Page 63 of From Rakes to Riches

He hadn’t seen Helena all afternoon, not since the sea of ladies had arrived and overflowed the entryway, all of them talking at once. Lady Goodall had asked him to take Lady Anne throughout the house soon after that, and he hadn’t laid eyes on Helena since.

“Have you seen Miss Templeton anywhere, Mrs. Norris?”

Mrs. Norris was no stranger to the ladies of the Benevolent Society. She’d wrangled them before, but no one could have predicted the horror of a dozen of them here at once. His poorhousekeeper looked as if she’d been trampled by a herd of cattle. “Miss Templeton? Let me think. I saw her several hours ago. Lady Codswaddle cornered her in the stairwell, and was going on and on about something to do with the kissing balls. Poor Miss Templeton appeared a bit frayed around the edges.”

No doubt. Lady Codswaddle was enough to fray anyone’s edges. Helena had volunteered them for this misadventure, yes, but an afternoon with Lady Codswaddle bellowing in her ear was punishment enough. “You didn’t see her again after that?”

Mrs. Norris frowned. “Now you ask, I haven’t laid eyes on her since. How strange. It’s not at all like Miss Templeton to call that horde down upon our heads and then disappear in the midst of the torment. Perhaps I’d better go and?—”

“No, it’s alright, Mrs. Norris. I’ll go find her.” She couldn’t have gotten far.

Mrs. Norris breathed out a sigh of relief. “If you’re quite sure, my lord, then I’ll go and see to Cook. One of the ladies made a rather rude comment about her curd tarts, and Cook didn’t take it well.”

He could guess which ladythathad been. “I’m sure. Not to worry, Mrs. Norris.”

A quick turn about the ground floor didn’t turn up Helena. She wasn’t in the kitchens, the breakfast parlor or the dining room. He peeked into the boys’ bedchamber and found Ryan and Etienne there, fast asleep with their coverlets tucked under their chins, but there was no sign of Helena, and a knock on her bedchamber door went unanswered.

Where could she have gone to? Had she been shut in somewhere by accident? Perhaps Lady Codswaddle had kidnapped her. For a lady who was meant to be benevolent, that woman was a frightening old harridan.

He wandered back down the stairs, an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. It wasn’tworry, precisely. Helena was perfectly ableto take care of herself. He’d have felt the same twinge if anyone in his household had disappeared so thoroughly?—

Wait. The stables! Of course. She’d been fretting about the cold earlier. She must have slipped outside to check on Hecate.

He made his way from the entryway to the staircase that led to the kitchens, but just as he was about to head down the pathway, he spotted a dim light peeking out from a crack in the stillroom door.

He crept toward it and pushed it open.

There was Miss Templeton, hunched over the long wooden table, her hair falling out of its tidy bun, a mass of what looked like thorny branches spread out before her, a single lantern shedding a dim circle of light over her work surface. She was fussing with something in her hands and muttering crossly to herself. “Six dozen! Seventy-two of the cursed things. I’ll have to go up the alder tree again?—”

“What in God’s name are youdoingdown here?”

She jumped, a shriek falling from her lips, the little bundle in her hands sailing into the air as the stool she was sitting upon tipped backwards.

“Helena!” He caught her before she could topple over, and for one delirious instant she was in his arms, the slender curve of her back pressed to his chest, her hair tickling his chin.

She’s your sons’ governess, your sons’ governess…

He held her against him for a heartbeat, breathing in her scent, then set her firmly away from him before he forgot he was a gentleman, and leaned down to pick up the bundle she’d dropped.

“What’s this?” He held it closer to the lamp and inspected it, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. It looked like a haphazard collection of sticks and leaves, with a wrinkled bit of white ribbon tied in a straggling bow around it.

“What do you mean, what is it?” She glared at him. “It’s a kissing ball! Can’t you tell?”

“Er, well, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a kissing?—”

That was as far as he got. She snatched the ball out of his hand, threw it aside, then folded her arms on the table, rested her head upon them, and burst into tears.

12

She was sobbing in front of Lord Hawke. Not just a few pretty, crystalline tears that glittered like dewdrops in her eyes, or even a restrained, dainty weeping, but sobbing, with all the ugliness such a state entailed.

Red face. Running nose. Puffy eyes. Mouth wide open, and great hoarse, sniveling sobs wrenched from her heaving chest and spewing from her contorted lips.

Sniveling. She wassnivelingin front of Lord Hawke. Dear God, if she could have ducked under the table without his seeing it, she would have done so in an instant.

Or…was there any chance he hadn’t noticed she was sobbing? Gentlemen weren’t usually observant of such things, were they? Perhaps he didn’t realize?—

“Miss Templeton? I’m afraid you’re, er…distressed.”

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