Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

" S he has a scheme," Eliza said when she and Nicholas were in the carriage together. The rain was pelting against the roof of the carriage but the horse made a good pace. Nicholas had enjoyed the meal, was glad to see his aunt content with the cottage, and was anticipating an active night with his beloved.

He could not suppress his smile at Eliza's assessment, for she was right. He claimed his wife's hand and planted a kiss upon her palm. "I do not know whether to be satisfied or troubled that you have learned to read my sister so readily."

Eliza smiled briefly. "If only we could see her securely wed."

"I wish she had not declined Hargood."

"Nor I, though I have not met him."

"He would have suited her well, I think, though I can understand why she believed him too staid. He truly became the echo of his father after his reform."

"Did you know him well?"

Nicholas shook his head. "The brothers were both younger than Haynesdale and me. We would see them but we had our own schemes and adventures. I've always liked Joshua Hargood, though. Even at his most rebellious, he was honorable." He shrugged. "His brother, though, caused trouble wherever he went. He had little conscience and was utterly untrustworthy. He and Helena would have been two of a kind."

"It might be unseemly to be glad of a man's demise, but I confess myself relieved then that he is no longer present. Who can say what mischief they might have made together?"

Nicholas said nothing. He was inclined to think the mischief Helena would have found with a rogue like Gerald Hargood was entirely predictable.

He watched Eliza frown.

"Do you sense an untruth in her claim that she does not know the name of the man who aided her?"

"No, but there is some detail she is not disclosing."

"She is intrigued by him, to be sure." Eliza's gaze collided with his own. "You do not think she has compromised herself?"

"Already? No, even she is not so impetuous as that."

"Might she have a plan to meet him again?"

"Alone? Without a chaperone?" Even as Nicholas protested, he knew his sister would do as much in a moment, if she so desired. Had he not pursued her half the length of England for that very reason? It was not unreasonable, in his view, to have hoped she might have learned a lesson from that adventure, or at least a measure of caution, but this evening's discussion implied otherwise. "But I cannot watch her all of the time," he said.

"Of course not! But who might he be?"

"I cannot say. I have been away from the region too long to have any accurate notion of who yet lives nearby."

"I am in the same situation. My mother will not know, for she pays no heed to gossip, even if she hears it, which is seldom."

Nicholas smiled. "That may change with Aunt Fanny nearby."

"It might, but not in time enough. Do you think you might enquire of Lord Addersley as to young men in the region?"

"By my understanding, he is also recently returned from London, but he has been back for a few months. That does give him some slight advantage over us."

"Although with his father's illness and death, he, too, may have paid no heed to rumor."

"I will try to find an opportunity to speak with him over the next few days," Nicholas said as the carriage halted at Southpoint. "I should like to know how discouraged he is by Helena's refusal."

"The better to bolster his determination?" Eliza asked and they shared a smile.

"She has a good heart," Nicholas said. "And marriage may be precisely what she needs for true happiness."

"I wish you luck in persuading her of that," his wife replied and Nicholas could not blame her for such doubts.

Truly, he would be a happy man himself when Helena was the obligation of another man.

He could only hope it turned out to be a man of whom he could approve.

Helena managed to make her way to the garden the next morning, for it was a glorious spring day and she could not abide lingering in the house. Even better, her aunt was so occupied with consideration of changes to the décor that she did not follow Helena.

Aunt would have said that she should occupy herself with her needlework, but Helena did not care for the occupation at all.

She would dream of her champion instead—and strive to solve the riddle of his identity.

She could just barely see the glimmer of the roof of the pavilion in the distance, though she wagered that once the trees were all in leaf, it would be hidden from view. How she yearned to visit there this day and seek him out again!

Instead, she sat on the bench and thought about him. She recalled her champion on his black horse, his cloak flaring in the wind, his face hidden in shadows, and sighed with satisfaction. She closed her eyes, recalling the strength of his arms around her, the beat of his heart beneath her hand, and her own pulse fluttered. She knew nothing about him but she would have surrendered more than a kiss to him.

His gallantry had saved her from her own impetuous choices.

Even that was romantic beyond all.

In that moment, she heard a horse approaching and looked up with curiosity and hope. Could he have come to visit her?

But no, it was only the viscount, looking fastidious and proper. She felt a little dismay, for she belatedly hoped she had not injured his feelings. His expression was as inscrutable as the day before and she did not know whether to be reassured or not.

Though it was unreasonable, she would have been glad to see him at least disappointed that she had refused him. From his manner, his proposal might have been made with indifference. There was a far cry from a love that would not be denied! The man was the very soul of composure. Did any event—either a disappointment or a triumph—stir him to a response? Helena feared not and felt a wave of sympathy for him that his experience of life should be so curtailed.

He dismounted in the yard, securing his horse's reins to a fence post. "You have a most comfortable abode here, Miss Emerson." She was relieved that he was as polite as ever. She also was glad that he made no comment or fuss about them not having so much as a pony, nor a man to tend the outside as yet. The Nixons were to arrive this day, though the viscount could not know as much. He had almost reached her before she realized that he carried a wriggling brown bundle under one arm.

"Mischief!" she cried with delight, made to rise, then fell back onto the bench with a wince.

"Miss Emerson!" The viscount frowned with concern. "Are you injured?"

"I turned my ankle, my lord, but it will heal soon enough."

"Perhaps that is why she made a fuss this morning," he said, placing the pup on the ground before her. One end of a ribbon was tied around the pup's neck like a collar, with the other end acting as a short tether. Mischief had about ten feet of range, and the viscount gave Helena the end of the ribbon. "Perhaps she knew you had need of companionship."

Helena looked at him. Why was he doing her such a kindness? And how could this man have uttered such a fanciful comment? She thought of Nicholas' words that she might perceive more to the viscount than she had seen thus far if she troubled to look, even as she replied. "What a whimsical notion, sir."

"Is it?" He braced his hands upon his hips and looked down at the puppy, his averted attention giving Helena an opportunity study him. He was handsome, to be sure. "I have often found that dogs perceive more than people realize."

The puppy wagged and wriggled, licking Helena's outstretched hands and permitting her ears to be scratched. She pounced on a leaf that blew past and rolled to her back, offering her belly to be rubbed, and was altogether so silly that Helena could not help but laugh at her antics.

She was so occupied with the dog that she did not notice right away how the viscount was watching her. His eyes had narrowed and he almost smiled, surveying them both with unexpected avidity.

His attention was so complete that he seemed almost dangerous in that moment. He had an aura of power and competence that made Helena tingle. She realized he was tall, as tall as her champion, and as assured in the saddle. His clothing was different but she remembered Nicholas' tale of his days in London with his brother. It was easy, when his eyes darkened thus, to imagine him as a rogue.

Was he truly reformed?

Did he own a dark cloak?

Was it madness to even wonder?

"I hope that you are not dismayed with me, my lord."

He lifted a brow and she realized her question had been blunt. "Because you refused me?"

She was surprised that he should be so direct in his turn, but glad of it. "Of course."

He shook his head and crouched down, removing his glove to rub the dog's belly. Mischief was in such raptures at his attention that Helena could not fight her smile. "I would rather have an honest reply than an agreement that did not come from your heart," he said, surprising her again. His gaze was fixed upon the dog and Helena watched him, more intrigued than she might have anticipated. "We remain neighbors, though, and it would be most awkward if there was enmity between us." He frowned a little. "I chose to visit today, Miss Emerson, not just to reassure you about my promise of the dog but to ask if we might be friendly acquaintances." He looked up and she caught her breath at the heat in his eyes.

"Of course!" she said with relief and his quick smile made her heart skip a beat. It vanished far too quickly for her taste. "I thought you might be angry with me. Everyone else is."

"Because they think of a match only in terms of alliance and advantage, while you would consider your own happiness?"

"Yes." Helena blinked at him.

The viscount addressed the dog, his gaze carefully averted. His voice dropped low. "My own mother used to say that what a lady desires most is to have her own wish fulfilled. She strove to teach my brother and I both that a lady's choice was of tantamount importance, and a lady's favor was the greatest prize of all." He met her gaze again, and once more, Helena could not take a full breath. "I would never impose my view upon you or any other lady, Miss Emerson. Indeed, I must apologize for my presumption in even making my offer on such short acquaintance, and worse, for refusing to immediately accept your refusal." He stood then and bowed again.

Would he leave? Helena vehemently wanted him to linger.

"You were surprised." She was surprised to find herself excusing his choices. In truth, she was both startled and pleased by his apology. "I thank you for the honor, sir," she said and he nodded once.

Evidently, he had said all he intended to say.

"My brother mentioned knowing you in London a decade ago," Helena ventured, his quick sidelong glance making her fear she had shown too much curiosity.

"Did he?"

Evidently, he would offer little encouragement to her inquiries.

How strange that the weight of his gaze reminded her of her savior, even though she had not seen that man's eyes. She felt the same prickle of awareness, the same sense of uncommon warmth.

The same delicious sense of possibility .

Helena dared to plunge onward. "Nicholas said that you and your brother were rakehells of repute, and I wondered, sir, if that might give us some common ground."

"Are you a rakehell, Miss Emerson?"

To her satisfaction, the viscount was smiling at her, clearly amused. She cared only for the appearance of a most alluring dimple. The sight made her catch her breath. When he watched her intently, as he did in this moment, it was easy to believe he had wicked tendencies.

"No, but I succumbed to temptation and I wonder if you might have done the same."

"More than once, I assure you." His tone was so moderate that he might have been confessing to reading another page of a favored book before retiring. "What temptation led you astray, Miss Emerson?"

She noticed that he did not seem overly troubled by this prospect. Perhaps he lacked an appreciation for her wilder tendencies. Helena could not resist the opportunity to possibly shake his assumptions. "My favor was courted by a man I believed to be a gentleman. He was the son of a baronet and said he would inherit a goodly sum."

Lord Addersley's brows rose but he said nothing.

"He proposed that we should elope to Gretna Green."

"And you agreed." There was no question in his tone, though whether it was because he had already learned of this indiscretion or because he guessed, Helena could not say.

Helena's lips set for she didn't like to sound predictable. "I did, though it was not the adventure I anticipated. Mr. Melbourne proved to be an unsatisfactory companion even before he learned that I had no dowry or inheritance, as he had supposed. He was not gentlemanly in the least, but concerned only with his own comfort."

"I see." Once again, there was no inflection in his tone. She could not have guessed if he were outraged or indifferent. "And you regret this interlude?"

"No, that is my point entirely, sir. Matters did not proceed as I expected, yet I should never have known as much if I had declined Mr. Melbourne's invitation as was right and proper. I would have wondered all my life what it might have been like, and it would have been impossible to bear not knowing."

His eyes were glinting now like emeralds and Helena felt a sense of victory. "Even disappointment was better than ignorance?"

"Yes! And I met Mrs. D., which I cannot regret." At his blank look, she continued. "She was in the coach with her daughter, the wife of a solicitor in Carting Corners." He nodded that he knew the town. "So, I cannot wish to have foregone the adventure, not in the least." Once again, he seemed disinclined to speak, so she continued. "And learning of your former reputation in London, sir, I had to wonder whether you regret that interval, or whether we agree in the merit of pursuing opportunity?"

"It is unwise to overindulge in temptations," he said softly.

"Of course."

He studied her for a long moment, as if he would read every one of her secrets. Then he turned away, sobering, and she liked that he gave serious consideration to her question. "You remind me of childhood tales, Miss Emerson, in which there is always an admonition to remain on the path when travelling through the forest. The warnings insist that leaving the path might offer adventure, those adventures will certainly include peril."

"Yes," she agreed with a nod. "And that is the conundrum. Is it better to remain safe or to learn the truth?"

"I wager I know your reply, Miss Emerson, which is the choice of every character in every recounted tale. But I must remind you that your own adventure, as you call it, might have ended very badly for you indeed."

Helena sighed. "So, my brother's wife has informed me repeatedly."

"And Mrs. Emerson is right in that." He leaned closer to make his point. "Your view is understandable, but short-sighted, Miss Emerson, for you might gain an experience you are unable to forget—or worse."

"I do not understand," Helen said, although she did.

"You might have been abandoned by your suitor, left without resources, and not had the fortune to meet one such as this Mrs. D. You might have been despoiled by your suitor and left in shame." His eyes flashed at this very notion and Helena could not avert her gaze. His lips hardened to a thin line. "You might have died, Miss Emerson, which could hardly have been an outcome to be desired." He lifted one brow. "I may assure you that many might have regretted that result."

Did he count himself among such company?

Curiously, Helena found herself wishing that he might.

"It is certainly wiser to be prudent," Helena ceded carefully. "But I should hate to lie on my deathbed, wondering at all I had missed by such caution."

"It might be prudent for a lady so inclined to pursue adventure to have a protector, Miss Emerson."

Helena looked up. "A protector?"

"Someone to watch over her and guarantee her safety."

Helena wrinkled her nose. "A husband, you mean."

"Or a guardian angel, though it would be simpler to ensure the attention of a husband."

Had he made a jest? Helena studied him, uncertain.

"Marriage is a solution found satisfactory by many." He stood then, once again indicating that he would leave. He hesitated a moment and his voice dropped low. "I wonder also, Miss Emerson, if you will ever be content with what you possess, or always be yearning for some prize you perceive on the horizon."

Helena was chastised, for there was truth in his words. "I would have made you a poor wife, Lord Addersley."

"That is one of the things we shall never know, Miss Emerson," he said so lightly that it could not have truly mattered to him. "I suppose the greater question is whether you might ever regret your choice."

"Do you regret it?"

"Of course." His smile was thin and polite, a pale shadow of the unbidden one that showed his dimple. "It would have been churlish for me to make such an offer otherwise."

Helena thought of her flight to the forest and subsequent rescue by her champion, of the incendiary kiss that stranger had given her, and flushed to her very toes. The viscount was so still that he might have been reading her guilty thoughts.

No, she could never regret any choice that had led her to her savior.

Could she convince that mysterious man to become her protector?

The viscount turned away crisply, as if he knew her interest had strayed to another man.

Helena did not wish him to be insulted and asked the first question that rose to her lips. "But what of your own time in London, sir? Do you regret that interval?"

She thought he would not reply, but he halted and considered the toe of his boot for a long moment. When he turned back to face her, he was even more inscrutable than before. "You are right that I chose to join my brother in his revels, and there were elements of such pursuits that were pleasurable, to be sure." The viscount spoke crisply, his gaze colliding suddenly with hers again, his own so dark that her heart skipped. "But I would not be a man of much merit if I did not regret that the price of those indulgences was the life of my betrothed."

"Oh! I am sorry." Helena knew she flushed crimson, for once again she had erred in conversation with this man. His thoughts were hidden, but she suspected he felt deeply about the tragedy.

His betrothed. Had his heart been lost forever with that lady's demise? Did he feel responsible for her death? Has she been impulsive as Helena was inclined to be? Helena had a thousand questions, none of which she dared to ask in this moment.

The viscount inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of her sympathies and changed the subject. "If I may be so bold, I had thought to ask Mrs. Jameson to call upon you. She is a dressmaker in Haynesdale Hollow and one, I understand, of considerable skill. Yesterday, Mischief ruined your slipper and since she is as yet one of my dogs, I feel obliged to replace the pair. Mrs. Jameson can ascertain the details from you and send the bill to me."

"Oh, you need not do that!" Helena was delighted by the prospect of any new garments. Aunt was frugal beyond all, but due to necessity, Helena knew.

"Perhaps not, but I will do as much all the same. I shall return this afternoon for the dog. Good morning, Miss Emerson." He bowed again and strode to his horse, Mischief bounding after him to the limit of the lead. The puppy then sat down heavily and whimpered as he swung into the saddle. He tipped his hat one last time and rode away, even as Aunt Fanny emerged from the cottage.

Helena looked after him, wondering. Truly, he did have a similar flair to her champion. If he wore a cloak…but no, that could not be possible. The viscount could not possibly grant a woman a kiss of such ferocity that it claimed her, heart and soul. No. He would peck a lady upon her hand, politely.

Perhaps Nicholas' story of Lord Addersley's nefarious past was only a tale to increase her interest in him as a suitor.

Yes! Nicholas would readily tease her thus. That was the explanation. The brother might have been a rakehell and a rogue, but never the viscount himself.

"Was that Lord Addersley? He has called again in such short order?" Aunt Fanny's hopes were more than clear.

"He brought the puppy for a visit, Aunt Fanny. He does not renew his addresses." Even as she said the words, Helena became aware of a slight disappointment in that.

Her aunt beamed. "Does he not?"

"Indeed, you will be pleased to know, Aunt, that he chastised me for being overly impulsive and reckless."

"Did he?" Aunt Fanny surveyed her then shook her head. "I suppose you cannot help such inclinations, child, not with your mother as she was."

Helena straightened for she was never told much about her mother. "I know so little of her," she began, but Aunt turned with purpose.

"I see no cause to give you more ideas than you already have," Aunt said grimly then smiled after the departing viscount. "Lord Addersley called, and already. What promise there is in that." With a delighted smile, Aunt spun and returned to the cottage, leaving Helena alone with the puppy again.

Did the viscount intend to court her yet? Helena was certain he did not, but her aunt's reaction revealed that not everyone would agree.

For her part, Helena was more interested in knowing when she might see her mysterious savior again.

They were to be amiable acquaintances.

Joshua was pleased with his progress, incremental as it might be.

Matters might yet be resolved well.

And the lady had erred in the past by trusting a suitor who was unworthy of her confidence. Joshua felt outrage stir that this Mr. Melbourne should have been less than honorable with Miss Emerson, tempting her to leave her family on a flight to Scotland, then failing to ensure her welfare once he learned the truth of her financial circumstance. The man was no more than a base fiend!

Yet Miss Emerson had no regrets, for now she knew.

Joshua had to think about this. It was such an unexpected view. He would have thought she might be disappointed in the true nature of the man she had hoped to wed. He might have expected her to protest against her lover having to concern himself with financial realities instead of the inclination of his heart, thus giving more credit to the man than might be due. He might have expected her to be contrite that she had erred thus.

But Miss Emerson was none of those.

And Joshua could not condemn her, not after her question about his own experiences. He did not regret that year in London. He and Gerald had enjoyed a marvelous time. He had lived more boldly and extravagantly than at any other time in his life. He had taken risks. He had gambled—and often won. He had no desire to return to that life, but he was glad he had experienced it.

How curious to share Miss Emerson's uncommon view.

He did believe she had need of a protector. The world could be unkind to daring females. But if she had a defender at her side, they two might venture far beyond the experiences of most people. They might savor an audacious life together, each pulling the other back from excess.

He could nigh hear his father turning in his grave in disapproval of such a notion, but what harm was there in giving Miss Emerson a measure of the excitement she craved? What if she encountered a highwayman whose moral code could be trusted?

The potential rewards were not small from his side of the matter. Partaking of highly satisfactory kisses and potentially winning her agreement to his suit were not advantages to be overlooked. He would like nothing better than to safely provide the adventure she sought.

Donning a cloak and riding out in disguise might see his future secured.

But then a prolonged deception could not lead to a good result. Joshua knew it would be dishonest to trick her. When his ruse was inevitably revealed, she might despise him.

Instead, he would be a riddle that she might solve. By day, he would call upon her, and show himself as an attentive companion, one whose honor was beyond question, one whose conversation and company were satisfactory. In the evenings, he would appear to her, perhaps take her for a ride, almost certainly accept a kiss. But his intentions were honorable and he would ensure that scandal never touched her name. He would guarantee the propriety of their secret meetings.

And once her ankle healed, when she came to the forest to meet the cloaked stranger as arranged, Joshua would reveal himself. The ruse would be dismissed, as was right and good, and the lady would see his true merit. There would be honesty between them.

Joshua simply had to be triumphant in winning her approval before that encounter.

He had brought the puppy.

He would replace her slippers.

In fact, he looked forward to being a little wicked, just for Miss Emerson.

The plan was perfection itself.

When Nicholas arrived at Bramble Cottage that afternoon, Helena saw her opportunity. He had given a ride to Mr. and Mrs. Nixon from Haynesdale village at the dowager's request, and the men unloaded their two trunks quickly. Mr. Nixon carried the trunks to the chamber by the kitchen that the couple were to have as their own, while Aunt Fanny showed Mrs. Nixon the kitchen and house. Helena was quick to help Nicholas with the provisions brought to them from Southpoint, and he granted her a smile when they were alone in the kitchen.

"You, helping me," he said, his eyes sparkling as he teased her. "Whatever is it that you want, Helena?"

"Simply to be of assistance," she said and he laughed out loud.

"More than that, to be sure. How much will this assistance cost me?"

She swatted his arm, for he always guessed her intentions. "No more than a tale."

"One of the Duke of Haynesdale, I wager. You aim high in that, Helena."

Helena was startled to realize that she had almost forgotten about the duke. "No, I do not." She frowned. "Will you tell me about Mother?"

Nicholas sobered and leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest. His manner turned wary, which hinted there was some detail Helena might not wish to know.

That only, of course, increased her desire to learn it.

"What about her?" he asked softly.

"What was she like? What did she look like? How did she meet Father? How did she die?"

He frowned at the floor for a moment, Aunt Fanny's tones carrying to their ears. "She was very much like you, Helena," he said finally, his brows drawing together in recollection. "She was lovely, truly lovely, and she liked nothing better than to laugh and dance. I don't think Father could have found a more merry companion." He met her gaze. "She made him smile again, and for that, I would forgive her almost anything."

"Was there so much to forgive?"

Nicholas' brows rose. "She was heedless. If she wished to do a thing, she would do it, and no one could persuade her otherwise. She spent money like water and nigh beggared Father with her spending. She did not gamble, but she adored dresses and shoes, bonnets and gloves and other fripperies. I do not think I ever saw the same dress upon her twice." Helena winced for she dearly loved dresses and other fripperies herself. "Worse, she convinced Father to buy finer horses and new carriages, to rent more luxurious accommodations each time they went to London. She loved the parties and the dancing, and I would wager, the attentions of so many gentlemen."

"But surely she loved Father."

"I believe she did. I hope she did. He adored her." Nicholas straightened. "Her nature was why he died, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a new curricle and a new pair of horses. Very young and sprightly, they were, not as well trained as I might have preferred. The tale is that she insisted that she would take the reins, and though she seldom did as much, he let her. It was late at night. They had been at a masquerade and I am certain that both of them had enjoyed the claret."

Helena felt her hand rise to her lips, as she guessed the result of this choice. She knew her parents had died in a carriage accident, but not like this. Not so recklessly as this.

Not so needlessly as this.

"They collided with a mail coach. There was some suggestion that she tried to race ahead of it through the intersection, rather than waiting for it to pass."

"It was bad?"

"Terrible," Nicholas said grimly. "At least they died immediately." He frowned. "The horses had to be destroyed as well."

"Goodness," Helena whispered, understanding why no one had told her this tale.

"I doubt Father would have regretted it, even if he could have done as much. She was his joy and his destruction, but he would never have taken away a single one of her smiles."

"Oh, Nicholas. I had no idea."

He surveyed her. "Who would tell you such a story, Helena, when you are her very echo?"

But Helena had turned away. It would be one thing to suffer herself as a result of one of her choices, but to cause injury to another—to a loved one—was an outcome she could not even bear to consider. Her throat was tight when Nicholas laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I think you are more clever than your mother was, Helena," he said quietly. "But there comes a time when a clever person relies upon good sense rather than good fortune."

"That sounds like something Viscount Addersley might say."

Her brother smiled. "Perhaps it does." He kissed her forehead. "Just think before you choose. I could do without another pursuit of you and some worthless fop with a scheme."

Helena smiled at him. "I don't think I ever thanked you properly for your timely arrival."

"Greater thanks to Mrs. D., and to your conviction that I would come."

"You always have taken care of me, Nicholas, even when I did not deserve it."

He winked at her. "And the best reward would be for you to choose a good husband to assume that responsibility."

And not ensure that man's early demise with her folly. Helena heard the unspoken words.

"Do you think I was wrong to decline Viscount Addersley?"

"I think a woman knows her own heart, and is the one to recognize her best match."

"But you like him."

"I find him somber, but he is reliable and respectable." Nicholas nodded at her. "I would have been surprised if you had accepted a man so different in nature from you, but the match might have proven to be a good one." He shrugged. "We shall never know." He changed the subject then, perhaps sensing that he had given Helena much to consider. "Could you take these pots of jam and put them on the shelf? Eliza favors this basket and will want it back."

She could die foolish.

She could die foolishly.

Or Helena could begin to use her wits.

It was not an overly difficult choice, when she considered it thus.