With numerous outdoor staff, that wasn’t likely to happen, but Margaret had grasped the excuse to encounter Archibald. “Did Agnes know where you were?”
“I needed air. If she thought I meant the garden, it isn’t my fault. I didn’t lie.”
“You misled, though.” Helena chewed her lip. “What happened next?”
Margaret rolled her tear-reddened eyes. “Archie laughed when he saw me and asked if Uncle John had baby girls in charge of his horseflesh now. A baby! Even though he’s no more than a year older than me—” She broke off, flushing. “When Meeker came back, Archie didn’t pay attention to me at all. And everyone hates me because I let go of Louisa’s hand.”
Helena offered poor Margaret the handkerchief she’d tucked in her sleeve. “No one hates you. Watching Louisa was my job, not yours. As for Archibald Dunwood, he’s a witless boy to call you names.”
“I thought Archie liked me.”
Helena understood the feeling. “Sometimes people don’t pay attention to how their actions make others feel. But other times, people are cruel.” She swallowed hard. “It sounds like Archie is the former, but it is good to remember for the future—we cannot trust our hearts to just anyone. We must wait for a worthy gentleman.”
“Like Uncle John.”
Precisely like John. “He’s a man of his word, isn’t he?”
When Margaret nodded without looking away or rolling her eyes, Helena felt something shift in the air, like things were different betwixt her and Margaret now. A little better.
Helena wrapped her arms around Margaret. To her surprise, Margaret didn’t pull back.
* * *
Pressing his seal into the blob of wax, John sealed the letter to Carvey responding to the news of the massacre and said a prayer. God in heaven, what a disaster in Manchester. Heal those afflicted.
He set his head in his hands. Despite his concern for those affected by the massacre, his thoughts kept flitting back to Helena and their conversation an hour ago, before Carvey’s messenger arrived.
Had he really so much to learn about his children’s lives? While he was in London for months at a time, he received clinical reports on their growth and acquisition of skills. But he’d no idea Alex was concerned about being heir, or how Callum felt about not being heir. Was Helena right about Margaret, too? She needed his approval? And were he and Catriona wrong about Louisa? Did she want and deserve more than he imagined for her?
He’d missed those things, but Helena, a stranger to them, had seen it all.
The object of his musings appeared in the library door, her head tilted in a wary pose. Gone was the fervent, insistent woman from an hour ago, when the calm, cool exterior she affected had cracked and she’d passionately demanded he listen to her. Now, she was collected again, her face expressionless, but her eyes were hesitant.
“Forgive me for disturbing you.” She’d changed gowns, into something brown and serviceable.
“You aren’t disturbing me.” It was just as well she’d come. They had a conversation about the children to finish. He rose from the desk and stepped toward her, catching whiffs of her rosewater-and-soap smell.
Her face contorted in confusion. “How could such a thing happen? In Manchester?”
John’s brows lifted. He’d not expected her to ask about that. Catriona was never curious about anything beyond the borders of Comraich. “The magistrates attempted to arrest the orator, Henry Hunt. Somehow chaos grew out of it. A dozen dead. It’s rumored a child was trampled.”
Her hands clutched at her waist. “I will pray for all those affected.”
“As will I.” He’d already begun, but her intention to pray soothed his frayed nerves like a salve. Ironic, as she had set them on edge before Carvey’s man even arrived. He almost smiled.
“Will you leave for London, then?” Her voice didn’t sound eager or resigned, just curious.
Duty called, but Helena had reminded him he had another duty, too, to his children. “Not yet, but I expect Parliament to resume earlier than planned. By Christmas, certainly. Before then, however, I’d like to spend more time with the children. Would you care to talk with me now about how I might grow more acquainted with them?”
To his surprise, she shook her head. “I’ve received a note. Gemma has been brought to bed with the child. Cousin Tavin wonders if I will come now.”
“Do you wish to?” From her face, he couldn’t tell. He’d be shaking in his boots at the prospect.
“If it is expected. I am a married relative. And I do not wish her to feel alone.”
Without doubt, Mrs. Knox had hired a professional accoucheur to deliver the baby, but everyone wanted family nearby during times of difficulty or change, didn’t they?
Even Helena, who had no one but him and the children. As far as he knew, she hadn’t yet received a letter from her parents or sisters.
“They are family.” Hers and now his, through her. “If you wish to go, you must.”
“I may be late tonight, although I think Gemma’s pains began this morning.” She flushed, as if mortified she’d spoken of such intimacies.
“I’ll summon the carriage for you. Will you stay the night?”
“I will, if it is past midnight.” She nodded farewell, then turned at the door. “You should know, Margaret has had a difficult day. She may be tender.”
John puffed out a breath. Weren’t they all?
* * *
Gemma’s grimace of pain rent Helena’s heart. The pangs of childbirth were more severe than she’d imagined. She took the warm, wet cloth from the basin and dabbed Gemma’s forehead, but the gesture did little to ease Gemma’s suffering.
Useless. Helena was useless. She squeezed the cloth so hard it dripped onto her gown. Why was she here? She had no knowledge to impart. No experience. Gemma must be so disappointed by Helena’s inability to comfort her.
Lord, if you hear a sinner like me, please keep Gemma and the babe safe. And back at home, watch over the children.
She clutched the damp cloth to her chest. Were the children well? Had Louisa eaten any meat tonight? Had Callum eaten too much of it? What if Alex had another nightmare and she was not there to comfort him? How did Margaret fare after their talk this afternoon?
Home—she’d called Comraich home in her prayer for the children. Even more startling was the realization blossoming in her chest. She loved the children. Louisa and the boys and even Margaret.
And John, too? Her breath stuck in her throat. He’d been so angry with her today, but he hadn’t banished her. He’d listened to her, and now sought her opinions on raising his children. And a month ago, he’d rescued her from shame and entrusted his children and home to her. He was as handsome as he was honorable. Any woman would be proud to be his wife—
Did she love him, too? Her heart thumped harder. She couldn’t love him, unless it was the way she loved the children, because it would only invite pain and loneliness. They didn’t have a real marriage.
Besides, she was ruined, not worthy of being loved. Helena placed the cloth back by the basin, scolding herself. A fine man like John, loving her like that? Ridiculous.
It doesn’t matter. You do love him.
“Not like that,” she said aloud.
Gemma’s eyes opened.
“I’m sorry to wake you.” Helena fussed with the bedcovers to hide her shaking hands.
“I wasn’t asleep.” Gemma’s head shook an inch.
“What can I do for you? Read the Bible?” At Gemma’s nod, Helena read a few Psalms before thumbing to the familiar passage from Ruth she’d read multiple times since taking the Bible from the library at Comraich. “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
She had gone where John was and taken his people as her own. And tonight she�
��d realized God had heard her prayer. He’d given her love for them, after all.
A soft breeze fluttered the nape of her neck. The windows were open to the twilight to ward off puerperal fever, according to the Glasgow accoucheur, a male midwife Tavin and Gemma had hired to assist with the birth, who now took supper in another room.
“Should I read more Scripture? Or do you wish to talk of mindless things? The castle you and Tavin are restoring looks more like a home every day.” When Gemma didn’t answer, Helena fumbled with the water pitcher. “Are you thirsty?”
“No water.” A high voice drew her gaze. The spindle-legged accoucheur bustled into Gemma’s bedchamber from the sitting room. Behind him, a dark head peeked into the room before drawing back. Poor Cousin Tavin, not allowed inside, because gentlemen did not skulk about their wives’ bedchambers at such a delicate time. Although Tavin was well acquainted with the art of skulking in his work for the Crown, so perhaps he could not help it.
And something about his persistence struck Helena as sweet and right.
She gladly vacated her seat when the accoucheur shooed her away. “A moment, if you please, Lady Ardoch?”
Helena hurried out to Tavin, whose dark hair was mussed, probably from multiple tugs from his fretful fingers.
“How is she?”
“As expected.” At least, she thought so. “Why don’t you look at a book whilst you wait?”
“I cannae read a word, knowing she’s hurting.” Tavin’s mouth twisted, as if Gemma’s pain was too difficult to be borne.
But bear things they all must, tonight. “Your role is to pray and wait. Gemma is busy with hers. Hold fast.”
“And are you? Holding fast?”
“For certain.” She smiled, but it was her artificial smile. The one Mama taught her to affix. Real smiles were toothy and vulgar, after all. Especially Helena’s.
Tavin’s brow arched. “Not just tonight. Ardoch. Did I do wrong sending you to him?” Tavin’s gaze penetrated to her bones. She had to look down, lest he see too much in her eyes.
“He is a good man.” And someone she loved, but not like that. “We are becoming friends.”
“I’d hoped love might grow betwixt you someday.”
Oh, no. She couldn’t discuss this with Tavin. In a spontaneous gesture, she kissed his stubbly cheek. “You are a good man, too.”
The accoucheur nodded at her return and indicated she could resume her perch bedside.
Was this what it might have been like for her, had she married John in a traditional sense? Alas, she would never know the pains of childbirth. Nor would she know the anticipation, the joy, the love saturating this room like perfume whenever Tavin poked his disobedient head in the threshold, as he did right now.
Greed crawled over her skin like an itch. All of a sudden, she wanted this, a marriage and family with all the pain and fear and love, every bit of it. Her hands gripped the edge of her chair.
Telling God outright how she felt would be so ungrateful. He’d given her four children to care for, after all. Whether or not they loved her, Helena loved them, and she wouldn’t abandon them.
Or Gemma. She took up the warm cloth again. She may not know what to do, but she could be present for Gemma. Just as she would be for John’s children. And John, if she could love him enough to be his friend. But no more.
* * *
As darkness fell, John and Margaret settled on the terrace to watch the moon rise. Helena’s suggestion he didn’t know the children churned discomfort in his gut, so he extended Margaret the invitation, and she’d readily agreed.
Margaret gazed up at Orion, looking so much like Catriona a pang of grief and a spark of joy mixed together in a strange muddle in John’s chest. She was not his child and yet she was. He couldn’t love her more if she’d been born to him.
Birth was on both their minds tonight, with the Knox baby arriving. Margaret shifted. “Do you know what I was like as a baby?”
“You were a beautiful baby.” He didn’t know for sure, since Margaret was born long before John and Catriona’s marriage, but all babies were beautiful. The twins and Louisa certainly had been. “I remember well the day you came to live with us. Six years old, with eyes so big and blue I suspected you held the secrets of the lochs inside your pretty head.”
“I do not believe you.” But she giggled.
“How could I forget the first moments I beheld any of my four children?”
Margaret’s eyes shone suspiciously bright. He squeezed her shoulders, and then tipped his head back. “Orion’s belt is much brighter now.”
“What happened with the bull today isn’t Helena’s fault.” Her words jarred him from Orion.
“No, it is not.” Although Louisa would not have been in danger had Helena—
“I let go of Louisa’s hand. We all looked away, so we are all to blame. I’m not saying Helena is a perfect stepmother, but she is new to the task. I suppose we should give her more of a chance.”
“Oh?” A slow smile pulled his cheek. “I think so, too.”
Something shifted in him, like the stiff, shuddering movement of gears in an old, just-wound clock. It was out of time, unaccustomed to use, clogged with dust and grime, but once wound, the hands moved despite years of neglect.
Helena. His wife. When she dropped that artificial smile of ice, a fire lit her from within, making her eyes spark. She was so beautiful. It wouldn’t be hard at all to love her.
He shoved the thoughts away. Helena was never to be more than his friend.
But now that he’d entertained the thought of something more, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Chapter Eleven
Several hours later, Helena’s carriage pulled into the drive at Comraich, and at once, a glowing rectangle of light escaped the front door. Kerr met her on the stone steps. “Welcome, my lady.”
In the dim of the lone candelabrum, it almost looked as if Kerr’s brows lifted into something like relief. But then the look was gone, and his features returned to their usual stoic state.
She must be weary, indeed. Surely the butler had not fretted over her late return.
“All is well, I trust?”
“Aye, milady. Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you. Good night.” She started up the stairs, her feet aching as if she’d trod all the way home on her own two legs. The downy softness of her pillow beckoned, although sleep might be difficult to attain despite her fatigue. She had witnessed a miracle, and such a thing did not flit from one’s mind easily.
Her head lifted like a marionette’s, tugged upward by a string.
John stood on the landing, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his neck cloth abandoned. His index finger tapped on the polished oak of the landing rail, the beat more anxious than frustrated. Had he waited up for her? Was he still angry with her about her confronting him? He did not seem it. He seemed worried.
Pah. John must have indigestion to be up and dressed at this hour. “You’re awake.”
“You said you’d come home if the child came before midnight. And it is not yet midnight.”
She climbed the stairs, her feet no longer aching. “I was ready to return to my own home.” To Comraich. This was where her heart lay, where she was safe. This was where John was, and however she loved him, she wanted to be with him now. To share more time with him. “Might I join you in the library?”
“Please. I’m curious about the babe.” His half smile made her heart flutter.
They walked in silence to the shadowed library, with its comforting scents of moldering paper and wood smoke. She paused before her usual wing chair and loosened her cloak. Weariness affected her fingers, however, and they fumbled with the bonnet strings under her chin.
“Here.” John reached out to loosen the strings. He scarcely touched her—he must have tried hard
not to touch her—but the graze of his fingers left shivery trails on her throat.
“Th-thank you.”
He smiled, lay her cloak over a chair and set the bonnet on a side table beside a stack of papers. Ah. That was why he stayed awake, because of the events in Manchester. How foolish to think it had anything to do with her.
“Are you certain you don’t wish tea?” John must have heard her refuse Kerr’s offer.
“There was tea by the bucketful at the Knox household.” Helena couldn’t contain her grin. “Gemma is well. So is wee Eugenie Cassandra.”
“A girl?” John chuckled as he sat. “Tavin will be besotted.”
“He already is.” Baby Eugenie was so perfect. Gray, unfocused eyes; the dark hair of her father; ears pink and small as the seashells on Brighton’s shore; and a wail that belied the tiny lungs that set it forth. “She’s named after her grandmothers.”
“Tomorrow we shall toast the good health of Tavin, Gemma and Eugenie Cassandra.” His eyes softened. “How did you fare?”
“I was useless.” But she said it with a smile. “I had nothing to offer her.”
“You offered her love. That’s enough.”
Was it? Had her presence and care been enough? Was her love enough for God, too?
John’s eyes crinkled in concern. “I imagine the evening was difficult for you.”
Helena studied her fingers. “I’m sorry we argued.”
“That isn’t what I meant, but I’m sorry, too.”
“I wish us to be friends, John.” The admission made her cold. She might as well have cut open her chest and scooped out her heart for his judgment.
“We are.”
His response was so quick, she did not believe it. “You were so angry with me.”
“I was. And still am, because I do not like to be challenged. Do you?”
“Not in particular,” she admitted.
He laughed. “We will work through it tomorrow. Right now there are other things to discuss. You and I may speak plainly, may we not?”
A Mother For His Family Page 10