A Mother For His Family. Susanne Dietze

       Chapter One

      Perthshire, Scotland, July 1819

      With no warning, the rain-soaked ground underfoot gave way, and Lady Helena Stanhope slid backward into the mucky trench. Landing at the bottom of it, she lifted the mud-soaked shred of fabric where her snowy hem used to be and burst into laughter. What else could she do? At least she matched now, inside and out.

      Ruined gowns befitted a ruined reputation.

      “Are you injured?” Gemma Knox, Helena’s cousin by marriage, knelt at the edge of the ha-ha, some six feet up the slope from Helena. A naturalistic feature in the landscaping, the ha-ha prevented cattle and sheep from grazing too close to the house without impairing the view like a fence would—an obvious barrier to animals, but Helena had stumbled into it easily enough.

      Even sheep were smarter than she.

      “I’m well,” she called, her face upturned to the rain. She didn’t rise yet, though. Her right ankle throbbed. So did her pride, little of it though she had left.

      Two boys with ginger-blond hair scurried down into the ha-ha with her. Young Petey Lyfeld’s freckles faded into his flushing cheeks. “My fault, Lady Helena. I didn’t mean to push you.”

      “You shoved her?” Eddie, two years younger than Petey’s eight, gaped.

      “No,” Helena said with a smile. “I stood too close to the edge to see the world’s largest earthworm and I fell, that’s all.”

      Petey’s arm had bumped hers, but Helena didn’t blame the boy for knocking her off balance. Her unfortunate circumstances were her own fault—not just slipping into the ha-ha, but being banished to Scotland in the first place.

      Even being out in the rain was her doing, because she’d been the one to suggest taking a walk to escape the tension in the house. The skies opened once they’d hiked a half mile or more, and now water dripped from the brim of her cork bonnet and the hem of her once-milky-white cloak. A glance at her ensemble assured her she was now brown-speckled as a goat. “Let’s climb out before we turn to mud.”

      “Why is it called a ha-ha?” Eddie gripped Helena’s hand and tugged her upright. “It should be called a no-no.”

      A shackle of pain fettered Helena’s ankle the moment her foot bore her weight. “Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen, but I do not seem to be ready for the ascent yet.”

      “You are hurt.” Gemma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

      “My ankle twisted. A tiny bit. In a minute or two, it will be better and I shall march up the slope like one of Wellington’s men.” But she didn’t mind postponing her return to the house, where Papa no doubt paced and grumbled under his breath, as he had done since their arrival from London yesterday.

      He had much to be frustrated about. His health was declining, and his disobedient daughter caused him no small amount of grief.

      Her stomach tightened. “Go home and get out of the rain. I’ll be well enough here.” In the trench. In Scotland. Alone and a little afraid.

      Gemma’s frown revealed Helena’s trembling hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Don’t be a widgeon. Boys, fetch Uncle Tavin.”

      Muddying their nankeen pantaloons and miniature boots, the boys scrambled up the ha-ha in less time than it took Helena to envy their pain-free ankles. “Gemma, no.”

      “They’re well on their way. I would pull you out myself, but I’m not so steady on my feet these days.” Her hand rested over her protruding belly. “My husband won’t mind.”

      Helena rolled her eyes. Of course Cousin Tavin wouldn’t mind. He’d relish teasing her about it. Ever since she was a girl, he’d been merciless in his brotherly teasing—

      But she wasn’t a child anymore. Frederick Coles had changed that, too.

      Then again, like an infant, she needed assistance if she was to escape the ha-ha. Just like she needed help to get out of her “devastating dilemma,” as Mama called it. Helena’s shoulders slumped as she settled to wait.

      She glanced up. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain in your condition, Gemma.”

      “I’m in the family way. I’m not rheumatic.” Gemma wrapped her scarlet shawl about her.

      A steady thudding rumbled through the earth. Hoofbeats. Wincing in pain, Helena hopped forward like a one-legged bird. How had the boys reached Tavin so fast? How had he saddled a horse and—oh.

      The rider couldn’t be Tavin.

      The hoofbeats slowed as Gemma rose. Before she found her footing, a man in a tall beaver hat and deep blue coat was at Gemma’s side, supporting her by the elbow.

      Helena’s pulse battered her rib cage. No, the man was definitely not Tavin.

      The man stepped out of Helena’s sight. “You gave me a fright, Mrs. Knox, down on the ground. Are you unwell?” He said down like doon, and his yous were clipped and soft.

      Helena’s throat pinched shut. The man was a gentleman in appearance, manner and speech. And he’d been riding to the Knox house. That could mean only one thing.

      Gemma’s face reappeared at the edge of the ha-ha. “I’m in robust health. But I fear we’ve had a small accident.”

      “Ah. Which of the boys made mischief this dreich day?” He peered down, allowing Helena her first good look at him. He was a full head taller than Gemma, broad but slender. Dark blond brows scrunched in concern over light-colored eyes that widened when he saw her. He rushed down into the ha-ha, splattering mud all over his boots and buckskin breeches. “Are you injured?”

      “No.” Her cheeks heated. Surely she blushed so fiercely her wet clothes would steam.

      “Yes,” Gemma contradicted.

      His well-formed lips twitched. “Either way, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

      The last man to touch her was Frederick. But this man was not Frederick. She had no choice but to allow his help. “Thank you.”

      There was nothing lurid in his gaze as he assessed her one-footed stance and extended his arm. “Lean on me.”

      She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and dropped her right foot. Pain shot up her bones. “Oh!”

      “Forgive me.” His arm fell.

      “No.