A Mother For His Family. Susanne Dietze
please?”
The children pulled faces, except for Alex. “Glad I don’t have to ride along this time,” he mumbled as he passed Helena.
“You’re the heir.” Callum shoved his twin’s shoulder. “You have to do everything horrible. Don’t you wish you were me?”
Helena chewed her lip.
John didn’t offer his arm as they walked toward the garden wall, but she didn’t need his support over the even grass. He looked down at her with a smile, which was handsome, but it was also restrained. Businesslike.
Just like their arrangement.
“The candidate for governess arrives in a few hours.” With the toe of his black Wellington boot, he prodded a clump of sodden leaves, as if testing whether they concealed a rock.
“I shall be ready for her.” Helena may be young, but she was no schoolroom miss.
“Hire her and be done with it. They need consistency, something they’ve lacked since their mother died three years ago. The sooner someone takes charge of the bairns, the better.” His smile faded. “You’ve only met the children, but remember Louisa’s blindness endangers her. Playing outside like this is not at all wise.”
Helena’s lips parted with an embarrassing pop. “Agnes and I have kept close watch.”
“You cannot watch everything. Believe me. My child lost her sight and my wife her life because some things cannot be predicted. But with proper care, hazards can be avoided.”
Helena learned that lesson all too well with Frederick Coles. But this? “Play on grass is not so perilous.”
“What if a ball strikes her because she cannot see it hurtling toward her? Or she trips and hits her head on a stone?”
The bite of reproof gnawed at her stomach. “I would never put Louisa in harm’s way.”
“Not intentionally.” A muscle clenched in his strong jaw. “You mean well, but you do not know how things are done here. Catriona instituted rules to protect the children, and I ask you to follow them.”
Ask? More like order, when she had done nothing to endanger any of the children. Her hands fisted, but something held her back from arguing further, like a hand of warning on her shoulder. She sucked in a deep, calming breath. John was their father and guardian, and without him, she’d have nothing.
“Very well. Is there a list of these...rules?” Beyond not playing outside?
He smiled that pleasant smile again. Attractive, but the look did not reach his eyes. “Not rules, so much as a system. Agnes knows how things are done here, she can help you. Everything will smooth out soon. I look forward to dining with you this evening, so you may tell me about our new governess.”
She nodded her farewell. “Until tonight, then.”
He waved to his children and strode the way he had come, leaving the dog behind. Helena watched him go, a mix of frustration and resignation swirling in her chest. How could she be a mother if she had no authority, or if her attempts to better know the children were thwarted by his dead wife’s rules—as relayed by a sullen nursery maid?
Besides, John could not possibly expect her to twiddle her thumbs and change nothing but the decor in the drawing room.
Then she sighed and made her way back over the grass.
“Come, children.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears. “Time to return to the house.”
* * *
After seeing to the tenants and the bull, John was met at Comraich’s door by Kerr, the butler. “Welcome home, my lord.”
“Thank you.” John could hardly remember a time at Comraich without Kerr. The upstanding butler’s dark hair was now dulled to a leaden hue, but his step was vigorous and his dark eyes shone with wit. “Has the post arrived?”
“It awaits you on the library desk, sir.”
“Excellent. I shall adjourn there now. Coffee would be most welcome.”
The butler bowed, and John took the main staircase, mulling over the problematic bull he’d just observed. The animal was a valuable sire, a fine specimen with a long red coat, black-tipped horns and thick fringe over the eyes, but the signs of aggression he’d exhibited toward man and beast alike brought up disconcerting questions. As his stewards were well equipped to handle such issues, he did not normally oversee these types of matters, but since the bull was worth a good deal, he’d been consulted about the possibility of putting the creature down.
He’d chosen instead to keep the bull separated for observation. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it, but he’d made what he felt was the best choice.
Like marrying Helena.
Despite some difficulties at the start, this marriage would work how they both needed it to. Today, Helena would hire the governess and restore balance to the house. He could return to London trusting the children would thrive in safety and harmony, and his household would be in order.
That, and poor Helena could recover from her dishonor, too.
He entered the library, and his shoulders relaxed. The two-story room was all wood shelves, scarlet wallpaper and leather, his safe haven. He sat at the desk and picked up the post.
Three letters. Lord Carvey, his particular friend in the House of Lords, shared news, while Earl Grey sought his opinion, requiring an immediate reply. When Kerr brought the coffee, John nodded his thanks and picked up the final letter. It rested on the silver tray, addressed in an unfamiliar hand. On the reverse, a dollop of red wax, pressed with a falcon stamp, sealed the paper. With the tug of his letter knife, John broke the seal, unfolded the foolscap and took a large sip of coffee.
The hot beverage burned his throat when he finally managed to swallow it.
So this was what it was like to receive a blackmail letter. John’s pulse pounded in his ears and fury ran hot under his skin.
The author—no, the blackmailer—knew about Helena entrusting herself to a young man in London without the benefit of marriage, and her marriage to John to disguise her ruin. And, of course, this rogue would hold silent in exchange for money. The large sum was to be deposited with a London metalsmith, Travers & Sons by name, at an address on the fringes of London’s better neighborhoods. John had heard goldsmiths could be used for monetary transactions between individuals, but he’d never done such a thing.
Then again, he never imagined he’d be blackmailed.
Helena must never know about this. If the true reason for her hasty marriage to John was made public, her name and honor would be tarnished. So would her family’s, but John was far less concerned with the Duke and Duchess of Kelworth’s reputations than about Helena’s heart and mind. She’d been through enough.
He’d vowed to protect her yesterday in the kirk, and he was a man of his word. He’d pay the blackmailer, then—tomorrow he’d write to his man of business in London to deposit the demanded amount. He’d also insist his man investigate who picked up the payment, too, although anonymous blackmailers tended to protect their identities rather well.
But he wouldn’t tell Helena about this. It would only upset her, and he wouldn’t want her to experience a tenth of what he felt now. Instead of subsiding, his anger increased as the realization that someone was willing to hurt Helena sunk deeper into his brain. A fresh surge of anger coursed through his arms and clenched his fists.
His hands were steady when he locked the letter in the ornamental box by the inkwell. But they were cold when he laid his head in them to pray.
Helena plopped her forehead into her hands and muttered. “Geography. Mathematics. Art.” One would