Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

H elen’s radiant smile and innocent joy made it impossible for Arabella to show her inner turmoil. She didn’t want to upset the girl, especially now that she could see how young and delicate she was—no more than thirteen or fourteen, fragile as a porcelain doll.

“I am very glad to meet you too, Helen,” Arabella managed to say, though her thoughts were racing.

What was the right thing to say? How should she address this unexpected situation?

Helen’s face lit up at her response. “Arabella, will you come to see me more often now? At least while I am still in town? Harry says I am to move soon, but he hasn’t told me where.”

Arabella’s heart raced. Move? What did this mean? She recalled overhearing Harry discussing plans to place someone—a child, perhaps—in a home. Was Helen that child? But why? Helen’s pale complexion and frail frame suggested a long-term illness. Was Harry arranging for her to be sent to a sanatorium or some similar place?

Arabella glanced at Mrs. Hollingsworth, who was watching her intently. She needed to learn more, to unravel the mystery before her.

“Arabella, would you like to sit with me? We can feed the animals together. And you too, Lady Emma,” Helen suggested in a sweet voice.

Emma smiled. “I would love to.”

Arabella hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, me too. But first, if you don’t mind, I’d like a word with Mrs. Hollingsworth.”

Helen beamed, completely oblivious to the tension. “Not at all! I adore your gown, by the way. It’s such a lovely color. Is it puce? The repository said one should never wear puce this season, that it was quite out of fashion, but I think it looks beautiful on you. I wish I had a gown in such a color—perhaps in Pomona green or lavender.” She suddenly turned to Emma, who sat beside her. “What’s your favorite color, Lady Emma?”

It was clear that the girl craved attention and companionship. Arabella wondered if she spent her days alone in that house, with only Mrs. Hollingsworth for company.

Determined to learn more, she turned to the older woman. “Mrs. Hollingsworth, would you walk with me?”

Mrs. Hollingsworth nodded, though Arabella noticed a weariness in her eyes. “I must stay close to Helen,” she said.

“Of course,” Arabella replied gently. “I just have a few questions, and I’d rather not discuss them in front of Helen.”

Mrs. Hollingsworth nodded again and walked with Arabella to the water’s edge, away from the others. The ducks quacked softly as they passed, adding a peaceful backdrop to the tension that Arabella felt.

“You do not know who she is, do you?” Mrs. Hollingsworth asked quietly as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I do not,” Arabella admitted. “Until now, I thought my husband had a mistress he was hiding from me.”

“Goodness, no,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said, her voice soft but firm. “His Grace would never do such a thing. Helen was right—he speaks of you often and with great affection. He is very clear about his fondness for you. Besides, he is not the sort of man to keep a mistress. His uncle, perhaps. But Harry is too much like his father—a true gentleman.”

Arabella’s eyes widened. “You knew the late Duke?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said with a nod. “I was Her Grace’s lady’s maid for many years, until her death. After that, I worked for Lady Templeton.”

Arabella’s heart skipped a beat. “Lady Templeton? As in Richard Templeton?”

“Yes, Sir Richard’s wife,” Mrs. Hollingsworth confirmed. “Oh, she was a lovely woman. She looked just like Miss Helen. Birds of a feather, one might say.”

Arabella’s mouth dropped open as realization dawned on her. “Helen is Sir Richard’s daughter.”

Mrs. Hollingsworth nodded, her expression solemn. “You truly knew nothing, did you? I suppose it’s not my place to say more.”

“Please, Mrs. Hollingsworth,” Arabella pleaded. “I have spent weeks—no, months—trying to figure out what my husband has been keeping from me. I am relieved to hear that he has not taken a mistress, but I am still so confused. Please, tell me something. Is Helen truly Sir Richard’s daughter?”

Mrs. Hollingsworth took a deep breath. “She is. Not that he would ever admit it. He sees her as a disgrace. In fact, we have not seen him for months—perhaps more than a year.”

“He doesn’t visit his own daughter?” Arabella asked, shocked.

“No, he does not,” Mrs. Hollingsworth sighed, shaking her head. “And I am grateful for it. The few times he did visit, he was terrible to her. If not for His Grace, I do not know what would have become of Miss Helen. It is His Grace who steps in and helps whenever he can, though Sir Richard won’t allow it.”

Arabella’s mind raced as she tried to comprehend what she was hearing. Sir Richard, it seemed, had all but abandoned his daughter. Her heart ached for the poor girl.

Mrs. Hollingsworth looked out over the water. “Sir Richard likes to pretend that she doesn’t exist.”

Arabella frowned, her thoughts swirling. Hadn’t Harry told her that Lady Templeton—Sir Richard’s wife—had died along with her daughter? Yes, he had made it sound as though both mother and child had passed away years ago.

“Did Lady Templeton have any other children?” she asked carefully.

Mrs. Hollingsworth shook her head. “No. She and Sir Richard had only one child—Miss Helen. Lady Templeton passed away before she could have more. It was difficult enough for them to have Helen. They tried for years, but she lost one child after another. I always thought it was His Grace’s coming into their lives that allowed her to finally have Helen.”

Arabella looked down at the rippling water, trying to process everything. “How old is Miss Helen?” she asked.

Mrs. Hollingsworth hesitated before answering. “She will be sixteen in October.”

Sixteen. Harry was twenty-five—nine years separated them. Arabella’s mind raced as she pieced together the timeline.

“So, Harry lived with Sir Richard and Lady Templeton for four years before Helen was born,” she murmured, more to herself than to Mrs. Hollingsworth.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Hollingsworth confirmed. “Helen was born when Lady Templeton was in her late thirties, and Sir Richard was happier than I had ever seen him. But that was before…” she trailed off, her face clouding over with sadness.

“Before what?” Arabella prompted.

“Before Lady Templeton died,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“How did she die?” Arabella asked, already dreading the answer.

Mrs. Hollingsworth looked at her as if she were seeing a ghost. “You truly know nothing about the family you married into, do you? It was a carriage accident. Very unfortunate. The coachman… he should not have been driving that day. But Sir Richard insisted…” She waved a hand dismissively. “I have said too much. You ought to speak to His Grace if you wish to know the details.”

Arabella’s thoughts were in a whirl. She had known nothing of this, nothing of the tragedy that had shaped her husband’s past. The more she learned, the more she realized how little she truly knew about the man she had married.

Mrs. Hollingsworth’s voice brought her back to the present. “I am grateful that you came today. Miss Helen has been talking about you non-stop. She has even been drawing you.”

“Drawing me?” Arabella echoed, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Hollingsworth smiled faintly. “You’ll see. Helen!” she called, and the girl looked up. “I think Her Grace would like to see the portrait you’ve been working on.”

Helen beamed. “Emma, would you fetch the case? The leather case attached to the back of my chair.”

Emma got up and retrieved a leather case from the back of the wheelchair, before handing it to Helen. Arabella noticed that Helen’s left arm moved slowly, her wrist bent at an awkward angle. It looked painful, yet the girl didn’t seem to mind.

With great care, Helen pulled out a sheet of parchment and turned it around to show Arabella. The moment Arabella saw the drawing, she gasped. It wasn’t an exact likeness, but the resemblance was uncanny. The drawing captured her essence in a way that no artist had ever done before.

“You drew this?” she asked, astonished.

“Yes,” Helen replied with a shy smile. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes. Harry always brings me parchment and graphite pencils and everything I need. I like to draw what I see—sometimes from memory, sometimes from description, and sometimes I copy paintings. Harry told me you saw the drawing I made of my mother and me. Did you like it?”

Another realization dawned on Arabella. All the drawings she had seen signed with an ‘H’, she had assumed they were Harry’s. But they were, in fact, Helen’s.

Why had Harry told her he made them? Why had he led her to believe that Helen was dead? None of it made any sense.

“I saw it, yes,” Arabella confirmed, her voice filled with admiration. “It was excellent. You are very talented.”

Helen’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Thank you! I must admit, I’m rather proud of it.”

“As you should be,” Mrs. Hollingsworth chimed in. “Your drawings are excellent. I could see them in a gallery one day.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hollingsworth,” Helen said, her voice light with laughter. “You needn’t flatter me so.”

“It is not flattery if it is true,” Emma piped up with a smile. “You are very talented, indeed.”

Arabella nodded in agreement, still marveling at the drawing.

Helen was exceptionally talented, but why would Harry hide her from Arabella? He clearly loved Helen deeply; he visited her often and shared so much about his wife with her. It made no sense that he would conceal her existence.

Helen interrupted Arabella’s thoughts. “Shall I draw something for you now? You can watch me work.”

Arabella smiled. “Yes, I would love that.”

“But not for too long,” Mrs. Hollingsworth cautioned gently. “We must be back inside by eleven, you know that.”

Arabella frowned slightly. Why such a strict schedule? Helen didn’t seem to have any social engagements, and it wasn’t as though she lived in the heart of London. So why was her time so tightly managed?

She pushed her questions aside, determined to enjoy the morning with Helen and Emma. The answers would come in time—perhaps when she confronted Harry about everything she had learned today. For now, she would savor the simple joy of watching Helen’s talented hand bring life to the page.

Arabella sat beside Helen on the bench, Mrs. Hollingsworth on one side and Emma on the other, and watched as the young girl began to sketch a pair of swans gliding gracefully across the water. Each stroke of the pencil was deliberate, filled with a quiet intensity that spoke of Helen’s passion for her art.

As Arabella watched, her heart softened. Here, in the quiet of the garden, surrounded by the gentle sounds of nature and the company of these three women, she felt a sense of peace.

Whatever mysteries lay ahead, whatever secrets she had yet to uncover, she knew she would face them with courage and determination.