Helena delighted in her newfound awareness of him.
She wanted to know all about him.
For some reason, perhaps because the viscount asked Aunt’s permission for the excursion to Haynesdale Hollow planned for Wednesday, Aunt saw fit to tell him the tale of her brother and wife’s demise. She bemoaned the willfulness of Helena’s mother and her brother’s second wife, that lady’s impulsive inclinations and the curricle accident that had claimed their lives too soon. Helena was embarrassed to have this story shared and kept her gaze fixed upon her tea cup, though she knew full well that the viscount was studying her.
Doubtless Aunt meant to remind him that he and Helena were poorly suited.
He made his excuses and rose to leave immediately after the conclusion of that tale.
Helena walked to the door with him, Mischief awakening to follow her, and wondered what he was thinking.
“So, you are said to resemble your mother,” he said when they reached the door.
Helena dared to look up. “In all her shortcomings, it seems.”
The viscount was dismissive. “I suspect her merits outweighed any such shortcomings, particularly in your father’s view.”
Helena met his gaze to find him smiling just a little. “Do you?”
“If your merry nature is as hers, I wager she brought joy to his life. My own father missed my mother so severely, I could wish that he might have encountered another lady who prompted his smile.”
“But her folly cost them their lives.”
“And perhaps they were complicit in events of that evening.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it was not folly or whimsy behind her choice. They attended a celebration, your aunt said, so your father might not have been fit to take the reins himself.” He nodded. “A curricle, though, is not the simplest of conveyances to govern, and who can say what might have startled the horses at night in town.”
Helena smiled at him, liking the suggestion that her mother might not have been completely at fault. “I thank you, sir. I have always been told that she was feckless and that her nature cost my father his life.”
The viscount donned his hat. “Your aunt has her view, of course, but she was not there, Miss Emerson, thus her interpretation may not be true.” He met her gaze. “If I may be so bold as to speak plainly, if you resemble her so much, I doubt your father had any regrets in taking her to wife.”
Tears pricked at Helena’s eyes and her heart swelled. Emboldened by his kindness, she dared to make a most audacious suggestion when he turned to the door. “I believe, sir, that you said youdonot dance, not that youcannotdance.”
She thought heard him chuckle when his face was averted but by the time he turned to her, his expression was inscrutable. She had to look into his eyes to see the faintest twinkle, and she felt immediately that they shared a secret.
Ice in his veins. What a preposterous notion! Only someone so foolish as to decline to look at the man could believe as much.
“I wondered when you might raise that topic, Miss Emerson,” he said, his tone indulgent. He watched her closely, such heat in his eyes that she felt warm and keenly aware of him. She recalled those kisses, yearned for another, and felt herself flush.
“Perhaps you could only be so absolute in making those changes dictated by your father because you had a welcome distraction in the labor you shared with him.”
The viscount, instead of dismissing her suggestion, gave it consideration. “Perhaps.” His gaze lingered upon her as he waited for her to continue.
“And in the absence of that distraction, perhaps you might indulge in one of those activities, perhaps the most innocuous of all of them.”
He frowned a little, but Helena knew he meant to tease her. “There are those who would insist that dancing is an introduction to pleasure and thus might readily lead one to surrender to more.”
Undaunted, she raised her chin to challenge him. “Was your father one of such people?”
“I have no recollection of him doing as much, to be sure.” The viscount smiled, and that dimple sent a surge of triumph to Helena’s toes. “He always insisted that he derived no pleasure from it, but I have been reminded that my mother loved to dance.”
“You suspect, then, that he might have said one thing but done another?”
“I suspect that any pleasure he found in dancing was lost when she could no longer be his partner.” He frowned slightly. “There may have been other considerations as well.”
Helena hastened to speak, certain she had saddened him with a reminder of his father, so recently passed. “I have to find such a sign of affection to be admirable.”
“As do I, Miss Emerson. I think a marriage more likely to be a happy one when there is affection between husband and wife.”
“I thought you did not believe in wedding for love.”
