Page 15 of Falling For The Dowager

Paint watercolours.

Embroider. Sew. Manage the accounts. Care for a man who treats you like a brood mare.

The voices rang out, a mixture of her long-dead father’s, her mother’s, her mother-in-law’s, her husband’s, debutantes’ she had competed against decades ago…

Do all of it better than the women alongside you, or you will be judged and found wanting. And Helena had done it all again and again, followed everyone’s demands, save bearing a child, and it had never been good enough.

Minutes passed as she cried, grateful that no one could hear her. She was very glad for the isolation, of her solo expression in the keep, up here in her tower bedroom, that she could let out all the sorrow she had been storing inside her for so long. The grief changed as new ideas occurred to her, like her own sense of sadness at not being a mother, how she had held that up as a beacon, a great weight that burdened her, felt deep within her chest. Slowly, very slowly, Helena lifted her hand up and touched her heart. She could feel that sense of grief there within her. Maybe it would stay always, she thought sadly.

A rogue voice cut into her thoughts. But it doesn’t have to define everything. And alongside that, a new thought at the back of her mind was taking shape. A distinct one she had not really welcomed, but nonetheless, it was appearing, growing in strength and vigour.

What if she was to pick something that made her happy? Truly and completely happy?

It was what she had done when she’d run away from London, eager to escape the prying and curious eyes of the beau monde—she’d picked herself. At the time, it might have been labelled as fleeing, but Helena saw it for what it truly was now, her bid for freedom and a new beginning. Aye, she blushed a little as she straightened up off the carpet and got to her feet. She had found some of that in Callum’s arms, but hadn’t a great deal of it been found in those boundless woods, prized gardens, and in the sheer joy of feeling the great gusting wind hit her face off the sea? In picking wildflowers. She did not care if a dowager was coming to tea. Or if her gloves were the right shade for Almack’s. The rules that had governed the last thirty-six years of her life did not need to lie heavy over the next.

She had been reborn on this isle, and if that meant choosing a man who loved her and valued her for herself, rather than for the potential of a child or rank or societal expectation, then surely, surely, it was the best decision possible? A smile broke over Helena’s face. Certainly, it wasn’t just the best decision, but a wonderful, life-affirming happy one?

Helena was already moving, her hand on the door ready to charge down to find Callum and explain her change of heart. How her answer had entirely changed perspective and in the shortest of days, not even one day. But she had seen Callum’s face when she’d said no, refused his proposal with almost no explanation, and ran away too scared to face up to what was troubling her.

She pulled the bedroom door wide. She was going to have to apologise, to confess her mistakes, and grovel if need be. To explain if he cared to listen to why she had said no. How she had let her fears govern her for too long, and how she was done being a coward, and he and this isle and maybe even herself had finally allowed the person she always wanted to be, to emerge.

On the other side of the door was Callum. He had obviously just walked up the flight of stairs. There was a look of beloved surprise on his face, and Helena had to resist the urge to throw herself straight into his arms.

“Please come in here, Callum.” She stood aside to let him in.

CHAPTER 10

Dickon looked around Helena’s bedchamber and felt horribly out of place. It was just the reminder he needed to know how ill-suited they were to each other. How she had been right in her rejection of him. Opulent silks hung by the windows, matching plush bedding was draped around the canopy bed, and on the dressing room table was a stack of letters, requesting no doubt Helena’s immediate return to London and more suitable people than his rough ways.

She would leave, and he would lose her, and the quicker he made his goodbyes, the better it would be for all.

“When we were in the woods”—he held out his hand and passed over the dropped glove he’d pulled from her wrist, just before proposing— “I thought to return it. I thought you might wish for it.” He gestured at the table of correspondence. “Especially when you leave here⁠—”

“I don’t want to leave here,” Helena said quickly. “Please⁠—”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not. Please if you could…” There was colour, a flame of brightness in her cheeks, and Dickon assumed it was due to his presence. He was embarrassing her. A fine lady like Helena could lose a glove or two and survive unscathed. It would look like he was simply desperate for her presence.

“I will tender my resignation if that is your preference, of course, my lady.”

“No!” Helena’s yell cut into the spiralling of his thoughts and almost made him jump. “I should not shout, or even scream, but then again, there are a great many things I should not do. And yet I have learnt to love them with you.”

She walked forward purposely, and much to Dickon’s surprise, grabbed both of his hands, raising them and holding them against her chest. “I was wrong, earlier. Lord, I was wrong about a great many things. But I should not have rejected your proposal. You honour me by asking, and I—I am sorry for what I said.”

She was staring up into his face, and Dickon could make out the tears in her beloved eyes. “I wanted more than anything to say yes, but I have learnt from an early age to put away my wants and needs as they did not suit society’s demands. I learnt to make myself quiet. With you, I have new things, I see now, that I value more. With you, I have opened my heart afresh, and I love you.” She went on her tiptoes and placed a fleeting kiss on Callum’s mouth. “I should have said yes when you asked. Can you forgive me?”

He could still feel her lips on his, the burst of energy, that speech which rolled over him, and making sense of it completely threw Dickon. If the almighty were to descend and declare the end of days, he would not have been more surprised.

“Helena?” There was a slight question in his voice as he said her name. A true feeling of the unknown that he could not grasp or understand. She seemed to sense it, to understand his confusion, because she nodded too, eager for him to grasp what she was saying.

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right.” She broke away from him, rushed over to the dressing table, dug through a series of small boxes before turning back to him. In one of her hands, she held a gold signet ring. It looked ornate and was old-fashioned, and yet Dickon felt a strange pull of warmth towards it, completely inexplicably. “This belonged to my uncle. He was a touch eccentric, so I hope he would not mind.”

Lowering herself down onto one knee, Helena held up the signet ring and grinned at him. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Dickon stared at her. It seemed the strangest set of circumstances. The most absurd. Given where they had been just an hour ago. He hung back, still not quite trusting that she might be sincere.

“What happened to make you feel—to change your mind?”