Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

J oshua had no notion what to expect from Miss Emerson, though he doubted he would receive much of a welcome. He owed her an apology for his dismissal of the day before, though he hoped she would understand that he had needed to ensure her safety at any cost. He hoped she did not find his blackened eye offensive. It remained slightly swollen and had turned a glorious shade of purple.

He dressed with care in a navy coat and buff trousers, his best black boots and a perfectly tied cravat. He had a notion of how to regain the lady's favor so had Molly harnessed to the gig, then spent the entire drive to Bramble Cottage trying to compose his apology.

To his relief, she was in the garden outside the cottage and alone except for Mischief. She was not dressed for a journey to town, which was a disappointing sign. It was the way she lifted her head to glance toward him, her outrage so clear in her posture that Joshua feared he might not be able to regain her approval.

"Miss Emerson," he said as he alighted from the gig. He secured Molly's reins and gave her a pat. Mischief came running to him, her tail wagging so hard that she almost stumbled.

Miss Emerson held her ground and eyed him, her expression unwelcoming.

If anything, she was even more beautiful when her eyes flashed with fury. Her lips were set and she held herself tall, like a warrior intending to strike him dead. Her gaze lingered upon his blackened eye for a moment, but she did not speak of it.

He bowed, feeling a measure of stiffness that he could not entirely hide.

"You are injured," she said, her words clipped.

"I fear I am, but not severely. We fought but he escaped."

She stared at him, her features seemingly carved in stone. "Thank you for delivering such tidings. Good day, sir." She began to turn away.

"I do owe you an apology, Miss Emerson, for my comments of yesterday afternoon."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression icy. "Surely the fact that you could never pledge yourself to a woman so utterly determined to proceed foolishly in every situation has not changed."

"I spoke harshly, I admit, but it was imperative that you return home and with speed. I had to ensure your safety, Miss Emerson, and you were disinclined to take my counsel."

"I think there is more to the matter than that, sir."

"Indeed?" Joshua was puzzled.

"And her name is Mrs. Lewis." She fairly spat the last two words.

She was angrier than he had ever seen her, and Joshua could make little sense of her reaction.

"What do you know of Mrs. Lewis?"

"That you have bought an annuity for her and her son, that her son resembles you greatly and that she is expecting another." Her eyes flashed. "That you should have a mistress and hide this detail from me, even when you made an offer for my hand, is outrageous beyond every expectation. That you concealed the fact of a son is even more appalling…"

"She is Gerald's mistress," Joshua said softly. "I encountered her for the first time last week, and recognized that her son had to be Gerald's son, as well."

Miss Emerson fell silent, an encouraging sign.

Indeed, her very anger was encouraging, for he had thought her indifferent to him and any details of his life.

He offered his hand. "Will you walk around the garden with me while I explain?"

She hesitated the barest moment before taking his arm.

Joshua led her away from the house, choosing where best to begin. "If you recall, a week ago, I believed my brother to be dead." She nodded. "When I encountered Mrs. Lewis and her son, and recognized the connection, I also saw that her circumstances were less than affluent. I believed it fitting to provide for my nephew and spoke to my estate manager, Mr. Newson, about it."

Miss Emerson bowed her head, watching the ground before herself as they walked, hiding her reactions from Joshua. He took encouragement from the fact that she listened at all.

"Mr. Newson confided that Gerald and my father had argued about the lady. Gerald had been determined to wed her, and my father had disapproved. Though Newson was disinclined to share all the details, by dint of a pledge of confidence made to my father, I can only conclude that this relationship, deemed unsuitable by my father, was the reason my father bought Gerald's commission. I do not think my father knew about the child."

Miss Emerson looked up at this.

"There can be no denying it," Joshua said. "He is so like Gerald at that age. And I could not in good conscience allow Gerald's son to grow up in poverty. I arranged for the annuity, over the objections of Mr. Newson, and when I learned the boy—Francis is his name—had an ambition to become a smith, I offered to pay for his apprenticeship if the smith was willing to take him on. He cannot be responsible for his parentage, but I can give him an opportunity to create a respectable life for himself."

"You did not have to do as much," Miss Emerson breathed, admiration in her tone.

"I believe I did, for it was right, but Mr. Newson is inclined to share your view."

"Oh," she said softly and he dared to smile at her. She smiled in return and flushed in the most becoming way. Her eyes were sparkling now. "I thought she was your mistress and he was your son."

"No," Joshua said flatly. "Ten years ago, I was betrothed, and afterward I mourned Miss Havilland's loss. I have no mistress and no by-blows." He leaned a little closer to her and spoke sternly. "I would have confessed to them before making an offer of marriage, Miss Emerson, as any man of honor would have done."

"Yes," she said with evident relief. "You would have. I am sorry that I believed idle gossip."

"I am sorry that I spoke harshly to you yesterday."

She flushed again. "I understand, for I did not heed your advice." She raised her gaze to his. "I was afraid for you."

Joshua could not find fault with that explanation. "And I appreciate your concern." Their gazes clung in a most satisfying way. Truly, Joshua might have wished for Gerald's return and intervention earlier, even to the point of the bruises he had sustained, had he guessed that his brother would lend such speed to Joshua's suit.

Miss Emerson averted her gaze, and was clearly puzzling through some detail. "Is this Mrs. Lewis why your father sent your brother away?"

"Possibly. There is a tale that they argued about my brother's inclination to wed the lady. Of course, I had no notion of his survival when I arranged for the annuity."

"You simply acted as you believed was right," she said with undisguised approval.

"Indeed."

"Do you think he might have taken refuge with her?"

"It is possible," Joshua acknowledged. "The duke may have suggestions. He must know those in Haynesdale Hollow far better than I do."

"But it is a long way from Addersley Manor to Haynesdale Hollow without a horse."

"The road is the longer route, Miss Emerson. It runs south to Bramble Cottage, east to Southpoint, then north to Haynesdale. When we were boys, we ran to the east to reach Haynesdale Hollow much more quickly. The route is uneven, though we did not mind the brambles or the creek in those days."

"So, it can be travelled quickly on foot."

"Indeed, it can."

"Still I cannot understand why he did not write to you."

"He says he wrote to my father and was rebuffed." Joshua shook his head. "I cannot credit the tale, though. Why would my father not be relieved to learn that his son was alive?"

Miss Emerson nodded agreement and they strolled a little further together, the harmony between them more complete than ever it had been. Joshua felt no desire to hasten this interval. Indeed, he would have walked to London with her thus and been content.

"Was it you who came last night then?" she asked finally.

Joshua looked toward her with alarm. "Last night? No. Who came last night?"

"The rider in the cloak, on the great horse. I saw him from my window and he beckoned to me."

Joshua caught his breath. So that was why Specter had been abandoned in a lather. "But you did not heed him?"

She shook her head. "I did not think it was you. There was something amiss, perhaps in his posture." She slanted a glance at him, a twinkle lighting her eyes. "Of course, you have never proven that my champion was you."

"I have confessed my deception."

"But I think that only a kiss would convince me of the truth," she said lightly.

"Miss Emerson, you are most audacious."

She laughed then and he could find no fault with her at all. "If you disapprove of my nature, sir, you should cease to call upon me."

"But I do not disapprove, Miss Emerson," he confessed quietly. "Indeed, I find you utterly enchanting."

She turned to face him then, her expression so welcoming that he nearly did claim that kiss—though offending Lady Dalhousie would only hamper his progress. She laid a hand upon his arm, and met his gaze again. "And I, sir, realize that my impulsiveness led me astray for the last time." She swallowed. "I could only wish…"

He dropped a fingertip to her lips to silence her. "It is possible that I divine your wish, Miss Emerson," he murmured, watching her smile. "May I be so bold as to continue to call upon you?"

"I should like that very much, sir."

"Then we are agreed, as amiable acquaintances should be."

"I believe an amiable acquaintance has its limits, though, my lord. It must always become more or less in time."

"True enough, Miss Emerson. I for one shall hope for more."

"Oh, Lord Addersley. So shall I." She granted him a smile that could not be mistaken for anything other than her complete approval. Joshua, much encouraged, dropped his own gaze to her ripe lips and considered the merit of removing the last of her supposed doubts, regardless of Lady Dalhousie's possible response. He bent a little closer. Miss Emerson, to his satisfaction, rose to her toes.

Then Lady Dalhousie's cry echoed across the garden, ending all such happy possibilities in an instant. "Viscount Addersley!" she cried. "Whatever brings you to Bramble Cottage?"

Aunt had the most wretched ability to sense an event of interest, and worse, to ensure it never occurred. Aunt Fanny charged across the garden with her cane, showing an agility that Helena had not known she possessed. Helena kept her hand upon the viscount's arm, a detail that she watched her aunt note. Aunt's lips tightened and she glared at Helena, who did not change her posture.

Aunt exhaled noisily, striving to catch her breath. "Helena! What is the meaning of this encounter?"

"Lord Addersley was telling me about the unfortunate situation of his brother's mistress and son. It seems he just learned of them last week and has since ensured that their futures will be more comfortable. Is that not a kind gesture?"

"Your brother?" Aunt echoed, looking between the two of them.

"It seems that my younger brother and this Mrs. Lewis had a liaison before my father bought him a commission. I knew nothing of it, and I suspect my father knew nothing of the child. Perhaps my brother did not either."

Helena realized that he did not intend to reveal the detail of his brother's survival. She would not do as much either.

"Well!"

"I halted here on my way to meet with Lady Haynesdale, at her request. I am hoping the duke is returned that we might consult upon the situation with these ruffians who have taken up residence in the ruins."

"Who do you imagine them to be?"

"There are many decommissioned soldiers in need, and others yet unwelcome in their own homes now that they are returned."

"How wicked," Helena said.

"Many a wife is not glad of an injured or addled husband's return," he told her politely and Helena nodded understanding. He turned to Aunt again. "I had promised to escort Miss Emerson to the dressmaker's to collect her slippers before the ball, and would not let so minor an injury as my own to interfere with her pleasure."

He was so gallant!

Aunt softened slightly. "But sir, you must know what is being said of you."

"And we cannot place our trust in rumor and gossip, Lady Dalhousie. I will defend your niece with my life, I pledge it to you."

"Becky could accompany us, Aunt," Helena suggested, for she saw that her aunt was disinclined to relent.

Aunt's resistance faded. "That is an excellent notion. I know you want your slippers but without carriage or horse, there is no way for us to fetch them." Aunt took the viscount's other elbow and turned him toward the cottage. "You must change your dress, Helena, to go to town, and in the meantime, Lord Addersley, I wonder if you might regale us with the tale of your battle with the ruffians yesterday. It might put rumor to rest for once and for all…"

Lord Addersley was not vexing.

Nor did he have a mistress or a son.

By every accounting, he was perfect.

Helena spun in her room in her delight before she changed. Only her favorite blue dress would do.

By the time she descended to the kitchen again, Becky fast upon her heels, the butcher, his wife, Aunt and the Nixons were enthralled by the viscount's tale and clearly convinced of his merit. Aunt beamed, gratified to have proven her own merit as a provider of local news and the other women exchanged glances as the viscount rose to his feet at Helena's appearance.

He bowed over her hand and Helena hoped she was not the only one to see his admiration.

He looked very handsome himself in his navy jacket and she did not fail to note the fine embroidery on his silken waistcoat. It suited him well to dress a little more finely than had been his custom when they first arrived. Truly, she was certain there was no more handsome man in Nottinghamshire, if not in all of England.

He led her to the gig that was just inside the rhododendron hedge. It had no roof, and she guessed he had chosen it because the day was fine. The horse was a glossy chestnut mare with white socks and a white mark on her brow. Her mane and tail were darker and braided neatly, and she watched their approach with interest.

Aunt followed them, still chattering. "Thank you kindly for the fullness of the tale, my lord. We are most gratified that you were not more seriously injured than you were."

"I took a pummeling, Lady Dalhousie, but granted one in return." He touched his eye. "This is the worst of it, and the bruise will fade quickly enough."

"But to confront the villain alone! That is an act of bravery, sir. You might have faced a dozen brutes!"

"I knew there was but one, Lady Dalhousie." The viscount's eyes glinted as his gaze slid to Helena and she knew he would not reveal her part in events of the day before.

How had she ever imagined him to be inscrutable? She saw the way he inhaled sharply when she smiled at him. His eyes had darkened to that sensual hue and there was the barest curve of a smile upon his lips.

"But they say…"

"People say a great many foolish things, Lady Dalhousie. I am sufficiently hale to see this matter resolved today. You need have no fear of Miss Emerson's safety in my company."

"Oh, I do not, sir, and I did not mean to imply otherwise!"

"Of course not. Come, Miss Emerson, your slippers await, as does the dowager duchess." He offered his hand to her and Helena let him guide her toward the gig. He halted beside the horse. "Perhaps you would like to make the acquaintance of Molly before we depart." The horse nickered then nuzzled Helena's outstretched and gloved hand. "She knows the way to Haynesdale Hollow as well as I do."

Helena smiled at this assertion, then stroked Molly's nose. "I wish I had an apple for her."

"She will have one when she is home again," he said, leading her toward the gig. He considered the height to the bench, then spoke in a murmur. "If you will permit the familiarity, Miss Emerson," he said, then fitted his hands around her waist and lifted her before she could reply.

It was glorious to feel his hands close tightly around her, to catch the scent of his skin, to feel his heat so close. Helena felt almost faint, but she strove to hide her reaction from all but the viscount. She watched through her lashes as he gave Becky his hand, helping her to the seat at the back of the gig. Then he climbed in the seat with ease and settled beside Helena. She was delighted that his thigh was so close to her own.

"We will return as quickly as possible, Lady Dalhousie," he assured Aunt who nodded agreement. He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, so that Molly turned and trotted through the hedge. Mischief barked from the kitchen behind them, but Helena could not have been happier.

"I am most relieved that we are to be friends again, sir," she said when they were clear of the rhododendron hedge.

He was visibly biting back a smile. "Miss Emerson, you are as forthright as ever."

"I think you do not mind," she said, his manner making her doubt his statements of the day before.

"I believe you are correct." He cast her a glance that was all simmering humor and she thought her heart might burst with satisfaction. "I do have a proposition for you, Miss Emerson."

Helena's heart leapt.

"As mentioned the other day, a curricle is not ideal as the first conveyance one commands. Two horses can be more challenging than one, and the vehicle itself is more prone to mishap." He flicked a glance her way. "A gig is a more sensible place to begin, particularly with a horse such as Molly, who does not truly need much guidance."

Helena felt her eyes widen as she understood his meaning. "You mean to let me take the reins!"

"Miss!" Becky whispered from behind her.

"One must learn sometime, in my view, and it is prudent to do as much before one is under duress." The viscount was firm and Helena took courage from his confidence in her. "First, consider how I hold the reins. They are neither slack nor taut. I can pull on one or the other to guide Molly's path–she will turn in the direction of the pressure. When I pull on them equally, but gently, Molly will halt." He did as much and Molly halted. The horse blew out her lips, apparently seeing no cause to stop on the road to Southpoint, and stamped a hoof.

The viscount flicked the reins and clicked his tongue. "Walk on, Molly," he said and she did. He encouraged the horse to a trot and then a canter as Helena watched, then slowed and halted the horse again.

"Take the reins," he said to Helena.

"But I…"

"You can rely upon me to intervene if necessary," he assured her.

Of course, she could. Helena cast him a triumphant smile, watched his eyes darken, then took the reins. Their gloved hands brushed in the transaction and her heart skipped, then all of her attention was upon Molly and the road ahead.

She meant to prove that his trust in her was deserved.

Miss Emerson was as sensible and careful as Joshua had expected. She watched the horse more keenly than most people were inclined to do, but perhaps that was the influence of her brother. She surveyed her surroundings constantly and paid heed to the road ahead.

A rabbit emerged suddenly to bound across the road, an incident that might have spooked a horse less steady than Molly. Becky had scarcely gasped in alarm by the time Miss Emerson saw it and slowed their progress. The rabbit was long gone by the time they reached the point where it had appeared and Molly did not so much as flick her ears. Joshua sat back, having been braced to intervene, and simply watched his companion.

It was clear that she both welcomed the opportunity and enjoyed the challenge of learning a new skill. "You must correct me when I err, sir," she said, sparing him only a fleeting glance.

"I would not hesitate to do as much, Miss Emerson, but it appears that you already know how to do this."

She laughed. "I do not. I suspect that you have contrived my success."

"Do not fail to grant Molly her due," he said and she laughed again. Then she sobered and slowed Molly to pass Southpoint, taking the bend in the road at a sedate pace. Joshua saw Captain Emerson emerge from his stable and look after them, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand as he took a better look. Joshua raised a hand to wave and saw surprise on the other man's face before he grinned. Then Miss Emerson completed the turn and Southpoint was lost behind them, Molly being urged to a trot once more.

Joshua watched Miss Emerson, his admiration of her growing with every meeting. She was audacious and bold, but not overly so. She enjoyed whatever opportunity presented, and he was convinced that she was not as foolish as her aunt and relations might believe.

She had need of a husband and protector, in his view, no more than that, and he believed that matter would shortly be resolved.

"I do not think I can manage Haynesdale Hollow just yet," Miss Emerson confided as that village drew nearer.

"You have done very well for a first attempt," Joshua acknowledged.

She urged Molly to a halt, then returned the reins to him, her exultation clear.

"Miss, you might have been driving all your life!" Becky said.

"Indeed, you may have a curricle in hand by the end of the year." Joshua clicked his tongue to Molly.

"Only if someone is so kind as to let me take the reins again and again. I should like to be more confident before attempting a curricle. I thank you, sir. That was—" she took a deep breath "—most wondrous."

What was wondrous was the glow in the lady's eyes.

Joshua considered the influence of this lady upon his own perspective in just a few days, and could not begin to imagine how she might change his life once she was truly a part of it. He lifted her down to the ground at Mrs. Jameson's establishment, savoring the fleeting contact, then left her there with Becky and his promise to return as expediently as possible.

He was assured that she could happily spend all the day perusing ribbons and lengths of silk.

Joshua tipped his hat and rode for Haynesdale House, thinking less of the dowager duchess, the duke and his brother than of the lady he had just left.

Perhaps he might propose to Miss Emerson again this very day.

Doubtless she would demand a kiss to prove his identity before she agreed, a prospect that made Joshua Hargood smile.

The dowager was waiting for Joshua before her teapot. She looked lovely in hues of pink and there was a touch of color in her cheeks, as if she was pleased about some tidings. An open letter reposed on the table beside the tea tray.

"I have had a letter from my son," she said immediately, then poured for them both. "He will return for the ball."

"What splendid news," Joshua said. He had wanted to speak to the duke, but had no reason to expect the duchess to be so concerned in providing him with the news of his pending arrival. "I had hoped he might have arrived already as I have a matter to discuss with him."

"I expect him on the morrow," the lady confided, much to Joshua's disappointment. "He asked me to speak to you in advance about a certain confidential matter."

"Indeed?" Joshua said.

Her lips tightened briefly and he sensed that she was not entirely pleased by whatever she had learned. "My son, evidently, is bringing his ward."

"I did not realize His Grace had a ward."

"Nor did I," that man's mother said, her tone arch. "And yet, she will be arriving here within days."

This might not have been welcome news, by the lady's reaction.

Joshua waited.

"Damien has specifically asked me to encourage your interest in the young lady. He believes, if I may be blunt, that she would make you an excellent wife."

Joshua blinked. "Indeed," he managed to say. "How kind of him."

"It may be kind," the older lady ceded. "Or he may wish to undermine any speculation about his own intentions before they begin. At any rate, you are in need of a wife, by all appearances, and Mlle. Sylvie LaFleur is evidently both young and pretty. She has no dowry of her own, but my son declares that he will make a settlement upon her when she is married." She sipped her tea and met his gaze, her manner expectant.

"I am greatly honored by the consideration, Lady Haynesdale."

She smiled a little. "But not enticed, even by the very logical nature of the proposal?"

Joshua opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned and took a sip of hot tea before speaking. "I do have inclinations of my own, Lady Haynesdale."

"You are smitten with Miss Emerson," she said with complete authority. "I saw it myself on the day I introduced you and to be sure, I thought you might make a match there. I do not mean to belabor a point, but she has declined you, sir, and I would not have you persist in a suit that shows no promise. Your mother would chastise me greatly if I did not encourage you to be sensible."

"I am always sensible, Lady Haynesdale."

She smiled. "Then we are agreed. Of course, you likely wish to see the lady before making the arrangements but let us assume you to be interested. I will instruct Mlle. Sylvie to save her first three dances for you at the ball, and during that interval, you should be able to ascertain for yourself her many charms."

"But Lady Haynesdale…"

"Tut tut," she said, silencing him with a wagging finger. "Damien says she is a beauty beyond compare. You will be pleased, sir, rely upon it."

But Joshua knew he would not be pleased, regardless of how many charms Mlle. Sylvie LaFleur possessed. There was only one lady he desired to take to wife.

Rather than resolving a challenge, this visit had added another. The sole way he could see to politely circumvent the dowager's suggestion was to propose to Miss Emerson this very day and gain her consent. At the very least, he would have to prepare her for his newfound obligation of dancing first with the duke's ward.

As the duke was expected at any hour, he asked to leave a message for that man and wrote a note in the duke's study. "I entreat you, my lady, to surrender this to his Grace upon his arrival," he said when he granted it to her. "It involves a matter of urgency."

"You may rely upon me to place it in his hand the moment he arrives."

"I thank you." Joshua bowed and departed, checking his watch with a wince. Writing the letter had taken more time than he had intended, and Miss Emerson might be growing impatient. The last thing he wanted was to lose her goodwill at this moment.

He strode to the gig and Molly, unaware that the dowager watched his departure. No sooner was Molly trotting toward the village than the dowager broke the seal and opened his message to the duke. He would have been gratified to see her astonishment to learn that Gerald was alive.

Family was a man's bulwark against the world, in the view of William Jones. If there were people one could rely upon, in good times and bad, it should be one's relations. Had he not stood by his sister when she found herself unwed and with child? Had he not given both her and her babe a home? He had, indeed, because she was his family, and the last of it, too.

Had he not repaired her situation once he had finally learned the name of the father? Truly, William had. Written to the man's brother, he had, saying as all should be made right. He had been in his cups when the viscount called with Darney and the tale of the annuity, and he had doubted the truth of it all. But Viscount Addersley was a better man than his brother, to be sure, for he had made matters aright, taking a responsibility his brother had not. William was inclined to think that he and the fine gentleman shared a similar view of the world.

There remained, however, the question of the babe in Alice's belly, another child of the viscount's brother. If he should provide for one, why not the other?

When William saw the viscount leave that new lady at the dressmaker's, he had a notion that he would make another appeal.

No doubt, the viscount would return for the pretty miss. William had no pressing obligations on this fine day, and he would wait for the chance to yet again improve his sister's circumstance.

He took his leisure, imagining a better future for all of them. Perhaps the viscount might be inclined to find Alice a husband. Moving to Addersley village would be good for Alice, get her and Francis away from the temptations of Haynesdale Hollow.

Aye, William would wait and speak to the viscount.

Helena began to wonder what delayed the viscount. She had collected her slippers and reviewed nigh every item in Mrs. Jameson's shop, lingering over some particularly lovely silk. She had expected him to appear at the door at any time, amused by her fascination.

But he had not come.

They had exhausted their welcome in the shop, Helena having no resources to make an acquisition and had finally left the establishment.

The viscount was not there, nor was there any sign of him approaching.

They stood before the shop, looking up and down the main thoroughfare of Haynesdale Hollow. A heavy-set man seemed to take note of them and settled against a wall some twenty feet away, his gaze fixed upon them. Helena strove to ignore him.

"We cannot go to the tavern, miss," Becky said. "Though I should love a cup of tea."

"As would I," Helena agreed. "But we must wait here, lest we miss the viscount."

"I hope no ill has befallen him, miss," Becky said long moments later.

Helena held fast to her parcel and hoped the same. Where could he be?

A throat was abruptly cleared behind them.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but they say you are the one Viscount Addersley is courting." Helena turned to find a young boy addressing her. His expression was earnest and she could not escape how strongly he favored the viscount.

"I could not say," Helena said, then made a guess. "Would you be the son of Mrs. Lewis?"

He smiled. "Aye, my lady. Francis is my name. My mum says as there are details you should know of his lordship and she is the best to tell you of them." Could there have been an assertion better designed to pique Helena's curiosity? "Will you come to her, my lady? It is not far."

Helena hesitated.

"My mistress is not interested in gossip," Becky began, but Helena raised a hand to silence her maid.

"What manner of details?"

"My mum has known that family all her life. She knows secrets , my lady."

Secrets.

As mistress of the viscount's brother, Mrs. Lewis might well be privy to secrets, either known within the family or told of them. She might, for example, know where the viscount's brother had his refuge. Was it possible that Helena could learn some detail that would be of aid to the viscount?

"We will both come," she said, giving Becky a glance to silence her.

"Miss! Are you sure?"

"We may be able to assist the viscount," Helena replied in a whisper.

"I am not certain as it is your place to do as much, miss," Becky whispered back.

Helena was quite certain that it was not her place, but she would strive to learn more anyway.

The boy bobbed his head, then turned to lead them onward. They walked a short distance along the main avenue of Haynesdale Hollow, then the boy turned into a smaller lane. Helena hesitated, considering the darkened and narrow path. Once again, she looked for the viscount, but there was no indication of his return. The lane appeared to be deserted.

The heavy-set man was still watching them, his interest more than disconcerting.

"Down here, my lady," the boy called, his manner encouraging.

Helena had to learn what she could. It was broad daylight in a busy town. What could befall them? And the viscount would return momentarily, she was certain.

Helena squared her shoulders and followed. The boy remained just ahead of them, and was good to his word. They had not gone thirty steps down the lane before he halted and indicated a door.

It was not a promising entry. The paint was faded and peeling, and the threshold had not been swept. Did anyone live in this abode? If so, their habits were not tidy ones.

"We will not be here long," the boy supplied. "Mum says that since the viscount provided for us, we will have finer quarters." He lowered his voice. "This is my uncle's home." His manner was so furtive that Helena guessed the uncle was not kindly disposed toward his sister and her son.

"I understand the viscount bought your mother an annuity?"

The boy beamed as he nodded. "And I am to have an apprenticeship if the smith is willing. I should like ever so much to be a smith."

Helena could not halt her answering smile. "You will have to work hard to learn such skills."

"But it is all I ever wanted. I cannot wait to begin."

He was so enthused that Helena found herself wishing him well. She liked the boy, and the viscount was right—his conception could scarce be held against him. She would have knocked upon the door, but he seemed to recall himself. He opened it and ushered her and Becky inside, then closed the door behind them. It took a moment for Helena's eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior, then she took a step back.

There was a man leaning against the opposite wall, a familiar man whose gaze burned with hatred. "How delightful to encounter you again," Gerald Hargood said with a bow that seemed slightly mocking. He also moved stiffly as if he had been injured even more than his brother the day before.

Helena supposed she should not have been so glad of that.

"I should never have come if I had known you were waiting," she said.

"Which is precisely why I ensured you did not know," he said, gesturing to a bench.

"I will return to Mrs. Jameson's, thank you."

"You will not depart without my leave," he said, his voice hard. "Lock the door, Francis."

Helena realized that a woman sat beside the hearth, mending in her lap, her gaze locked adoringly upon Gerald. The bolt was shot loudly and Helena's heart sank. She gripped her parcel tightly, wondering what she could do to ensure their safety. Once again, she had followed impulse – admittedly in a desire to help – and erred mightily. Would the viscount follow them? If he did, he would come to their aid, of that she was certain, but would he know where to look?

The best strategy she could contrive was to keep everyone talking. Perhaps she might discern a solution then.

Helena could only hope.