Читать книгу A Mother For His Family - Susanne Dietze - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Helena ambled onto the grass behind Comraich, the site of yesterday’s wedding celebration. All evidence of her nuptial feast had disappeared from the scene, like a dream dissolving at first light. One might well wonder whether it had happened at all.

But the ring on her finger and the children trailing behind her were real. This was her life now.

She cupped the wooden ball in her hands, judging its weight. No heavier than a large apple, it should be perfect for the children. Even Louisa should have no trouble rolling it across the grass for a game of nine pins.

Something whizzed past her ear. Helena spun to where the boys scampered over the grass, swinging rackets. They’d hit the shuttlecock toward her. “Too close, lads.”

Alexander—she knew it was him because his coat was darker brown than Callum’s today—grinned as he bounced the strings of his racket off his fist. “Accident! Sorry, ma’am.”

Callum spun away, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

If it was indeed an accident, the boys thought it a lark of one. Helena’s jaw clenched. She wasn’t certain how to be a mother, but she’d always wanted to be one. To love a child and be loved in return. Surely God had given women some sort of instinct to care for them, too. Things should get easier once she spent time with them, shouldn’t they?

At least she would be hiring the new governess today to help ease things along. She should have asked why the children currently lacked one, but there hadn’t been time, with all the wedding guests clamoring for their attention yesterday.

She’d hardly slept in her new chamber—Catriona’s chamber, with its heavy, dark draperies that begged to be replaced with lighter fabrics, although she’d not intended to change anything. But it was her room now, separated by a sitting room from John’s.

He kept his promise and left her alone, but she hadn’t slept anyway. Her ankle pulsated all night, as did her head, with thoughts of Papa and Margaret and white gowns and Frederick until her maid, Barnes, brought her a tray of tea and toast at eight o’clock this morning. She’d forced down a bite and dressed, determined to start being a mother.

Surely Papa would have approved of her primrose yellow gown and matching pelisse. She’d not wear white ever again. Still, her parents frowned at her in her imagination, and her forehead ached.

The smack of the shuttlecock against a tree trunk dragged Helena to the present, where Louisa, held in the nursemaid Agnes’s arms, sucked her thumb and gripped a well-loved doll. Beside them, Margaret stared at the clear heavens, a bored expression on her fair, cosmetic-free face.

“Right,” Helena said, clutching the ball as if it held her sanity within it. “Who wishes first crack?” She lifted the ball in a gesture of offering.

The children stared at her. Dear God, help.

She took a deep breath before trying again. “Please set up the pins, Margaret. That patch there looks flat enough.” The girl slumped off to obey. “Louisa, would you like to go first?”

“Yes!” Louisa’s thumb flew from her mouth with a wet pop and she squirmed in Agnes’s arms. An exasperated look fluttered over Agnes’s thin face as she set the child down and took her by the wrist.

“Are ye sure o’ this, milady? She cannae play.” Agnes shoved a loose tendril of lank brown hair under her white cap.

“Has she never learned? ’Tis not a difficult game.”

“O’ course nae, milady. Because she cannae see.” Agnes exchanged a glance with Margaret.

How dare she address you in such a manner. Mama’s sharp tone resounded in Helena’s head. You must assert your place, or you shall never be respected. Sending the chit off without a reference would send a strong message to the staff—

Enough of Mama. The children had experienced too much change of late. They did not need to suffer the loss of a nursemaid now, too, but that didn’t mean Helena should cower to the staff. After all, she was the lady here now. “I do not see why Louisa cannot try. Come, Louisa.”

A grin split Louisa’s rosy face, revealing perfect, tiny teeth. Helena took her moist hand and led her to a spot six feet from where Margaret set the pins in three rows of three. Once finished, Margaret stepped back, concern furrowing her brow. “I’m not certain this will work, ma’am.”

Margaret’s love for her cousin was clear. Their love for one another is a good place to start. Helena hoped her smile for Margaret was tender and comforting, especially after having to chide her yesterday. “If she does not enjoy it, we shall cease.”

Margaret chewed her lip. “Aye, ma’am.”

Helena had better think of something for the children to call her other than ma’am and my lady and the occasional Lady Ardoch. The terms were appropriate, but they didn’t seem at all warm. But Mother wasn’t acceptable, either. Not after yesterday’s scene.

She bent behind Louisa and reached for the doll. It was sticky to her touch. “Let’s set Dolly down.”

“Tabitha.”

“Tabitha, yes. She will sit here on the grass.” Helena propped the grimy, wood-headed doll on her cloth haunches. “Now, hold out your hands, as if you’re to receive water from a pitcher.”

Louisa thrust out her hands and giggled.

Helena set the ball in them, cradling Louisa’s hands from below until the child adjusted to the ball’s weight. Louisa’s thumbs and index fingers rubbed over the ball, and she bent her head down to it. Was she able to see its outline, out here in the bright sunshine?

“The pins are on the grass a short distance from us. Roll the ball, like this.” Guiding Louisa’s arms, Helena swung them down to the child’s knees and back again. “Now let it go.”

The ball thudded, landing a foot away.

“You did it,” Helena praised. Louisa hopped in place, knocking Helena’s chin with the top of her head. Pain sluiced through her jaw and brought tears to her eyes.

“Did it go?” Louisa asked.

“No.” Margaret’s glare caused a different sort of pain to Helena than the bump to her jaw. “She does not even know where to aim.”

The twins paused in their game, staring at Helena as if she had forced Louisa to walk through thistles barefoot.

Her physical pain receding, Helena retrieved the ball. “An excellent first attempt. This time let the ball roll from your fingers.”

Louisa released it and it trundled far enough to tap a pin. Louisa’s head turned to the side, reminding Helena of a robin scouting for worms. “It hit!”

Warmth coursed through Helena’s chest. “Indeed, it did.”

“Well done.” Margaret’s frown twitched upward.

The twins dropped their rackets. “Good show, Louisa.”

“Now,” Helena said, “it’s Margaret’s turn with the ball.”

Margaret scowled, took up the ball and knocked down eight of the pins. Louisa jumped up and down. “My turn again.”

Margaret reset the pins. Louisa’s roll missed, but Margaret brought the ball back before jogging to stand beside the pins. “Roll it toward my voice, Louisa.”

Again, Louisa cocked her head. As Margaret called to her, she rolled the ball, this time knocking over two pins.

Alexander and Callum abandoned their game to join in, and soon the foursome were cheering and teasing. Helena stepped back to stand beside the nursemaid.

“She seldom knocks the pins doon, ma’am.” Agnes shook her head.

Mama would send the impertinent Agnes packing before noon, for certain.

Perhaps kindness, shown with firm confidence, would make more difference than dismissing a servant on her first day as the lady of the house. “Louisa enjoys herself. And watch her. When the ball strikes a pin, she aims for the same place the next time. She may never be a champion at nine pins, but then again, neither am I. Yet I still find enjoyment in the exercise.”

A huff escaped Agnes’s pinched lips, but Helena didn’t care. The scene was too pleasant to be ruined by Agnes’s insolence. A blue sky banished yesterday’s clouds, and the sun’s glow lit up the rocky tor to the east and warmed her back. The children’s cheeks pinked from exertion, and they all clapped for Louisa when she struck a pin.

Something prickled Helena’s neck, drawing her gaze. A wheat-colored terrier pranced over the yard, followed by her new husband. He strode across the grass toward them, dressed for riding.

What a dashing figure. Not that she should be thinking such things.

The dog ran to the children, its stub tail wiggling with enthusiasm. “Iona!” The game was forgotten as the children patted the dog.

So they had a pet. She should have guessed.

Louisa hopped in place, a whine escaping her throat, until Agnes hauled her into her arms and carried her to John’s side, stopping first to retrieve the dolly, Tabitha.

She’d have to remind Louisa that ladies requested attention with words, not whimpers.

John smiled and placed a hand on each child’s head as he greeted them.

“I threw the ball,” Louisa announced.

“Did you, now?”

He must have seen it, of course. How kind of him to let Louisa tell of it.

The children spoke over each other, relating the events of their game, and Helena hung back, her hands folded at her waist. These children loved their father. God, if You forgive me, could some of that childlike, family affection extend to me someday, as well?

Life was quite long indeed to go through it unloved.

Margaret rose on her tiptoes. “Will you watch us?”

John chucked her under the apple-green bonnet bow, tied at her chin. “Alas, I cannot. It seems we’ve lost more cattle to theft.”

“Who would steal our cows?” Callum’s brow scrunched.

“Hungry folk, I fear. I’m also told one of the bulls is causing a stir. He’s been separated from his fellows, but I must see what the fuss is about.” His gaze found Helena’s. “A word, if you please?”

The children pulled faces, except for Alex. “Glad I don’t have to ride along this time,” he mumbled as he passed Helena.

“You’re the heir.” Callum shoved his twin’s shoulder. “You have to do everything horrible. Don’t you wish you were me?”

Helena chewed her lip.

John didn’t offer his arm as they walked toward the garden wall, but she didn’t need his support over the even grass. He looked down at her with a smile, which was handsome, but it was also restrained. Businesslike.

Just like their arrangement.

“The candidate for governess arrives in a few hours.” With the toe of his black Wellington boot, he prodded a clump of sodden leaves, as if testing whether they concealed a rock.

“I shall be ready for her.” Helena may be young, but she was no schoolroom miss.

“Hire her and be done with it. They need consistency, something they’ve lacked since their mother died three years ago. The sooner someone takes charge of the bairns, the better.” His smile faded. “You’ve only met the children, but remember Louisa’s blindness endangers her. Playing outside like this is not at all wise.”

Helena’s lips parted with an embarrassing pop. “Agnes and I have kept close watch.”

“You cannot watch everything. Believe me. My child lost her sight and my wife her life because some things cannot be predicted. But with proper care, hazards can be avoided.”

Helena learned that lesson all too well with Frederick Coles. But this? “Play on grass is not so perilous.”

“What if a ball strikes her because she cannot see it hurtling toward her? Or she trips and hits her head on a stone?”

The bite of reproof gnawed at her stomach. “I would never put Louisa in harm’s way.”

“Not intentionally.” A muscle clenched in his strong jaw. “You mean well, but you do not know how things are done here. Catriona instituted rules to protect the children, and I ask you to follow them.”

Ask? More like order, when she had done nothing to endanger any of the children. Her hands fisted, but something held her back from arguing further, like a hand of warning on her shoulder. She sucked in a deep, calming breath. John was their father and guardian, and without him, she’d have nothing.

“Very well. Is there a list of these...rules?” Beyond not playing outside?

He smiled that pleasant smile again. Attractive, but the look did not reach his eyes. “Not rules, so much as a system. Agnes knows how things are done here, she can help you. Everything will smooth out soon. I look forward to dining with you this evening, so you may tell me about our new governess.”

She nodded her farewell. “Until tonight, then.”

He waved to his children and strode the way he had come, leaving the dog behind. Helena watched him go, a mix of frustration and resignation swirling in her chest. How could she be a mother if she had no authority, or if her attempts to better know the children were thwarted by his dead wife’s rules—as relayed by a sullen nursery maid?

Besides, John could not possibly expect her to twiddle her thumbs and change nothing but the decor in the drawing room.

Then she sighed and made her way back over the grass.

“Come, children.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears. “Time to return to the house.”

* * *

After seeing to the tenants and the bull, John was met at Comraich’s door by Kerr, the butler. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you.” John could hardly remember a time at Comraich without Kerr. The upstanding butler’s dark hair was now dulled to a leaden hue, but his step was vigorous and his dark eyes shone with wit. “Has the post arrived?”

“It awaits you on the library desk, sir.”

“Excellent. I shall adjourn there now. Coffee would be most welcome.”

The butler bowed, and John took the main staircase, mulling over the problematic bull he’d just observed. The animal was a valuable sire, a fine specimen with a long red coat, black-tipped horns and thick fringe over the eyes, but the signs of aggression he’d exhibited toward man and beast alike brought up disconcerting questions. As his stewards were well equipped to handle such issues, he did not normally oversee these types of matters, but since the bull was worth a good deal, he’d been consulted about the possibility of putting the creature down.

He’d chosen instead to keep the bull separated for observation. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it, but he’d made what he felt was the best choice.

Like marrying Helena.

Despite some difficulties at the start, this marriage would work how they both needed it to. Today, Helena would hire the governess and restore balance to the house. He could return to London trusting the children would thrive in safety and harmony, and his household would be in order.

That, and poor Helena could recover from her dishonor, too.

He entered the library, and his shoulders relaxed. The two-story room was all wood shelves, scarlet wallpaper and leather, his safe haven. He sat at the desk and picked up the post.

Three letters. Lord Carvey, his particular friend in the House of Lords, shared news, while Earl Grey sought his opinion, requiring an immediate reply. When Kerr brought the coffee, John nodded his thanks and picked up the final letter. It rested on the silver tray, addressed in an unfamiliar hand. On the reverse, a dollop of red wax, pressed with a falcon stamp, sealed the paper. With the tug of his letter knife, John broke the seal, unfolded the foolscap and took a large sip of coffee.

The hot beverage burned his throat when he finally managed to swallow it.

So this was what it was like to receive a blackmail letter. John’s pulse pounded in his ears and fury ran hot under his skin.

The author—no, the blackmailer—knew about Helena entrusting herself to a young man in London without the benefit of marriage, and her marriage to John to disguise her ruin. And, of course, this rogue would hold silent in exchange for money. The large sum was to be deposited with a London metalsmith, Travers & Sons by name, at an address on the fringes of London’s better neighborhoods. John had heard goldsmiths could be used for monetary transactions between individuals, but he’d never done such a thing.

Then again, he never imagined he’d be blackmailed.

Helena must never know about this. If the true reason for her hasty marriage to John was made public, her name and honor would be tarnished. So would her family’s, but John was far less concerned with the Duke and Duchess of Kelworth’s reputations than about Helena’s heart and mind. She’d been through enough.

He’d vowed to protect her yesterday in the kirk, and he was a man of his word. He’d pay the blackmailer, then—tomorrow he’d write to his man of business in London to deposit the demanded amount. He’d also insist his man investigate who picked up the payment, too, although anonymous blackmailers tended to protect their identities rather well.

But he wouldn’t tell Helena about this. It would only upset her, and he wouldn’t want her to experience a tenth of what he felt now. Instead of subsiding, his anger increased as the realization that someone was willing to hurt Helena sunk deeper into his brain. A fresh surge of anger coursed through his arms and clenched his fists.

His hands were steady when he locked the letter in the ornamental box by the inkwell. But they were cold when he laid his head in them to pray.