Chapter 17
GIDEON
“Married,” James said, and stared at him. “You will be married. To Helena.” He shook his head slowly.
“I knew it would end this way,” Nathaniel said, as he took a sip from his glass. “A rum go from start to finish, and yet here we are.”
Rhys scoffed. “I do not know how this happened. I thought you were determined never to marry again. I thought the entire venture was about finding her a husband.”
“It is those wretched rumours,” Gideon said, with some exasperation. “Surely you have heard them.”
Rhys shook his head. “Charlotte and I have only just returned from Leeds. Whatever rumours they are, they have not reached Yorkshire yet.”
“It is being said that Helena’s father was not related to any nobility, and that the family fabricated the connection in order to elevate themselves in society.
” He paused. “Which is...” He caught Nathaniel’s eye.
Nathaniel said nothing, but waited. Gideon sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Which is true. Captain Hartwell’s wife invented the story.
She perpetuated it for years. He was never comfortable with it, but he could see the benefit to Helena, and the danger of it, too.
When he asked me to look after her, he confessed the whole business.
He was worried that one day it might come back to her.
I thought the whole thing rather overblown at the time. I must confess he was right to worry.”
He paused and turned his glass in his hands.
“It would not have been such a difficult situation had she a husband to stand by her side. She does not. And even if Lord Vale had lived, I do not think he would have taken it well.”
“Gadzooks,” James exclaimed, drawing several pairs of eyes toward their corner of the room. Gideon shook his head at him.
“Yes, yes,” James said, lowering his voice. “I shall be quiet. But what a conundrum. And you truly believe that marrying her is the only solution?”
“I do. I cannot find her a husband quickly enough to stay ahead of the rumour. Lady Marlborough had already heard of it, and you know what that means. Once these things grow beyond a certain point it is already too late. I must act now.”
The fire crackled in the grate. Outside, the wind had picked up, sending the occasional gust against the club windows. Nobody else at the surrounding tables appeared to be paying them the slightest attention, and yet Gideon found himself speaking more quietly than usual.
“Well,” James said at last. “I am glad you are willing to marry again. But I worry this is hasty. Do you care for her?”
Gideon looked away. The firelight caught the rim of his glass and threw a long amber line across the table. He did not want to admit that there was a part of him that cared for her, especially not in front of his friends, who would make too much of it.
“She is lovely, and she is in need of protection. That is why I am doing this. To help her. To protect her. Nothing more.”
“I see,” James replied, with an odd smile. “So it is not that you secretly hoped she might fall in love with you, so that you could be married in truth.”
“No,” he said.
“That was rather a strong no,” Nathaniel observed. “The sort of no I used to give whenever anyone asked me the same question about Evelyn.”
“You and Evelyn were an different situation. Helena and I have a necessity.”
“We had a necessity too,” Nathaniel said quietly. “And it became something more. The same could happen to you.”
“If it happens, it happens. If it does not, then it does not.” He said it lightly, but the words sat heavier in his chest than he allowed to show.
She had done him up completely with those calm, reasonable terms of hers, and the worst of it was that he could not even argue with them.
He thought of Helena’s careful, considered words, laid out in that small kitchen, with the smell of baking bread in the air and Lavinia crying in the next room.
She did not want a marriage founded on romance.
She wanted one founded on sense. He had agreed to that. He had to hold to it.
If he could not, he would be in for a lifetime of quiet struggle. He had to see this for what it was. A favor to an old friend. Nothing more.
The evening continued pleasantly enough.
More drinks were poured, and the conversation moved from his news to other matters: Rhys’s account of the roads north, Nathaniel’s opinion on some business in the Lords, a wager James had apparently lost to a man at White’s over the speed of a particular horse.
Gideon joined in where he could. Mostly he sat and watched the fire and found himself at a stand, unable to think of anything, or anyone, but Helena.
When at last Nathaniel and Rhys had departed, he and James walked along the street in the direction of the park.
It was a cold night. Their breath made small clouds in the dark air and their boots rang against the cobblestones, the sound carrying in the quiet of the late hour.
The lamps along the street threw pools of orange light at irregular intervals, and between them the shadows were deep.
“Now that we are alone,” James said, “you can tell me the truth. There is something between the two of you, is there not?”
“There cannot be,” he replied. “She does not want a true marriage. She wants one of convenience. And truthfully, after what happened with Cassandra, I ought to be grateful for it.”
“Ought to be grateful is not the same as being grateful.” James glanced at him sidelong.
“Though I will say this: you are going to make a cake of it, Gideon. I know you. You always do when you care too much about something to admit it.” He paused.
“You must protect your heart. If you love her and she does not love you...”
“I do not love her.” He stopped walking. “There is no love between us. There is affection, friendly affection, and that is all.”
James raised his hands. “Very well. If you say so. I say only this: if there were feelings on both sides, something might grow from them. But if the feelings are yours alone, you must be careful. You do not want to find yourself in the same position as...”
“Helena would never treat me the way Cassandra did.” He said it quietly but without hesitation.
“Helena did not want to pretend to be someone she is not. That is the very thing she objected to, the very thing she fought me on from the beginning. I know her. I know her mind. And her mind is made up: she will not have a romantic marriage. She told me so plainly.” He began walking again.
“And truthfully, it suits me. I will be married. I will have done right by her father. People may think what they wish about it.”
“But you will have no heir.”
“Not for the title, no. But Lavinia will inherit everything not attached to the dukedom. I will raise her as my own. I will have the pleasure of a child without the trials of a marriage. That is enough.”
They walked on in silence for a while. The park gates were dark ahead of them, the trees beyond moving faintly in the wind. A cat crossed the street some distance away and disappeared between two houses.
As they walked, Gideon turned over what he had just said. It sounded, on paper, like the ideal solution. He almost believed it himself.
Almost.
He had to ask himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts, where the cold night air could carry the question away before anyone else could hear it: was it really enough?
He didn’t know. And not knowing frightened him considerably more than he was prepared to admit. He was in for it now, well and truly in for it, and there was nothing to be done but see it through.