She pressed her lips together. “I am not used to idleness, Your Grace. Or, at least, I’ve forgotten it.”
She noticed his jaw tighten for a moment before he responded, “Well, whatever the case may be, any kind of household labor isn’t required of you. In fact, I forbid you from it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Forbid?”
“Yes. I assume if I were your guest in your home, my lady, you wouldn’t like me digging the vegetable beds, would you?”
Helena blinked at him, but her mind betrayed her. She imagined him bent over the dark, rich soil, muscles straining, a sheen of sweat glistening across his broad shoulders, his shirt clinging in all the wrong—or right—places. Her cheeks heated at the image, and she bit the inside of her cheek to bring herself to reality.
“Well, um, I suppose not, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
“Good, then you’ll leave the work to the staff from now on, then?” he raised his eyebrows, and she nodded.
He paused for a long moment, studying her up and down, and Helena’s toes curled in her shoes, every part of her hoping that he wouldn’t be able to read the wanton image her mind had conjured of him.
“Erm, is that all, Your Grace?” she prompted.
His eyes narrowed, though not in anger, but in thought. “No,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wished to talk about Amelia. Today you convinced her to attend to her studies first, then showed her a skill which she’d never agree to learn on her own… Well, I mean to say that she’s difficult to guide. I struggle with how to reach her sometimes, how to make her listen.”
Helena’s gaze softened. She could tell he wasn’t looking for argument; he was genuinely admitting a small truth, however briefly.
“Perhaps,” she said gently, “she responds better when she feels understood, rather than told. Small lessons, meaningful ones, often do more than orders shouted across a room.”
He studied her, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. “Meaningful lessons…hmm. I see. And you think I should…?”
“Show her why it matters,” Helena suggested, her voice steady. “Even something as simple as a stitch can teach her patience, care, focus. If she understands why, rather than just being told, she’ll listen.”
For a moment, he was silent, absorbing her words. The set of his jaw relaxed fractionally, the sharpness in his gaze softening.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Helena felt a faint thrill at the rare acknowledgment. The garden seemed to still around them, along with the distant hum of bees and the rustle of leaves, yet all she could feel was him. His presence, warm and imposing, close enough to make her pulse quicken.
He stepped a fraction nearer, and Helena’s breath hitched. She could sense the energy between them, the unspoken pull of proximity, and the faint brush of his coat as he shifted. Her fingers itched to reach out, yet she stayed frozen, aware that the moment held the fragile weight of possibility.
Then he drew back, reclaiming his composure. “I have work to attend to,” he said, voice steady but softer than before. “Do take care with Amelia. And…thank you. For your insight.”
Helena’s hands rested lightly on her book, her chest fluttering. “You’re welcome, Your Grace,” she murmured.
He gave her a brief, curt nod, then turned and walked away, leaving her with the lingering impression of his presence and the echo of his words.
Her heart still raced, and she felt a cool breeze on her cheeks, though it did nothing to mellow the heat left by his nearness.
You’re only a guest here. Nothing more, she reminded herself.
Sighing softly, she picked up her book, trying to settle her thoughts.
Yet the memory of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, and the almost-tangible tension made it impossible to focus entirely on the garden.
Chapter Eight
“Ihear that they’re asking around the village if anyone has seen her. It won’t be long until they come here,” Saunders noted.
Saunders returned after ten days with the news that the convent was in a tizzy over Helena’s disappearance.
Silas could only conjecture that they had already informed her uncle, Lord James Porter. Which meant that whatever nightmare situation Helena had been imagining was getting closer to reality.
Unless they haven’t informed him in an effort not to look incompetent.
