“It might, but not in time enough. Do you think you might enquire of Lord Addersley as to young men in the region?”
“By my understanding, he is also recently returned from London, but he has been back for a few months. That does give him some slight advantage over us.”
“Although with his father’s illness and death, he, too, may have paid no heed to rumor.”
“I will try to find an opportunity to speak with him over the next few days,” Nicholas said as the carriage halted at Southpoint. “I should like to know how discouraged he is by Helena’s refusal.”
“The better to bolster his determination?” Eliza asked and they shared a smile.
“She has a good heart,” Nicholas said. “And marriage may be precisely what she needs for true happiness.”
“I wish you luck in persuading her of that,” his wife replied and Nicholas could not blame her for such doubts.
Truly, he would be a happy man himself when Helena was the obligation of another man.
He could only hope it turned out to be a man of whom he could approve.
Helena managedto make her way to the garden the next morning, for it was a glorious spring day and she could not abide lingering in the house. Even better, her aunt was so occupied with consideration of changes to the décor that she did not follow Helena.
Aunt would have said that she should occupy herself with her needlework, but Helena did not care for the occupation at all.
She would dream of her champion instead—and strive to solve the riddle of his identity.
She could just barely see the glimmer of the roof of the pavilion in the distance, though she wagered that once the trees were all in leaf, it would be hidden from view. How she yearned to visit there this day and seekhimout again!
Instead, she sat on the bench and thought about him. She recalled her champion on his black horse, his cloak flaring in the wind, his face hidden in shadows, and sighed with satisfaction. She closed her eyes, recalling the strength of his arms around her, the beat of his heart beneath her hand, and her own pulse fluttered. She knew nothing about him but she would have surrendered more than a kiss to him.
His gallantry had saved her from her own impetuous choices.
Even that was romantic beyond all.
In that moment, she heard a horse approaching and looked up with curiosity and hope. Could he have come to visit her?
But no, it was only the viscount, looking fastidious and proper. She felt a little dismay, for she belatedly hoped she had not injured his feelings. His expression was as inscrutable as the day before and she did not know whether to be reassured or not.
Though it was unreasonable, she would have been glad to see him at least disappointed that she had refused him. From his manner, his proposal might have been made with indifference. There was a far cry from a love that would not be denied! The man was the very soul of composure. Did any event—either a disappointment or a triumph—stir him to a response? Helena feared not and felt a wave of sympathy for him that his experience of life should be so curtailed.
He dismounted in the yard, securing his horse’s reins to a fence post. “You have a most comfortable abode here, Miss Emerson.” She was relieved that he was as polite as ever. She also was glad that he made no comment or fuss about them not having so much as a pony, nor a man to tend the outside as yet. The Nixons were to arrive this day, though the viscountcould not know as much. He had almost reached her before she realized that he carried a wriggling brown bundle under one arm.
“Mischief!” she cried with delight, made to rise, then fell back onto the bench with a wince.
“Miss Emerson!” The viscount frowned with concern. “Are you injured?”
“I turned my ankle, my lord, but it will heal soon enough.”
“Perhaps that is why she made a fuss this morning,” he said, placing the pup on the ground before her. One end of a ribbon was tied around the pup’s neck like a collar, with the other end acting as a short tether. Mischief had about ten feet of range, and the viscount gave Helena the end of the ribbon. “Perhaps she knew you had need of companionship.”
Helena looked at him. Why was he doing her such a kindness? And how could this man have uttered such a fanciful comment? She thought of Nicholas’ words that she might perceive more to the viscount than she had seen thus far if she troubled to look, even as she replied. “What a whimsical notion, sir.”
“Is it?” He braced his hands upon his hips and looked down at the puppy, his averted attention giving Helena an opportunity study him. He was handsome, to be sure. “I have often found that dogs perceive more than people realize.”
The puppy wagged and wriggled, licking Helena’s outstretched hands and permitting her ears to be scratched. She pounced on a leaf that blew past and rolled to her back, offering her belly to be rubbed, and was altogether so silly that Helena could not help but laugh at her antics.
She was so occupied with the dog that she did not notice right away how the viscount was watching her. His eyes had narrowed and he almost smiled, surveying them both with unexpected avidity.
His attention was so complete that he seemed almost dangerous in that moment. He had an aura of power and competence that made Helena tingle. She realized he was tall, as tall as her champion, and as assured in the saddle. His clothing was different but she remembered Nicholas’ tale of his days in London with his brother. It was easy, when his eyes darkened thus, to imagine him as a rogue.
Was he truly reformed?
