Letters to a Wallflower

Chapter 5

Helen fidgeted in her seat. She sat in the darkest corner of the countess’s box, her gaze fixed on the stage, but seeing nothing. She heard nothing of the play that held the attention of the others in the theatre. The words that danced in her head came from the letter Ben had given her.

The letter he had written to her.

Your home was everything mine was not, Helen. Country or townhouse, our home was—is—cold. Empty, despite the family and servants in residence. Your household was so much more. Laughter. Teasing warmth. Card games and chess matches and bad poetry read aloud. The obvious caring of your parents for you and for each other. Good smells and smiling faces. I was entranced. I could scarcely stay away. I miss it, still.

She sighed. She missed it, too. But that warmth was gone now. At least for her. She had disappointed her parents. They looked at her in disbelief, now, mostly. As if, in writing those letters, she had stepped so far beyond their expectations that they no longer recognized her.

It hurt. Because she knew they doubted her. Only Grandmama had ever truly believed that she had not posted those letters herself. Well, and Leighton, too, had taken her word. He’d said she was too smart to sink her own ship in such a way. Everyone else had believed, deep down, that she’d been just that desperate and attention seeking.

I hope you know that after being made so welcome among your family, I could never betray them, or you, in such a manner.

Ben believed her, too. And when she coupled that with his letter, she was tempted to believe him, as well. Everything he’d written had matched her memories. He’d always looked so happy when he trooped in with Will and Elliot Ward. She’d see him sometimes, gazing about their chaotic dinner table with something like wonder in his face.

The thought triggered a memory. A time when he hadn’t been happy. They had all been at the stables, watching her father work with a spirited, untrained stallion. Leighton had said something terse and resentful, as he often did when her father was about. Ben had given him a shove. A tad more forcefully than he’d meant to, she thought, for Leighton had tumbled off the fence and hit the ground. He’d jumped up, roiling with anger and the two of them had faced off. Ben had looked nearly as furious as the touchy young baron, to Helen’s surprise. He’d snarled something low, something about Leighton being lucky to have her father as a friend and guardian. “Quit acting such a fool,” he’d ordered, before stalking off.

Helen had sat before a blazing fire in her room, holding Ben’s letter, remembering, and watching her own letters burn, one by one. And she realized she knew—Ben had not done it. She believed him.

She’d wanted him to know.

So she’d written him a note to tell him where she’d be this evening. And now, she waited.

Ben stood at the back of the theatre, waiting for his eyes to adjust and searching the boxes above the crowd of seats below. Yes. There. Helen sat in the dim corner of Lady Britwell’s box, alongside the countess and her brother, Will. Around him, the audience laughed at the antics on the stage, but she sat unmoved, staring blankly. Pre-occupied? Or was something wrong?

Glancing across the auditorium, at his father’s box, he heaved a sigh of relief to see it empty. It just might do. He turned to head back to the antechamber, in search of a porter.

He found Akers instead. Had the man spotted him at the back of the theatre? He came running lightly down the steps and stopped just before Ben, meeting his gaze with a glare.

“You need to leave Helen alone.”

“I haven’t bothered her.”

“You’ve watched her, relentlessly. Just stop. She’s suffered enough at your hands.”

“It wasn’t at my hands, as I’ve told her. I don’t know who betrayed her, but it wasn’t me.”

“Of course not. Not the great Ben Hargrove, who can do no wrong. Who can play chess and plan pranks and battles alike. But she doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know your bitter, selfish side.”

Ben stared at him, at a loss. Then understanding dawned. “Are you still angry about that mare?”

Akers tossed his head. “That mare? As if she was just any horse? She was of Andalusian blood! You knew I wished to start my own stables. She would have begun a magnificent line of hunters.”

Ben sighed. “I told you why the Earl of Harlowe sold her to me.”

“Yes, yes. Because your sister lost her husband.” Akers sneered. “She would have been happy to have any horse, but you went behind my back and bought that one out from under me.”

“Do you ever listen to anyone besides yourself?” Ben asked. “I told you and I believe Harlowe told you. That horse was his daughter’s. When she died in childbirth, the horse went into a decline, missing her. She needed a new home, a new partner who needed her as much. I don’t regret buying her. It helped bring my sister out of her deepest mourning. You could have found any number of other mares to help you start your stables, but you abandoned the idea after that one disappointment.” He shrugged. “That was your own weakness.”

“Weakness!? I had a vision and you derailed it. I won’t let you derail Helen’s plans to come back into the world. Go back to Hertfordshire, Hargrove. Don’t stir all the old scandal up again. Leave her alone.”

“I respect the intent behind your bellyaching. I respect the friendship you’ve had with Helen. But it’s you who need to leave me alone, Akers. Now, get out of my way.”

He moved on, puzzling over Akers yet again. The man regularly pursued only his own interests, yet he’d stayed loyal to Helen. He couldn’t fault him for that, but neither could he ignore the feelings she’d begun to stir in him, nor would he ignore her summons. He set out again to find an amenable porter.

Ten minutes later, Ben leaned on his cane and lurked outside the entrance to his father’s box, waiting. He heard a soft step, looked up, and she was there, resplendent in a gown of deep maroon velvet. Her signature, hand-crafted lace had been dyed gold and lined the square bodice. It had been fashioned into a narrow sash beneath her bosom. She looked lovely, excited . . . and wary.

“You came,” she breathed, coming to a stop before him.

“I received your note. You summoned. I obeyed.” He drank her in. The short distance between them felt alive. Pulsing with heat and that most dangerous of emotions—hope.

Voices sounded further down the passageway. He took her hand. “Come. We can stand at the back of the box. We’ll be invisible, as long as we keep to the shadows.”

She went willingly and sidled along the back wall as they entered. “You are right. We mustn’t be seen. But I’m very glad you came.” She looked out, over the empty chairs to the light and magic of the stage and to the crowded boxes and seats beyond. He caught the flash of a grin. “I feel . . . adventurous. It was ingenious, sending champagne to the box. But when I felt that note drop into my lap, I nearly leaped out of my seat.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” She looked proud. “I told Grandmama I wanted to be more like the heroines in the French novels and here I am, in an island of shadow, meeting a man without the knowledge of my family.”

“Is that why you summoned me? For an adventure?” He couldn’t help but hope it was a good thing, being included. Perhaps, trusted? Wryly, he lifted his cane. “Perhaps a wounded soldier with an old scandal lurking over him is more likely to be cast as the villain.”

She sobered. “I read your letter. Thank you. I’ve been thinking and remembering. Recalling those times we were all together. I wanted to tell you—I believe you. You are not the villain. I wanted you to know. It seemed important.”

Relief burst inside of him, throwing off a weight he’d been struggling under since learning of this mess. He drew a huge breath and smiled at her. “It’s important to me. Thank you, Helen.” He shook his head. “I feel ridiculously free, like I could float off like one of the balloons in the parks.”

“I know what you mean. Understanding that you didn’t betray me, it lifted a weight I’ve been carrying a long time.”

Reining in his elation, he studied her. “But not all of it?”

“No.”

“I carry the same burden. Who did this to you? To us?” He took her hand. Her breath caught. It was just the slightest hitch. The quickening of her pulse—and yet, sudden desire surged like lightning in his veins. More than desire. Yearning, like she was the warmth of sunshine on his skin and he was pale with being locked away from it. Tenderness. An endless wish to protect her—even as he wanted to pull her close and crush her against him.

How? How had he looked at her a thousand times before and not felt this way?

“I need to discover the truth.” His voice sounded abruptly harsh.

She nodded. “I see how it must affect you, too. You must at least try. At first, I didn’t want to have to dredge it all up again, but I’ve been thinking. It might do me good to know the truth at last.” She hesitated. “My life is changing. And I think that knowing, understanding, will help me to end this chapter of my life and move on to the next.”

Ben knew then that he had never really understood wanting before. Not truly. Not like he wanted to do this for her. Not like he wanted to be there when she shed this trauma and moved on. He wanted her in his life as he found his own way back, too.

“I will find out what happened.” It was a vow.

“I’d like to help,” she whispered.

Yes. But a sudden noise had him raising his head before he could answer. The porter he had bribed whispered just outside. “The lady’s family grows concerned. Her brother is looking for her.”

She gasped. “Will cannot find us together!”

“No,” he agreed. “Tomorrow, then?” He stopped. How could a gently bred girl go investigating with him?

“Yes.” She grinned. “Meet me at the flying sword baby.”

He frowned—but suddenly the memory dawned and he laughed. “Yes.” He kissed her hand. “I’ll meet you there at noon. Can you get away for the whole afternoon?”

She looked down at her hand, still in his, then looked up at him, determination growing. “I will.”

He took a letter from his pocket and slipped it into her hand. “Go now. I’ll see you there.”

Pressing the letter to her chest, she backed away, then turned and left.