Loving Helen (5 page)

“Isn’t it?” Helen asked. “Isn’t that why women dress up in lovely gowns and curl their hair and use face powders?”

“Not being a female, I can’t say exactly,” he teased. “But I expect that is the reason. And it works — to a point.”

“What do you mean?” Helen asked.

“Appearances will get you only so far. They may capture a man’s interest, but it takes more to hold it.”

“
What
will hold it?” Helen asked. “What qualities does a man look for when seeking a wife?”

Harrison glanced at her askew. “A wife, eh? Perhaps Miranda was right to be worried about you. What happened to our little girl who didn’t want anything to do with men?”

“I
don’t
want anything to do with
men,
” Helen said.
Just one man, and he is still in love with his deceased wife.
“I am only trying to understand how this world works.”

“Mm-hmm,” Harrison said.

Helen knew he could see right through her, but she didn’t care. She’d had her one chance to impress Mr. Preston, but she’d done the opposite. Now she wanted only to know what she should have done differently, should the unlikely event occur that she ever met another kind man she need not fear.

“If a man is wise,” Harrison began, “he wants a woman he can respect and admire, one who will be a companion in many ways.”

“Do men not admire attractiveness?” Helen asked, trying to understand, and wishing Harrison would speak more plainly. “What earns a man’s respect?”

“Could be many things,” Harrison said. “Take Miranda and me, for instance. We’re getting on in years, and neither of us is as attractive as we once were —” He stopped walking and turned to Helen. “Don’t you ever let Miranda know I said that.”

“I won’t. I promise,” she said solemnly. She could scarcely believe he was speaking of Miranda at all — she and Grace had attempted to broach the subject with him before, but never had he said so much as a word about their lady’s maid.

“A man and a woman at our age can still care for each other, and not many of those feelings will have anything to do with appearances. A man may be attracted to a woman because of the way she does something. He may admire her for her strengths, or her kindnesses.”

What did Harrison admire about Miranda? She was very strong — in will, anyway.

“I appreciate people for the way they treat others,” Harrison said. “These past years — especially these past months — no one has watched out for you girls more or cared more for you than Miranda has. She’d defend you to her last breath. I don’t mind saying that awhile back, I was worried that Miranda might be nearing hers. She was ill, yet still caring for your sister. A powerful spirit that woman has, and I respect her for it.”

“Harrison, that is the most eloquent speech I have ever heard,” Helen declared. “Why do you not tell Miranda that very thing? You know she cares for you too.”

Harrison waved her suggestion away, then coughed into his hand, looking down, but not before Helen caught his face reddening.

“It would seem that I am not the only one around here at a loss as to how to proceed,” she said.

“Why should
you
be at a loss?” Harrison said. “You know exactly what to do next. Mr. Preston has paid you a compliment and told you what he values.”

“He appreciates my way with children,” Helen said. “How is that romantic in the least?”

Harrison shook his head and grunted. “Females. Always making everything more complicated than it needs to be.” They reached the front walk leading to the guest house and stopped. He took out a handkerchief and blew into it loudly. Helen felt a moment of pity for him, with his nose red from sneezing and his nearly incessant cough. He didn’t take to this part of the country well at all.

“What means more to Mr. Preston than anything in the world?” Harrison asked.

“His daughter,” Helen said, remembering the way he’d held Beth close and introduced her as “
my
Beth.”

Harrison nodded. “And
you
made a connection with her without even trying. It was the best thing you could have done; Mr. Preston has given you the greatest compliment. The way to his heart may well be through his daughter — but don’t you dare use her that way.”

“I wouldn’t,” Helen exclaimed. And while that was true, she could not deny that she had been somewhat set on that path, of using someone — Beth’s father — this morning.

That would have been wrong too.
No matter that she’d believed she could care for Mr. Preston in return for his name and the money that would save them.
But now …

Now that she’d glimpsed the depth of the feelings he still felt for his wife, Helen could not continue her pursuit. She would not do anything that might hurt him further. But she could befriend his daughter.

“Simply care for her, as you have already started to,” Harrison said.

“I shall,” Helen said. It was too effortless to possibly work as a ploy to gain Mr. Preston’s attention, so she would be free from any worry or guilt there. Befriending his daughter might relieve his burden though. It might be one small way she could repay the kindnesses he’d shown to her family.

“These things take time,” Harrison said, still giving her advice, though she needed it no longer — with regard to Mr. Preston, at least.

“Don’t go putting on airs. Any man worth his weight will love you as you are.” Harrison smiled at her in a manner similar to that with which Mr. Preston had looked at his daughter. It warmed Helen’s heart.

“Thank you.” She stepped forward and hugged him impulsively. He patted her back once, somewhat awkwardly then stepped away, glancing over his shoulder.

“Miranda,” he whispered as the sound of marching feet approached.

Hugging one’s servants was not proper, but Harrison had always seemed more of a friend than a servant. Still, Miranda would disapprove if she saw it.

“Tell her how you feel,” Helen whispered back. She turned and once again headed down the lane toward Mr. Preston’s house.

“Where are you off to now?” Harrison asked Helen as Miranda opened the door.

“I have been invited to play,” Helen called over her shoulder.

“In that dress?” Miranda stood on the step beside Harrison.

Helen walked backwards, watching them both a moment, thinking how fine they looked standing together, and thinking how fine they had been for her and her siblings.

Almost like the parents we never had
. How she loved them. How dear they were.

“Beth admired my dress at breakfast,” she called. “I am wearing it so we can play Camelot.”

Helen knocked on the door of Mr. Preston’s residence and waited until the butler came to admit her.

“I believe Miss Beth is expecting you,” he said cheerfully before Helen had a chance to explain the reason for her visit. He stepped aside so she might enter.

“I saw you from the window,” Beth said, jumping from the second stair and running across the floor. “Have you come to play with me?”

“I have,” Helen said, glancing about the foyer and feeling both relief and regret that Mr. Preston was nowhere to be seen.

“I knew it.” Beth beamed. “Papa said you might come. I’ll show you the nursery.” She took Helen’s hand.

“If you wish,” Helen said. “Though I thought perhaps you might like to play outside. It is a lovely day, and we won’t have good weather much longer.”

“Oh, yes.” Beth changed direction and headed toward the front doors.

“Shouldn’t you ask your nanny first?” Helen suggested. She didn’t want to get the little girl in trouble or cause anyone to worry.

Beth frowned. She dropped Helen’s hand and retreated across the foyer, dragging her feet. Helen worked to contain a smile. How many times had she seen similar behavior? With her grandfather’s permission, she’d first become friends with, then later tutored, many of the children whose parents he’d employed. Many a time, Helen had witnessed feet dragging across a floor and shoes being scuffed as children left their play — or studies — and went to do their parents’ bidding.

Perhaps I
am
qualified to be a governess.
The thought of leaving Grace and Christopher to live with strangers rather terrified her, but it did sound decidedly better than ending up married to a stranger like the new duke — or worse.

Behind her the butler closed the front doors, and Helen wandered farther into the circular foyer, to the center of the room, where a table stood with a large vase overflowing with gorgeous yellow roses from outside. She leaned forward, inhaling their sweet scent.

“I cut them myself every morning,” Mr. Preston said.

Helen lifted her head and jumped back, feeling very much like a child caught at some mischief.

Mr. Preston strode toward her. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Have you a letter you wish me to give your sister?”

“Not since yesterday. I’ve come to play with Beth.” Helen glanced about the room, eager for Beth to return. “I have thought about what you said — about being a governess. It is a good idea.”

“And one that took you by surprise,” he guessed.

“Yes,” Helen admitted. “If you would not mind —” She forced herself to meet his gaze briefly. “I should like to spend a bit of time with Beth each day. Since leaving my grandfather’s house, I have not been around any children, and I realized this morning how I have missed it.”

Mr. Preston smiled at her so warmly that Helen felt a peculiar fluttering in her stomach. “I would be delighted if you would visit Beth every day. I fear she is often lonely and in want of company.”

The subject of their discussion appeared on the stairs, racing down, followed by her nanny. When the latter reached the foyer, she looked from Mr. Preston to Helen and caught her breath.

“Miss Beth says you have come to take her for an outing.”

“We shall not go beyond the boundaries of the estate,” Helen said, speaking more to Mr. Preston than the nanny.

“Miss Helen will be spending some time each day with Beth from now on,” Mr. Preston told her. “She is to be allowed to take Beth outside or to visit with her in the nursery as she wishes.”

“Of course, sir,” Nanny Mary said, looking rather pleased at the suggestion, Helen thought.

“Thank you.” Helen mustered enough courage to smile shyly at Mr. Preston. She held her hand out to Beth. “Shall we be off?”

“Where to?” Beth asked, placing her small hand in Helen’s.

Helen looked down at her charge as they turned away from the others. “Why, to Camelot, of course.”

Two hours later, Helen limped back toward Mr. Preston’s house, her feet protesting the time spent galloping about on imaginary horses while wearing slippers too fancy and uncomfortable for gallivanting. Beth lagged behind her.

Helen stopped to wait for the little girl to catch up again. “It seems I have worn you out,”

“I’m hungry,” Beth complained.

“Tomorrow we shall see about a picnic,” Helen said, and Beth’s face brightened.

“With biscuits? Father and I once had a picnic with biscuits that had little sprinkles of sugar. I would like those, please.”

“Since you have asked so politely, I shall see what can be arranged.” Helen reached out to take Beth’s hand once more. Swinging their arms, they crossed the lawn and made their way through the garden — the great forest surrounding Camelot — to the house — King Arthur’s castle.

“If this is King Arthur’s castle,” Beth said as they approached the door, “who is the evil king who tried to steal our rubies at breakfast?”

Helen considered a moment. “He is Arthur’s sworn enemy, Mordred, and he is very jealous of Arthur. While Arthur and his knights were away this morning, Mordred tried to take over his Round Table and kingdom.”

“And take our jewels,” Beth said.

“Yes.” Helen knelt on the top step by the girl. “Thank you for playing today, Miss Beth.”

“You are welcome, Miss Helen,” Beth said with a curtsy.

Helen smiled. “Very good.” She had explained the importance of chivalry and manners in the time of Camelot, just as her grandfather had imparted some of his wisdom, decorum, and expectations to Helen, Grace, and Christopher after they’d come to live with him. Instead of lectures, he’d shared stories, which they’d remembered while trying their best to be like the gallant heroes and noble heroines they’d so admired.