Fiona’s stinging reprimand reminded Margaret of Joan. How her former maid would snigger to see her now.
That evening, Nathaniel entered the dining room, dressed for dinner. Helen sat alone at the long table, wearing a dull burgundy evening gown that did little to flatter her complexion.
“Where is Lewis?” he asked, taking his place at the table.
“He won’t be joining us tonight. Said he was visiting friends in Maidstone.”
Irritation flashed through Nathaniel. Lewis had barely arrived and was already finding reasons to leave Fairbourne Hall. “Which friends?”
“He did not say.”
Nathaniel thought of their acquaintance in Maidstone—Lord Romney of Mote Park, the Whatmans of Vinters, the Langleys, the Bishops. For himself he did not care, but why had they not included Helen in their invitation, if invitation it was. He felt offended on his sister’s behalf. Or had Lewis simply gone uninvited?
He said carefully, “How are the Whatmans...? Have you seen them lately?”
Helen shook her head. “I believe they’ve been spending a great deal of time on the coast. Mr. Whatman has taken to sea bathing, I understand. For his health.”
She glanced at the footman, who, taking his cue, removed the lid from the soup tureen. Helen served Nathaniel, then herself, in traditional family style.
As Nathaniel spooned his vegetable-marrow soup, he asked, “Tell me, how did you occupy your time while I was away?”
She shrugged and dipped her spoon. “Oh, I read a great deal. And I did what I could as mistress of the place while Lewis was in London.”
“How long has it been since you’ve attended a social event?”
She hesitated, eyes on her bowl.
“I have been gone for two years,” Nathaniel pressed. “Tell me you have not remained home the entire time I was away?”
She frowned. “Of course not!”
“And I don’t count attending church, nor Christmas and Easter with Uncle Townsend.”
Helen’s face reddened. “Someone had to stay home to look after the place. And Lewis puts no pressure on me to pay calls. He understands.”
As Nathaniel served Helen brills in shrimp sauce, he again surveyed the evening gown he had seen her wear a few times already. He waited until the footman replaced the soup tureen with a platter of lamb cutlets, then said, “And I take it you have had no new gowns recently?”
She took a sip of wine. “What need have I for new gowns? Mamma’s lady’s maid made over some of my frocks before she retired, to disguise the wear. I would have thought you would be glad of the economy.”
“We are not so poor you cannot dress well, Helen. Or attend an occasional entertainment. I guarantee Lewis has not forgone the latest in haberdashery, nor every lavish party of the season.”
She shook her head. “Do not speak against Lewis, Nathaniel. I will not hear a word against him.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath. “My point was not to disparage Lewis, but to express my concern for you. I hate to see you trapped here. Not living your life.”
She slowly shook her head. “Can you not conceive—a least a little—how I might feel? My chance at happiness was denied me.”
Yes, I do understand, Nathaniel thought, but he refused to admit it aloud. “I am sorry for your loss, Helen. I am. But that was years ago. Do you mean to go on living as though a widow forever?”
“Why not?” Helen’s eyes flashed. “What use have I for frivolous entertainments or to pretend an interest in other men I can never feel? And now... now I am a spinster. On the shelf. Do you know how people would talk if I showed up at a ball after all this time? ‘Does she not realize she is too old?’ they would say. ‘Who does she think she is, a debutante?’ ”
“If you think yourself the topic of conversation after all this time, you overestimate yourself.”
Helen’s mouth fell ajar. “What an unkind thing to say!”
“I did not mean...” He grimaced. “Why is it you seem determined to twist my every word? I only meant you worry too much—the gossips have moved on a hundred times over.”
She winced. “You still hope to marry me off, then—get me off your hands?”
