Chapter 1 #2
He had carried her all the way to the kitchen, where the housekeeper had cleaned her scrapes, all the while recounting, with what Helena had always suspected was considerable exaggeration, the tale of how he had once fallen from his horse, into a puddle of mud so deep that even the stable hands had laughed themselves breathless.
By the time her knee had been bandaged, she had been laughing too, her embarrassment entirely forgotten.
A soft chuckle escaped her at the recollection.
Looking back, she was quite certain the story had never been intended for his own amusement.
He had recognized how mortified she had been and, with the thoughtfulness that had always seemed so natural to him, had contrived to make her forget her tears altogether.
As the carriage passed along the edge of Hyde Park, Helena's attention was drawn to a familiar carriage standing some distance away beneath a line of elm trees.
She frowned slightly. Lord Ravenscroft had told her he intended to spend the morning at his club, where he was to meet an old friend.
Curiosity prompted her to sit a little straighter.
There, beside the carriage, stood the Baron, and opposite him was a young dark-haired lady whom Helena did not recognize.
They stood close enough that the lady's hand rested lightly on his chest as she smiled at him, while he tilted his head to listen.
There seemed to be an intimacy between them that immediately caught Helena's attention.
She leaned toward the window, hoping for another glimpse, but the Fairchild carriage turned beneath an avenue of trees, and within moments the pair disappeared behind them.
Drawing back into her seat, Helena, feeling rather shocked, replayed the brief encounter in her mind.
She could, of course, have misunderstood what she had seen.
The young lady might have been a relation, or someone in genuine distress.
A passing glimpse from a moving carriage hardly permitted fair judgement.
“What is the matter, my dearest? You look as though you have seen a ghost,” Lady Fairchild remarked, taking in Helena’s expression.
“Ah,” Helena replied with a smile, smoothing her features into composure. “I was merely thinking of all that is yet to be done before the wedding.”
“I remember having much the same feelings before I married your dear Papa. Fret not, my love; we shall see that everything is done, I promise,” Lady Fairchild replied warmly.
“I am so glad the French lace arrived this morning. I believe the one we selected will be just the thing to complete your gown.”
“Indeed, Mama,” Helena agreed.
Turning back to the window, a feeling stirred within her as she thought of what she had seen.
It was not jealousy, she knew with perfect certainty.
Their engagement had never been founded upon romance, but upon mutual respect and the expectation that affection would grow with time.
She had no wish to govern Lord Ravenscroft's every acquaintance, nor would she think it proper to do so.
Yet something about the scene refused to be banished from her thoughts. The absence of a chaperone, the closeness of the gesture, and the simple fact that he had told her he would be elsewhere, left her with questions she could not easily dismiss.
She told herself she was attaching far too much significance to a moment she scarcely understood. Even so, the image returned to her thoughts more than once, before they reached home.
That evening, Helena retired to her bedchamber earlier than usual. Mary, her ladies maid had already lit the candles upon her writing desk, and after helping Helena from her gown and arranging her nightgown across the foot of the bed, she curtsied and left the room.
The chamber fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crackle from the small fire and the distant rumble of a carriage somewhere beyond the square.
Helena crossed to her desk and lowered herself into the chair, her gaze immediately falling upon the bundle of letters tied neatly with a pale blue ribbon.
She untied it almost without thinking until she found his most recent letter. It had arrived only three days before, written in Lord Ravenscroft's familiar, careful hand. Unfolding the pages, she smoothed the paper upon the polished mahogany and began to read.
His words were exactly as she remembered them. Warm without being extravagant, affectionate without becoming sentimental; every sentence composed with the same care that seemed to govern the man himself.
He inquired after her health, hoped her wedding preparations were progressing without undue inconvenience, and remarked that he found himself counting the days until they would at last be husband and wife.
There was nothing remarkable in any of it.
It was precisely the sort of letter an attentive fiancé ought to write.
Yet, when she reached the end, she found herself returning to the beginning.
She frowned faintly at her own behavior.
It was absurd, and she knew it. What she had seen that afternoon had been no more than a passing glimpse from a moving carriage.
The young lady beside him might have been a cousin, an old family friend, or someone seeking advice.
She knew nothing of the circumstances and had no right to imagine otherwise.
Had anyone formed conclusions about her upon so little evidence, she would have considered it deeply unfair.
Even so, she read the letter a second time.
Her eyes searched each line as though some careless phrase might suddenly reveal itself, some inconsistency she had overlooked before.
But every page remained as it had always been.
His hand was even, his thoughts orderly, and his expressions sincere, just as they always had been.
There was no sentence that invited suspicion.
It was, she reluctantly admitted, a perfectly ordinary letter.
Helena rested her fingertips lightly against the folded pages and gave a small shake of her head. "What nonsense," she murmured to herself.
Their engagement had never been built upon grand declarations of love.
They had entered it with open eyes and sensible expectations.
She trusted Lord Ravenscroft enough to accept the proposal.
More importantly, she believed herself to be a woman guided by reason rather than imagination.
It would be foolish indeed to allow a single, unexplained encounter in the park to outweigh an entire year of honorable conduct.
With renewed determination, she folded the letter, tied the ribbon neatly around the bundle once more, and placed it back inside the drawer of her desk. Rising, she crossed to the window and drew the curtains together against the darkness outside before extinguishing all but one of the candles.
When she finally retired to bed, sleep would not come.
Her thoughts continued to return to the park.
She saw Lord Ravenscroft standing beside his carriage exactly as she had glimpsed him.
She saw the unfamiliar young lady smiling up at him.
Each time Helena supplied herself with another perfectly sensible explanation, yet, the image remained unchanged.
At last she turned onto her side and closed her eyes with a sigh. Tomorrow, I will think no more of it. She had no intention of allowing an idle fancy to cloud her judgement.
Even so, long after the house had fallen asleep, Helena remained awake.