Chapter 16
“If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in.”
Before I met Edmond Hawke, I’d only been publicly humiliated three times in my life.
Most recently, of course, was when I was ten years old and forced to apologize at Sybella’s tea party.
The second humiliation was when I was eight, and mousy-eyed John Camelford hid a frog in my parasol after church.
The very first humiliation was when I was four.
It involved a goose and my undergarments.
I have since vowed to never speak of that experience again.
But since meeting Edmond, I’d collected an entire museum’s worth of humiliations, one after another. Which is why, as I stood on the porch of Stonehill House, I promised myself that I would not let today end in another humiliation. I’d keep my chin up, and I would get answers no matter what.
“I’ll knock,” Mrs. Sweete offered, since I held the basket of apples.
But as she lifted the brass knocker, the door swung open. Mrs. Sweete and I stumbled backward as an older woman burst through. A simple bonnet covered her graying hair, and she wore a maid’s apron over a plain, black dress. She carried a large paper-wrapped package.
The maid startled upon seeing us and dropped the package. “Pardon me,” she said, immediately picking it up. I noticed the pale blue string tying it closed—the same color as the string the modiste used for orders.
“I’ll be on my way then,” the maid said, smiling at me. It was then that I noticed her red-rimmed eyes.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are you all right?”
The woman paused. “Oh, me? Why, yes. Of course I am.”
My brow furrowed as I looked at her more closely. She was oddly familiar.
“Forgive me,” I said. “Did something happen to you? Is your master aware of it?” If Edmond did not treat his staff well, that was something I wished to know.
“My master? Oh! You mean Mr. Hawke. No, no, he is a wonderful man.” She looked wistfully at the package in her hands.
“He asked me to stay, actually. I wish I could accept his offer. It was a generous one. But—” she drew in a shuddering breath, “—I cannot. Don’t worry about me, miss.
I have a good job and am well taken care of. ”
Her eyes shone with a sadness that seemed familiar. It was then that I recognized her. She was the maid from Sybella’s birthday party—the one Mrs. Pratt had dismissed. I hadn’t seen her since that day or even thought about where she’d gone.
A small pang hit my chest, but I waved the shame away. She said she was well taken care of, so why worry? Though, I wondered why she didn’t take Edmond’s job offer if she wanted it so badly. Either way, I was glad to see she hadn’t been banished from London over such a trifle.
I wondered briefly if I should bring up the incident ten years ago and express my regret over what had transpired. But I decided against it. The maid had already been crying, and I didn’t want to cause her more distress. Besides, my remorse would do her no good.
Instead I said, “I wish you the best of luck. Wherever you choose to go.”
The maid nodded gratefully, then looked down at the basket in my hands. “Oh, he’ll love those.”
She curtsied, then hurried down the steps. When she was gone, I turned to Mrs. Sweete and asked, “How many maids do you know use the front entrance?”
“None.”
We shared a curious look, then Mrs. Sweete rapped the knocker on Stonehill’s door.
Mr. Grimshaw appeared, looking surprised to see us.
He led us to the same parlor I’d been abandoned in six days prior and set a tea tray before us.
Mrs. Sweete arranged herself in the corner and plucked away at her needlework, leaving me to fiddle with the blue ribbon tied around the basket’s handle.
I made sure it was not a scarlet ribbon.
The only sound filling the room was the relentless countdown of the grandfather clock, each miserable tick winding my impatience tighter.
Minutes passed, and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I stood, needing to walk around, and I set the apple basket on the table—which, I realized, had been previously occupied by a blue and white Wedgwood vase that I’d nearly knocked over last time I was here.
I glanced around the room to see where it had been moved, but it was gone.
For some reason, its disappearance bothered me.
At last, the door opened, and I immediately sat back down to hide the fact that I’d been pacing like a madwoman.
Edmond stepped inside. A sling held up his left arm, but otherwise, he looked perfectly healthy. He wore a simple white shirt dusted with soil, the sleeves rolled up. He was in the garden, I realized with a sour ache. If he had time to pull weeds, then he certainly had time to call on me.
“Helena,” he said with a lopsided grin. At least he wasn’t calling me Miss Weston again. “I apologize for my delay. I didn’t realize you’d be calling, or else I would have changed into something more presentable.”
“Were you gardening?” I crossed my arms. “And here I thought you must be withering away on your deathbed.”
“My deathbed?”
“Or perhaps you were kidnapped and ransomed. Or unexpectedly called to war. But no, you were gardening.”
His smile faltered. “Is that a bad thing?”
When I didn’t respond, he ran a hand through his hair and sat down. After a tense silence, he motioned to the basket and said, “Are those apples for me?”
I pushed the basket toward him. “To aid in your recovery.”
He grabbed an apple and bit into it. “These are my favorite.”
“I know,” I said dryly.
“Then you have me at a disadvantage, for I don’t know your favorite food.”
“Marzipan.”
He waited, as if expecting me to elaborate. When I didn’t, he straightened his shirt and said, “Are you—I mean, will you be attending the baron’s ball this weekend?”
“Yes.”
He was delaying the inevitable.
“Right, um, me too. Though the doctor says I must wear the sling for another week, so I will have an excuse if my dancing isn’t quite up to par.”
“I’m sure you will find no shortage of partners.” I sniffed and looked out the window. “I wish you and them the best of luck.”
Edmond frowned. “Have I offended you again, Helena? If I have, I beg you to tell me at once so I may correct it.”
I smoothed my skirt. “You said you would call upon me to explain your… unexpected guest. That was six days ago.”
His eyes widened. “Did I say that?”
I turned to Mrs. Sweete. “When I got home that day, what was the first thing I told you, Mrs. Sweete?”
“That Mr. Hawke had something important to explain to you and that you were expecting him to call on you soon,” she said.
Edmond gave Mrs. Sweete a weak smile. “Hello there, Mrs. Sweete. I didn’t see you there… in the shadows.”
“I’m always here, Mr. Hawke,” she said. If I didn’t know better, it almost sounded like a threat. Truly, I had never been more proud of my chaperone.
“To be precise,” I continued, “you asked me to keep what happened that day private until you could explain things yourself.” I laced my hands in my lap. “I have held up my end of the bargain. I am ready for you to hold up yours.”
Edmond looked a bit pale. “You’re right, of course.”
“I am.”
“And you want me to explain it all now?”
“I do.”
“Do you want some tea first?”
“I do not.”
“Perhaps a slice of—”
“Edmond,” I snapped. “I’ve seen you nearly bleed out in the woods—surely you can speak to me plainly. I have not told a soul, even Mrs. Sweete. I promise you can trust her with your secrets as well.”
Edmond swallowed hard, then exhaled a short, defeated breath. “Of course.”
“So?” I said. “Is Mr. Fletcher truly your father?”
He leaned back in his chair, looking haggard. “It’s not that simple. But I assure you that I’ve taken care of the situation. That man is not welcome on my property, and I promise he will not cause you any more discomfort.”
“It was not my discomfort that troubled me, Edmond. It was yours. Mr. Fletcher is blackmailing you, isn’t he?”
He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “It’s a small matter. Inconsequential, really.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Sweete said from the corner.
I raised an eyebrow, then stood and made my way to the other side of the tea table. It was a bold move, but sometimes, a strong offense was necessary. Edmond straightened when I sat next to him, and I looked him squarely in the eye.
“You and I are past the threshold for falsehoods,” I said. “You can tell me the truth.”
“I want to,” he whispered.
“Then, please. Tell me.”
He stared at me for a moment, then abruptly stood and walked to the fireplace.
“I’m not sure I can answer your questions,” he said quickly. “At least not yet.”
“Then when?” I demanded.
“I—I’m not sure.”
I stood. My pulse pounded in my ears, and my legs shook beneath me.
“Then tell me this.” My tone was sharp enough to draw blood. “Did you purposefully make a poor business deal with my father in order to pay for my wardrobe?”
Edmond’s face went slack. “What?”
“Don’t try to deny it. Mrs. Sweete can tell if you’re lying.”
“It’s true, I can,” she said.
Edmond swallowed, looking up at me with wide eyes, as if waiting for me to retract my question. But I did not break my glare.
He released a long sigh. “Yes. I did.”
It was like the breath was sucked out of me. “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
I scoffed. “Don’t patronize me. No sane businessman would buy that swamp land, much less pay twenty pounds for my painting. You know.”
His gaze softened, and he nodded slowly. “Yes. I know about your family’s financial state.”
I let out a sharp breath.
“But the rest of the ton doesn’t, I swear,” he continued.
“I only know because your father signed a contract to invest in my copper mines in Cornwall, but his payments never arrived. When I looked into it, I found some unusual activity related to his other public investments. It’s all just paperwork and numbers, but there was a clear pattern.
After seeing you repurpose your dresses at the modiste—well, I put two and two together.
And I… I wanted to help. But I knew you wouldn’t let me. ”
My jaw clenched. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. And I don’t.”
“Helena, you don’t deserve to suffer because of your father’s poor choices.”
“His poor choices? You say that as if it were his fault.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Of course not! There was a plot against him. Corrupt investors stole everything.”
“Then that’s all the more reason you should accept my help.”
Heat flared beneath my skin. “I am not a charity case.”
“I’m not saying you are.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Look, I may have been reckless in my methods, but I refuse to stand by and do nothing when someone needs help. You needed new dresses. I bought them. I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”
“My life is not your business. Why do you even care if I have new dresses?”
He motioned up and down to me, looking frazzled. “Because you are the type of person who cares about that sort of thing!”
My voice darkened. “And what type of person is that exactly? Someone who must be polished to be of any value? A mere decoration? That without all the finery, I’d somehow be found lacking?”
“Of course not!” He lurched forward in his chair. “Helena—”
“It’s Miss Weston.”
Edmond stilled, and a look of utter pain ripped across his features.
“Mrs. Sweete,” I said, “I’m ready to go home.” She hurried to my side. I paused, then grabbed the apple basket. “I wish you a swift recovery, Mr. Hawke.”
His jaw hung open as I brushed past him, taking the apples with me, and stormed out of the house.
I may have been humiliated again, but at least I kept my chin high.