Chapter Twelve

H elen had tossed and turned for what was left of the night. It had never occurred to her before that her parents' objection to her marriage with Jason was because of her . She'd always believed they were being haughty aristocrats who thought the mere son of a rector too low for their daughter. But it was the opposite. She was too wildly behaved for him .

Fingering his lock of hair, she pictured Jason's handsome face. His smile. Never once had he ever censured or corrected her. Although, she couldn't recall him censuring anyone. His God was a loving one. A forgiving one. Jason would no more condemn a person than he would commit a crime. It was not in his nature. Not that he was stupid. He was very clever and learned. He'd earned a first at Cambridge. He merely believed that the greatest changes came from love and kindness, not from sermons on hellfire and damnation.

Jason would make an incredible vicar of Ashbury. He could become a wonderfully loving bishop, but social station had never been his goal. He would probably be content with a curacy until his father's parish became available. Jason would live and die in the same ten miles he had been born in.

Helen had believed that all she wanted was to marry Jason and live in the country near her home. Now she was not so sure. The ladies in the Ashbury parish would censure and despise her unconventional ways the same way Lady Glencannon had. She would no longer have the protection of her father's name. Or her station in life. According to the church, a woman was supposed to submit to her husband. And if she didn't, Jason would bear the blame.

It was insufferable.

Unfair.

Could she change?

Did she even want to?

Was living near Hampford Castle worth giving up her freedom?

Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on a dress that she could button herself. She wanted to get out of the house. Out of her own head. She needed fresh air. Exercise. The feel of the earth beneath her feet. Helen slid on a pair of slippers, but did not bother to fetch a shawl or hat.

She opened the front door. It was raining so hard, that she could only see a few feet in front of her. The weather matched her mood perfectly. Closing the door behind her, she walked out into a curtain of rain.

Glancing out through the window of his club, Mark saw that it was still raining in endless sheets. There was no chance that Helen was in his garden today in such weather. And there was no chance that he would be there either. He was starting to care for her too much and his cold heart could not endure another loss. She would leave at the end of her London Season and marry a cheery curate. One without scars, outside or inside.

The best thing he could do was avoid Helen, the way he'd avoided his cousin Niamh. There was no future for them. They both deserved whole and happy husbands.

Picking up his book, he tried to focus on the territorial habits of finches. The sound of thunder caused him to sit straight up in his seat. His breathing was sharp and shallow. It sounded like cannon fire. He tried to close his eyes to calm himself, but the images were worse. Sean Fitzhugh bleeding out from his neck. Angus Brown with a hole in his middle, just above his tartan kilt. He would never play the bagpipes again. More faces. More wounds flashed in his mind. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, Mark saw Pelford standing there. He wore no hat and his suit was soaking wet, dripping on the floor.

‘Inverness, have you seen Helen today?'

‘No.'

Pelford raked his fingers through his wet hair. ‘Do you have any idea where she might have gone?'

Mark could only shake his head.

‘It's not uncommon for Helen to disappear for hours on end at Hampford Castle, but everyone within a thirty-mile radius knows the family. She's safe enough there, but this is London. She left the house in the pouring rain without a hat or a reticule with a coin in it.'

Mark leaned forward too quickly, pain shooting through his knee from his wooden leg. ‘Have you checked my back garden?'

Pelford gritted his teeth. ‘I looked there first. I even forced my way into your home, looking for her... I'm sure your butler will have quite a tale to tell you when you get home. But Helen hasn't made any other friends in London. I don't know where else she'd go. I've already been to both of her brothers' houses.'

‘Have you tried her publisher's?' Mark suggested. ‘She told me that her book had been printed and she was supposed to approve the pages before they were bound. She wanted to take my sketches there.'

Raking his hand threw his wet hair, Pelford swallowed. ‘I have not. I shall go there next. If you see her by chance, please take her home.'

‘Of course.'

He watched Pelford all but run out of the room, he walked so quickly. The man was clearly worried about Helen's safety.

Putting a hand over his racing heart, Mark was terrified for Helen. What if someone had kidnapped her? Hurt her?

Had she come to his garden and he was not there? She had made it her own little piece of nature in a stone city.

Where would she go?

There were no woods in London.

The River Thames was large and polluted with sewage.

Where would she find nature in the middle of a bustling metropolis?

‘Hyde Park!'

Several eyes in the room were on him. Mark had said it aloud, in a room meant for reading. He had no time to be embarrassed. Struggling to his feet, he hobbled from the room and called for his carriage. He put on his hat and coat while he waited for the black carriage with the Inverness arms engraved on the side to pull in front of the white building of his club.

A male servant held an umbrella over him on his way to the carriage and opened the door. Mark lifted himself in and called for his driver to take him to Hyde Park. Leaning against the glass window, he desperately looked for a sign of her. Unsurprisingly with the weather, there was not another soul in the park. The rain was coming down even harder than before. His carriage splashed and jostled through the mud. He had never wanted to feel this way again: helpless. If Helen wasn't here, he didn't know where else to look. He was not a whole man. He could not be her hero and fight away her foes.

Mark's driver continued down the road through the park until they reached the Serpentine.

A body of water named after a snake.

Mark hit the roof of the carriage with his fist. His driver stopped the vehicle. Opening the door, Mark stepped out into the mud, his wooden leg sinking further than his human one.

‘Is everything all right, my lord?' his driver asked.

After less than a minute, Mark was already soaked to his skin. ‘I'm fine, Mr Stewart. Keep the carriage close. I believe my friend is near.'

His driver nodded, but he probably thought that Mark had finally gone mad.

Lifting his wooden leg out of the mud, Mark managed to limp towards the large lake in the middle of the park. He stood on the pebbled beach. The rain caused thousands of rings on top of the dark water. He nearly turned back, when he saw something white in the distance. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he peered more closely. Helen was knee-deep in the water with her face tilted towards the sky.

Exhaling in relief, he hobbled slowly towards her in the rain and muck. He touched her wet sleeve.

She grinned at him, her face wet. ‘Isn't this the perfect day? I love the rain.'

Mark released her sleeve. ‘Your entire family is searching all of London for you, half sick with worry.'

Helen wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I am so sorry. I did not know. I did not mean to. I only wanted to return to nature for a little while.'

His body tensed and he gritted his teeth. ‘Pelford just went to your publishers. We need to get you home immediately.'

Helen nodded. ‘Of course. I am sorry that I put you out. I should have left a note for my family. I just didn't think of it. Silly of me.'

Swallowing, Mark wasn't angry at Helen. Or rather, he was frustrated and exhausted with how she made his dead soul experience a range of emotions in less than hour. Fear. Hope. Desire. Unsurety. Connection. Exasperation. And joy. His heartbeat thundered in his chest as loud as the falling rain.

Helen took his arm and, instead of him helping her to the carriage, she assisted Mark as he kept having to pull his wooden foot out of the mud and sand. It was beyond humiliating. When they reached the carriage, she climbed in first. Mark gave Mr Stewart directions to Hampford House and pulled himself through the door and on to the seat. His muscles shook from the exertion. He was a wreck of a man.

Helen took his clammy hand in her wet one. ‘How did you know where to find me?'

Mark's teeth chattered. ‘I know you.'

But in his heart, he had fallen in love with her. This beautiful, wild, unearthly woman. And that was why he needed to leave her.