Page 9 of Falling For The Dowager

If Mrs. Fuller had picked up the nearby jug of water and emptied it over Helena’s head, it would have been a more pleasing action. She stood stock still, trying her best to distance herself from the idea, from the vivid images of Callum kissing Anna in such a way, of him divesting the little maid of her clothes as she gasped and begged. A new fresh thought occurred of the years tickling by, watching Anna’s belly grow round with a baby as Helena had watched countless friends and acquaintances through the seasons, knowing that would not be her fate.

A decision formed within her. She would not stay in that case; it would hurt her far too much. Which meant she had to confront Dickon and know… it was better to be aware if he meant to wed the silly maid, and if so, Helena would know what to do.

She sniffed and forced a smile onto her face as her resolution hardened. She had tolerated such occurrences throughout her marriage, but she would not in her widowhood. No, she was a new woman, and she would not suffer again in such a way.

CHAPTER 6

His brother’s letter lay read upon the oak desk, and Dickon poured himself a drink in honour of his new nephew. There was the promise from Hamish that he, Nora, and baby Henry would visit in the spring, once it was safe for them to travel.

Swirling the glass of whisky, Dickon smiled. It would quiet his mother’s frequent mentions of desiring grandbabies. She had one now, and no reason to think Nora wouldn’t have a dozen more.

He looked around the study. The one he’d worked in for years now. It was a space he liked. No, his firm preference was for the outside in the midst of nature. But even he had to admit the space was better, softer, and clearer when Lady Sidney was present. Helena, he corrected himself. She seemed to brighten the entire keep. Well, until he’d been fool enough to kiss her. What the hell had been thinking? That was it, was the entire problem, what had been occupying his thoughts, and he had been stupid enough to kiss the desirable woman. It was amazing she had not thrown him from the keep already. Surely, she would, and he would be wise to make the most of the readily available whisky before he was ejected without references.

Then why are you so calm, you wee idiot? he asked himself. A small cocky smile formed on his lips. He had an answer—because she had asked him to kiss her. Surely, that was some solace.

And what a kiss it had been.

As if called by the recollection, Lady Sidney entered the study. She was even more handsome in person, her auburn hair as always reminding him of crisp autumn leaves and her mouth as tempting as a ripe red apple. She had stopped wearing her formal black dresses. Even though she had in a sweetly gauche manner told him that society wouldn’t approve, but since it was just Mrs. Fuller, Anna, and himself present, Lady Helena seemed happy to cast aside unnecessary etiquette.

Now she was here, so close to him, Dickon hastily looked away and back down at his glass of whisky. He forced himself to stand up formally and dip his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. “I must⁠—”

“Are you drinking whisky?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Will you pour me a glass?” she asked him as she sank into her usual soft armchair just a few feet from him. “I think I need it.”

Snatching up a tumbler, he poured her a generous measure. “Here.” He placed it before her, determined not to place it in her hand. If she was going to act like their kiss had never occurred, then he would too. Perhaps it was a matter of shame for her. She was, after all, a fine titled lady, far beyond the likes of him. It might have been a moment of madness for her, rather than the obsession that had consumed him since he’d first seen her.

To his surprise, Helena curled her legs up onto the armchair, cradling the tumbler to her chest as she drank it down. “Another.” She held her glass out, and he dutifully tipped another helping of the local alcohol into it. It was a speciality, this particular bottle of whisky, the way the peat and barrels aged the vintage and favoured the liquid by deliciously adding heat and smoke. However, the way Helena was drinking it, Dickon doubted she would be tasting much of the famed flavour. With tentative steps, he moved away and put the bottle down on the nearby side table.

“I don’t normally partake of drink.” Her voice was a little carrying, and he looked back at her, wondering if she was already affected.

“No,” he added, not one iota of judgment to the sentence, but nonetheless, Helena looked up briefly at him from the armchair. Her dark-blue eyes swam as she tried to focus on him, and an overwhelming desire crashed through to crouch down before her, smooth the stray hair from her face, and ease her back in the seat with kisses and touches that would drive them both wild.

“I think there was something in that honeyed water,” she said as she lowered her glass back onto the floor. “After all, surely two glasses of whisky should not make the room dance around us.” Suddenly, Helena’s hand snaked out and touched her fingers against his own. A heavy awareness shot through Dickon, strong as anything in the natural or animal world, and despite the logical course of action telling him to drop her fingers, he returned the pressure.

“Why…” her voice trembled over the word, “why must it be the only thing that seems to matter?”

“My lady?” He did not know what she might be referring to, but he hated to see the welling of tears that sheened brightly in the depths of her beautiful eyes.

“I have tried for years to… to…” She stopped herself. “All that mattered to my husband was having a child.” Her voice throbbed with sadness at the word, a whole world of private pain implied and present in it. Remorselessly, she sucked in a breath and continued, “He didn’t care at first. But then it was all that was important to him. Every month, it was a sign of how I had failed him.”

Shock cascaded through Dickon. That someone might treat Helena in such a way, and there was no recourse he could commit to punish such a man. That someone would be so cruel, and there was no alternative for someone of Helena’s rank and supposed power but to accept it. For a moment, it overwhelmed him, but then it was taken over by sympathy and a desire to ease whatever she might have suffered.

She swallowed, unaware of the tumult of emotions within him. Instead, she continued to stare up at him, her vulnerability stark and sore. “We married young. I suppose that is not worthy of note… but I loved him at nineteen. I loved him for years, even when he was so dismissive and… and…” She dropped his hand and wrapped her arms around herself as she continued to speak, seemingly unable to stop. “But it became the only thing he wanted, and in the end… in the end, I couldn’t make myself want it anymore. It hurt too much.”

“Helena,” her name sounded odd and unfamiliar on his tongue, inappropriate that he might use her Christian name. Still, he crouched down next to the chair, his hands resting on the edge of her armchair, not quite daring to get too close. But then, he needed words that might soothe over a decade of pain and cruelty.

She was watching his hand, and a small smile lightly touched her lips, and there was a smattering of tears over her face, which she wiped at ineffectually. “And then I found out he had never loved me at all. It was all a lie.”

“What makes you say that?” The words were rough in his throat, and Dickon, who had always thought himself a gentle soul, unlikely to stray towards violence, had a sudden harkening for the dark ages when a strong-willed Scot might thrash an English weakening lord, and the fact be celebrated.

“He… his mistress is carrying his child,” she said. “None of the doctors we visited helped at all. They all said it was my fault. But she got pregnant and now… now everyone will know it was me… I am the barren countess.”

Not knowing what made him do it, but knowing instinctively it was the right thing to do, Dickon climbed into the armchair with her. It was not an elegant move, surely none of her beau monde associates would ever have done it, and yet he needed to give this woman comfort. Their limbs weren’t used to one another, and whilst the chair was large enough, it was not the smoothest fit. However, he soon had her in his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Softly, his hand smoothed over her hair as she curled up into his chest, and all the while he made soothing comforting noises at the back of his throat. The bear hug had been done to help Helena, he told himself as he held her close to his chest, but he knew deep down there was a deep well of need burning within him that, for the first time, was beginning to be quenched. Just being in her presence was all he needed.