Susanne Dietze - A Mother For His Family

He’d chosen instead to keep the bull separated for observation. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it, but he’d made what he felt was the best choice.

Like marrying Helena.

Despite some difficulties at the start, this marriage would work how they both needed it to. Today, Helena would hire the governess and restore balance to the house. He could return to London trusting the children would thrive in safety and harmony, and his household would be in order.

That, and poor Helena could recover from her dishonor, too.

He entered the library, and his shoulders relaxed. The two-story room was all wood shelves, scarlet wallpaper and leather, his safe haven. He sat at the desk and picked up the post.

Three letters. Lord Carvey, his particular friend in the House of Lords, shared news, while Earl Grey sought his opinion, requiring an immediate reply. When Kerr brought the coffee, John nodded his thanks and picked up the final letter. It rested on the silver tray, addressed in an unfamiliar hand. On the reverse, a dollop of red wax, pressed with a falcon stamp, sealed the paper. With the tug of his letter knife, John broke the seal, unfolded the foolscap and took a large sip of coffee.

The hot beverage burned his throat when he finally managed to swallow it.

So this was what it was like to receive a blackmail letter. John’s pulse pounded in his ears and fury ran hot under his skin.

The author—no, the blackmailer—knew about Helena entrusting herself to a young man in London without the benefit of marriage, and her marriage to John to disguise her ruin. And, of course, this rogue would hold silent in exchange for money. The large sum was to be deposited with a London metalsmith, Travers & Sons by name, at an address on the fringes of London’s better neighborhoods. John had heard goldsmiths could be used for monetary transactions between individuals, but he’d never done such a thing.

Then again, he never imagined he’d be blackmailed.

Helena must never know about this. If the true reason for her hasty marriage to John was made public, her name and honor would be tarnished. So would her family’s, but John was far less concerned with the Duke and Duchess of Kelworth’s reputations than about Helena’s heart and mind. She’d been through enough.

He’d vowed to protect her yesterday in the kirk, and he was a man of his word. He’d pay the blackmailer, then—tomorrow he’d write to his man of business in London to deposit the demanded amount. He’d also insist his man investigate who picked up the payment, too, although anonymous blackmailers tended to protect their identities rather well.

But he wouldn’t tell Helena about this. It would only upset her, and he wouldn’t want her to experience a tenth of what he felt now. Instead of subsiding, his anger increased as the realization that someone was willing to hurt Helena sunk deeper into his brain. A fresh surge of anger coursed through his arms and clenched his fists.

His hands were steady when he locked the letter in the ornamental box by the inkwell. But they were cold when he laid his head in them to pray.

Chapter Five

Helena plopped her forehead into her hands and muttered. “Geography. Mathematics. Art.” One would think a governess would know a fair bit about such subjects.

Or music. Or manners, something Miss Campbell lacked outright. Oh, she’d not been rude, but once she’d confessed her lack of schooling, she’d wiped her nose on her sleeve and nattered about the benefits of flogging as discipline. Helena’s initial misgivings unfurled into certainty.

Miss Campbell was not the governess for the children of Comraich.

Helena rose from the table in the morning room where she had conducted the interview. There was still plenty of time before her scheduled tour with the housekeeper, Mrs. McGill, so she ascended the stairs to the yellow-papered nursery. In the bright central sitting room, the children gathered around a table eating their noonday meal. Agnes and the children, except Louisa, started to stand at her entrance, but Helena indicated that they stay seated. “Pray do not allow me to interrupt your meal.”

Sneaking glances at her, they resumed their bites of meat, stewed fruit and a mashed vegetable—well, Callum ate only meat, and Louisa only the vegetable. She leaned forward, her mouth wide like a baby bird’s, while Agnes spooned the pureed vegetable into her mouth. Saucy drips of butter trickled down the child’s chin.

Helena caught herself chewing her lip, one of Mama’s most despised practices—but the sight of Louisa slurping from a spoon was startling. Five-year-olds fed themselves, did they not?

She held back the question. If she asked, Agnes would set her jaw and insist, once again, that Louisa “cannae see.” Meanwhile, shabby Tabitha lay on the table. The dog sat on its haunches near Callum’s feet, begging for a morsel. Mama had never permitted toys on the table. Nor did she allow animals in the nursery. Or the house, come to think of it.

Was Mama unique in her rules? Or were things as Catriona, the previous Lady Ardoch, left them? That was the most important question, for Catriona was still the ruler of Comraich. Helena would have to ask her husband.

For now, she made a show of looking into the bedchambers off the right and left of the sitting room, called them charming, and then eyed the fare on the children’s plates. “Callum, did you eat any vegetables?”

“I never do.” Callum grimaced. “Just meat.”

“I don’t like meat,” Louisa announced.

“Try a few bites of what you don’t like then, each of you.”

Callum scowled.

Helena peered down at the dog. It seemed clean and well mannered, at least. “Does the dog always, er, attend you when dining?”

Alex shook his head. “Iona is with Papa much of the time. He calls her his lady.”

Did he? Helena gave in to the dog’s begging look and scratched her behind the ears. Ah, silky. Iona’s stub tail wagged. “Iona is the name of an island, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” Alex started to lick a finger, but stopped at her shake of the head. “There were monks on Iona in the auld days and Papa liked their stories. But I don’t remember any of them.”

“Uncle John says the isle is deceptive. ’Tis small but has greatness about it, like our pup.” Margaret set down her fork with a ping of finality. “At least, that’s what uncle said when he named her. She may be little, but she can be a fierce thing.”

Helena patted Iona’s sleek belly, which the dog had presented for rubbing. “Well, she keeps her fierceness well hidden in the nursery.” If not at all times. The dog was reduced to a puddle of drooling leisure under Helena’s strokes.

“Did you come to tell us about our new governess?” Callum leaned back, clearly in need of a serviette to his chin. Helena indicated the linen square and nodded. He made a hasty swipe.

“The candidate did not suit. I didn’t hire her.” At the children’s gaping, a flurry of remorse scuttled through Helena’s stomach. “Fear not. I will find another. How long has it been since you last had a governess?”

“Two months.” Margaret took a sip from her cup. “It was ever so sudden. Miss McManus left with Mr. Robertson.”

Helena blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Robertson. Our music master,” Alex explained. “Agnes said they run off together.”

“Ran off,” Helena corrected. It was far more polite than what she wanted to say, which was to repeat Alex’s remark in an inelegant balk.

Such a scandal. And it had not been hidden from the children. She brushed dog hair from her hands and stood. She had seen more than a few things that could use improving around here, Catriona’s rules or not. She forced her gaze to avoid Agnes’s, lest the look sizzle.