“Anything more, milady?” Barnes folded her hands at her waist.
“Thank you, no.” Helena hurried to the nursery. Iona lounged on the rug with the playing children. The remnants of breakfast had not been cleared from the table, and the scent of bacon lingered in the air. Agnes and Miss Munro bobbed curtsies. Helena greeted them, dismissed them to their team and hastened to the children, touching each in greeting.
“How long will you be gone?” Alex peered up at her.
“One night in Edinburgh is all,” she told them for the hundredth time.
“Why may we not come?” Alex folded his arms. “Why are you going alone?”
Callum rubbed Iona’s ears. “They aren’t going alone. They are taking Barnes and Ritchie with them.”
“They are servants,” Margaret chided.
“But we’re their children.” Louisa’s protest brought up Helena short. It was the first time one of the children mentioned her with ownership.
She bit back her smile. “Our business would be of little interest to you. We are visiting a school to observe their teaching methods.”
“You mean Uncle John is observing for the bill he’d like to propose at Westminster, and you will shop.” Margaret’s tone held a tinge of envy.
Helena wouldn’t correct her misunderstanding. “Perhaps you and I can shop sometime soon.” Things between her and Margaret were still tenuous. Finding common ground seemed to help. If Margaret liked shopping, then Helena would oblige. “A visit to the linen draper’s would be most welcome.”
“That’s boring. I like pastry shops.” Callum grinned. “Let us come to Edinburgh, please?”
“Please?” Louisa curled her dolly, Tabitha, to her chest.
“Not this time.” Helena sighed. “We shall miss you terribly, though.”
“We are accustomed to having no parent in residence.” Margaret’s voice was sharp, resembling its old, tart tone.
Helena could understand Margaret’s frustration, however. John would be leaving for London in a few weeks for his parliamentary duties. The thought unsettled her, too. She wrapped her arm around Margaret’s slim shoulder and squeezed, even though she knew Margaret still wouldn’t respond. At least Margaret didn’t move away. “I shall bring you all something.”
Louisa hopped like a robin. “What will you bring me?”
“I do not yet know.” Helena’s mama used to bring her rosewater after trips.
“I should like a sword,” Alex offered.
“She won’t buy you a sword, ninny.” Margaret slipped outside the semicircle of Margaret’s arm. “You’d hack off your own foot.”
Callum leaped at Alex, wielding a spoon from the table as a weapon. Iona joined the fray, barking and jumping on the boys’ legs.
“I want a sword, too!” Louisa scuttled toward her shuffling brothers.
“No fighting, play or otherwise.” Helena took the spoon. “Not in such close quarters.”
Iona kept jumping. “What a rambunctious lot you are.” Helena pushed the dog’s paws off her legs, hoping Iona didn’t soil her primrose traveling gown. The yellow fabric would easily show dirt or oil—
Or jam, which Louisa now unknowingly spread on her knee. Helena would have to change her ensemble.
Margaret screeched. “Mouse!”
A shudder of disgust slithered up Helena’s legs. Rodents lived in walls and under floorboards, of course, but knowing one was in the room set her knees to wobbling. “Are you certain?”
“It’s gray and loathsome,” Margaret insisted, pointing to the cupboard by the girls’ bedchamber. No gray fluff was evident, but Iona investigated the area.
Helena cleared a wide berth of the cupboard on the way to the bell pull, praying a member of the staff would respond with astounding promptness. “This is your doing, lads?” She’d not forgotten the disaster at her wedding.
“No, we promise.” Callum’s nostrils didn’t flare, so chances were good he was being truthful.
Alex rushed to the cupboard, gently pushing Iona aside. “But I want this one since we lost the old one.”
“Oh, no. There will be no more mice in waistcoats in this house.” Helena’s breakfast crept up her throat.
Margaret shrieked as Iona, and presumably the mouse, dashed into the girls’ bedchamber. “Get it out before it gives birth in my bed!”
“Will there be mouse babies in my bed?” Louisa’s eyes welled with tears.
Helena hoisted her into her arms. “No.”
“I do hope so,” Alex said at the same time.
Of course John entered the nursery now, when the room was in utter chaos.
Her face burned. She was probably as scarlet as the jam stain on her gown. He lifted Louisa from her arms. “What’s all this?”
“There’s a mouse and Alex hopes it has babies in my bed and they can all live in his waistcoat.” Louisa sniffed. “What will you bring me from Edinburgh, Papa?”
Ah, to be young and able to dash from disaster with such ease.
“Something fetching.” His lips twitched, then curved into a frown. “Is that blood, lady wife?”
Her blush heated further, like a warm kettle put farther into the fire. Really, he shouldn’t call her lady wife. Especially in such a sweet tone. “Strawberry jam.”
He set Louisa down. “Callum, help Alex with the dog and remove her from the nursery. Ah.” At the arrival of Adam the footman, he issued instructions like a military general. “Summon Miss Munro, Agnes, a cage or two, and some cheese.”
“We’re to trap her? I’d rather have a pet cat.” Margaret hopped on tiptoe.
“No cat. Don’t kill her, Papa,” one of the boys shouted.
“Or him,” Helena clarified. Or worse—them. All this talk of baby mice was most unsettling.
“Pet cat or no, mice cannot live as pets in the nursery,” John insisted.
The boys groaned. Margaret sat at the table with a look of triumph.
The way John took control was delightful. Helena could have sighed with pleasure, but then, she wouldn’t wish him to mistake it for appreciation of how fine a figure he cut in his deep blue coat and fawn pantaloons.
Miss Munro hastened in, apologetic and fussing. She gasped at the sight of Helena’s pelisse. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“Nonsense.”
“Our departure will await you making any necessary changes.” John nodded at her. “No need to hasten.”
“I shall indeed make haste. I do not wish to be late for our appointment.”
She returned a few minutes later, donned in a dirt-concealing moss-green ensemble. The children and John gathered around the nursery table, regaling Agnes and Miss Munro with their versions of the events.
“I want to keep the mousie.” Alex frowned.
“And it wants to be free. Preferably out of doors.” John smiled.
Helena adjusted her gloves. “Has it been caught?”
“Not in all this noise.” Then John took each child in an embrace and dotted swift kisses on their brows. “Take care of Iona, now. Listen to Miss Munro and Agnes.”
Helena followed behind, embracing the children. Margaret, again, neither responded nor pulled away. The boys squirmed under her kisses, but Louisa snuggled close. “We shall see you on the morrow.”
“With presents.” Louisa patted Helena’s cheek and then kissed it. The child smelled of jam and soap.
“With presents,” she agreed. And hopefully something more for Louisa, as well. A plan for her future.
* * *
It was a fine day to travel, dry and bright, not so warm the carriage grew stuffy, not so cool they required lap robes. John had offered one to Helena anyway, but she’d refused, and they’d spent the past four hours in light conversation, comfortable but superficial.
“Have you already decided on pre
sents for the children, then?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” Her smile was the genuine one he liked so well. He’d seen more of it these past ten days than he had in the first month of their marriage, as if their conversation about Frederick Coles had in some small way been healing for her, and the real woman beneath the beautiful but stoic mask was emerging through the facade.
As she talked about ideas for toys for the children, her eyes shone, and he sat back against the plush carriage squabs and watched her, allowing himself to forget he had no business liking her smile or her voice or her nearness. Only for a moment, though. He may be her husband, but he had promised Helena—and Catriona—he would not behave like one.
Even if he was starting to wish everything had been much, much different.
He’d asked God to submerge the rising feelings he held for Helena, and even now repeated his silent petition.
Her delicate hand waved. “I was thinking we might purchase doll clothes for Louisa. Something with texture and ribbons. She should learn to tie a bow.”
John nodded. “Doll clothes it is, then.” Although Louisa might never tie the wide bow of a bonnet under her own chin, much less slender ribbons on doll clothes.
Helena twisted toward him. “You don’t think she can accomplish it.”
“I said nothing of the sort.” He tried to look affronted, but his smile won out.
“Where is your faith?” The tone was light, but the words struck his gut.
John had not offered to make the trip because he had faith they’d find true help at the Relief for the Blind. He came to offer Helena a gift, to prove he listened to her. Perhaps he should have included faith in God in his equation.
“My faith, or lack thereof, is about to be reckoned with, for it appears we are near our destination.” He tapped the window beside him. Nicolson Street, if he was not mistaken.
Helena leaned toward him to look out his side of the coach, filling his nostrils with her rosewater scent. “I haven’t paid any mind to the scenery at all.”
“Because my conversation was so scintillating.”
She looked about to tease a response, but then the carriage lurched to a stop before a wide house. The Edinburgh Asylum for the Relief of the Indigent and Industrious Blind. Helena’s gulp was audible.
A slither of anxiety shot up John’s spine. “Ready?”
She nodded, but her smile fell into an artificial mask. When he took her hand and assisted her from the carriage, he squeezed.
Her head tipped up and she met his gaze. “You are a kind man.”
Something raw and honest in her eyes struck him in the chest like a flame-tipped arrow, spreading heat to his limbs. It was too much and not enough all at once. He wanted to kiss her.
No. He’d promised Helena and Catriona he’d never—and why was he thinking such things on a public street, anyway? He took Helena’s arm. “Kind, eh? Let us hope you still think so in five minutes.”
Within moments, they were ushered inside a clean but dimly lit study with the gentleman in charge, Mr. Holme, a small-boned man in his thirties with ash-brown hair and a wary expression. He was probably unaccustomed to being in the presence of a lord and lady. John smiled to set the fellow at ease.
“Thank you for accommodating us. We have come as a matter of curiosity. As I wrote in my letter, my daughter is blind.”
Holme’s head dipped. “So I recall, my lord.”
“Naturally I’m interested in donating to charitable organizations devoted to assisting the blind.” At John’s remark, Helena spun to look at him.
“You’ll not find many such places, if I may say so, my lord.” Holme shook his head. “The Relief for the Blind is one of a few in Europe, besides Paris and Liverpool. Our goals were set forth near thirty years ago, and remain unchanged. To promote for our residents’ welfare, and to provide education and training in an industry.”
“How do you do this?” John sat forward.
“With patience, my lord.”
“And care?” Helena spoke for the first time.
“We see to the physical and spiritual needs of our residents.” Holme’s face cracked into a smile. “Perhaps the best way to illustrate how we teach is by showing you. Would you like to meet some of our residents?”
“Yes,” John blurted. He offered his arm to Helena, and she eagerly took it.
The sound of singing met them in the hall. Helena tilted her head. “What fine voices.”
Holme grinned. “Our residents have no limitations placed upon their tongues, nor their hands.”
They entered a large, open chamber. More than a dozen men in neat clothing sat on the oak-planked floor beside bowls of tools and sundry materials. Each held a wooden board on his lap.
“They make brushes today.” Pride tinged Holme’s tone. “They also make other handcrafts, such as baskets or mattresses. When they leave us, they should find gainful employment.”
“They will support themselves?” John blinked.
“Aye, my lord.”
If these men could weave baskets, form mattresses, Louisa could do many things, too. She would be able to tie the bow Helena wanted to teach her, mayhap sew a seam, even though her eyes might never view her stitches. Lord, is this possible for Louisa?
John wished to speak to the men, yet at the same time he’d no idea what he’d ask. The questions running through his brain all related to how he and Catriona chose to raise Louisa. Do you walk outside? Are you fed or do you hold your own spoon?
The men found pegs and tiny hammers and measured bristles without the benefit of sight. Clearly they could manage a fork at table. How stupid he had been. Stupid and afraid.
A young man with freckles spattered over his thin nose stopped his work and singing at John’s approach. He tipped his head, like Louisa when she heard a noise.
John cleared his throat. “Your work is well done.”
“Thank you, sir.” How old was this lad? Twenty?
John asked about the youth’s history before moving to the next man, and then the next. He inquired as to their names and villages and expressed appreciation. Behind him, Helena did the same.
Although it felt like a betrayal to acknowledge it, Catriona would never have spoken as Helena did. Catriona would never have even entered the building.
After John and Helena circled the group, Holme held out his arm. “Would you care to return to my office?” As John and Helena followed, he kept up a steady stream of information. “Our first home was smaller. This residence affords us greater space. As yet, however, we have no facility for women.”
“Pity. I wish for everyone, male and female, to learn and fulfill their potential.” John had such a plan ready to propose to Parliament for impoverished children, but in his ignorance, he’d forgotten about children like Louisa.
“That is our hope, as well.” Mr. Holme smiled. “There are more interested in living here than we can accommodate. Some are born blind, although one of our residents was struck by a branch last winter. His life changed in an instant.”
“My Louisa had sight during early infancy.” His words came out in a rush. He hadn’t spoken of it in so long, there was no stopping the flow once begun. “Her first smile—she looked me in the eye when she was a few weeks old and she smiled at me. But she got sick and when she recovered, her gaze didn’t follow the direction of her smiles. Clouds covered her eyes.”
Helena brushed a tear from her lashes.
Holme’s brow rose. “Was she examined?”
“Yes, by the family physician, but there was nothing he could do.” Not for Louisa, at any rate. But Catriona had needed a great deal of attention afterward. She’d been impossible to calm since Louisa grew ill, and from then on, she demanded a steady dose of laudanum.
John swallowed hard, aching his throat. “I attended university with a fellow whose sist
er was born blind. They treated her like a doll, not a person. When the physician said we must protect Louisa, I never questioned it.”
“You never consulted anyone with particular knowledge of the eye?”
A chill pricked John’s skin. “Is there someone with such expertise?”
“Aye, there are a few. Seems providential, your coming.”
“Could her sight be restored?” John never dared hope something could be done for Louisa beyond keeping her safe and comfortable.
“She’d require an exam, of course.”
“Then I shall bring her here.”
“What about London?” Helena’s hand clutched her armrest. “You are soon to leave.”
The massacre in Manchester on Saint Peter’s Field necessitated his return to London in a few weeks. His duty, however, was not just to king and country. It was time he proved it. “There is no finer place for medical training than Edinburgh. If there’s someone here who knows the working of the eye, I’d like Louisa to be examined.”
“Are you certain?” Her love for Louisa glowed on her face. His hand moved without his thinking about it and took her fingers in a gentle touch of reassurance, but he felt it to his boots.
Helena’s pupils dilated. He didn’t breathe, didn’t think, until Holme’s cough jarred him to the present.
“The best doctors are Scottish, that’s true. But there’s one I think you should see who isn’t here in Edinburgh.”
“Where is he?” John would go anywhere, anytime.
Holme smiled, crimping his eyes to half-moons. “You’d best prepare for a trip south, because the doctor in question is teaching in London.”
“Perfect. I’ll take Louisa to London with me.”
Surely, Helena would be as delighted as he. He turned to her, but her face had frozen into that all-too-familiar mask of ice.
Chapter Thirteen
Helena fixed her calm smile in place and kept it there as they thanked Mr. Holme, stopped to buy the children presents and made their way to the inn. She’d forced the smile throughout a supper she could barely taste, and kept smiling while they retired to the sitting room they shared. John sat at the small desk, writing to his friend Carvey in London, while she sat by the fire stitching embellishments on an altar cloth.
A Mother For His Family Page 12