Page 15

“You shouldn’t have had to. And quite frankly, you’re lucky for it.”

She recoiled as if slapped.

Josiah softened only slightly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “We only want the best for you. We always have. Think of what you and your sister would endure otherwise.”

Lowen said nothing, but every muscle in his body was taut. He could feel her teetering.

It appeared as though Helena was the type of woman one cannot force reason onto, but one that could be cornered into it. And she was well cornered now.

For a breathless moment, she stood still—then exhaled slowly, as if unraveling something in her chest as her shoulders slumped forward.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I know.”

She turned toward Lowen, and to his surprise, her expression was eerily calm. Not rage, not fear—resignation.

He exhaled carefully.

She was his.

Or rather, soon to be. Whether or not they ever loved one another no longer seemed relevant. He would not stray from his vows. He would ensure her comfort.

That would have to be enough.

A call echoed from a distant corridor. Muffled at first, it gradually became clearer as it neared.

“Helena!”

It was a man’s voice—but not just any man’s. Mr. Elias Stockwell’s.

The boy had eyes only for her as he burst into the drawing room. “Helena,” he breathed, as though her name were a prayer. “Pl-please, p-pardon my intrusion, but I—I haven’t been honest with you.”

Josiah stepped forward immediately, shielding his daughter from the interloper. “Mr. Stockwell. This is most unbecoming.”

But the boy didn’t stop. He sidestepped Josiah carefully, advancing as near to Helena as propriety would allow.

“I sh-should have said something,” Elias began, his mismatched eyes locked onto hers. “Before. But I didn’t. And now?—”

He swallowed hard, visibly fighting his stammer. “I’m in l-love with y-you, Helena. I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I realized.”

Helena’s eyes widened. She looked between her father, Lowen, and Elias, clearly at a loss. “I…”

“Pl-please,” Elias said again, his brows pinched with urgency. “Just a moment. Just hear me.”

Unlike Helena, Lowen wasn’t surprised by the confession—though he was surprised that she had remained so oblivious to young Stockwell’s affections.

The boy looked at her like a lovesick pup: moon-eyed and red as a beet.

Lowen wasn’t certain whether to intervene just yet.

He lingered, watching the boy’s performance unfold, though he was far from amused by the casual use of Helena’s name.

That familiarity had always stirred gossip, but now, Lowen was beginning to wonder whether there might have been truth to it.

Helena motioned awkwardly toward the settee. “Perhaps we could sit?—?”

“Privately?”

“No,” both Josiah and Lowen interjected sharply, in unison.

Helena turned to Lowen with a flash of contempt. “Seeing as how we’re not yet married, I fail to see why you’re answering for me.”

Lowen bit back a smile, half amused by her defiance.

“You’re m-marrying him?” Elias asked, shocked and barely comprehensible.

“Yes,” Helena answered, softly, almost apologetically.

Stockwell’s mismatched eyes flicked toward Lowen’s, challenge brimming in their depths. “Then I w-will duel y-you for her hand.”

Lowen blinked, head cocking slightly. He was surprised by Stockwell’s gall—and mildly annoyed.

He had so much to do and no time for melodrama.

Still, if the boy was serious, Lowen had to weigh the consequences.

A duel could leave someone dead. And if it was him, Thomasin would be left alone in the world.

“Mr. Stockwell, to challenge a man to a duel is a serious thing,” he said coolly. “I would hate to leave your father without an heir.”

“I am serious,” Elias replied grimly.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” Josiah protested shrilly, throwing up his arms as he stepped between them. “Mr. Stockwell, His Grace is a crack shot—you shall surely be injured if you proceed!”

But Elias was undeterred. His voice, when he spoke again, was steady and clear. “It is not me you should be worried about, Mr. Hargreaves.”

Lowen stared at the boy in small admiration. And for a fleeting moment, he was reminded of Benjamin—his brother—young and unshaken, stubbornly valiant.

“Save your chivalry for the next woman, Stockwell,” Lowen said, not unkindly. “Preferably one who isn’t already promised. There are plenty available to you.”

“Elias.”

The soft call of his name broke the tension like water breaking over fire. At the sound, Elias turned to her, whatever rage he carried softening instantly.

“There will be no duel,” she said, laying her hand gently on his forearm. “I’m marrying His Grace.”

Stockwell looked down at where her hand rested. His face fell. “But you can’t,” he whispered. “I love you, Helena.”

For a moment, Helena didn’t speak. She didn’t move. Her hand remained on his arm—longer than it should have—and her brows knit together, as if in consideration.

Lowen didn’t like it.

Silence fell around them like a deluge. Josiah shifted uncomfortably beside Lowen, uncertain whether to remove the boy or allow him this final plea.

“You don’t love him,” Elias continued, hoarse now. “A-and he doesn’t l-love you.”

Helena’s gaze briefly met Lowen’s, and something unreadable passed between them—uncertainty, maybe even agreement. Then she looked back to Elias.

“It’s not about love,” she said quietly, retracting her hand. “We were caught in a compromising position. We have to make things right.”

“M-marrying me could do the same,” Elias insisted. “The ton c-can’t afford to shun my family. And you—you’d have everything. Everything you c-could want. You and your family. Pl-please, Helena.”

Lowen’s jaw tightened. It was clear Helena lacked the heart to wound the boy outright. And that, strangely, stung.

“I cannot marry you,” she said, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, Elias. I truly am.” Her voice wavered, her chin wobbled, and she blinked rapidly, then turned without another word and fled the room.

Stockwell didn’t follow. He just watched her leave, stricken, hand hovering over the place where hers had just been—like a starving dog watching the butcher walk away.

He swallowed hard, jaw working as he fought back tears.

Josiah finally spoke. “Mr. Stockwell… if things had been different, I’d have welcomed you as a son.”

“Th-thank you,” Elias whispered. Then, to Lowen: “Best wishes to you and Miss H-Helena, Your Grace.” He bowed stiffly and left. His footsteps, no longer carrying the assurance they’d entered with, faded down the hall until they disappeared through the entry door.

The rest of the proceedings unfolded as planned.

The men had moved from the drawing room to Josiah’s study, where their solicitors were waiting.

Josiah, still shaken by Stockwell’s interruption, stared blankly at the settlement paperwork on his desk.

For a moment, Lowen wondered if the older man might reconsider—might snatch the contract away as he was signing—but no.

The ink dried, hands were shaken, and the solicitors promptly departed.

Afterward, at the behest of his host, Lowen stayed behind for an early tipple.

Seated in a wingback chair, Lowen accepted a crystal glass of a generously poured amber liquid. He brought it to his nose.

“Whisky?”

Josiah nodded. “Not exactly an aperitif, but I believe this is quite warranted.”

They drank in silence for a moment before Josiah asked, “When exactly were you planning to wed, Your Grace? I reckon the sooner the better. I’m sure you’ll be able to procure a special license with relative ease.”

“We will marry within the month. Your daughter can plan the ceremony as she wishes.”

“Within the month?” questioned Josiah, pausing mid-motion from taking a sip from his glass. “Surely the license will not take that long?”

“No, the license has already been secured. But I have another matter to attend to before the wedding can proceed.”

Lowen would have left it at that, but seeing the older man’s quizzical expression, he decided to explain, “I would like my sister, Lady Thomasin, to be in attendance, so I must travel to my country seat in Cornwall to fetch her. I will make haste, but the journey will take over a fortnight.”

Josiah nodded knowingly. “Ah, then it is worth the wait. Family is most important. When are you leaving?”

“At first light tomorrow.” Lowen finished the rest of his whisky; his chest burned with the bite of warmth and sweetness. Josiah motioned to the crystal decanter, but Lowen shook his head at the offer.

“Since this engagement is rather… unconventional and may raise some eyebrows,” the older man hesitated, “it might come as a surprise to some. Perhaps it would be best if we announced the news.”

Lowen knew it would be beneficial for Helena and her family if the ton believed it a love match rather than a scandal.

It would be better for him as well—not that his position in the world was precarious like theirs.

Still, he wished to maintain a respectable figure in society, especially where it concerned his work in Parliament.

He dipped his head in approval and thought for a moment. “The van Dorns are hosting a ball tonight—I’ll make the announcement after dinner.”

Josiah opened his mouth to protest, but Lowen cut him off.

“I’ll see that you receive an invitation, and I’ll arrange for one of my carriages to pick up your family.”

“I was more or less referring to the broadsheets, Your Grace,” Josiah suggested.

“It needs to be heard from me,” Lowen explained and stood, preparing to take his leave.

“If you insist.” Josiah led him to the foyer, where a footman waited with his coat. “I’ll inform Helena of the plans and see that she’s agreeable.”

Lowen doubted that very much, but said nothing.

Outside, as he prepared to mount his horse, Lowen turned to look up at the house.

He didn’t know which window belonged to Helena, though he imagined that a sociable young woman like her might enjoy peering down at the passersby—curiously making assumptions about who they were, where they were going, and perhaps what they were thinking.

He wondered if now she hid behind a curtain and watched him as he raised himself into the saddle.

He had an inkling that she was. Even as he rode away, something followed him.