Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T he path through the forest was muddy after the rains and Helena wished she had worn more sturdy footwear than her slippers. It was not the first time she had erred in an impulsive rush, yet she was not inclined to turn back. No doubt, Aunt Fanny would spot her and have two reasons to chastise her. No, Helena would continue, no matter how precarious the way, and take her chances. The puppy had chewed the ribbons of these slippers, anyway.

It was cursedly difficult to climb the slight incline to her destination, but when she might have surrendered, Helena was rewarded by the sudden view through a gap in the trees. A beam of sunlight even shone down in that instant, as if it had been conjured by magic, and illuminated her destination.

It was a folly!

Helena gasped in wonder. The whimsical building had been constructed in a forest clearing, with a reflecting pond before it and shrubs on either side. The structure itself was shaped like a Japanese pagoda, though of a diminutive size. It was square, about four paces on a side, and it had been painted a glossy red. The roof was copper and fluted, the corners rising to gold-tipped points. She thought they deserved long silken tassels. On the peak of the roof, which rose from the very middle, was a golden orb. The door was bronze and the entire structure so delicate and detailed that it might have been a jewelry box. The sunlight had been glinting off the copper roof from the distance.

Helena was enchanted. Who would have guessed that any of the dour and elderly residents of this region would construct something so fanciful? Not she!

Upon closer inspection, it was clear the structure had been neglected in recent years. The cheerful red paint was peeling near the base of the walls and the exterior was marked from the patter of rain. The copper roof had turned verdigris and the golden accents were in need of polishing. The windows on either side were clouded and dark, while the bronze doors were in desperate need of cleaning.

How curious that the knob on the right door was the only element that was not mired. It must have been used more in the past.

The pond had a healthy growth of small green plants, even this early in the season, and the water was clouded. Helena thought she glimpsed a flash of orange in the depths of the water but could not be certain. The plants in the garden were overgrown and untended. Small trees and scrubby plants were growing between the pavilion and the surrounding forest, and she was certain that could not have been the original design.

The adorable pagoda had been forgotten.

Who had built it? Who had visited it? Helena tried the door but it was secured. She endeavored to peer through the window on one side, but to no avail. The window was so dirty and the interior was dark. Perhaps there were curtains inside.

Perhaps the angle was wrong. She considered the sun overhead and moved to the window on the other side of the double doors. She polished a circle of glass with her glove, resigned to washing it out herself so no one noticed how it was mired, and peered inside. Once again, it seemed that something obscured any view.

It was inevitable that being denied any thing, even a glimpse inside a locked garden pagoda, only redoubled Helena's determination to possess that very item. She circled the pavilion and discovered a window on the back side. It would be opposite the double doors of bronze. Indeed, she could almost discern something on the other side of the glass. Sadly, there was considerable mud on that side of the building and a large puddle. It appeared that the water was intended to flow from the roof to this side and thence to the pond, but the passage had been obstructed in the building's neglect. Helena was convinced she could balance on the increment of drier mud, at least long enough to take a look.

She eased alongside the pavilion, clinging to its smooth walls as best she could, gripped the lip of the window and stretched for a peek. Just as she leaned closer, a bird cried overhead and something splashed into the puddle beside her. She jumped in surprise, lost her grip and slipped.

She landed in the puddle with a splash, her foot twisted painfully beneath her hip. She immediately tried to get up but collapsed again at the fiery explosion of pain in her ankle.

She considered various words she had overhead in London, but decided they were unladylike and thus unsuitable for a potential duchess.

"Curses," she said instead, then managed to ease onto dry ground at least.

Her ankle was already beginning to swell. Her slipper was muddy, her stockings laddered, and her dress mired. She was seated on the ground, out of view of anyone who might approach the folly, unable to walk, and was keenly aware that no one knew her location. The clouds seemed to be gathering overhead with greater vigor, but she could not be much more wet than she already was.

It was a most unsatisfactory predicament.

Helena pulled herself to the path in the hope that at least she might be seen—if anyone ventured this way. It did not appear to be a strong possibility. The forest now seemed full of shadows and desolate beyond all. She had a moment of fear that she might never be found, not until she had wasted away to a pile of bones, then shook her head.

Nonsense. She had found this predicament and she would solve it.

Somehow.

There was a broken stick not ten feet away, undoubtedly debris from the forest. If she could reach it, she could use it as a cane and perhaps hobble to the edge of the forest. Chances were better of being discovered there. Helena grit her teeth and began to crawl toward the stick, dragging her injured foot. Never mind her slippers, her dress would be ruined as well, but any sacrifice was better than perishing alone.

She was halfway to the stick when she heard galloping hoofbeats. Could it be that someone sought her?

No, it could not be, and no one would look for her in this place. A galloping horse had to be on the road to Addersley Manor. At such a pace, the rider would soon be elsewhere, and she had best make the most of opportunity.

Helena took a deep breath and screamed with all her might, just as the first fat raindrops began to fall.

"Help me!"

Joshua reined in the stallion at the unexpected sound of a woman's cry, certain his ears had deceived him. Then she screamed again. He turned the horse, wondering at the lady's distress. He was near his mother's folly which no one visited any more.

Where else might the imperiled woman be? Who would walk in the forest alone? The villagers all said the folly was haunted, though he had never believed as much. He could be as skeptical as he chose, but the woman's cry made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

"Help me!" she entreated again, and he thought her voice was familiar.

Could it be Miss Emerson?

Why would she be walking alone, much less be visiting the folly?

That question nigh convinced him that it had to be Miss Emerson, for no one else of his acquaintance in the region would embark on such a venture.

The rain began to fall in heavy drops as he guided the horse along the forest path and Joshua was glad then of his heavy cloak. The weather was turning foul quickly and he drew his hood higher. He broke free of the forest to find Miss Emerson sprawled in the clearing in evident distress. Without a thought, he leapt from the saddle and strode toward her side.

"Oh!" she said, her tone so rapturous that he could make no sense of it. "There is a highwayman in Nottinghamshire!" And she smiled at him, an expression so dazzling that Joshua could only stare.

Indeed, his heart skipped a beat and words abandoned him. He had thought her a beauty before, but this smile was beyond brilliant and more heartfelt than any she had shown him thus far.

Joshua suddenly realized she did not know who he was. He wore his old cloak and rode Gerald's horse. She could not see his features because of the hood. Even if she saw his waistcoat or took heed of his boots, she would recognize neither.

He could pretend to be the man she wished to meet, for just a moment, only to encourage that radiant smile.

He dared not speak, lest his identity be revealed.

He bowed low to her, ensuring that the hood shadowed his face, and offered his hand to her.

She shook her head, flushing prettily. "I fell, sir," she admitted. "And my ankle will not bear my weight. Your arrival is both timely and welcome." She pushed back her bonnet, which drooped low in the rain, and regarded him with undisguised admiration.

His heart was racing, but he strove to hide her influence over him. He knelt before her, well aware of her curious scrutiny, and gestured to her delicate ankle.

She flushed crimson. "It is the left one, sir, and I would be most grateful if you could verify that it is not broken. I have no notion how to be certain but it does not bear my weight."

Joshua felt a tide of warmth as he touched her ankle, even with his gloves. It was a most perfect and slender ankle, one that made him keenly aware of how long it had been since he had savored a lady's charms. He could only imagine that her legs, now disguised by her mired skirts, were just as pleasing.

Desire simmered within him as he moved her ankle gently, and he strove to compare his actions to checking the injury of a horse. It was not in the least like checking a horse, and he would never convince any corner of his mind to believe as much for an instant.

He was holding Miss Emerson's ankle, with her permission. Once upon a time, he might have stolen a kiss from a lady in such a predicament. His brother would have convinced the lady to surrender even more.

That gave Joshua ideas that were most distracting.

He set down her foot and slid his gloved fingertips over her ankle, hoping to show with a gesture that it was simply sprained. He felt her shiver at his touch, a most enticing reaction.

"Oh good," she said with relief. She smiled again, which did little to aid the recovery of his wits. "Goodness. My stockings are torn and my slippers are ruined, not to mention my dress," she said with a rueful sigh. "If ever I was to be taught a lesson about not changing to my boots for a walk, this would be it. I love these slippers." She touched the torn roses with a wistful fingertip, reminding him of her delight in the dog. "But now they are ruined forever and for certain." He thought she might weep over them.

He wanted to restore them, just to coax her smile.

The rain began to fall in earnest, recalling him to their circumstance, and she shivered with cold, which did even more.

Joshua offered his hand to her again, gesturing behind himself with the other, and was gifted with another smile.

"I should be most grateful if you might see me home, sir. I am in desperate need of your assistance." She tried to rise to her knees, but Joshua stepped closer and swept her into his arms. She gasped and stiffened, then melted against him with a trust that completely startled him.

When she leaned her cheek against his chest in relief, he found himself smiling with satisfaction. She was as delicate and light as he had imagined, and it was tempting indeed to carry her off to some private bower. It was clear that this lady had need of a protector and he knew he would fulfill the task admirably.

"Thank you," she whispered, a break in her voice that tore at his heart. "I was afraid that I would be here for the entire night."

He did not reply, only tightened his grip upon her. The horse was sufficiently tired to be less skittish and he lifted her to the saddle, holding fast to the reins until he swung into the saddle behind her. He held her securely against his chest so he could draw his cloak over them both, her shivers making it clear that she was chilled. She nestled against him like a kitten, but so much more alluring that his very blood was afire.

"I do not even know your name, sir," she said and he made a non-committal sound. Her hand had fallen to the front of his waistcoat and he felt her run her hand over the silk. She bent her head and he knew she was taking note of the fine fabric—and doubtless drawing one particular conclusion.

Joshua smiled to himself as she sighed contentment.

"You dare not speak lest you reveal yourself," she guessed in a thrilled whisper. "It must be thus for all highwaymen who are in disguise." She nodded. "Then I will tell you of myself, the better that you might locate me again, if you have that desire. I am Helena Emerson, and I have recently come to live at Bramble Cottage with my aunt."

He nodded and urged the horse to a canter along the forest path. As much as he would like to prolong this interlude, the lady had need of shelter and warmth.

"I thought to learn more of the neighborhood, then fell in the mud. I was trying to look inside the folly."

He made a sound in his throat like a growl of disapproval and she nodded again.

"You are right, of course. A more sturdy choice of shoe would have been prudent, but I fear I am not always prudent. I will always wear my boots in future."

Joshua nodded vigorously, the move reminding him too much of a horse to seem romantic. Miss Emerson nestled against this chest, though, apparently content. He could feel her striving to pierce the shadows and discern his features. They left the cover of the forest and the rain slanted down upon his shoulders, driving coldly through even that heavy cloth.

"When I am recovered, will I see you again?" she asked. "I could come to the folly to meet you once more."

Oh, she was audacious! Joshua might have been inclined to scold her for being so forward, but a notorious rogue would have seized the opportunity.

He tightened his grip upon her as if in agreement.

"Oh, I am so glad!" She whispered with delight. He felt her flatten her palm against him and knew his pulse leapt at her touch. He did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Bramble Cottage appeared so quickly before them.

In keeping with the disguise he had not meant to undertake, Joshua halted the stallion with a flourish and leapt to the ground. Miss Emerson watched him with noted appreciation. He swept her from the saddle into his arms again and carried her through the opening in the hedge, hesitating before he set her down at the door of the cottage. They stood beneath the shelter of a small roof, the rain pouring down an arms length away.

She looked up at him with awe, and though she was drenched, Joshua knew he had never seen a more lovely lady in all his life. It was satisfying to have her regard him with such approval and he told himself that any man would savor such victory after failure.

"I hope I heal quickly," she said, her words falling in a breathless rush as if she were similarly affected by their proximity. "That I might walk in the forest again soon." She flushed as he stared down at her. "I would hope to meet you again at the pavilion, sir."

An assignation was most improper, but Joshua's intentions were honorable. If such a meeting convinced Miss Emerson of the merit of their match, he would not decline the opportunity.

He nodded slowly again and she blessed him with another radiant smile.

"When the weather is fine again," she stipulated, then laughed. " Whenever it is fine, I will meet you there. I promise I will come. Will you?"

A man of dangerous repute would not be content with simple agreement. For that interval in London, even he would not have been content with that. Before Joshua could dismiss his impulse, he caught her close, lifting her higher to capture her lips beneath his own.

He felt Miss Emerson gasp. He heard her sigh. And his heart thundered when she surrendered to his kiss, parting her lips and melting against him with an abandon that hinted that there was promise in his suit.

As it was, it took all within him to halt the kiss before it went too far. It was a glorious kiss for all its short duration, one that enflamed him and left Miss Emerson flushed, her lips softened and rosy. Her eyes were full of stars as she looked up at him afterward. He placed her gently on her feet then ran his gloved thumb across her luscious mouth. She shivered, a good sign that she would be a willing partner on their wedding night, then nipped at his gloved finger playfully. Her eyes were dancing with mischief and it was all he could do to release her.

He brushed his lips across hers once more, unable to resist the temptation of another taste, then pivoted. He strode back to the horse, knowing the cloak flared around him as if he were a cavalier.

He also felt the weight of Miss Emerson's gaze upon him.

She was still standing under the shelter of the roof when he had mounted and turned the horse, so he raised a hand in salute, then gave his heels to the steed. Had he known how long she peered after him, Joshua Hargood might have been more encouraged in his prospects.

As it was, he was pondering the complications and implications of what he had begun. It was true, Joshua was certain, that impulse was a poor master. Once it had led him to disaster, but he was not the same youth he had been then. Surely now he could avoid a repetition of such tragic events.

Was the prize not worth the risk? The prospect of winning Miss Emerson's hand in his own was a tempting one. He could already envision her in his home and by his side, her irreverent laughter and audacity enchanting him a little more every day—and night. Her company made him feel alive as he had not in years and he wanted to be the daring rogue she desired.

Joshua could not deny the thunder in his veins from Miss Emerson's sweet kiss.

No, he could only yearn for another and soon.

The question was how best to find a balance between his old ways and his nature while keeping his promise to his father.

There had to be a way to triumph in the pursuit of his goal.

Somehow, he would find it.

Helena's champion was perfect.

His kiss had seared her very soul.

The incident had been worthy of the most romantic of novels—and she would find him in the forest when her ankle healed.

Helena hugged the details of her rescuer to herself as Aunt Fanny fussed over her and Becky hastened to see that she had both a hot bath and a bowl of broth. The fire was made in her room, despite the lateness of the season and Aunt Fanny's frugality, and Helena was pampered in truth.

She was scarcely aware of it, her thoughts spinning as she strove to commit every detail of her gallant savior to memory. He was tall. He had a dark cloak and a powerful stride. His features had been obscured by the shadows cast by his hood, making him a delicious mystery, but he was powerful. He had swept her into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He was wealthy, to be sure, given that horse and his waistcoat.

And his kiss. Oh, his kiss had been a marvel, a forbidden pleasure, and surely a sample of what might come. She dared not even hint to Aunt Fanny that such an embrace had been shared.

But she wanted another such kiss.

If not more.

Who was he? Did he take refuge at the pavilion?

No, he could not do that. Where would he keep his horse if he lived there? Plus he had been riding past the forest, with a destination other than the pagoda.

Helena pondered this puzzle. He had to have a home in the vicinity. She thought of Robin Hood in his forest haven but knew that would not do for her rescuer. No, he had a house, she was certain, one of ample proportions and considerable comfort. And his nature was honorable. He had been gallant, stealing only a kiss and one she would have been happy to offer. He was a nobleman, to be sure. Perhaps his home was hidden in a hollow. Perhaps it appeared to be less than it was.

Perhaps she would visit it soon, after they met again at the folly.

She surveyed her ankle, now cleaned and securely bound, and tried to will it to heal with all speed. She had to return to the pavilion on the earliest possible sunny afternoon, the better to learn more about the most interesting man in all of Nottinghamshire—if not all of England.

How would she endure the wait?

Her husband's younger sister would be the death of them, Eliza Emerson was certain. She and Nicholas had braved a rainy evening to hear of Helena's latest offense, and she did not doubt that Aunt Fanny would be fulsome in her criticism.

Helena had been at the table when they arrived, her ankle bound and her foot propped up, her manner as unrepentant as anticipated.

In fact, she seemed to be glowing with a secret held close. The girl would never cease to be trouble, Eliza was certain of it. The sooner she was married, the better.

It was only Eliza's second visit to Bramble Cottage and on that first occasion, all had been in the uproar of moving. After the better part of a week, the result was cozy and comfortable, particularly with a fire blazing on the hearth and the four of them gathered around the table in the dining room. Aunt Fanny sat at one end of the table and Nicholas at the other, Eliza facing a decidedly rebellious Helena.

There was doubtless still some disorder in the house, but the dining room had been set to rights in a most pleasing way. Eliza wagered the table linens had come from Fanny's own collection. She knew that the cottage had some furnishings, including this lovely table and six chairs, all carved of cherry, for the dining room. They were both comfortable and attractive, and of the perfect size.

It was, overall, a most welcoming room. A pair of chiffonieres faced each other from opposite walls, offering more than sufficient storage for china and stemware. A large window overlooked the garden at the end of the room—lost in the deluge of rain on this night—and the fireplace dominated the opposite wall, at the foot of the table. Its glowing embers were most welcome, given the forbidding weather. The floors were gleaming wood with an attractive but slightly worn rug spread beneath the table. Candles flickered on the table, bathing the room in golden light.

Though Becky was no cook, the maid had managed a joint of ham with potatoes from the cold cellar and asparagus from the garden. It was simple but hearty fare. Nicholas had brought some wine in anticipation of a family dispute, and he poured it now. Eliza had worked hard on this day herself, cleaning and organizing the cupboards of Southpoint, and the meal smelled heavenly.

"Thank you, Becky," Aunt Fanny said when all the dishes were on the table. The maid, who had to be of an age with Eliza, curtsied and left the dining room.

"How lovely this room is," Eliza said, hoping to dispel some of the tension between aunt and niece.

"Bramble Cottage is most satisfactory," Aunt Fanny said. "Constance has found me a couple from Haynesdale Hollow to see to our needs, and they will arrive on the morrow. I understand that Mrs. Nixon is an excellent cook and her husband is most able. Becky speaks highly of them and she will remain, of course."

"That should suit you admirably," Eliza said.

"I thought to have just a cook and maid, but Constance is right that there will be a fair bit of work in the garden."

"I think a couple will suit you well, Aunt," Nicholas said, then lifted his glass. "Let us drink to many happy years in your new abode."

Aunt Fanny smiled at him. "And let us drink to the generosity of my beloved nephew, who has ensured my comfort in every way. Thank you, Nicholas."

Helena looked between the two of them with suspicion, obviously anticipating that they would ally together against her. They ate for a few moments in companionable silence, making a goodly dent in the quantity of ham.

Finally, Nicholas put down his fork. "Now tell us what Helena has done to so earn your ire," he invited his aunt.

Aunt Fanny's eyes flashed. "This girl declined an offer from Lord Addersley!" she said with outrage. Helena's lips set mutinously. "Surely, there could be no more suitable candidate than a man with a title, a house and a fortune, right here in the neighborhood, but this miss will not listen to sense!"

"He is respectable and responsible, to be sure," Helena said. "He is also old and dull ."

Though Eliza might have expected such an assessment from the younger woman, Nicholas began to chuckle. She eyed him but he only shook his head, amused beyond all as the older woman continued her tirade.

"Less than a week here and she makes a most promising conquest, but she believes herself destined for better matches." Aunt Fanny fixed Helena with a stern look. "No duke will wed you, Helena. Though I wish neither to be cruel or blunt, you have no dowry and your looks will not be in your favor for much longer. You should have taken the viscount and been content. There is not an abundance of eligible gentlemen in the vicinity and you may have sacrificed your sole chance for comfort."

"I do not care," Helena said. "I will wed for love."

"You may not wed at all if you are so particular," Aunt Fanny said crossly. "And then you will be fortunate indeed to end your days alone here in Bramble Cottage. Nicholas may not see fit to indulge you, or he might not be able to do as much. What will you do then?"

That prospect made the younger girl pale. "I cannot wed a man so thoroughly tedious and predictable"

"Respectability is most welcome!"

"I prefer a lively companion!"

"You are a foolish chit, and I should cast you out this very night for your ingratitude and folly. Nicholas! How can you be so entertained by this vexing situation?"

"Because you would have been shocked beyond all if Helena had garnered a proposal from Joshua Hargood a decade ago. You would have forbidden her to even speak to him."

"How can this be?" Aunt Fanny demanded.

Helena looked up with avid and predictable interest.

"You must not have been in town that year," Nicholas said. "They were known as the terrors of London, he and his brother Gerald. Never had two rakehells found so much trouble. They gambled and they whored, they spent money as if it were water, they drank and they danced and I am not certain when they slept. There were duels and horse races and wicked doings at all hours of the night. The pair of them were insatiable by all accounts, and their father nearly washed his hands of them."

Helena, predictably, was listening keenly. "But he said he does not dance."

"That is not the same as being unable to dance," Eliza noted.

Aunt Fanny glared at her nephew. "What happened to change that circumstance?"

"Something dire," Nicholas said with a shrug. "I am not certain. When I left for the continent with Haynesdale, they were in their revels. Then Gerald appeared at Badajoz, his father having bought him a commission, and that against every expectation."

"Badajoz," Eliza repeated softly, watching Nicholas for some hint that his nightmares of that battle might recur.

He smiled at her and she was reassured by the steadiness of his gaze. "I scarce had a chance to speak with him before the battle, and heard later that he was one of the few survivors. To be honest, I was consumed with Haynesdale's care in those early weeks. Evidently, Gerald continued to serve, for he was reported amongst the casualties at Waterloo." Nicholas finished his meal with a thoughtful frown. "But the change in Joshua occurred years ago."

"After that incident, whatever it was," Eliza guessed and he nodded.

"I believe Gerald continued his wastrel ways and that was at least part of why his father bought him that commission. He was always cursed lucky, and undoubtedly, all assumed he would return home, hale and perhaps even chastened."

"If he died at Waterloo, he came close to it," Aunt Fanny said.

"Heavens," Eliza said softly. "His father must have blamed himself terribly."

"I do not know," Nicholas said. "There was so much ill will between the father and Gerald, even before my departure. He must have been relieved that Joshua had abandoned that reckless life. There were whispers," he began, then shook his head. "Even now I should not repeat them. Suffice it to say that Joshua was close to his father after he abandoned his excesses."

"Reckless," Helena repeated, staring at her plate. "I cannot imagine the viscount thus."

"To Aunt's relief, no doubt," Nicholas said. "Oh, they were a pair. Joshua could fight and win with any weapon. Whenever one of them was challenged to a duel, I am certain he fought it, for his skill was beyond all else. Knife, sword, fists or pistol, he always won."

"Oh," Helena whispered. "I should like to see a duel."

Aunt Fanny shot her a reproving glance. "I forbid any such occupation or entertainment on your part."

Nicholas continued. "Gerald had a way with horses, though, in my view, he demanded too much of them. If there was a curricle race, he would be there and he would win—and he would accept the accolades from every lady in attendance. He had a fearsome charm. They both gambled, of course, and one of them was more inclined to win but as they often switched places in those days, I am uncertain who was the better at dice and cards."

"And Lord Addersley abandoned that life by choice?" Helena asked wistfully.

"Something went awry. A rakehell's life is a dangerous path, Helena, one fraught with debts and uncertainty. One must evade one's creditors—and doubtless irate husbands, too. No man successfully lives thus for long."

"I wish I had known him then," Helena said with a sigh. "It would be thrilling to be courted by a notorious rogue."

Eliza shook her head. "Though one could never be certain of his loyalties or his financial situation."

"You have entertained the attentions of such a man already," Nicholas reminded his sister. "Did you learn nothing at all from Mr. Melbourne?"

Bright color lit Helena's cheeks. "You are cruel to remind me."

"Truly, if Gerald Hargood was not dead, I would lock you in the cellar myself," Nicholas said, earning a glare from his sister.

"Perhaps a peril has been avoided after all," Aunt Fanny said. "I had no notion the viscount had such a past."

"Can a man not repent of his sins?" Nicholas asked.

"I have always believed as much," Eliza said and their gazes met.

"You might grant the viscount a second chance, Helena," Nicholas said. "You might find more to him than you have glimpsed so far."

"I think not," his sister said, a stubborn tone to her voice.

"You might not have other suitable opportunities," Eliza warned her but the girl smiled with a confidence Eliza could not explain.

"I believe there is at least one of merit."

"Who?" Aunt Fanny demanded, but Helena only smiled mysteriously.

"Doubtless you think fondly of whoever aided your return home today," Nicholas said. "You have not told us about that encounter."

Helena lifted her chin. "I fell in the forest. A gentleman appeared in a most timely way and insisted upon my riding his horse as he escorted me home."

"Becky said the two of you rode together," Aunt Fanny said. "If so, Helena, that was most inappropriate." Eliza watched the younger woman's eyes flash.

"What was this gentleman's name?" Nicholas asked.

"He did not introduce himself." Helena spoke with confidence but Eliza was certain there was some detail she was not sharing.

"Can you describe him?" Nicholas asked, but his sister shook her head.

"I was quite overcome with pain, and he wore a hood. I could not see him clearly."

Helena exchanged a glance with Nicholas who then eyed his sister thoughtfully. When he changed the subject, complimenting his aunt on the meal, she followed his lead, much to Helena's evident relief.

This girl. Eliza would have to discover whether there were other eligible men in the vicinity and see Helena wed soon.