She looked up from the tangle of silks on her lap to find Lord Bridgemere standing in the doorway. His face was, as usual, hard to read.
Helen felt her cheeks grow hot, and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen him since that early-morning walk of which she’d had such high expectations. And which had resulted in her making such a fool of herself and caused her a morning of quite painful soulsearching as she’d faced up to several unpleasant truths about her character. She had come to the conclusion that whenever Lord Bridgemere looked at her what he saw was a very vain and silly woman.
‘I was just passing,’ he said, moving his arm towards the corridor outside. ‘And I saw you sitting here alone.’
And had been transfixed by the way the sunlight gilded her hair, the pout of her lips as she concentrated on whatever it was that she was doing.
He cleared his throat. ‘Why are you on your own, Miss Forrest? Is your aunt unwell?’
Even as he said it he knew that she would not be down here if that were the case. She would be upstairs, nursing her adopted relative. Or down in the kitchens, making some remedy for her. She would not have bothered to ring the bell. A smile kicked up one corner of his mouth as he pictured her marching into the kitchens and elbowing his servants aside to concoct some remedy which only she knew how to make to her own satisfaction.
‘Far from it,’ replied Helen, wondering what could have put that strange smile on his face. Did she have a smut on her nose? Or was he just recalling one of the many ways she had made a fool of herself since she had come here?
‘Aunt Bella is in the card room with Lady Norton. They plan to spend the afternoon drinking tea and gossiping about the fate of mutual acquaintances.’
Her face was so expressive he could not miss a little trace of pique at the way the older woman was treating her. There was something going on between these two ladies that he needed to uncover. The general belief was that Helen was the older Miss Forrest’s sole heir. But she had told him she needed to go out to work because she was penniless.
Yet she was still fiercely loyal to her adopted aunt. Whatever had happened between them, it had not soured her.
He found himself walking towards her.
‘And what is it you are doing?’
‘Oh, nothing much!’ Helen quickly stuffed her rough sketches of the Bridgemere coat of arms into her workbasket, and held up the bodice of one of the gowns she was altering. ‘Tedious stuff. Making buttonholes and such,’ she said.
His brows lowered slightly. ‘Is there nothing more amusing you could be doing?’
Helen grappled with a sense of exasperation. She had accused him of neglecting her and her aunt, had felt resentful of the amusements he had provided for the other guests. Yet now he was here, playing the gracious host, she felt uncomfortable. She was not an invited guest. She had done nothing but cause trouble since she had entered his house. And he must have a thousand and one more important things to do with his time. He ought not to be wasting it on her.
‘Please do not trouble yourself with me. I am quite content. I…I would actually prefer to be doing something useful than frittering the time away with cards or gossip.’
‘Is that so?’
Sometimes Miss Forrest said things that were so exactly what he felt about life himself that it was as though…
He sat down on the window seat beside her and took hold of the piece of material draped across her lap.
‘Oh, be careful of the pins!’
He let it go. He had only focussed on it because he had not wanted to look into her face. Lest she see…what? A quickening of interest that she very obviously did not return? She thought him hard and unfeeling, full of his own importance. And worst of all dull. There was no worse character flaw a man could have in the eyes of a girl as lively as this. Had not Lucinda told him so often enough?
It took Helen a great effort to sit completely still. The material which he had dropped back onto her lap was warm from his hand. The fleeting sense that it might have been the touch of his hand on her leg had created an echoing warmth in the pit of her stomach. Which was even now sinking lower, to bloom between her thighs.
Oh, Lord, she hoped he had no idea how his proximity was affecting her! Why did it have to be this man, the one man she knew she could never have, who was making her respond in such a shocking way?
‘If you really would enjoy being useful, it occurs to me that there is a way in which we could help each other,’ he said, laying his arm casually along the edge of the windowsill.
Did he know that extending his arm like that made her feel enclosed by his arms? Was he doing it on purpose, to make her even more conscious of him?
And in what way could she possibly be of any help to him?
Unless she had betrayed her interest in him?
He had no need to marry, but if a woman was silly enough to let him know how physically attractive she found him, might he think he could cajole her into a brief affair?
‘I don’t think there can possibly be any way I could be of help to you,’ she said primly, averting her head. If he was going to insult her by suggesting what she thought he was, then she had no intention of letting him see how much it would hurt!
‘You said this morning that you do not have much experience with children, Miss Forrest. And it just so happens that there is a whole batch of them here. They have come with their parents, who have consigned them away upstairs with their nurses. If you wanted to gain some experience with working with children before you take up your first post, then here is an ideal opportunity.’
Experience with children. Of course. She let out the breath she had been holding, chiding herself for once again rating her charms far more highly than Lord Bridgemere obviously did. Here was she, thinking he was about to make her an improper suggestion, while nothing could have been further from his mind. Would she never learn?
‘The children of your guests?’ she echoed faintly. ‘You wish me to go and help…?’
‘I have already enlisted the services of Reverend Mullen. He has written the script, which he tells me he has based mostly on the gospel of Luke…’
‘Wait a minute. Script?’ She raised her head to look at him, quite puzzled. ‘What script? What are you talking about?’
‘I forgot. This is your first visit to Alvanley Hall, and you are not aware of the traditions that prevail.’ He leaned back, his eyes fixed intently on her face. ‘Each year I throw a ball for my tenants on Boxing Day, as part of my gift to them to reward them for all their hard work and loyalty to me throughout the year. Out at one of the barns on the home farm. The children who are brought by their parents to stay at the Hall always put on a little entertainment for them to start the evening’s festivities. The villagers always perform their mummer’s plays for me on Christmas Day, and so I return the favour by getting up this party for them. And, of course, it helps to keep the children occupied during their stay here.’
‘Of course,’ she echoed faintly, still feeling somewhat resentful that it had not occurred to him to make her a proposition. Which she would naturally have refused! But still…
‘So would you, then? Like to become involved in putting on the production for my tenants?’ Or did she consider it was beneath her to spend her time coaching the children to perform for rustics?
She was not quite sure how she could be of any help, since he had already told her that Reverend Mullen was writing the script and coaching the children through their parts. She had no experience whatever of amateur theatricals. And the children had their own nurses to see to whatever else it was they needed.
Yet it would be a good opportunity to see how