Because she couldn’t allow her thoughts to drift to those old memories, she asked, “Will you be able to come to Claremont Hall? Won’t it mean changing your plans? I thought you meant to return home to New York by then.”
“My mother has already intervened and begged that I stay through Christmas. I’ve arranged my schedule to accommodate her, so there’s no harm done.”
“All right. It will be good to see you there.” There was no accounting for the sheer excitement she felt at the prospect.
“I thought . . . if you agree . . .” He glanced away in a rare moment of uncertainty. A feeling she couldn’t quite describe came over her that this man who was so confident and assertive would feel out of his element around her. “I’ll bring a betrothal ring and give it to you there before I leave. Unless you think it’s too much. I can always send one to you later, if you’d rather have that part of the courtship take place over mail.”
Her heart began pounding so fast that she had to consciously catch her breath. This wasn’t real. None of this would lead to them getting married, so why was the very idea of a betrothal ring so thrilling? “You do not have to go to such trouble. I don’t think a ring will make this any more or less real to your father.”
“No, perhaps not, but it doesn’t seem proper that you wouldn’t have one. If this were real—” He abruptly stopped talking, glancing out the window into the garden. Golden sunlight touched his features, and his strong nose stood out in profile. Possibly it was too strong, but she loved it. No, not love. She appreciated it and the way it enhanced his masculine beauty. It made her think of him as a beautiful Roman statue. Clearing his throat, he seemed all business again as he faced her. “If this were real, you would have one.”
“But it’s not.” She felt the need to say the words out loud to remind them as her gaze held his.
“No.” After a moment’s pause, he shifted and came to his feet. She followed, disappointed that he was leaving so soon and things seemed stiff and awkward between them. “I have to get back to the office. There’s a rather important meeting I must prepare for.”
“Of course.” He hadn’t said one word about that kiss the other night, and she couldn’t help but feel dejected because of it. He didn’t even seem particularly affected by it, certainly not as affected as she was.
He started to walk toward the door but paused. “About this not being real . . . I think now that we have your father on our side—somewhat—we probably don’t need to be seen about town as often. There’s already talk of us, and that’s really all we needed. I’ll send you trinkets, flowers, but as long as the house party goes as hoped for, we don’t need to carry off the ruse so dramatically anymore. Why give ourselves more opportunities to fail?”
“Are you sure? Won’t that seem suspicious?” Sadness rose within her most unreasonably, and it was quickly followed by a dose of desperation. She despised it. None of this had been real. So he had kissed her? They were adults. Adults kissed and it didn’t mean anything sometimes. She had never kissed without meaning, but apparently he did.
Dear God! She had never kissed without meaning. What had it meant to her then, and why was that question so difficult to face? She should be rejoicing that this would be over soon. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. This had to end at some point. Better to be over now before her feelings for him deepened.
“I think it will be fine as long as the house party goes as planned.”
The chime of the doorbell sounded through the house. “That will be the first of the board members arriving. We’re having a meeting today to discuss the property. Violet will be here if you’d like to stay and say hello.”
“No, I won’t keep you.” He sounded happy and relieved. “I have my own meeting to prepare for.”
She walked with him to the door, the mild feeling of dejection growing more intense with each step. Huxley was taking the cape of Charlotte, the first board member to arrive. After cursory introductions, during which the woman gave her a knowing look, Maxwell said, “Goodbye, Helena,” and tipped his hat as he hurried down her front steps to his waiting carriage.
She couldn’t help but think that goodbye had sounded particularly formal and final, and after it she felt bereft in a way she hadn’t in years. He was telling her that what had passed between them meant nothing. She already knew that. Right?
Before she could contemplate the question, another carriage pulled up, and Lady Betringham alighted. Helena knew that she must push all thoughts of Maxwell Crenshaw to the side. The rest of the afternoon would be taken up with figuring out how to convince Sir Phineas to grant his family’s property to her charity. But she couldn’t do it.
Despite the fact that her drawing room was filled with the women on the board, she felt lonely. Alone. She hadn’t felt so alone since Arthur’s illness. It was ridiculous to think that it was because of Maxwell’s rejection, and yet she knew that it was. He hadn’t even rejected her. They’d had an arrangement, a business deal. A simple kiss wouldn’t change that.
Chapter 13
Nature has given woman the same powers, and subjected her to the same earth, breathes the same air, subsists on the same food, physical, moral, mental and spiritual. She has, therefore, an equal right with man, in all efforts to obtain and maintain a perfect existence.
Frederick Douglass
Good evening, Lady Helena. How good of you to come.” Sir Phineas greeted her in the expansive foyer of his fashionable Bloomsbury home with a customary bow. She positively vibrated with nerves now that the night to convince him to let her purchase the priory had finally come.
“Sir Phineas.” She gave a curtsy, having just handed off her cape to his butler. Rain dripped across the floor as the man carried it to the coat stand in the corner. “Thank you for arranging this meeting.”
“My only regret is that it has to be on such a rainy night,” he replied.
“It’s no bother. The ride over was fine.”
All this time she had been imagining Sir Phineas as a doddering old gentleman, but he stood before her a strapping man who appeared to be no older than thirty-five. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, and not like Maxwell, but his broad features and thick brown hair held a certain charm, as did his eyes. They were that indiscriminate color between blue and green and filled with an intelligence that she immediately respected.
But her heart fell a little bit despite how likable he was. He was too young. At his age, he wasn’t liable to care very much about his legacy and that of his family name. She had come armed with arguments that might appeal to an older man entering the sunset of his days with an eye to what he’d leave behind when he was gone. She didn’t know if that line of reasoning would have the same effect on someone younger.