“You don’t hope that at all.” Helena smiled back, powerless not to respond.
Their acquaintance had developed into a fragile friendship in the days before he had returned to New York, but there had always been a heated agitation lying beneath the surface. It had sprung from their mutual but unvoiced attraction for each other, mixed with their very different ideas on how Violet’s running away and subsequent marriage should be handled. He preferred brute force, while Helena preferred tact and compassion. If he stayed in London for very long, she wasn’t at all certain the desire would stay unvoiced. The thought should have scandalized her, but anticipation blotted out her better sense.
“Lady Blaylock is an old friend. She has a high tolerance for plain talk. Unfortunately, she also agrees with my parents,” she explained, hoping to guide the conversation to safer territory.
He frowned in question.
“They do not believe my charity to be very morally upstanding as it will benefit women of questionable character, to use their words, which could cause my own reputation to suffer.”
“Nonsense. You have a sterling character.”
She shrugged, though his assessment pleased her. “There have been others who are backing out of their initial enthusiasm for the project.”
“Then how are your finances?” he asked in that matter-of-fact way he had, as if he weren’t probing beyond the pale.
She found herself answering without even really thinking about it, because she trusted him without actually knowing why. Yes, he was the brother of her friends, and she knew his intentions were good. But it was more. It was the way his brows drew close together and he tilted forward the slightest bit as if it would help him better concentrate on her problem. As if he genuinely cared.
“Not as well as I’d hoped.” Gathering herself, she added, “But that’s not your concern.”
“What if you plan smaller?”
She nodded, having already considered this. “I can, of course. We can find a small house with a small schoolroom and perhaps lease a workshop space. It’s not ideal, but it may come to it if I can’t find another solution. I simply can’t abide the thought of the women we won’t be able to help.”
“What would it take to make your donors come back? Obviously, they were interested once.”
Before she could stop herself, she glanced toward her parents across the room. Lady Blaylock had joined their group. She couldn’t help but think that her father’s influence, his hesitance to endorse her project, was causing his friends to reconsider. If she could get him on her side again, perhaps they would come back.
Or perhaps it would take marriage. People were reluctant to admit that a woman could be both capable and upstanding in her own right. If her husband would take on a leadership role in the project, even as a figurehead, it would lend the home respectability. No one would have cause to wonder if she was being led astray by fallen women.
She couldn’t share any of that with him, however. It was too personal.
“You’re awfully curious tonight, Mr. Crenshaw. Careful, or one might think you care about something beyond Crenshaw Iron.”
His eyes narrowed a bit, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in the beginnings of a grin. “Ah, there she is.”
His attractiveness easily rose by ten percent when his eyes did that. “Whatever do you mean?”
“That you’ve been treating me with kid gloves all night, so very polite and dispassionate, when I know very well there is a cauldron of judgment and incisiveness bubbling beneath the surface.”
She looked away to hide her smile, but she knew she was unsuccessful. She had missed this, she realized as a soothing warmth grew to replace the anxiety inside her. There was a candor when he spoke that was absent in most of her conversations where polite sentiment and graciousness were valued more than honesty. “Well, you’ve had a terrible shock. It seemed in poor spirit to be unsympathetic.”
“I get enough of that from them, believe me.” He indicated the room at large behind them. “I like your candor and sincerity.”
There was that tone again, the one that made it seem as if they were the only people in the room. Despite her better sense, her gaze landed on his lips, perfectly framed by his close-cut beard. “I like that about you, too,” she said in a tone that mirrored his.
He took in a long and shaky breath. It was the first indication that maybe he didn’t have his wits about him after all, that maybe she affected him more than he let on. His eyes revealed a longing that startled her. She couldn’t breathe from the intensity. Finally, someone pressed too close, brushing the screen so that it tilted slightly into him. They both reached for it, his hand covering hers on the gilded frame. They paused for a second that stretched on for eternity before she pulled back, leaving him to set it to rights.
“Perhaps it would be best if you concern yourself with your family issues, and I will take care of my own concerns.” She couldn’t tell if her voice had returned to normal.
“Fair enough.” His eyes were shuttered when he turned back to her, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined the whole exchange.
She pressed on to keep an awkward silence from falling. “Having said that, I am glad to see you recovered from the other day.” His brows drew together in question, so she explained, “You seemed not yourself when I saw you at your parents’ house.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t myself. I’m sorry if I failed to greet you—”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I only meant that I was worried about you, and I hope things are better since your father is improving.”
His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but then he put them together again before giving a tip of his head. “I came over to bid you good evening. I have to leave because I have an early morning.”
Disappointment tightened her chest. “Yes, of course. Good evening.”
After the slightest hesitation, he turned and made his way through the room, leaving without a backward glance. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the past few moments, but something told her it was more. She didn’t know what it was, but she wished his candor extended to confiding in her, even though the last thing she needed was another Crenshaw intrigue to solve.
Chapter 3
Feminists ought to get a good whipping. Were woman to “unsex” themselves by claiming equality with men, they would become the most hateful, heathen and disgusting of beings and would surely perish without male protection.
Queen Victoria
Helena found her father, Lord Farthington, later that evening. He was conferring with the butler in the drawing room. The other guests had already left, giving her a few precious moments to speak to him while Mama walked Lady Blaylock to the front door.