His desperation reached a fever pitch when the small group finally made it to the entryway only to find Lord and Lady Farthington standing there alone. He managed cordial goodbyes before he asked, “Where is Helena?”
“Outside, I believe,” said Lady Farthington with a kind smile.
Max stepped through the open door to see the carriage already waiting for him and loaded with his trunks. Helena stood at the top of the steps with her sisters on either side of her. She didn’t look at him, instead keeping her gaze straight ahead.
“Good morning,” he said to Penelope, the sister closest to him.
“Goodbye, dear Maxwell. It was lovely to meet you,” she said. Christine joined in, but Helena was suspiciously silent.
“Goodbye, Helena,” he said as his family and her parents joined them on the steps.
“Goodbye, Max.” She offered him her hand, the pleasant facade she often wore firmly in place. It couldn’t hide the sadness she felt, however. Her eyes shimmered with it. He kissed her hand with regret as everything inside him said that this felt all wrong. She should be coming with him. They should not live an ocean apart.
But, of course, they must. There was no other way right now. Her father mumbled something about train times, and he reluctantly let her hand go.
“Goodbye,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time to the group at large.
And then he turned and took the steps that would lead him farther away from her. Each one a tiny echo of the hollowness inside him. He might have been able to keep going, but at the carriage door, he turned in time to see pain cross her face.
The very wrongness of what they were doing jarred him into action. Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried back to her. Heedless of anyone else, he took her in his arms and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly as she should always be kissed. One of her sisters giggled, her mother gasped in outrage, and Christian let out a low whoop of encouragement. But then they all faded away as she kissed him back, and it was only the two of them.
He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and when he pulled back far enough to take in air, he breathed her in. She stared up at him with her wet morning glory eyes, looking more beautiful and fragile than he had ever seen her.
“I love you,” he whispered, touching her sweet face. “Always.”
Her lips were slightly swollen from his kiss, and she made a soft sound of regret in the back of her throat. He pressed another kiss to her mouth and then slowly let her go. Without another glance back, he hurried down to the carriage and left.
Chapter 24
There are no more thorough prudes than those who have some little secret to hide.
George Sand
The day turned sunny and warm enough to melt the remaining snow. It was in complete opposition to the despair and misery churning inside Helena. She tried to tell herself that life would quickly return to normal, but even she didn’t know what that would look like anymore. What was normal after knowing the sheer bliss a few hours in Max’s arms would bring her? How was she supposed to go about her day when he had taken part of her with him? Nevertheless, she tried.
After watching in silence as his carriage had disappeared through the gates of Claremont Hall, she had skillfully dodged the concern of his sisters and escaped to the desk she used in the library. There she replied to the correspondence she hadn’t been able to get to while Max had been here. She answered queries from Mr. Wilson about enlarging the residence hall’s kitchen and sent instructions to the orphanage for the annual Christmas dinner. A telegram had arrived from the furniture maker about the need to substitute birch for pine in the bedroom sets because of a supply issue, so she jotted down a response and had a footman take it to the village. She wrote to Charlotte, who was preparing the first set of women and children to move into the residence hall in early January, to reassure her that the linens were set for delivery on the first of that month.
After tea but before dinner, she spoke with August about the skills-training program they were developing for the women who wanted to work in the forge. August had taken the lead in finding men willing to teach the residents and had some promising prospects. Instruction would begin as soon as the women moved in. Then, after a dinner of polite conversation where everyone pretended to ignore the fact that Max had kissed her in front of them, she joined the group in a game of charades in the drawing room.
It wasn’t until after a maid helped her dress for bed and she crawled between the sheets that Helena allowed herself to feel the abject misery that had been clawing at her all day. Max was gone, and as far as she knew, she would never see him again. Or worse. She would be forced to see him in polite social situations when he inevitably came back to visit his sisters.
What if one day he returned with a wife? Would she be forced to watch him with another woman? To sit in silence with a smile painted on her face as he gazed upon the woman in adoration?
It was unthinkable. She tossed and turned for a while but finally drifted off to sleep only to be awakened in the small hours of the morning by a blood-chilling screech. She sat up in bed certain that her own tortured mind had conjured the sound when it happened again. Gathering her dressing gown around her, she ran out her door. Voices raised in panicked tones drew her down the corridor and around a corner.
“Isabelle, you must stop this. You’re hysterical! Tell me what’s happened.” Mama was trying to soothe her sister to no avail. The woman took in great big gasping breaths of air but could not do more than sob and gesture vaguely toward the door of her bedroom.
Papa was the first to gather himself and approach her door. Usually so certain of himself, he hesitated, his hand hovering above the door handle. Helena hurried to his side and put a reassuring hand on his arm. Other guests filtered into the corridor, their confused voices rising in alarm.
Papa pushed the door open and whispered, “For the love of God.”
Hereford was in Isabelle’s bed, his eyes open and vacant as he stared at the ceiling. The blanket covered him but was low enough on his chest to imply that he was nude. Hereford and her aunt were lovers—had been lovers—and he had died in her bed! Helena covered her mouth in shock. Papa came to his senses first and turned back to the guests in the corridor, reassuring them that all was fine. His words fell on deaf ears, because Isabelle had found her voice and was saying, “He’s dead. I can’t believe he’s dead,” over and over again. Mama wisely led her away into her own bedroom. The damage had been done, however. Hereford’s name was sent volleying from one person to the next in scandalized whispers as servants had joined the fray.
“We must send for a physician.” Papa’s voice rose above it all, directing a footman to see to the task, even though it was far too late to save the man.
Finally able to tear her gaze from Hereford, Helena turned to help direct people away from the scene, only to come face-to-face with Camille, who had pushed her way past the crowd to the doorway.