine was hauled from the cellars. The guests, sitting back in their chairs, eyes lustrous with alcohol, recounted uproarious stories of olden times. Emily smiled, encouraging Helena to join in the conversation, but Helena was content to remain quiet, taking in the wondrous evening. She watched Theo, Emily, and Megan interact with the villagers. They had given her the one true thing she had always wanted: a home. What mercy or grace in Heaven allowed her to have it? This couldn’t last. Something would take it away again. But she would not give in to her fears for tonight. She would hold tight to every lovely second.
Theo’s face had returned to its usual guarded visage—the veil restored to his eyes. He reminded her of that ancient stone wall surrounding his property. Solid and high—but between the cracks, she could see tender green leaves.
Twice, she had been inside his mind’s garden and seen the sensitive man below the surface. She wished he would let her inside again. She would use her mouth, her body to show him how grateful she was to him for giving her a family and home. She would give him anything he asked.
But he only wanted her friendship—to be her Owain. And she would content herself with that. At least he would always be close.
After the desserts had been removed, Theo rose and strolled down the length of the table. “Pardon me.” He bowed before Megan. “We are preparing the parlor for you to sing. It would be my honor to escort you, Miss Pengwern.”
Megan, cheeks flaming, looked to her mother, unsure of what do to. Emily nodded in encouragement and her daughter shyly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her.
Helena and Emily followed Megan and Theo into the parlor. Servants were hauling away the dinner table there and opening the doors to the adjoining rooms. Near the mantle, Gordon tuned his violin. He had donned a formal black coat, trousers, and a crisp white cravat. He pulled his bow slowly over the strings, keeping his ear close to the instrument, listening, and then adjusting the tension accordingly. Then he lifted his eyes and looked across the crowd to the back of the room.
Helena followed his gaze. Lingering in the corner, apart from everyone, was Mrs. Gordon. She watched her husband, seemingly unaware of the guests jostling about her. Mrs. Gordon was a riddle. She was not pretty, nor was she plain, but as she gazed at her scarred husband, a light glowed beneath her skin, turning her radiant. Helena was beginning to understand their kind of love.
“My friends,”
Theo called above the chatter. Megan kept her tight grip on him, her face pale and her large eyes locked on her mother. Theo patted Megan’s hand as he spoke. “The lovely Miss Pengwern has graciously agreed to entertain us with her beautiful voice.”
Loud applause and whistles rang out as Mr. Gordon began to play. He tapped his foot, setting a slow tempo, then nodded his head to cue Megan.
Her voice—quiet and thin, but still entrancing, filled the air. Emily snuggled closer to Helena.
Megan kept her clutch on Theo and her gaze latched onto her mother until the fear receded from her features and her voice grew stronger, creamier. And Theo quietly slipped away.
Helena thought he might join Emily and her, but instead, he crossed to the opposite corner of the room to Caroline Rees. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Caroline’s shoulders shook in a silent giggle. Despite the magical night and all Theo had done for her, a fierce jealousy tore through Helena.
She scolded herself as Caroline gazed at Theo with unabashed adoration. Helena shouldn’t be jealous, but grateful if Caroline made him happy. She should only want his joy, especially after the hell the man had known.
She forced herself to focus on Megan.
She sang another song, a mournful Welsh ballad. The guests joined in on the second verse. Helena peeked at Theo. His head was slightly bent, and his brows slanted low as he sang. He and Caroline swayed in perfect unison with the music.
“Look at me,” Helena whispered. He sipped from a glass of wine, wiped his mouth, and smiled at Caroline before resuming his singing.
The song ended with a doleful sustained note from Gordon’s violin. For several seconds, the room remained hushed, letting the sound die away. Then Gordon plucked four fast beats and then broke into a flurry of notes. A loud “whoop” rang from the dancers as they descended onto the floor. Helena lost Theo behind the rush.
Emily held out her arms, inviting Megan to embrace her, but the besotted Warren intercepted the girl. His ears were bright red like radishes. He wiped his large hand down the side of his trousers as he spoke. Megan’s brows fell with nervous apprehension, but she nodded her consent and let him draw her into the wild whirl of dancers.
Emily pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Oh, I’m not ready for my Megan to grow up.”
Helena felt the light touch of someone’s fingers on her arm and turned to find Mrs. Gordon. The housekeeper gestured to where a male servant was setting chairs along the wall. “For you and Mrs. Pengwern,” she said and hurried away.
“I don’t want to be a wallflower.” Emily stomped to the chair like a sulky child. She flung up her arms. “I desire to dance like I used to.”
The music was much faster than the way it was played in London and dancers skipped and hopped about performing what looked to Helena to be a cross between a country reel and a wild jig. The ladies’ skirts flared up in a blur of color and white petticoats as they spun under their partner’s arms. Those who were not dancing clapped and stomped to the beat, shaking the walls and floor.
She wanted to disappear into the center of the dancers and lose herself in the beat of the music, spinning and spinning until her mind was a blur. But she couldn’t dance with her father six months in the grave, so she held Emily’s hand and watched Megan. The girl danced in jerky, awkward motions. Several times she missed a turn and collided with another dancer. She would ball her fists, purse her lips, and then look to Helena and Emily for direction. They would discretely guide her with a point or turn of their fingers.
“Oh, the poor thing,” Emily cried. “You must teach her properly.”
When the dance was over, Megan comically blew out a long exhale of relief, lifting the stray wisps of hair from her forehead. She had started to walk off the dance floor when Theo diverted her. He executed an elegant bow as Gordon struck up an even faster country dance. Megan flushed and stepped back, bumping another couple, which sent her careening into Theo. He smirked and shook his head as if to say, “What am I going to do with you?” He strapped her arms around his shoulders, lifted her feet from the ground, and began dancing as if she were a great rag doll in his arms.
It was meant to be funny, but Helena prickled with envy—this time for her own beloved cousin.
“Isn’t Theo silly?” Emily shouted over the music.
Helena’s throat was too tight to answer. She gripped the chair’s armrest, watching Megan laughing and clinging to Theo’s body. It was an innocent dance, yet Helena couldn’t quiet the envy simmering inside her.
She was happy for Megan and her singing performance. She would be eternally grateful to Theo for giving her a sheltering home with her cousins in this stunning land. She should feel nothing but love and gratitude tonight. Why couldn’t she stem this ugly jealousy eating away at her?
After Theo and Megan’s ridiculous dance, he bowed before Caroline, beckoning her to the floor. Helena could take no more. She needed a moment to compose herself. She moved to rise from her seat only to be trapped by Mr. and Mrs. Rees.
Mr. Rees nodded to his daughter Caroline as she turned under Theo’s arm.
“Now there’s a happy couple,” Mr. Rees said. “Nothing would make me happier than for Mr. Mallory to propose and spare me the expense of taking Caroline to London.”
Emily shot him an arch look. “I think your daughter may have some competition in that quarter.” She cut her eyes to Helena.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Rees said, surprised.
“I... I would be thrilled if Mr. Mallory married Miss Rees.” Helena pressed her wet palms against her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “They seem quite happy together.”
“They do, they do.” Mr. Rees agreed.
“Mrs. Rees, you appear fatigued from dancing,” Helena said. “Please keep my Cousin Emily company. I desire a little fresh air.”
Helena bolted from the chair and edged through the crush of people before she could hear Mrs. Rees’s response. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but she needed to find a quiet place away from Theo and Caroline. A place where she could remind herself to be gracious and happy for him.
Outside, six or seven young men were clustered on the lawn, smoking and laughing. They straightened as she approached.
She quickly returned their greetings and hastily strode along the older wing leading to the ancient tower. She cut through the great arch in the old castle wing and came out on the back lawn.
The fat moon and creamy gold light spilling from the top windows staved off the dark night. The stone Roman monument rising from the tulips was shadowy in the residual light. She crossed to the labyrinth of flowers, savoring the cool breeze rushing against her cheeks and nose, bringing her back to her senses.
She could hear the muffled beat of the dance, but as she circled the path, the party seemed to be moving away from her, as if it had been cast out to sea. Her fingers caressed the tips of the tulips. Although she couldn’t see the mountains, she could feel them soaring high above her, forming a large protective wall between her and London. Her new life and her old one. An acute realization seized her mind: This was her home. This was truly her home.
∞∞∞
Did she not come back?
Theo had kept her in his periphery all evening. Mrs. Rees now sat in Helena’s chair. How did he manage to lose her? As a polite host, he should have asked Sophie, the other of the Rees’s daughters, to dance, but instead, he edged his way through the crowded sides of the room to the hall. Finding it empty, he continued his search to the dining room.
Men, languid with inebriation, slumped in their chairs, their feet extended.
“The English come here and expect us to speak their language,” the village postmaster was expounding. “They talk down to us, like they are our fathers and we the children, all the while stealing our stories, our heritage, and calling it their own,” he said, tapping the table with his finger. “A dry, cold, selfish lot they are. What do you say, Mr. Mallory?” he entreated, clearly forgetting Theo was
one the selfish English.
“You don’t need to convince me of their folly.” Theo reached for the bottle of port on the table and poured some into his glass. “I’ve seen enough people die for the so-called honor and glory of the English.” He sniffed the spirits and then took a sip, letting it burn the sides of his tongue.
He remained with the gentlemen, telling himself he shouldn’t be looking for her. Still, his eyes kept flicking to the corridor with every blur of a passing body. Then he turned back to find Reverend Jeffries observing him, a knowing twist to his mouth.
At last, he could wait no further. He rose and had to brace the table, suddenly feeling the toll of the spirits he had consumed.
“Pardon me, gentlemen.” He picked up his half-filled glass and strode to the hall.
A few overheated dancers leaned against the walls, fanning themselves. He crossed into the parlor and scanned the crowd. Now the entire Rees family had arranged themselves around Emily, but Helena was nowhere in sight. Emily beckoned to him to join her. He held up a finger, as if to say “In a moment,” and then strolled outside.
In the front garden, a cluster of young bucks formed a circle around two men who were throwing playful punches in a mock boxing match.
“Shouldn’t you fellows be inside dancing with the ladies?” Theo asked.
“They all want to dance with you,” said one of the two boxers.
“Mrs. Pengwern is seeking her cousin,” Theo said. “Have you seen her?”
“Aye, she walked that way.” The boxer jerked his head toward the tower. Meanwhile, his opponent saw an opportunity to go for his jaw.
“Ow!” the young man cried, rubbing his chin. “Damn you!” He dove at his rival only to be repelled by Theo’s hand. The boy stumbled back, falling into the boxwoods, to the great amusement of his friends.
“Stop fighting in my garden and go inside and dance,” Theo said over his shoulder as he walked away. “That’s a command, not a mere suggestion.”