She thought about Silas and how she felt when she was near him.
Am I in love with him? How will I know if I am?
She knew that she craved his touch, but maybe that was because he was always gentle and caring with her. She had missed the feel of human touch for the last five years. She had missed being touched with affection rather than violence.
So how am I to know whether I am merely clinging to the first person to show me some care?
She shook her head. What she felt for Silas didn’t really matter. The important thing was to avenge her father and rescue Charlie.
Even though all she wanted to do was march into Downfield House, scoop her brother up into her arms, and walk out, she could not. Silas had told her it would provoke James in the worst way. She’d already married the duke and was out of his reach. If she physically removed Charlie, God knew how desperate that would make her uncle.
So, all she could do for now was be patient.
Helena sat up in bed as soon as Silas came into her room. “Did you come up with a plan?”
He smirked, “You’re an impatient one. Can I at least sit down first?”
“Of course.” She patted the bed, her eyes eager.
He saw that she was in a long-sleeved shift tonight, though with a wide neckline that drooped down her shoulder. He could see the slight swell of her right breast as her hands fiddled with the ribbon that could pull her neckline closed.
He came and sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the dancing flames of the fire, which was the only light in the room aside from the moon shining in through the open curtains.
It was a clear night, a full moon, and a starry midnight sky, just a little darker looking than Helena’s eyes. A dog barked somewhere on the grounds, his message answered by the other dogs that guarded the estate from unwanted visitors.
He’d entreated Benedict to spend the night in the guest chambers as it was late, and he’d had a bit to drink.
“Well?” she asked impatiently and he smiled.
“Benedict had some news about the diadem. Or rather, a story.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A story?”
“Yes. His… mistress is a Frenchwoman, from Marseille.” His mouth twisted. “He says she heard him muttering to himself about the diadem, but I would not be surprised if he shared the information with her.” He took a breath, looking into her eyes. “They met on a case, you see. She was his informant.”
“Oh.” Helena’s eyes widened. “How interesting.”
“Yes, well…” Silas shrugged, “She said that she has heard of this diadem. She used to work in a tavern in Marseille and there was a group that used to meet there. Exiled Englishmen, rebels and such.”
Helena nodded. “And they spoke of it?”
“Yes. Their group apparently had some belief that this diadem was a talisman and the person who wielded it would be the true King of England.”
Helena’s nose wrinkled, “What? You mean like the Scots believed that Charles Stuart was the rightful king?”
“Yes, something like that.”
Helena frowned. “And so…you think that my father…?”
“I don’t think your father had this belief, no. But he was working on this case before he died. Perhaps he found the diadem and hid it so that they could not get hold of it.”
“Do… do you think these people mean to… invade England?” she whispered.
Silas shrugged. “We are at war with France. Perhaps it is simply a French attempt at distraction. But clearly the best way to stop it is to get the diadem to the crown.”
Helena’s shoulders drooped. “How will we do that?”
“I’m not sure yet. I shall write a letter to my superiors and see what they think.”
