A Mother For His Family

by Susanne Dietze

  He laughed. “So you haven’t heard. You will. In any case, take comfort in knowing you were not the only one who fell prey to my charms.”

  “I fell prey, but not to your charms. You assaulted me.” The urge to vomit on his shoes rose up her throat. “Stay away from me.

  She spun on her heel and hurried out to the carriage. How she’d manage to walk when her knees shook like saplings in a storm, she’d never guess.

  “Who is your friend?” Callum waved Swiss Family Robinson in the air.

  “No one of consequence.” Yet her voice quavered. So did her fingers when she settled the lap robe over Louisa.

  “You might have introduced us.” Margaret’s observation was a reprimand.

  At last, she could look Margaret full in the eye. The girl should be able to read the warning in her gaze. “You shall never be introduced to him. If you see him again, you must turn the opposite way.”

  “But he was so kind, gathering my book.” Margaret flopped against the seat. “He said he was honored, like a knight finding his lady’s handkerchief.”

  “Just like Cinderella.” Louisa held up Tabitha.

  “There’s no handkerchief in Cinderella.” Alex sniffed.

  “Every lady has a hanker-cheef,” Louisa countered.

  “Let us see if the Swiss Family Robinson has any handkerchiefs.” It sounded stupid even to Helena, but it was the best she could think up on the spot to change the subject. “When we arrive home, we may begin on our reading. We shall dazzle Miss Munro with all we’ve accomplished on her afternoon off.”

  As if it were a normal day, when everything inside her quaked with fear. If only John might return soon from Westminster. Please, Lord, may things not go late tonight so I won’t be alone.

  She blinked. Even if John didn’t return home until late, she wouldn’t be alone. God was with her, a comforting companion and strength even if she couldn’t see Him. Or—with her heart skittering with terror at seeing Frederick again—feel God with her.

  Her spine straightened. How far she had come, trusting God would care for her and be with her, even if she didn’t feel his presence in a physical way, like she had when she first walked into the stone kirk on her wedding day.

  God had been changing her, little by little, as slowly and surely as spring flowers pushing up through thawing ground after a long, cold winter.

  It was a hopeful thing that God’s work wasn’t finished yet. She would continue to grow in His love.

  And maybe someday, with God’s help, she might even pity Frederick Coles instead of loathing him.

  * * *

  Tugging his coat collar tighter about his neck, John pitied anyone sleeping on the streets this icy night. He and his close friend Carvey had ridden to Westminster Palace this morning, which had seemed a capital idea when they both thought they’d finish at a suitable hour. But discussions had gone late, and now they rode home through frigid blasts of wind when they could have been carried home in coaches like their far more intelligent peers.

  John cast Carvey a mock-glare his friend probably couldn’t see in the light of the waning moon. “Riding would give us time to clear our heads before returning home, you said. Fresh air. The peaceful sound of the horses’ hooves crunching frost underfoot. But all I hear is the chattering of your teeth.”

  Laughing, Carvey adjusted his hat farther down over his ears. “Spare me a shred of your famous compassion, man. You abound with it for every voiceless villager and child you represent in Parliament.”

  John’s horse snorted, echoing his thoughts. “There is compassion, but one must also acknowledge facts, and the fact is we are cretins for dragging our horses and out in this cold.”

  “Speaking of cold, Kelworth’s snubbing you tonight was unforgiveable.” Carvey muttered under his breath, no doubt calling Helena’s father a choice name. “How you manage with him as a father-in-law, I cannot fathom, unless it is—”

  “Compassion,” they said together.

  John laughed, but Kelworth’s turning away during John’s speech still galled. They didn’t have to agree on everything, but they could be polite to one another.

  What was almost worse, however, was Kelworth’s rebuff when John attempted to greet his father-in-law after the session. The affront stung, not for his sake, but Helena’s. She deserved better than to have her family disapprove of her husband.

  They might never like him, but for Helena’s sake—and out of obedience to God—John would never cease trying to extend grace to them.

  “I say, have we reached the square already?” Carvey came to a stop. John turned to gaze at the familiar-looking stoop. While light spilled from the ground-floor windows, the upstairs chambers appeared dark. Of course Helena would have gone to bed by this hour. A shaft of disappointment speared his stomach, but it was for the best she didn’t wait up for him. He was worn to a farthing.

  Still, he wanted to see her, something work had prevented him from doing much of these past few days. Despite their lack of time together, he felt closer to her, probably from having told her about Catriona.

  But he still hadn’t told her everything. Like the fact he was being blackmailed. A twinge of guilt twisted in his gut.

  I’ve wanted to protect her, Lord. Is that so wrong?

  Protecting her was as vital to him as protecting the children. His lovely Helena—

  “I said good night, old man. Has the cold affected your hearing?” Carvey snickered. “Or by the dazzled look on your face, are you thinking of your wife?”

  “Good night, Carvey. See you on the morrow.” He waved at his laughing friend. In minutes, the gelding was on its way to the cozy mews and John crossed the threshold to his house, soaking in the warmth of the vestibule while he removed his hat and ice-specked coat. A few minutes by the library fire would warm his hands and toes.

  But the library was occupied. Helena stood at his entrance. She was still dressed for dinner in a pale blue gown, wide-eyed, her mouth small and unsmiling.

  “What’s wrong?” He should have greeted her first, but the way her hands gripped the crimson shawl he’d given her, it was evident something was off. “Is it the children?”

  Her head shook a tiny bit. “He’s in London. F-Frederick Coles.”

  The fire snapped in the grate as the blood drained from his head to his boots.

  “Are you certain?”

  “We spoke.”

  John was before her in a moment. “Did he touch you?” Which was what John did now. Her cheeks were hot under his cold hands. “How did he find you?”

  “He didn’t touch me. Or call here. He was at Hookham’s.”

  Out in public like an innocent citizen. “He should be locked in Newgate Prison.”

  “We can’t seek justice in the courts without scandal.” Her head shook with such vehemence the blond curls at her temples bobbed against her cheeks.

  How wrong it was a woman was violated and punished for it, while her attacker slithered the streets. Something was truly amiss in society for this to be standard. John stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “I would never allow you to be shamed.”

  “Not me. You. I don’t wish to embarrass you or the children. Please, let it lie.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” There had to be some justice. Please, God. “I will speak to him.”

  He didn’t do as good a job keeping a growl from his throat as he’d hoped. Helena leaned back, eyes wide. “Confronting him will only make it worse.”

  Probably, and John might not be able to control his temper. Or his fists. But he shoved his anger down so as not to frighten Helena. “I will find a way to stop him. I do not know how, but I pray God grants us justice.”

  “I don’t think he’ll hurt me again.” She looked at the floor. “He said he only did it as a challenge. Because I was considered haughty and cold.”


  A challenge. John’s vision tinged scarlet. His fingers fisted and bitter bile filled his throat.

  God help me, but I don’t know what I’d do if Coles was here before me.

  Nothing good.

  But that didn’t mean John wouldn’t do all he could to seek justice for Helena, somehow. He swallowed back the bile and rage. “He is the vilest of blackguards.”

  “He said he’d done it before to others. What if he does it again to someone else?”

  John’s hands still trembled with the desire to do violence, but he willed himself to calm as he pulled her into his embrace, praying for peace all the while. “We shall pray God intervenes. Shows us what to do. Executes justice.”

  “I know Frederick is a rogue, but I can’t help but keep thinking about what he said people thought of me.” Her voice was small against his chest. “That I was so awful and cold I deserved to be brought low. That I deserved that fate.”

  “Never. You are lovely and kind and gentle. They are villains and you did not deserve this.”

  Did she believe him? Much as he wanted to hunt down Frederick Coles and throttle him and whoever had said such things about Helena, her sense of value was far more crucial right now, in this moment. “Your worth cannot be measured in coin, or jewels or anything else of this world. You are precious, Helena.”

  “I’m trying to remember that. But seeing him again—”

  She didn’t finish, so he hugged her tighter. Her forehead rested on his shoulder. His head dipped so his lips brushed her ear. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

  Just let Coles try to touch her. John’s fingers twitched.

  She pulled back, leaving his arms empty and cold, swiping her eyes. “He said something about secrets having value that made me think he might blackmail us.”

  Then he would have to stand in the back of the queue. Unless the falcon-seal letters were Coles’s work, as well—

  “What if he does?” She frowned. “Blackmail us, I mean?”

  Was Coles the owner of the falcon seal? John set the idea aside, for now. “We shall face it, should it come.”

  Guilt filled his chest, though. Since they were on the topic of blackmail, should he tell her about the notes he’d been receiving?

  Not now. Not when she was so raw with pain and fear. He’d only upset her more.

  But that didn’t mean John had no intention of acting on her behalf. “If there is a way to bring him to justice without sullying your name, to prevent him from hurting others as he did to you, I shall do all I can to achieve it, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes flashed at the endearment—in warning, not warming. Maybe calling her that was as bad as kissing her had been. He’d only wanted to extend comfort and care, but clearly he’d overstepped.

  He took a deep breath. “In the meantime, you must know you’re safe now.”

  She nodded. “I know. I never go out without one of the footmen, at any rate.”

  “And you have me.”

  Something passed over her features, like grief, but then it was smoothed as she donned the icy mask with the tiny smile. “I should let you retire.”

  “Helena.” What had happened? As she moved past the mantel clock, John sighed. It was indeed late. Helena was tired. She’d received a brutal shock today. Tomorrow, they’d discuss things further.

  She took up a candlestick and moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “Thank you, John.”

  “I’ve not done anything.” If he could, he’d go back in time to protect her from Frederick Coles.

  “You’ve done far more than you know.”

  Then she was gone, her figure swallowed by the dark in the hall.

  John might be tired, but anger surged through his veins, warming him more thoroughly than the fire burning in the grate. Ideas of how to put an end to Frederick Coles’s freedom bandied through his head, all of them ridiculous, only making him angrier.

  He slumped in the chair to pray, the one thing he should have done the moment Helena left him.

  After several minutes of conversation with God, John had more peace, if not answers. He sat back, his gaze touching on the post awaiting him on the desk.

  The post was the last thing he wished to review now, but he could use the distraction, so he ambled to the silver tray on the desk. Two items. Something from his solicitor. And a vellum rectangle with thick, bold script. He didn’t need to turn it over to know a falcon stamp pressed into the wax seal.

  He took the foul, falcon-sealed letter, shoved his finger beneath the seal, and yanked. “Is this from you, Coles?”

  It was the same sort of drivel. Vote a certain way and send money or Helena’s story would be exposed for public consumption. John flung the offensive page to the floor.

  If the blackmailer wanted money alone, then it would be in keeping with what Helena had said of Coles. But this particular rogue toyed with John, demanding John’s votes in the House of Lords, which remained a ridiculous request. Likewise, the money demanded was not so extravagant as to drain his coffers.

  Power motivated this blackmailer, not desperation.

  He bent to scoop up the letter. He’d need it for evidence. If Coles was indeed the blackmailer, he’d be brought to justice.

  For that crime, at least.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few mornings after the new year, Helena took breakfast in her chamber. She picked up a slice of buttered toast and opened the morning paper. At once her gaze fell upon an article that made her drop her food.

  Hand over her mouth, Helena hopped to her feet. If only John was home—but she’d watched him from her chamber window as he left a short time ago. Had he read the newspaper first? He’d be as angry as she was, no doubt.

  They’d not had much opportunity to speak since she saw Frederick at Hookham’s last week. The morning after that wretched encounter, she awoke with a sore throat, as did Callum, but hers turned into a nasty cold. John had granted her a privacy to recover she wasn’t certain she wanted, but she’d forced herself to remember the nature of their marriage.

  They might be friends, but they’d never be more.

  Still, she wanted to talk with him about this article—this foul, ridiculous, astonishing article lauding Frederick as a hero.

  She had to talk to someone.

  So once she ensured the children were settled with Miss Munro, she donned a cloak and bonnet, stepped out into the frigid winter morning and called on Mama.

  As she arrived, a tall, well-dressed gentleman with prematurely graying hair exited the house. Her footsteps slowed, and when he spied her, she offered a tentative smile. “Lord Holliver?”

  “Lady Ardoch.” They’d met several times, although he’d made no lasting impression on her. She’d had no idea he intended to ask Papa for her hand in marriage. Not until after it was done and Papa had soundly rejected Viscount Holliver in favor of the wealthier Duke of Bowden.

  Considering his failed proposal, seeing him now was somewhat awkward. He seemed to feel it, too, forcing a smile and staring at her as if he had questions he couldn’t politely ask.

  No surprise. She’d expected curiosity about her sudden marriage to a gentleman her father clearly didn’t adore. Let everyone wonder. But why was he here? He and Papa weren’t friends.

  And propriety didn’t allow her to ask, so she nodded and made to pass him.

  “I am hosting a musical evening in a fortnight.” His rushed words drew her around. “I should be honored if you and Lord Ardoch could attend.”

  “How kind.” Mama taught her never to accept or reject an invitation like this at once, but she wanted to accept, despite the awkwardness of the encounter. A social gathering! It had been so long!

  “I shall have my secretary send ’round an invitation.”

  She nodded, a sign of thanks as well as farewell. Her thoughts
projected ahead to the party. The prospect of an evening out was almost enough to distract her from what she’d read in the Morning Post.

  Almost. Her hands were clenched when she entered the house and the butler showed her into the morning room. Mama rose from an embroidery project but didn’t embrace her, bidding her to sit across from her. “Paying calls so early in the day?”

  “I am not the only one. I saw Lord Holliver.”

  “A personal invitation to a gathering.”

  Strange. But Helena had more pressing matters. “Have you seen today’s Morning Post?”

  “If you mean the article about Frederick Coles, yes.” Mama bent to search out something from her embroidery bag. “You must put that nasty business behind you.”

  “But he is in London. And he’s being extolled as a hero? He is no such thing.”

  “Yet there it is, in print.” Mama dropped pale blue floss onto the table between them. “Lord Bridgewell was robbed of a diamond stickpin and three rings during a supper party. Mr. Coles, upon his exit from the party, caught sight of a flash under a window and discovered the jewels before Bridgewell even knew they were missing. The burglar must have been frightened and dropped them when he made his escape, but a ruby ring is still missing. Bridgewell’s grandest, too.”

  “I cannot believe it.”

  “The robbery, or the quality of the ring? Because it is exquisite. The ruby is unlike any I’ve seen.”

  Not those. “Frederick Coles as a hero, Mama. The thought is repugnant.”

  Mama’s blond brow arched. “We cannot deny he did something gallant. Society will forever behold him as an ethical personage, despite his less-than-perfect behavior outside the public eye.”

  Helena snorted. “He is not to be trusted.”

  “I did not say I trust him. But my friends do. Lord Holliver was saying Coles is a decent gentleman, one of his closest friends. I cannot contradict him without providing cause. And if you do not wish the truth out, you should not either. If it bothers you so, return to Scotland, because here you will ever be reminded of him.”

  “I’m reminded of him wherever I go. You know what he did to me.”