Page 42 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
How could he stoop so low? Was she supposed to put the lives of the women and children in her care aside to aid his sister?
“None of this is fair, Helena. I believe we’ve established that. The fact is that August will be crushed beyond what is fair if you impede this purchase.”
Guilt tore through her in a terrible wave, causing her stomach to churn in protest and her throat to tighten.
Rushing to her feet, she said, “This has been a lovely evening, Sir Phineas. I appreciate meeting you.”
Both men hurried to their feet. Maxwell grimaced as if struck silent by the shock of his own words, so that Sir Phineas spoke first. “Must you leave already, Lady Helena?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I have said all that I can on the matter. Please consider how badly the London Home for Young Women needs this.”
She waited only a moment to lock eyes with Maxwell; his gaze was already filling with regret, but it was too late. Whirling, she hurried to the front hall, grabbing her cape before the butler could offer it to her. He barely managed to open the front door before she got there. Rain fell still, but she didn’t let it stop her from hastening toward where her carriage waited down the street.
“Helena!” Maxwell’s voice followed her down the front steps, but she did not dare look back. “Wait!”
Her driver was caught unaware and fumbled with the umbrella as he hurried toward her.
“There’s no need,” she said, waving off his attempt. “Please get me home as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, milady,” he said, opening the carriage door and helping her inside.
She had completely and utterly failed at her task and ruined the whole night. How would she ever face the women and children who needed her? How would she facethe board? She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes, but the ache in her throat still lingered.
The fact that Maxwell had contributed to her loss made her feel the sting all the more. It was like a knife twisting in the wound. What did this mean for them?
Chapter 14
Genuine learning has ever been said to give polish to man; why then should it not bestow added charm on women?
Emma Willard
An hour later, Helena sat in her drawing room attempting to read. She’d been on the same page for almost a quarter of an hour, but at least it was something. It kept her from sulking. Sort of. Her mind kept going over the disastrous evening, churning over it as if to relive it would help to change what had happened, no matter how she tried to pay attention to the words on the page. Finally, she closed the book with a huff and stared at the fire crackling in the hearth.
After she had come home, she had changed out of her wet clothes and into her nightdress and dressing gown. Then she had sent the Huxleys to bed. There was no need for them to stay up and keep her company. Only now that she was alone, she rather wished she had taken up Mrs. Huxley on her offer to play a round of cards. Doing something would be better than sitting here and stewing. Despite how badly she felt about the lost opportunity for the charity, she couldn’t deny that some of her moroseness was becauseshe felt that she had lost Maxwell, too. Not that she had ever had him.
Groaning in frustration and residual anger at him, she walked to the hearth and used the fire poker to move a log around, sending sparks skittering. She had been terribly rude to him. He hadn’t been fair himself, but that didn’t excuse her own reaction. She’d probably have to jot down a note to send over to him tomorrow. He’d reply back in clipped prose. Then she wouldn’t see him again until he made an appearance at Claremont Hall. She would still need to carry out the charade. She might have lost the priory, but she still needed her father on her side to maintain their funding and find a new building. She and Maxwell would continue their little performance for their families, and then he would leave. This was exactly how their little drama was meant to play out, so why did she feel so bereft and lonely?
It was because she felt abandoned by him. All this time she had felt that he understood her, that he would support her, only to have her worst fears about him confirmed. He had turned his back on her the moment he had needed to in order to further his own ends. But that wasn’t completely fair. He was doing this for August, not his own personal interest. And yet, she felt that August would be on her side in this. Guilt, anger, and heartache twisted into such a tight knot in her stomach that she couldn’t tell one thread from the other.
A tapping at her window made her think the rain had picked up, but then it happened again. Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked up to see a man standing outside the window. The small halo of light given off by the sconce on the wall illuminated his large size, and something about the set of his shoulders made her think it was Maxwell. He took his hat off, and a gasp tore from her chest as her suspicion was confirmed.
Maxwell Crenshaw stood outside her window in the dead of night! What on earth could he want?
It took a moment for her mind to catch up with what washappening. She stood there in shock as he motioned to the door that opened to the garden. It was the same door he had come in and out of back in June when Violet had been staying with her. After coming home from Yorkshire, Violet hadn’t wanted to go home to her parents. Helena had invited her to stay here while Maxwell and Mr. Crenshaw negotiated the marriage arrangements with Christian. Maxwell had come nearly every day to visit and give them updates on how the negotiations were faring. Because they didn’t want to advertise to all of London that Violet was here, he had come in and out through the mews, using the garden exit and that door.
She nodded and held her hand up for patience. She could not chance one of the servants seeing them, so she hurried to lock the door that led to the rest of the house. Only then did she open the leaded-glass door to the garden. A blast of cold air had her pulling her dressing gown tighter around her.
“Can I come in?” he asked, rain dripping off his hair.
•••
For a moment, Max believed that she would close the door, that she had opened it for him only so that she could slam it shut. He couldn’t entirely blame her. Dinner had not gone well.
Her face grew taut, and he was certain she was about to say no, but then she stepped back to give him space.
He hurried in past her, and she closed the door and turned the latch behind him. Unexpectedly, her hands gripped the shoulders of his outer coat and she helped him to shrug out of it. He was cold, but he’d warm up a lot faster without the coat, which was nearly soaked through.
“You’re drenched. You didn’t walk here, did you? You could catch your death in this weather.” She sounded annoyed and irritated, while at the same time pushing him toward the fireplace.
