‘I spoke with your aunt this morning,’ he began, surprising her into raising her head and looking at him properly for the first time since he had caught her making sheep’s eyes at him.
He did not look annoyed. More…troubled.
‘Her case was far more desperate than I had been led to believe.’ He frowned. ‘She ought to have written to me straight away,’ he said, running the flat of one hand over the crown of his head.
‘Oh. Well, perhaps… Only we did not know where you might be found…’
‘Nonsense!’ He turned and paced away from her, and then back, as though he was seriously agitated. ‘A letter addressed to me and sent here would have made its way to me easily enough. I always keep my steward apprised of my movements in case he needs to contact me urgently.’
He was pacing back and forth now, a frown pleating his brow.
‘He always forwards any mail. It is unthinkable that she has lost her home because she left approaching me this late. Had she applied to me at once I might have been able to do something to prevent her losing her independence. That she thought me so lacking in proper feeling that she regarded me as a last resort…’
Helen laid a hand upon his sleeve as he passed, arresting his movement. ‘Please, do not upset yourself. It is not your fault that she resisted applying for charity.’
‘I cannot help blaming myself, though,’ he said irritably. ‘I have gained something of a reputation over the past few years for being unapproachable. Particularly to my own family. I have sent several of them away with a flea in their ear when I thought they were trying to sponge off me. More than once. But you must believe me, Miss Forrest,’ he said earnestly, laying his hand over her own, ‘I would never permit anyone for whom I am responsible to suffer unnecessary hardship. Not real hardship.’
‘I know that.’ She turned her hand over and squeezed his, reassuringly. ‘I know.’
She was not sure why he was so determined to convince her that he was not an ogre. When, from what he had just told her, he appeared to have deliberately fostered that image. But it made her feel so happy to think he did not want her to think badly of him that she smiled.
‘And I want to thank you for the very tactful way you handled the situation. My aunt has been so proud of maintaining her independence from her brothers that the act of asking you for aid now might well have broken her. But she is easy in her mind now, for the first time in months. Because of you.’
‘Rubbish!’ He stepped back smartly, releasing her hand as though it had stung him. ‘I only did what any decent man would do.’
Helen let her own hand fall to her side, humiliatingly aware that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety with him yet again.
‘Oh, no,’ she insisted, with a shake of her head. ‘Some men would have casually crushed her with their condescension. You listened to her. Really listened to what she needed and made it available.’
But he did not look any less troubled.
‘It occurred to me, as your aunt was telling me about her plight, that when she lost her fortune you lost your inheritance too. That is why you told me you are now penniless, even though everyone else believes you are an heiress.’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted hesitantly. ‘Though I do not see that it is any concern of yours.’
‘Do you not? Do you not think any man would be concerned to see a young woman, brought up in affluence, suddenly obliged to go out to work for a living?’
It warmed her heart to see him so concerned on her behalf. Though there was nothing he could do for her—not really.
‘Miss Forrest,’ he said, ‘you have no family to speak of. Nobody to whom you can apply for aid. Would it make a difference to your future plans if I were to make it known that I am willing to provide you with a dowry?’
‘Wh…what?’ Helen could not believe her ears.
‘You ought to marry,’ he said. ‘I know you say you do not want to, but I cannot believe you are completely sincere. It is the main ambition of all my female relatives. And of all the ladies of my acquaintance you are the one I could actually see making some man a comfortable sort of wife. You are unselfish. You unfailingly put the welfare of others before your own.’
She went up to bed early with her aunt, missing out on the entertainments the other ladies enjoyed. He had found her sitting, uncomplaining, mending her meagre supply of clothes whilst her aunt was playing cards with another of the matrons. And as for the effect she was having on the children! He had seen little Junia blossom under her kind ministrations, and even the younger Swaledale boy casting off his habitually sulky attitude.
‘I have never seen a woman bear misfortune with such fortitude,’ he continued. ‘You do not pout, or whine that life is unfair. You just take it all on the chin, with that rueful little smile of yours.’
He reached out with one forefinger, running it over her chin, before abruptly snatching it back and saying gruffly, ‘You deserve to find happiness. Not to be shut away in some schoolroom for the rest of your life.’
He blinked then, as though he could not believe what he had just done.
And, as for Helen, she could not believe what he had just said! He admired her so much that he would insult her by offering her money so that she could go out and marry someone else! She could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest. He thought she would make some man a comfortable sort of wife, did he? She clenched her fists.
‘How can you still keep on trying to ram your charity down my throat when I have made it quite plain I shall never accept anything from you? Besides, a dowry is the very last thing I need! I shall never marry,’ she said furiously, as much to herself as to him.
She had learned a lot about herself during the days she had been at Alvanley Hall, and honesty compelled her to admit that the only reason she had never thought much about marriage was because she had never met a man like Lord Bridgemere before! No other man had ever had a strong enough pull to tempt her to break faith with Aunt Bella, who was so very opposed to the institution.
‘I could not possibly marry some man just so that I might have somebody to keep me in suffocating indolence,’ she spat. ‘I could have been married by now, you know, without a dowry. There were men in Middleton who were quite keen,’ she declared defiantly. He might not find her attractive, but others had.
‘Even after we lost all our money, if I had given certain gentlemen a little encouragement, they would have been only too happy to take me into their homes and smother me with their generosity.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘But I was too proud, I suppose you would say, to sell myself to some tradesman with greasy skin and hairy knuckles.’ She shuddered.
And then, of their own volition, her eyes strayed to his hands. His nails were neatly manicured, his fingers long and lean. She knew there was strength in those hands. He had held her by the shoulders, shaken her in anger.
Held her to his heart and briefly made her feel as though there was nowhere on earth she would rather be…
She tore her eyes from their greedy perusal of his hands, forcing herself to look him in the face even though she feared he would be able to see exactly what was in her heart. What did it matter now? He clearly felt nothing for her beyond a mild sort of admiration of her character. Else he would not have just offered her a dowry so she could go out and find some other man to marry.
‘In short, sir, the only reason I would ever marry would be for love. I have absorbed my aunt’s belief in independence too much to even consider marrying some man so that he might support me. I would rather provide for myself.’
She flushed and hung her head. She could not maintain eye contact with Lord Bridgemere whilst speaking of love. She was more than halfway to that state with him, she thought, and it felt unbearably humiliating to know he did not return her feelings.
‘I see.’ His voice sounded particularly hard. ‘Then there is no more to be said.’
Why did she always have to fling his offers of help back in his face with such
vehemence? It made no difference that she was correct—that it would be improper of her to accept money or indeed any substantial gift from a man who was not related to her. He wanted to help her, dammit! He could tear his hair out with frustration at knowing there was nothing he could do for the most deserving case he had encountered this year. What was the point of having so much wealth if he could not use it to benefit someone he actually wanted to help? Not because he felt it was his duty, but because…well, because he just wanted to!
And all she could do was stand there, her eyes flashing angrily, telling him she did not need him at all. She could manage quite well on her own, thank you very much!
He had turned and walked halfway down the corridor before Helen remembered she still had to ask him about transport to her new home.
‘Wait!’ she cried.
He turned, reluctantly, and looked back at her with barely concealed impatience. ‘I do need to speak with you,’ she said. ‘I have something to ask of you.’
‘What? You?’ He laughed mockingly. ‘The proud, independent woman who wants nothing from any man. Least of all me!’
Her eyes widened in shock and he realised he had been unnecessarily curt with her. He held up his hand and continued on his way.
‘Not now, Miss Forrest,’ he said, shaking his head. He was not completely in control of his emotions. What he ought to have said was, yes, Miss Forrest, ask me anything and I shall give it to you. But she had got him so riled up that he no longer knew what he was saying.
‘Oh, but it will not take a minute—’
‘I said not now!’ he snapped. ‘Speak to Cadwallader.’ He sighed, running his hand over his head wearily. ‘He arranges all my appointments. I will hear your petition,’ he said coldly, ‘when it is more convenient to me.’ When he had regained some vestige of self-control.
Helen frowned at his retreating back, wondering how it was possible to feel so much admiration for a man who was so difficult to understand. Whose moods could change so abruptly.
She sighed and turned back towards the schoolroom.
It hardly mattered anyway. She would be gone from here in just a few more days. And their paths would never cross again. Gradually, without the stimulus of his presence, these turbulent feelings he stirred up would wither away. Until he became nothing more than a distant memory.
The prospect of becoming a governess had never seemed more dreadful.
Chapter Nine
Lord Bridgemere had organised Christmas Eve so that it would be one continuous round of pleasure for his guests.
Helen started her day by clambering into the cart that conveyed the nursery party into a section of the woods where evergreens were predominant. The children were still rushing about excitedly when Lord Bridgemere himself appeared on horseback, followed by a small party comprised of the younger, unmarried ladies and gentlemen, resplendent in highly fashionable riding habits.
Lady Thrapston’s daughter Augustine, who looked as though she was not long out of the schoolroom herself, looked rather wistfully at the children playing tag amongst the trees. Then she darted a furtive look at her companions, as though checking to see if anyone had caught her out, and adopted the same air of languid boredom worn by the other members of the riding party.
Making Helen feel sorry for her.
She was just thinking what a shame it was that Lady Augustine no longer felt free to be herself now that she wasn’t a child, when she caught Lord Bridgemere smiling sadly at his niece. And she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. When he turned slightly, and their eyes met, it was as though they were of completely one mind. Though they were yards apart, she felt as though they were connected intimately by sharing one and the same thought.
She felt quite a wrench when he looked away.
‘I need some of you older boys for a special task,’ he said, leaning his forearm across the pommel of his saddle. ‘Any volunteers?’
Charles and Peter’s hands shot up.
He looked them over critically for a few seconds, before nodding solemnly and saying, ‘You will follow me to a copse where I have discovered a holly tree with the biggest, reddest berries you have ever seen.’
‘I have found something even better,’ Swaledale informed the girls in his party, with a suggestive waggle of his eye brows. ‘Mistletoe.’
Helen could not help casting them a withering look as they rode off after him, giggling and blushing. They would not be so keen on gathering mistletoe with him if they knew how disgusting he could be!
Once more she found Lord Bridgemere watching her when she glanced in his direction, only this time, since her mind was on that encounter on the backstairs, she felt her cheeks heat, and it was she who looked away first.
She heard his horse champ at the bit as he tugged on the reins, wheeling the creature round, and once the boys had darted off after him she permitted herself the luxury of watching him riding away into the forest. Charles and Peter were puffed up with pride at being handpicked for a task which was too difficult for the very little ones. They looked adorable as they trotted off behind him. It was such a pity their parents were not here to see this.
But then there was no reason, really, why their parents should not see this if they wanted to. She sighed and went back to the main group of children, who were pointing out likely-looking branches of fir to the bevy of gardeners who were in charge of the pruning hooks. She knew that there were other entertainments designed for those who preferred to remain within doors, but she could not understand why some of them at least had not come to witness this. What could be more enjoyable than watching their children’s happy little faces and sharing in their delight at the magic of Christmas time?
The trouble with this house party was that children were either woefully neglected by parents who regarded them as just one more problem they wished they did not have, or, worse, as in the case of Lord Bridgemere’s family, moved about like pawns in the complex power struggle that was raging between the various sets of adult siblings.
Every time the adults came together at mealtimes, or in the withdrawing room afterwards, it turned into yet another skirmish. Lady Thrapston, Helen suddenly realised, was fighting a desperate rearguard action in wearing all that jewellery and flaunting her status by lording it over the foot of the dining table. And whenever Nicholas Swaledale walked into a room, or contributed to the conversation, his mother Lady Craddock was able to shoot her sister a look of spiteful triumph. Though she had only married a baron, and not a very wealthy one at that, she had managed to produce two sons, whereas Lady Thrapston had only girls. Poor little Junia was the ultimate disappointment to her mother.
It made Helen’s blood boil.
Even more determined that these children should have at least some happy memories of their childhood to look back upon, she flung herself into the task of making the gathering of the greenery as much fun for them as she possibly could.
A brace of footmen, who had travelled to the site in a second cart, loaded the fragrant boughs and the long swathes of ivy they’d pointed out, into a farm wagon. Occasionally members of Lord Bridgemere’s riding party returned, with the much prized holly and mistletoe, and soon the cart was piled high with a wonderful assortment of glossy green leaves, bright waxy berries and bristling bluey-green fronds.
In what felt like no time at all they were climbing back into the cart for their homeward journey, the children bubbling over with satisfaction at a job well done.
The riding party followed behind the convoy of open carts, but to her surprise Lord Bridgemere drew up alongside the one that contained the children, just as Reverend Mullen produced a tin whistle from his pocket and began to play Christmas carols. Lord Bridgemere sang out in a fine baritone, the servants in the cart that followed joined in, and then so did the children, with as many of the words as they could remember.
It was an episode Helen knew she would remember for the rest of her life, coming home from gathering in the greenery, with Lor
d Bridgemere riding alongside. His powerful voice rose effortlessly above that of the servants following behind, soaring up through the branches even as it reached into the very depths of her being. It put her in mind of the way she had felt that morning when he had taken her to the frost-spangled clearing. There was something about singing hymns outdoors, in nature’s own temple, that was particularly moving, she thought. She had certainly never had tears in her eyes when she had sung any of these carols before.
Surreptitiously, because she felt a little foolish, she dabbed away at her tears with the end of her scarf, lifted her chin, and forced a smile to her lips. She kept it fixed there, resolutely, when they returned to the stableyard. Lord Bridgemere dismounted, while she accepted Reverend Mullen’s hand to help her out of the cart.
Lord Bridgemere hustled his own party towards the house, while she kept the children together and herded them towards the back door that led through the servants’ hall and thence to the stairs up to the nursery wing. He paused in the doorway, watching the children swarming into the house, before giving her an impenetrable look and following his own party indoors.
When they reached the nursery Helen saw that Lord Bridgemere had arranged yet another treat for the youngsters. Not only were a couple of maids waiting, with jugs of steaming hot chocolate and plates of those delectable ginger snaps, but there were several bowls of chestnuts for them to roast over the schoolroom’s open fire.
She put Junia, Peter and Charles in charge of roasting the nuts and handing them out to the younger ones. When she knelt on the hearthrug, a little distance away, to make sure there were no burnt fingers or, heaven forbid, singed clothing, a couple of those still in leading strings escaped from their nurses and came to sit on her lap.
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