Having no father at all would have been infinitely better than this. Albion Vance was more hateful than she could ever have imagined, warped in all directions. And she had come from him. His blood ran in her veins like venom.
The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children. Everyone knew that Biblical principle. Somewhere in her nature, something vile must have been passed down from him.
There came a brief tap at her door, and Lady Berwick entered, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. “You handled yourself very well,” she remarked, pausing at the foot of the bed.
“By insulting your guest?” Helen asked in a waterlogged voice.
“He was not my guest,” the countess said tersely. “He’s a despicable parasite. A worm who would feast on the cankered sores of Job. I had no idea that Vance would appear today without a word of warning.”
Peeling the damp handkerchief from her eyes, Helen blew her nose. “Mr. Winterborne will be angry,” she said. “He made it clear that I wasn’t to associate with Mr. Vance in any way.”
“Then I shouldn’t tell him, if I were you.”
Helen’s fingers closed around the handkerchief, compressing it into a ball. “You’re advising me to keep a secret from him?”
“I believe you and I are both aware of why it is very much in your interest not to tell Mr. Winterborne.”
Helen stared at her dumbly. Oh, God, she knew, she knew.
Coming around to the side of the bed, Lady Berwick gave her one of the glasses. “Brandy,” she said.
Lifting the drink to her lips, Helen took a cautious sip, and another. It burned her lips, and the taste was very sharp. “I thought ladies weren’t supposed to drink brandy,” she said huskily.
“Not in public. However, one may take it in private when a stimulant is required.”
As Helen sipped the brandy, the countess spoke to her without superiority, but rather unsparing honesty tempered with a surprising touch of kindness. “Last year, when I informed Vance that Kathleen was to marry into your family, he confided in me about his affair with your mother. He claimed you were his child. The first time I saw you, I had no doubt of it. Your hair is the color his once was, and your brows and eyes are the same.”
“Does Kathleen know?”
“No, she has no idea. I wasn’t certain if you yourself knew, until I saw your face just before you entered the parlor. But you composed yourself quickly. Your self-possession was admirable, Helen.”
“Did Mr. Vance intend to reveal the news to me today?”
“Yes. However, you foiled his plans for a dramatic scene.” The countess paused to sip her brandy, and said darkly, “Before he left, he asked me to make it perfectly clear to you that he’s your father.”
“That word doesn’t apply to him.”
“I agree. A man is not entitled to be called a father merely because he once had a well-timed spasm of the loins.”
Helen smiled faintly despite the fog of gloom. It sounded like something Kathleen might have said. Propping herself higher on the bed, she rubbed the sore corners of her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “He’ll want money,” she said flatly.
“Obviously. You will soon become a conduit to one of the greatest fortunes in England. I have no doubt that in the future, he will also ask you to influence your husband’s business decisions.”
“I wouldn’t do that to Mr. Winterborne. Besides . . . I couldn’t live with Mr. Vance’s threats hanging over my head.”
“I have for decades, my girl. Since the day I married Lord Berwick, I knew that until I produced male issue, I would have to kowtow to Vance. Now you must as well. If you don’t comply with his demands, he will ruin your marriage. Possibly before it even begins.”
“He won’t have the chance,” Helen said dully. “I’m going to tell Mr. Winterborne myself.”
Lady Berwick’s eyes enlarged until the whites were fully visible. “You’re not so foolish as to believe that he would still want you if he knew.”
“No, he won’t want me. But I owe him the truth.”
After swallowing the rest of her brandy in an impatient gulp, the countess set the glass aside and spoke with irritated conviction. “Good heavens, child, I want you to mind every word I’m about to say.” She waited until Helen’s tormented gaze had met hers. “The world is unkind to women. Our futures are founded on sand. I am a countess, Helen, and yet in the winter of life I am likely to become a poor widow, a mere nullity. You must do whatever is necessary to marry Mr. Winterborne, because there is one thing a woman needs above all else: security. Even if you should lose your husband’s affections, the smallest splinter of his fortune will guarantee that you will never suffer degradation or poverty. Better still if you should bear a son—there is the source of a woman’s true power and influence.”
“Mr. Winterborne won’t want a child who is descended from Albion Vance.”
“There’s nothing he can do about it after it happens, is there?”
Helen’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t deceive him that way.”
“My dear,” Lady Berwick said crisply, “you are naïve. Do you think there aren’t parts of his life, past and present, which he keeps secret from you? Husbands and wives are never completely honest with each other—no marriage could survive it.”
Becoming aware of a throbbing at her temples, and a gathering nausea in her stomach, Helen wondered desperately if a migraine were coming on. “I feel ill,” she whispered.
“Finish your brandy.” The countess went to the window and pushed a fold of the curtain aside to take in the outside view. “Vance wants to meet with you tomorrow. If you refuse, he’ll go to Mr. Winterborne before the day is out.”
“I won’t refuse,” Helen said, thinking grimly that she would tell Rhys the truth at a time she chose, on her own terms.
“I’ll send word for him to meet us on neutral territory. It won’t do to have him call at Ravenel House again.”
Helen thought for a moment. “The British Museum,” she suggested. “The twins have been asking to see the Zoological Galleries. He and I could exchange a few words there without anyone noticing.”
“Yes, I think that would do. What should I suggest as a meeting-place?”
Helen paused in the act of lifting the glass to her lips. “The poisonous serpents exhibit,” she said, and took another sip.
Lady Berwick smiled slightly, and then looked grim. “I already know the way Vance will present the situation to you, as I am all too familiar with the way his mind works. He won’t like the word blackmail; he’ll frame it as something like an annual tax, in return for allowing you to find happiness with Mr. Winterborne.”
“There’s no such thing as a tax on happiness,” Helen said, rubbing her forehead.
The countess regarded her with rueful sympathy. “My poor girl . . . it certainly can’t be had for free.”
Chapter 24
“HELEN, ARE YOU CERTAIN there’s nothing wrong?” Cassandra asked, after they had descended from the family carriage. “You’ve been so quiet, and your eyes are glazed.”