Lady Angela’s words focused her thoughts. Lady Angela was her friend. A young lady looking for a husband just like Helen was. Both of them were considered bluestockings but unlike Angela, Helen knew her looks made many men overlook her more studious disposition. Her dowry helped too. However, due to their studious dispositions, neither of them had men lining up to request a dance.
Helen looked at Beatrice and Portia and the other Libertine Scholars’ wives surrounding her as they waited for her to answer Angela. “He is rather handsome, don’t you think?” was all she could think to say. But not nearly as handsome as Clary. Unfortunately, Lord Fairfax also knew he was handsome. A rake of the first water, he always looked in a mirror as he strolled by.
Arrogance was his middle name. The son of the Earl of Wrotham, he was a wealthy catch most mothers tried to reel in. He was of marriageable age, a few years younger than her brother. Helen thought marriage to him would be hell. He wanted an ornament on his arm and a woman to produce an heir. He had no idea who she really was and would never care enough to find out. He saw pedigree. He saw good breeding. He saw alignment of families and money. But he did not really see her.
Did Clary?
She’d decided she would not marry any man who did not understand who she was. She wanted what her sister and brother had with their partners. A person who filled her soul and her heart. A man who treated her as an equal. A man like Clary.
Why that thought flashed in her mind she did not know. They hardly knew each other—only she felt as if she’d known him forever. She knew nothing of Clary’s past other than it was likely very different from hers.
But the idea of marriage to Clary was—was what? Ridiculous. Ludicrous. Outrageous. Disastrous.
Desirous.
When she looked up from her dangerous thoughts it was to see Lord Fairfax standing within her group of ladies. They were smiling and batting their fans at him.
Lady Portia offered an introduction. “Lady Helen, may I present Lord Fairfax. Be careful, his smile hides many a sin.”
Fairfax bent over her hand, pressing his lips a bit too firmly to her gloved knuckles. “I have longed for an introduction to the beauty who can stand out amongst such beauties.”
She almost giggled seeing Beatrice roll her eyes behind his ego-inflated back.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my lord,” she answered coolly.
He looked momentarily flustered that his endearment did not evoke a more favorable response. “I was hoping you would indulge me with a turn on the dance floor.”
The women looked at her expectantly. She rarely danced at any ball now. At the age of three and twenty she was considered almost on the shelf. Most men looking for a wife danced with the younger ladies. That suited her. She preferred to hide within the group of married ladies. However, she could hardly refuse without causing a scene. “Since you ask so nicely…”
Like Moses parting the Red Sea the guests in the overcrowded ballroom stepped back, making a path to the floor as he led her out, as if she were some trophy on his arm.
To her annoyance a waltz suddenly started, and she wondered if he had set that up at the beginning of the evening with this plan in mind. Now who’s arrogant? Why would Fairfax bother for her? Yes, she was beautiful but there were many beautiful debutantes, most more than willing to look favorably on a match with Lord Fairfax.
“You honor me, Lady Helen. I’ve been told you rarely dance at any ball.”
That’s when she spied the group of Lord Fairfax’s dandies standing at the far end of the dance floor. Some of them were laughing. Others were shaking their heads. She noted pieces of paper changing hands and her mouth firmed.
“Perhaps I should receive a cut of your winnings since I obliged you in a dance.”
He almost tripped them in the middle of the floor, and his face turned bright red. “Whatever do you mean?”
She sighed. “Do I really have to explain it to you? Or shall we simply finish the dance and you can walk me back to the ladies and never grace my presence again or I shall let every young lady know what you did—oh, and of course my brother.”
His face lost all color. He’d been caught wagering on a lady’s agreement to dance a waltz. Not any lady, but the Marquis of Coldhurst’s sister. Sebastian’s reputation with duels was legendary. They finished the dance in silence, and he escorted her back to her sister-in-law, Beatrice, without another word.
As he made his way back across the floor she hoped he drowned on the glass of whiskey that was shoved into his hand as some of the men clapped him on the back. It struck her like an acorn-sized hailstone that Clary was more of a gentleman than any lord she’d ever met.
“Don’t ever make me do that again,” she said to the ladies.
Beatrice said, “I think you came through it head held high. He behaved like a gentleman for a change. His hands stayed above your waist and not once did he let them roam.” She smiled at Helen. “What did you threaten him with?”
She shook her head with a laugh. “I learned from you all. You ladies are a force to be reckoned with.”
Beatrice hugged her. “It doesn’t hurt to have a brother who has a reputation for dueling—and winning.”
Beatrice led her away from the group of ladies, and they headed for the retiring room. “I have hardly seen you of late, even though we share the same house.” Once inside Beatrice noted that they were alone before saying, “Marisa has told me that you have thrown yourself into your role of patroness at the orphanage. Do you need help organizing a luncheon to raise funds? I’d love to help.”
Helen sat in front of the dresser mirror and began to re-pin her hair where a few strands had come loose. At Beatrice’s kind offer she swung to face her. “That would be wonderful. I’d like to raise enough money to employ a seamstress for Southwark and each of the other orphanages. She can teach the girls to sew, and they can make clothes for the children. Some of the girls might like to make their living that way. I’m conscious we need to train them in roles where they can earn an honest living.”
Beatrice sat beside her on the chaise longue. “The orphanage means a lot to you.”
“I challenge any woman to visit these places and not want to do all they can for the children. When I was young I used to hate my life. How naïve was I? I now know there are far worse things than being the daughter of wealthy, self-absorbed parents who fought all the time. When they died, but for a matter of birth and an older brother, I could have ended up in a place like the Southwark Home for Orphaned Children.”
Beatrice patted her hand. “My family and I would have ended up in the poorhouse if I had not had the courage to confront your brother. They are even worse. He helped my family before he loved me. I thank the Lord every day for his good heart and love.” Beatrice shivered. “Life is often not fair, is it?”
Helen nodded in agreement. “Clary says I’m going to end up disillusioned because I won’t be able to save the world. Sometimes I think he’s right.”
“Clary?” Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
Helen could not look her friend in the eye. “Mr. Homeward, I mean.”
Beatrice said nothing for a moment. Finally she spoke. “He’s a very handsome young man.” When Helen said nothing, she added, “While I’m sure Marisa has her reasons for employing Mr. Homeward, I don’t think it would be wise to become overly familiar with him.”
“You are being a snob. He is a perfect gentleman, in fact, he’s more of a gentleman than Lord Fairfax ever could be.” She knew she should not have defended Clary so strongly, but Lord Fairfax’s behavior made her blood boil.
Beatrice’s face clouded in worry. “I really would advise you to be careful where Mr. Homeward is concerned.” She seemed about to say more but stopped. “Please, just talk with your sister. There are things about him you need to know.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
Beatrice stood and shook out her gown. “No. Marisa should be the one to tell you. She’s th
e one who brought the man into her home and into your life.” Beatrice bent and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Let’s discuss how I may be able to help with your charitable cause when we break our fast around noon tomorrow.”
Helen wanted to tug on Beatrice’s arm and stop her leaving until she explained her comments about Clary, but if she pushed too hard Beatrice might mention it to Sebastian and the last thing she needed was an overprotective brother looking too closely at what she did with her days.
If Helen wanted the freedom to spend time with Clary and help the orphans she had to be careful not to show her affections. She was surprised Sebastian had not asked more questions about her time at Southwark but he was too occupied with some bill he was proposing in the House of Lords.
As she made her way back to the ballroom she pondered on Beatrice’s words. Perhaps it was time to grow a backbone and ask Clary about his past. She knew a few things about Mr. Homeward. He was handsome, but did not use his looks to gain any advantage. She knew he was passionate about helping the orphans. She learned that he was a cynic and had a very unfavorable view of the world. She knew he treated her better than most gentlemen she’d met. She knew he was hiding something from his past.
And she knew he was the only man she longed to have kiss her.
How had he ended up working for Marisa? Where did Marisa find him? It must have had something to do with the woman who had been seeking revenge against Maitland, because five years ago Clary was the man sitting outside her sister’s bedroom door when she’d been injured.
She hid a yawn behind her fan and wondered how long Beatrice wanted to stay. Thankfully she spied Sebastian making his way toward them through the crowd and prayed he would suggest heading home.
Tomorrow she planned to have it out with Clary, and to ensure he could not be evasive again she needed to have her wits about her.
* * *
—
Clary couldn’t sleep. It was close to two in the morning and still his mind raced and his body was taut as a bow—with fear. He would have to see her tomorrow.
He could smell the perfume from the note she’d sent asking him to update her on the Glover situation. He kept it under his pillow. He should put it in his draw because inhaling her subtle fragrance of lilac was pure torment. He missed her. Helen’s joy of life, her eternal optimism, and her compassion were addictive.
He could not believe that a woman of her breeding and innocence could find anything remotely fascinating about him. Once she got over her infatuation with his looks, she’d leave him alone, like most women did. Once they took what they wanted from him they left. He liked it that way. A family was not for him. The idea of being responsible for a wife and children filled him with dread. What if he could not provide for them?
He had saved a reasonable amount of money over his five years with Her Grace. She paid him very well and had also paid for Simon’s schooling.
Other than work, Clary kept to himself most of the time and lived for the orphanages and children he oversaw. Perhaps that was what drew Helen and him together. Both of them wanted to do everything they could to protect and nurture the children. If he saved these orphans from ending up living the life he had, he was content. What frustrated him was not being able to save more of them.
He was proud of the way she thought of him as a friend or confidant. But then she doesn’t really know you.
Helen had no idea of the man he once was and who he could become again if he lost this position. Simon would soon be able to stand on his own two feet and no longer need the financial protection Clary’s job afforded him.
If Clary was shown the door in this job what could he do? If he could not get a reference from His Grace his options would be limited. He could perhaps sail to the Americas. He had saved enough money to start anew in a place where no one knew his past. But he didn’t want to stray too far from Simon.
What petrified him more was Helen finding out what he had done in his past. Soon she would ask—either him or her sister. Marisa had sworn she’d never reveal his background to anyone, but what if Helen asked her?
His Grace had set up a fake background for him and Simon. He had told anyone who asked that they were sons of one of the merchants who traded with his man of business on his estate near York. No one had cause to query a duke’s word so why would anyone bother checking.
However, they might if he showed interest in Helen.
Of course he tried to keep away from society. He did not wish to bump into those who might recognize him.
He had seen old clients at the theater or when he was out and about in Oxford Street, but most were very good at pretending they had not previously met. They didn’t want their activities out in the open either.
Just then an image of Helen’s beautiful face appeared in his mind’s eye. He closed his eyes and could see her and feel her as she’d stroked his face when he’d been almost unconscious with pain. So gentle, so soft, so caring. He’d tried not to let her kindness and concern soften the stone fortress he’d carefully constructed around his heart.
He hated soft emotions. He did not allow himself to feel. He hated caring because life had disappointed him so many times. That’s why he always held himself off from really getting to know any of the children.
He began to slip into slumber remembering the way Helen had sung to him. What frightened him wasn’t that she was coming to care for him. What scared him more was that he was coming to care for her.
He could not wait to go back to work.
Because he would see her again.
However, it was time to talk with Her Grace and get her advice. She must have known that by introducing Helen to him she would ask questions. He wanted to know what he should tell her.
He already knew what he would never reveal.
Chapter 10
Helen got to her desk early. She wanted to be there when Clary arrived. Her body hummed with excitement at seeing him, and she hoped he was eager to see her too.
Every time she heard the front door open she tensed, hoping he’d arrived. Marisa joined her close to noon and still no sign of Clary. She did not want to ask Marisa where he was. She did not want her family to know of her interest in him. Helen inwardly winced at that thought. Why did she not want them to know?
Because a friendship is inappropriate and you don’t want Clary to be right.
Her brother was likely to have kittens if he thought she was setting her sights on a man such as Clary. Then why are you pursuing what you know is inappropriate?
She picked up a letter from the tray sitting on her desk and opened it. “Oh, Marisa.” She beamed at her sister. “It’s a letter from Claire. The girl the men rescued from Glover. She’s learning to write but says Mrs. Riley helped her with this letter.”
“How wonderful. What does she say?”
Helen laughed. “Not much, as she says she is still learning her letters but she and Anne are learning to cook from Mrs. Thorn, and they no longer want to run away.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She had helped someone and it felt great. She rose. “There is also a missive for Mr. Homeward. I have to show it to him. When do you expect him?”
“Oh, he arrived early this morning. He sent a note saying he wanted to meet with me this afternoon if I had time. I expect he’s in his study.”
Even if she wanted to, her feet would not move. “He’s already here?”
Marisa looked up and frowned. “Yes. Why is that odd?”
“No reason. I thought he might have come to update me on the Glover situation, that’s all.”
Marisa’s eyes narrowed. “You are not to get involved in the hunt for Glover. Promise me you will leave that to Clary and his men. It’s dangerous. Look what happened to Clary.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell her sister she’d been there when Clary had been knifed. “But don’t you want to know too?”
“He’ll tell us when he has anything to report. I suspect Glover has fled because he knows w
e are after him.”
“Clary thinks he’ll still be in London because the money he can earn here is easier. In smaller towns people seem to note and care when children go missing.”
Marisa hesitated before saying, “Then let’s hope the men catch him sooner rather than later.”
“I hope so too.”
Her stomach churned. Clary had been here all morning! He had not even popped in to say hello. Anger turned to disappointment. He was putting walls up, and a part of her knew it was the right thing to do, but hell, the heart wants what the hearts wants.
“Well, I shall pop next door and give him Claire’s note.” She did not wait for Marisa to reply.
The walk down the hall seemed to take forever, which Helen was grateful for. She wanted to get her warring emotions under control. She stopped at his door and knocked before simply letting herself in.
When he looked up from behind a rather large pile of papers the first thing that entered her mind was he looked tired. Perhaps he was not as well as she thought. The second thing was that his bold stare caused strange flutterings to take up residence throughout her body. Her reaction upon seeing him was becoming common and quite pleasant indeed. She tried to stay cross with him but when he smiled her heart rebounded.
“I won’t stay long as you must be busy since you did not stop to greet me this morning. Here is a note from Claire. The first, or second, if you count mine, that she has ever written.” She passed it to him. “I’m so proud of her.”
He opened and read it and his smile grew.
“I’m so pleased we went after Glover, even if you did end up with a knife wound. Reading that makes it all worth it, doesn’t it?” He looked at her but did not reply. “You look busy. I shall leave you to your correspondence but when you have time I’d like to show you the plan I have for extending the orphanage. The building next door would work perfectly. I think I shall buy it.”
“Have you talked with Her Grace about this?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you first to see what you thought of the idea. We could help so many more children if we doubled the size of the dormitories.” He said nothing.
A Dream of Redemption Page 9