Chapter 30
Tristan found Beatrice and Charlotte in the drawing room waiting anxiously for their return around midnight. The candles had burned low, leaving the room softened by a warm, flickering light, and neither lady appeared inclined to retire until she knew the entire party was safely home.
As soon as they entered, the party consisting of Helena, Nathaniel, Georgiana, Tristan, and one exceedingly dirty cat, both Beatrice and Charlotte rose at once. Within moments, Georgiana and Helena were being embraced and examined with equal concern.
It had been a difficult experience for everyone, though for very different reasons. Tristan's gaze was fixed on Helena.
Her chestnut curls were threatening to escape the few pins that remained in her hair, while the false bruise upon her cheek looked considerably worse beneath the drawing room's candlelight.
A faint line of dried blood remained upon her neck where the knife had pressed against her skin.
The sight made something inside him turn cold all over again.
He forced his attention elsewhere and found Mr. Blake entering the room with a broad smile of relief. “Shall I bring in some refreshments, perhaps rather more bountiful than usual?” he asked.
It was evident that the butler, like everyone else, was simply grateful to have them home.
“Please do,” Tristan replied, returning his smile.
“Tell us everything!” Beatrice exclaimed. “We have been sick with worry. Charlotte and I hardly knew what to do with ourselves sitting here and waiting, hoping and praying that you would all return safely.”
“It was dreadful!” Georgiana declared, apparently recovered enough to enjoy having the full attention of the room. She turned toward Nathaniel, who was still holding the small cat. “But I was rescued.”
“Nathaniel may have broken down the door,” Tristan remarked dryly, “but I was also there. As was Helena.”
Georgiana turned toward them with an affectionate smile. “Of course! I have such a wonderful family, truly I do.”
With no further encouragement required, Georgiana began to recount the events of the day.
Her abduction had been swift. She had been brought to the same room in which Helena had met the baron, and after she had written the first letter, Lord Ravenscroft had apparently banished her to an upper room and locked the door.
“He called me an annoyance,” Georgiana explained with considerable disdain. “Apparently I either ‘wailed’ or ‘moaned’ too much for his liking.”
Charlotte's eyebrows rose.
“I assure you I had every intention of being extremely annoying after that,” Georgiana said with a lift of her chin.
Beatrice gave a small, relieved laugh.
“When I began stomping about the room,” Georgiana continued, “he had my hands and feet bound and called me insufferable.”
The relief that followed when Georgiana made it clear that Lord Ravenscroft had not laid a hand upon her was almost palpable. Every one of them suspected the same thing: Whatever else Lord Ravenscroft had been willing to risk, he had feared Tristan's reaction should he harm his sister.
Beatrice then turned toward Tristan and Helena. “And what happened after you left us?” she asked.
Tristan explained that he, Nathaniel, Mr. Markham, and the Bow Street officers had arrived a few streets from the building before Helena. They had approached on foot and remained out of sight until Helena was safely inside.
Once she had been taken to Lord Ravenscroft, the officers had begun dealing with the baron's men. One by one, they had been subdued, with as little noise as possible, while Tristan and Mr. Markham waited outside the room where Helena was being held.
“By the time Helena had been left alone with Lord Ravenscroft,” Tristan explained, “his men were no longer in a position to interfere. We waited outside the door and listened.”
“And you heard everything?” Charlotte asked.
“Enough.” Tristan glanced toward Helena. “She managed to persuade him to boast of his own crimes.”
“How did you manage it?” Beatrice asked Helena.
“I appealed to his vanity.” Helena smiled faintly. “His opinion of himself is his Achilles heel. He believed I was impressed by his power and intelligence, and he could not resist telling me how easily he ended people’s lives.”
“He is vile… But, brilliantly done, Helena,” Charlotte said. “A man's ego is a fragile thing. Well, at least some men's.” She glanced apologetically toward Nathaniel and Tristan. “It does not take much to offend it, and the lightest breeze can inflate it.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor to remember that.”
Before Charlotte could continue, Mr. Blake returned with several footmen behind him.
They carried trays laden with tea, coffee, port, sherry, cakes, savory dishes, sandwiches, and scones.
It was a spread better suited to a large luncheon than a household that had already passed midnight, but no one appeared inclined to object.
After everything they had endured, no one seemed particularly concerned with the late hour. Even the small cat received his share. A saucer containing minced fish was placed carefully upon the floor, and the animal immediately licked its lips before beginning its supper with great enthusiasm.
Georgiana watched the cat for a moment. “I believe she has had the most successful evening of us all.”
“The creature is filthy,” Nathaniel reminded her.
“Yes, but I’ll wipe her down with a cloth and warm water. She’ll be as good as new.” Georgiana smiled at Nathaniel.
Mr. Markham arrived not long afterward, and once he had taken Georgiana's statement, followed by Helena's, he assured Tristan that he would call upon him in the coming days, and then took his leave.
For the first time that evening, Tristan felt he could breathe properly again. The matter was in Mr. Markham's hands then, and there was nothing more Tristan could do. He had done all that had been required of him.
“Tristan…” Nathaniel was suddenly at his side. He lowered his voice so that he would not be overheard. “Might I have a word with you sometime this coming week?”
Tristan raised a single eyebrow. His gaze moved pointedly toward Georgiana before returning to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel grinned.
“It is about time,” Tristan remarked. “Tomorrow at midday. You may join us for lunch afterward.”
Minutes later, Nathaniel and Charlotte took their leave, and the family retired to their chambers.
Georgiana carried the little cat upstairs, whispering all the while about the new life she was to enjoy, which apparently included a bath.
Tristan walked with Helena, holding her hand as they made their way upstairs.
Once they reached her chambers, Tristan stopped beside the door. “Helena…” He looked at her for a moment.
“I never thought I could admire or respect you more than I already did, until this evening. I would have allowed my temper to get the better of me, and the baron would never have confessed what he did to you. But I was there behind the door, listening to make certain I could step in if you needed me. I will always be there for you, Helena.”
He wanted to tell her how afraid he had been for her, how close he had come to losing all sense when he saw the knife against her throat, and how much he loved her. But he could not bring himself to say any of it.
“It went against every instinct in you to allow me to be the bait,” Helena replied softly, “but I confess, I do not think another man would have allowed me to see my plan through. Thank you for trusting me. And I knew you were there, I knew you would not let him harm me.”
She smiled at her husband. “It is finally at an end; our part at least.” She watched him with her gray eyes, as though waiting to see what he would say, but when he remained silent, she reached up onto her toes and kissed him softly upon the cheek. “Goodnight, Tristan,” she whispered.
Helena opened her door and closed it softly behind her, leaving Tristan standing before it for a moment before he finally turned and made his way to his own chambers.
As he pulled off his cravat, his gaze went toward the dividing door between their rooms. The kiss upon his cheek had been soft and tender. It had spoken of something more than the practical affection of their marriage, more than friendship, and the expression in her eyes had suggested the same.
He sat upon the edge of his bed and removed his shoes, his attention then falling upon the large wrapped package the footman had placed beside his writing desk.
He looked at it for a moment before his gaze returned to the dividing door.
Helena's words during the waltz came back to him, when she had said that she could not ask for more from their marriage than what already existed between them.
Tristan leaned forward, resting his elbows upon his thighs, and lowered his head.
After a moment, he straightened with a determined expression. “You are no coward,” he muttered to himself. He rose from the bed, and with long strides in his stockinged feet, crossed the room and unlocked the dividing door before knocking.
There was silence on the other side, and Tristan could hear his heart beating rapidly as he waited. Then, after what seemed an age, he heard Helena unlocking her side of the door.
When she opened it, Tristan found her looking at him with curious surprise.
Her hair had been released from its pins and fell loosely around her shoulders, her face had been washed clean of the false bruise and dried blood, and she stood before him in her robe.
The sight of her, looking once again like the Helena he knew, brought a tenderness to his expression.
“I have something for you,” Tristan said, holding out his hand.
Helena took it, and he led her toward the package.
She glanced at him with growing interest before kneeling beside it and beginning to unwrap the brown paper.
Layer after layer was removed until, at last, she peeled away the final covering and sat back on her heels.
Her eyes widened as she looked up at Tristan in astonishment.
“This is the orchid in the orchard at Blackmere,” She whispered.
“It is,” Tristan answered, sitting beside her on the floor as she admired the framed painting before her. “Do you recognize the artist?”
“Of course I do. It is Mr. Turner!” Helena breathed deeply, her eyes fixed on the painting. After several moments, at last she dragged her gaze away and looked at Tristan. “How on earth did you get it?”
Tristan smiled. “Remember, on our wedding day, I said I would only tell you the first half of the story concerning the drawing of his that I had given you? Well, here is the second half. I commissioned Mr. Turner to paint the orchard. It was to be a wedding gift, to be hung at Blackmere. Mr. Turner agreed, and he traveled to the estate to complete it.”
Helena was silent, her mouth slightly open as she stared at the painting in awe.
“The day we were sitting on the bench in the garden, when I received the letter from Mr. Pritchard, there was a second one. It was from Mr. Turner. I read it later, and he had written to tell me he had completed the painting.” Tristan smiled.
“I collected it the morning Beatrice and Georgiana went to the park with Oliver.”
“Tristan…” Helena managed, smiling as she looked back at the painting. “This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.”
“Do you know why I requested the orchard?” he asked.
When she turned back toward him, he continued.
“Even after all the years we spent apart, I could never walk through the orchard at Blackmere without thinking of you, of our childhood memories together. I may not have realized it when I commissioned Mr. Turner to paint it, but I realize it now. I understand how long I have loved you and how marrying you has only made that love grow deeper.”
“You love me?” Helena asked, almost frowning, as though she feared the answer.
“I do.” Tristan held her gaze. “You once said to me that you could not ask for anything more from this marriage. But I need to, Helena. I need more.” He searched her eyes, hoping that she might feel the same, but she remained silent.
Suddenly, he found her arms around his neck. Helena reached up on her knees and softly kissed his lips, pulling away only long enough to whisper, “I believe I have always loved you too. I love you now more than I thought I ever could.”
Tristan pulled her close and returned her kiss, deepening it as all the love and emotion he had held back for so long finally found its way between them. Their marriage had begun as an arrangement, but there was no arrangement between them any longer, only love.