Susanne Dietze - A Mother For His Family

Even sheep were smarter than she.

“I’m well,” she called, her face upturned to the rain. She didn’t rise yet, though. Her right ankle throbbed. So did her pride, little of it though she had left.

Two boys with ginger-blond hair scurried down into the ha-ha with her. Young Petey Lyfeld’s freckles faded into his flushing cheeks. “My fault, Lady Helena. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“You shoved her?” Eddie, two years younger than Petey’s eight, gaped.

“No,” Helena said with a smile. “I stood too close to the edge to see the world’s largest earthworm and I fell, that’s all.”

Petey’s arm had bumped hers, but Helena didn’t blame the boy for knocking her off balance. Her unfortunate circumstances were her own fault—not just slipping into the ha-ha, but being banished to Scotland in the first place.

Even being out in the rain was her doing, because she’d been the one to suggest taking a walk to escape the tension in the house. The skies opened once they’d hiked a half mile or more, and now water dripped from the brim of her cork bonnet and the hem of her once-milky-white cloak. A glance at her ensemble assured her she was now brown-speckled as a goat. “Let’s climb out before we turn to mud.”

“Why is it called a ha-ha?” Eddie gripped Helena’s hand and tugged her upright. “It should be called a no-no.”

A shackle of pain fettered Helena’s ankle the moment her foot bore her weight. “Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen, but I do not seem to be ready for the ascent yet.”

“You are hurt.” Gemma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“My ankle twisted. A tiny bit. In a minute or two, it will be better and I shall march up the slope like one of Wellington’s men.” But she didn’t mind postponing her return to the house, where Papa no doubt paced and grumbled under his breath, as he had done since their arrival from London yesterday.

He had much to be frustrated about. His health was declining, and his disobedient daughter caused him no small amount of grief.

Her stomach tightened. “Go home and get out of the rain. I’ll be well enough here.” In the trench. In Scotland. Alone and a little afraid.

Gemma’s frown revealed Helena’s trembling hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Don’t be a widgeon. Boys, fetch Uncle Tavin.”

Muddying their nankeen pantaloons and miniature boots, the boys scrambled up the ha-ha in less time than it took Helena to envy their pain-free ankles. “Gemma, no.”

“They’re well on their way. I would pull you out myself, but I’m not so steady on my feet these days.” Her hand rested over her protruding belly. “My husband won’t mind.”

Helena rolled her eyes. Of course Cousin Tavin wouldn’t mind. He’d relish teasing her about it. Ever since she was a girl, he’d been merciless in his brotherly teasing—

But she wasn’t a child anymore. Frederick Coles had changed that, too.

Then again, like an infant, she needed assistance if she was to escape the ha-ha. Just like she needed help to get out of her “devastating dilemma,” as Mama called it. Helena’s shoulders slumped as she settled to wait.

She glanced up. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain in your condition, Gemma.”

“I’m in the family way. I’m not rheumatic.” Gemma wrapped her scarlet shawl about her.

A steady thudding rumbled through the earth. Hoofbeats. Wincing in pain, Helena hopped forward like a one-legged bird. How had the boys reached Tavin so fast? How had he saddled a horse and—oh.

The rider couldn’t be Tavin.

The hoofbeats slowed as Gemma rose. Before she found her footing, a man in a tall beaver hat and deep blue coat was at Gemma’s side, supporting her by the elbow.

Helena’s pulse battered her rib cage. No, the man was definitely not Tavin.

The man stepped out of Helena’s sight. “You gave me a fright, Mrs. Knox, down on the ground. Are you unwell?” He said down like doon, and his yous were clipped and soft.

Helena’s throat pinched shut. The man was a gentleman in appearance, manner and speech. And he’d been riding to the Knox house. That could mean only one thing.

Gemma’s face reappeared at the edge of the ha-ha. “I’m in robust health. But I fear we’ve had a small accident.”

“Ah. Which of the boys made mischief this dreich day?” He peered down, allowing Helena her first good look at him. He was a full head taller than Gemma, broad but slender. Dark blond brows scrunched in concern over light-colored eyes that widened when he saw her. He rushed down into the ha-ha, splattering mud all over his boots and buckskin breeches. “Are you injured?”

“No.” Her cheeks heated. Surely she blushed so fiercely her wet clothes would steam.

“Yes,” Gemma contradicted.

His well-formed lips twitched. “Either way, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

The last man to touch her was Frederick. But this man was not Frederick. She had no choice but to allow his help. “Thank you.”

There was nothing lurid in his gaze as he assessed her one-footed stance and extended his arm. “Lean on me.”

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and dropped her right foot. Pain shot up her bones. “Oh!”

“Forgive me.” His arm fell.

“No. It is me.”

He rubbed his square jaw with his leather-gloved hand. “I intend to carry you.” It sounded like a warning.

“Say yes, please.” Gemma brushed rain from the epaulettes of her spencer.

Helena sighed and nodded. The gentleman’s arms went underneath her, swooping her from the ground. He’d carried her out of the ha-ha before she realized her face pressed against his spice-and-starch-scented lapels. A rather nice smell.

She jerked her head back. How improper to notice such a thing.

The gentleman peeked at her. “How did you fall down there?” There it was again. Doon. Would Helena speak like that soon, too?

“Clumsiness, I fear.”

“No doubt the boys were with you.” With steady steps, he marched to a black, white-socked gelding grazing a few yards distant. She might have been a sack of corn seed for all the intimacy of the act. “I’ll put you on the horse, if you dinnae mind.”

What she minded was encountering him in this sorry state, but ah well. She’d left her pride back in London. “Thank you for your assistance.”

With no noticeable difficulty, he adjusted her in his arms and hoisted her into the saddle. She landed square on the horse’s back, although it was an uncomfortable fit, sitting sideways on the standard saddle. It was far more suitable, however, than being carried in his arms all the way back to the house.

Although he had been everything proper. Even now, he looked away when she adjusted her sullied gown and cloak over her legs. It proved no easy task, for the drenched muslin of her gown clung to her damp undergarments, which stuck to her limbs, revealing the curves of her legs. And her cloak did not reach her ankles.

Mama would swoon at the sight.

Her rescuer removed his blue coat and held it up to her. It was on her tongue to refuse, but his expression brooked no argument. His eyes were soft, though. And such a nice shade of green, like the underside of a new leaf.

She unclasped her cloak and draped it over her legs like a blanket. Then she pulled his wool coat over her shoulders, at once enveloped in welcome warmth and his spicy smell.

“Thank you.” Did he realize she meant it for more than his coat?

He nodded, then turned to Gemma. “Are you able to walk back, Mrs. Knox?”

“Oh, yes.” She tucked her hand into his elbow. “What an exciting day.”

Did Helena imagine it, or did the gentleman glance at her and smile? The evidence vanished as if washed by the raindrops pelting from the leaden sky. With a click of his tongue, he urged the horse to a walk.