Page 54

Penhollow Park, the ducal country seat of the Roskelley family, was nothing short of a masterpiece. Beyond the wrought iron gates that guarded the estate, the manor loomed into view, grand and imposing, as if awaiting admiration from all who approached.

With her husband’s steady hand guiding her from the carriage, Helena craned her neck, her gaze climbing the fine masonry and intricate carvings that adorned the stone facade.

Atop the pediment stood a nearly life-like statue of Britannia, her stern gaze seeming to challenge any passerby.

The grand entrance was marked by a solid portico, reminiscent of a Roman pantheon rather than an English countryside home.

Above, the roofline was punctuated by belvederes on either side, their sharp rods perched on chimneys like sentinels against the sky.

No ornamentation had been spared; every inch of the manor’s surface bore evidence of meticulous craftsmanship.

Despite its undeniable beauty, the ostentation struck Helena as incongruous with Lowen’s character, a man who so often favored practicality and simplicity.

“Oh my,” Helena breathed in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

The tips of Lowen’s ears reddened at her compliment, and he offered her a small, bashful smile. “Welcome home, Helena.”

The estate’s servants began to trickle out like ants from a hill, each moving swiftly to tend to the carriages and carry her belongings upstairs.

From the commotion, Thomasin emerged through the front door.

The moment she recognized them, her face lit up, and she hurried down the short steps, arms outstretched.

“Finally!” she cried gleefully, throwing herself into Helena’s arms with a tight embrace.

“Careful,” Lowen cautioned.

Helena had been unwell again the previous day, and it had driven him mad with worry. He had been fiercely vigilant, as though even the briefest lapse in attention might see her condition deteriorate further.

Thomasin’s body pressed against Helena’s, but at the subtle feel of the small curve of her belly, she stepped back with widened eyes.

"Is there... something different about you?" she asked carefully, her politeness keeping her from voicing the obvious.

With a radiant grin, Helena clapped her hands together. “I’m with child!”

With a gleeful cry, Thomasin sprang forward, showering Helena’s cheeks with kisses. “How exciting! Are you excited? You must be excited! I hope it’s a girl! Or maybe a boy?” she babbled, her words tumbling over each other in her excitement. “Or, oh! Could you have one of each at the same time?”

Without pausing, she whirled on Lowen and pulled him into an enthusiastic embrace, squeezing him tightly.

“Please let me help prepare the nursery!” Thomasin begged. “I can paint something lovely on the walls! Or at the very least let me pick out the wallpaper! Or maybe curtains?”

Lowen raised a placating hand. “All in due time,” he said calmly. “Right now, I must call on a physician to see to Helena.”

Thomasin’s smile faltered, and she turned to Helena with wide, worried eyes. “Oh no—is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all. Just a preliminary exam,” Helena replied quickly, offering a reassuring smile.

Her cheeks warmed slightly, though she hoped it went unnoticed.

While it was true that she and Lowen wanted reassurance about the health of their child, she knew the real reason for Lowen’s insistence.

He refused to share a bed with her again until a doctor confirmed it was safe.

The thought made her cheeks burn hotter.

“Oh good, then,” Thomasin said in relief. “Are you tired from your journey? Do you wish to lie down?”

Helena shook her head, and arched her back with a soft sigh, her hands pressing into the small of her back. “Not particularly. We’ve been confined to the carriage for days now. I think I should like to take a walk.”

Thomasin’s face lit up. “Splendid! There’s so much to see! The gardens, the orangery, the library—oh, and wait until you see the view from the upper terrace.”

“Don’t wear her out, Thomasin,” Lowen interjected.

“Oh, nonsense,” she quipped. “Helena’s made of sturdier stuff than you.”

Helena laughed softly, glancing at Lowen’s mildly exasperated expression. “I think a walk will do me good,” she said, touching his arm briefly. “Besides, I’ll have Thomasin to catch me if I stumble.”

“Very well, but take a footman with you,” he said, though his voice carried a hint of reluctance. “I’ll call on the physician and see to some work in my study. You’ll find me there if you need anything.”

As Lowen turned to go, Thomasin looped her arm through Helena’s, already steering her toward the nearest path. “Come on, then! Let me show you everything before he tries to whisk you away again.”

Helena waved to Lowen as Thomasin continued with bright enthusiasm, “We’ll start with the exterior and save the interior for last. Then we shall celebrate your arrival here with tea and cake!”

Thomasin led Helena around the estate with the fervor of a seasoned guide.

They strolled through the orangery, where the air was fragrant with citrus blossoms, and wandered into the greenhouses, filled with a variety of plants that seemed to hum with life.

From there, they admired the well-tended orchards heavy with fruit, passed the sturdy stables housing glossy-coated horses, and paused briefly at a pavilion overlooking the edge of a pond.

“We have several different gardens throughout the estate…” Thomasin began, her tone turning instructive as they passed beneath a trellis entwined with vines. “A kitchen and herb garden, a rose garden, a tea garden, and this one…”

At last, they arrived in the sprawling garden.

Amid manicured hedges and winding pathways, Helena stopped short, her breath catching at the sight before her.

The air was sweet with the mingling scents of lilies and lavender, and the paths were lined with delicate flowers in every conceivable shade of blue—from soft periwinkle to deep sapphire.

“This garden can be seen from the duchess's quarters. From what Lowen told me about our mother, she never allowed house guests to peruse this particular area,” Thomasin remarked.

“Oh, and you must know that he had all of this replanted,” she added casually, gesturing toward a bed of vibrant cornflowers. “It was a complete overhaul.”

Helena brushed her fingers over the petals of a pale blue delphinium, a strange pang rising in her chest. She’d always loved blue, but surely Lowen couldn’t know that.

Could he? No, it was coincidence. She dropped her hand and turned her attention back to Thomasin, nodding politely as her sister-in-law continued.

“In my opinion, the garden didn’t need such a dramatic change, but Lowen never does anything without intention.”

The tour continued into the vast manor, though Thomasin’s earlier enthusiasm had waned, her energy sapped from the long walk across the grounds.

Helena, too, felt the creeping weight of fatigue, and they decided to conclude their exploration in Lowen’s study—much to his visible chagrin.

His attempts to focus on his work were repeatedly thwarted as the women distracted him with chatter, cups of tea, and a generous offering of cake.

Not that he truly minded; he’d never been one to refuse anything sweet set before him.

Afterward, Thomasin retired to her room for a nap, firmly instructing that she be woken only when dessert was due to be served at dinner.

Lowen, however, had no intention of indulging her whims, declaring instead that she must eat her vegetables—or risk having her paints confiscated and locked away in his study.

“You’ve the makings of a proper father already,” Helena teased as Lowen sank onto the settee beside her with an exasperated sigh.

He raised a brow. “Do you need reminding to eat your vegetables too, or are you better behaved than Thomasin?”

“Hmm, I don’t rightly know. I think I’m unmotivated,” she replied with a sly smile. “Perhaps you should lead by example and have yourself a second helping of parsnips and cauliflower tonight?”

Lowen made a face but brought his hand over hers, his thumb softly circling her skin. “I was prepared to object, but how can I help indulging you? Consider it my atonement.”

“Atonement for what?” Helena asked, tilting her head.

“My past treatment of you.”

The reminder unsettled Helena, and she averted her gaze. To her, Lowen had always been the man he was now. Not because she chose to ignore his past behavior, but because the man he had become—happy and gentle—had always been within him.

“Well, it is the past,” she replied quietly. “And you were a different man than.”

“But that man is still me,” he countered, his voice strained. “I treated you horribly, Helena. I’m so ashamed, and you’ve been nothing but patient and forgiving. I don’t feel worthy of it. Worthy of you.”

Helena’s expression softened as she turned to face him fully. “Deep down, I’ve always known you could be good, Lowen. And you are good. But if you truly wish to repent…” She let her words trail off, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Name it,” he said, sitting straighter. “I’ll do anything.”

“Continue being this man—the man you are now. That’s all I’ll ever need from you.”

Lowen stared at her for a long moment, his silver moon eyes glossy in the darkening room. The sun was setting on the horizon. Slowly, his thumb resumed its soft circling over her hand. “You have my word,” he murmured.

“And,” he continued, “if you wish to be friends with Elias Stockwell—I won’t object. I won’t object to any of your friends, Helena, so long as it makes you happy.”

“I doubt he’ll want to be my friend, but thank you.” She was certain she had lost Elias. But to hear those words from Lowen was both a comfort and a surprise.