Page 6 of Falling For The Dowager

They collectively sank onto the floor with their own glass clutched close. Helena’s bombazine spread out around her, the twilled fabric bunched close to him, but Mr. Dickon did not seem to mind that it touched his thighs. He was too busy watching Skye.

“Not that most women I know attend a dog’s whelping,” Helena said as she sipped her whiskey. She had come a long way from what was expected of a dowager. Her eyes moved to the creature’s face as it laboured, and her heart stirred with sympathy at the animal’s pitiful movements and cries. “Even one as lovely as Skye’s.”

“Here we go,” he said, and to her surprise, Mr. Dickon’s hand came out and interlocked his fingers with her own as Skype stretched and made the most unexpected noise that Helena had ever heard, the dog’s body moving and stretching in a way she had not expected, containing both an extreme but also a sort of poetic beauty.

Before their eyes, there eased out of Skye’s body a bundle of mucus and blood, fur that looked unbelievably soft.

“Shh.” Mr. Dickon made a soothing noise, stopping Helena from moving closer. “Let the mother go to her bairn.”

Tears caught in the back of her eyes as Helena watched the extraordinary act unfold, and she felt it such a privilege to be here, more so than any presentation at the royal court or grand soiree in her family’s honour. She gripped Mr. Dickon’s hand back, the calluses brushing against her soft skin in a way that was oddly life-affirming. She was so grateful for this turn of events and for being beside Mr. Dickon on this kitchen floor. It seemed as if every other concern and fear had faded away, leaving just the two of them together.

CHAPTER 4

Skye delivered four fine pups. They didn’t have their mother’s chocolate coat but were more of a blend of brown and chestnut. Or as Lady Sidney put it, “chocolate and gold.” They were of the sort that would eventually sell well. However, one quick look at the soft, melting expression on Lady Sidney’s face told Dickon in no uncertain terms that he had his doubts she’d agree to letting any of these mongrels go.

It was strange how many of those hurried looks he kept giving her. There was something compelling about the widow. Most women dressed in black could be swamped by the severity. Lady Sidney instead had features that practically gleamed against the darkness—her skin pearly and bright, her auburn hair rather like autumn leaves, and that feminine figure highlighted magnificently.

In his haste, afraid of being caught staring by those fierce blue eyes, Dickon moved off to the sideboard and withdrew the breadboard and a freshly baked loaf. He’d wanted a distraction, and it had been that and more.

“Mrs. Fuller has not returned.”

“No, she will be looking for Anna. She is a little wild. We hired the girl in the spring, and as Mrs. Fuller’s niece, she thinks…” He paused, realising he was letting his tongue run away with his thoughts. Lady Sidney didn’t need nor want to know about the inner workings of the household. Anna Hilton might be a flighty girl, but she was overly young, and there wasn’t too much work for her.

“Someone else is adjusting to a change. I am glad not to be the only one.”

For one strange moment, Dickon felt the urge to confide in this lady all the household gossip that raged through it. From Mrs. Fuller’s arch comments to the occasional hurried giggles from Anna, and even his parents—who seemed to think he might propose marriage to the flighty young woman. As if he would be so underhanded as to take advantage of someone who worked for him. The image had always been distasteful, but now that it was considered in the presence of Lady Sidney, he felt that perhaps he had been too hasty to dismiss the overall concept out of hand. With a hasty shake of his head, he tried to cast such imaginings from his mind.

“How long do you intend to stay, madam?”

“I haven’t settled that,” she said airily, “but I have with me notes for my own expenses if that were a fear, and my brother is sending in his letter additional funds if there was a worry.”

“If Anna or indeed the other servants here were not enough…”

“I think I shall rather enjoy the challenge of muddling through without.” She was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands resting on the wooden surface with a mug of tea between them. The speck of mud was no longer visible as she had unbuttoned her collar, and the longer sleeves of the mourning dress had fresh stains on them. “You see, Mr. Dickon, I have spent my life almost entirely on the south coast of England, between Tunbridge Wells, Brighton, and London. Not having the rules that…” She paused. “I am a widow now. And I mean to begin afresh.”

Shock gripped him, and his hands clenched, but otherwise, he managed to keep his reaction to himself.

There was a naivety, a wistfulness that most might associate with the very young, and Lady Sidney had to be at least thirty-five years, he reasoned. Not that such considerations mattered, she could be nineteen or ninety, although Dickon reasoned he rather liked her at this age. Common for those forced to embrace adulthood to cast aside such aspirations, but to Dickon’s mind, it was logical to wish to seek a new beginning if the previous existence had been not precisely what one wished—and such a desire was not unique to the youthful.

“You might find it a dull life compared to the fineries of London society.”

“I am learning all too well how those supposed fineries are only… only… skin-deep. They convey and grace one with little lasting importance. Nothing that stands up to the test of…” She trailed off, and Dickon noticed the way she said “fineries” was more like a curse than anything.

He was surprised when she blushed and added, “It is not done to speak so, but I feel that given what has occurred in this kitchen and what we have seen Skye do, we need not have too many secrets between us.” She looked ready to add something else, but the use of the word “secret” spurred Dickon on.

“Those luxuries, or at least the funds used to purchase them⁠—”

“I know you will have a much greater knowledge of the finances on the isle and what will be needed here. I am sure London has not prepared me for the running of this household, although I did oversee the household on my husband’s estate in Surrey. That was a little larger than this home and had been built just fifty years prior, so it had none of the keep’s…” Her gaze landed and locked on his, and she paused, awareness blooming between them before she added hastily, “My husband’s home was very modern. Considered quite the most elegant of houses. It had all the conveniences and none of the keep’s heart.”

Husband. The name and the title came with a haunting presence. An odd sort of curiosity for a human stirred in Dickon. He was much more prone to be interested in animals or plants rather than people. Especially dead men buried hundreds of miles away. He wanted to have something of equal meaning to convey to her, and besides, he knew he did not want to keep his own secret anymore.

“Madam,” he said, wishing to add something more comforting but not knowing what that could be. Neither of his parents had taught him the value of a sweet word, nor were they firm believers in the Presbyterian principle that brusque and cutting was the best form of parenting available.

“He—that is, Lord Sidney has been dead just a few short weeks.” She twisted the thin gold band on her left hand, this way and that. Above the wedding ring was a fine diamond cluster of probably more value than Dickon would know in his lifetime. This had been her wedding ring, he assumed, chosen from the best shop in London or perhaps a family heirloom. But the way she was viewing it did not convey that she considered it worthy.

“I have become maudlin.” She looked up into his face, and Dickon knew that, for all his previous resolutions, he wanted to have something of equal meaning to convey to her. She needed to know.

“I have not had the liberty of informing your brother of my father’s current illness.” It was a lie. One he did not like uttering, but he worried what Baron Toussaint might make of the fact he had been working as both the steward of Dulbain and as the overseer or gardener of the estate. The money was needed for his father’s medicine shipped in from Glasgow and maintaining the older Mr. Dickon’s life.