If this feeling between them was to mean anything, it must be given shape in the light, not the dark. And that meant seeking her grandmother’s consent before he spoke a single word of his intentions to Eliza herself.
Gabriel crossed the room, his decision settling like steel within him. His reflection caught briefly in the glass of the window — pale, drawn, the look of a man both resolute and uncertain.
“Fool,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re behaving like a lovesick schoolboy.” But even as he said it, he knew it was already too late to turn back.
He foundHelena in the morning room not long after. The space was bright, filled with the scent of beeswax and violets, the kind of room where sunlight seemed to linger longer than elsewhere in the house. She sat near the window, her embroidery frame balanced neatly in her lap, her needle flashing in and out of the fabric with deliberate precision.
“Miss Ashcombe,” he said, pausing at the threshold.
Helena looked up, her eyes sharp despite the mild smile that curved her mouth. “My lord. What an unexpected visit. Do come in.”
He inclined his head and stepped closer. “I fear I am intruding, madame.”
“Nonsense. Embroidery is hardly sacred work, though it does keep idle hands from meddling where they ought not. And do please call me Helena. We have invaded your home, after all. Such formality seems a bit pointless under the circumstances, doesn’t it?”
Her words held a double meaning, and Gabriel suspected she knew exactly why he had come. “Very well, Helena. And you may call me Gabriel or Blackburn. Whichever you are most comfortable with. I wished to speak with you,” he said. “About your granddaughter.”
Her needle stilled. “Ah. Yes, I rather thought as much.”
He drew a breath, then forced himself to meet her gaze. “I will be plain, Mis—Helena. I care for her. Deeply. And with such short acquaintance, perhaps more than I have any right to. I am not a man who makes impulsive decision, but I have learned through my years in the military to trust my instincts. And if I am to act, it must be with purpose.”
Helena’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes softened. “You mean to offer for her.”
“Yes.” The word left him before he could soften it. “I mean to marry her — if she’ll have me. But I know she will not even consider it without your consent.”
Helena set her embroidery aside, folding her hands atop it. “You are correct. Eliza is guided by loyalty as much as by love. She would not defy me, though she might wish to.”
“Then I ask for your blessing.”
For a moment, the older woman was silent. The clock on the mantel ticked softly, the only sound in the still room. Finally, she spoke.
“Tell me, my lord — do you know what it is you are asking for?”
“I do.”
“You would bind yourself to a woman whose family lives under a curse.”
“I do not believe in curses,” he said firmly.
Helena’s smile was faint, almost wistful. “No. Nor did the men who loved us before you. But belief changes little. It is the truth of the thing that endures.”
He met her gaze evenly. “If misfortune comes, it will come whether I believe in it or not. But I would rather face it beside her than spend my life wondering if I might have saved her from it. Or if I allowed cowardice to rob us both.”
Helena regarded him for a long moment, then nodded once. “Then you have my consent, Gabriel Hawthorne. And my gratitude. You are braver than most.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you. I will speak to her at once.”
But as he turned to go, Helena’s voice stopped him.
“She is not here,” she said quietly.
He turned back. “Not here?”
“She went out early this morning,” Helena said, her tone calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of concern. “Said she wished to walk in the gardens.”
Gabriel felt a sharp chill of apprehension. “Alone?”
Helena’s silence was answer enough.
