Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 16

When Nigel Stewart had initially arrived, James had asked the butler to escort Helen down to the library, and inwardly, he cursed the man's competence. Just once, couldn't he have failed at his task?

As Helen entered, James rose and Mr. Stewart rose too, but his back was to her. James watched her approach, keen to witness her reaction to Stewart. According to Stewart, she and her sister had been disowned. What would be her response now-all these years later?

"Miss Stewart," James said, "you have a visitor."

"I have a visitor?"

"Yes. You remember your cousin, don't you? At least, he claims to be your cousin."

Mr. Stewart spun around, and on seeing him, she was clearly stunned.

"Nigel?"

"h.e.l.lo, Helen."

She didn't come any nearer, so Stewart walked over to her, his hands extended, his smile wide and seeming to be genuine.

"This is a surprise." Her tone was neutral, her movements giving nothing away. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been searching for you."

"Why?"

"My father pa.s.sed away."

"I'm sorry to hear it." She didn't look sorry at all. "My condolences."

"So there have been many changes at Brookhaven."

"I take it you're in charge now."

"Yes."

"You always wanted to be. I'm glad you've finally gotten your wish."

James interrupted. "Mr. Stewart would like you to come home for a visit."

"Really?"

Helen gazed at James, but he hadn't a clue as to what she was thinking.

"I told him," James added, "that it wouldn't be possible. At the moment, Miss Wilson simply can't spare you."

"I see." Helen turned to her cousin. "Thank you for coming, Nigel. Thank you for inviting me."

Mr. Stewart's color was high again, and he was obviously annoyed over having his scheme frustrated-whatever that scheme might have been.

"But you must be due a break. I couldn't bear to disappoint Mother. She's so eager to have you back where you belong. And Harriet too of course."

Helen asked James, "Do you suppose I could go for a few days after Miss Wilson's wedding?"

"Perhaps," James said noncommittally.

"When is it being held?" Stewart inquired.

"In the fall," Helen replied.

James stood, wanting Stewart gone. "You've taken up enough of my time, Mr. Stewart, and Miss Stewart has duties to attend."

"I understand." He squeezed Helen's hands. "It's marvelous to see you again, Helen."

"And to see you, too. Say h.e.l.lo to your mother for me."

"I will." Stewart peered over at James. "Would it be all right if we correspond?"

"I'll reflect on it."

Stewart forced a smile, bowed stiffly, then the butler showed him out.

James and Helen tarried, listening as he departed. She appeared pale and frozen, like a marble statue.

Once it was clear he'd left, she murmured, "May I be excused?"

"No."

James walked to the door and pushed it shut.

Helen started to shake.

She hadn't imagined she would ever encounter any of her family again, and to have Nigel suddenly pop up-without warning or notice-was extremely disconcerting.

Seeing him was like seeing a ghost. All the injustice she and Harriet had endured came surging back. The humiliation of that last afternoon at Miss Peabody's school was so fresh in her memory that the wounds might have just been inflicted.

She must have looked faint because Westwood ordered, "Sit down. Sit-before you fall down."

He guided her to a sofa and eased her onto it.

Her head was spinning, her ears ringing, and she was very dizzy, but he was in front of her, waving a gla.s.s of brandy under her nose.

"Drink this," he instructed. "It will calm you."

She clutched her trembling fingers around the gla.s.s and gulped it down. Since she rarely imbibed of spirits, the alcohol had a potent and immediate effect. Instantly, her quaking stopped, and she was more herself.

"I'm a.s.suming," he said, "that you were shocked to see him."

"That would be putting it mildly."

"I didn't realize you would be so undone, or I wouldn't have sprung him on you like that."

"Had I been given a month to prepare, I doubt I'd have been ready."

Westwood pulled up a chair, and he moved it very close so their feet and legs were entwined.

"Tell me about him. Tell me what they did to you and your sister."

It seemed as if he truly wanted to know, but she never discussed her family, how she and Harriet had been treated, how appalling and lonely it had been.

If she told him, what would he think?

He was fond of her, and though it was foolish and wrong, his heightened interest was the only thing that made her life bearable. If she confessed her past, and he was condemning or judgmental, she'd be crushed.

At the same time, the notion of unburdening herself was so tempting. She'd often yearned to talk with someone who might commiserate and advise.

Could it be Westwood? Could he be a confidante and friend?

She decided to take a chance, to discover where it would lead, and she began speaking. As Westwood sat quietly, holding her hand, she shared the entire narrative, and by giving her his undivided attention, he provided her with precisely what she'd needed for so long.

He listened. He really listened, and the fact that he did was a kindness that no other person had ever extended to her. It was a gift she would always cherish.

When she finished, she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Uncle Richard claimed that my father was actually the earl of Trent. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him," Westwood carefully said.

"Could it be true? Could Lord Trent be my father?"

Westwood clasped her arm, and he studied the birthmark on her wrist. It was shaped like a figure-eight, and she and Harriet both had one in the exact same spot. He traced his finger over it.

"I have no idea if he's your father," he ultimately responded. "I suppose anything is possible."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

For an eternity, he stared at her, then he asked, "Would you like to visit Brookhaven?"

"I'm not sure."

"It might be stressful for you."

"It might be."

"Or it might be beneficial. You might come to terms with what happened. You might find some peace in your heart."

"I might. I can't decide right now. I'm too overwhelmed."

He a.s.sessed her again, and he seemed to be taking her measure, calculating the odds for a gamble she couldn't fathom.

"If I agree to let you go"-he smiled his lazy smile-"would you promise to come back?"

She chuckled. "Yes, I'd come back."

"I'd hate to have to travel there and fetch you home. I'd be very irritated."

"You wouldn't have to."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. It was very helpful to talk about everything. I never have before."

"Then I'm glad I could be the one in whom you finally confided."

He released her hand and stood, and she stood too, and he drew her into his arms, kissing her very sweetly, very tenderly.

"I don't like your cousin," he said.

"He's harmless, and he means well."

"I don't care. I still don't like him. I don't understand why he came to see you."

"He told you: He wants to make amends for how his father treated me."

"Maybe," James grumbled. "Or maybe he has some ulterior motive."

"Such as?"

"I couldn't begin to guess, but he seemed the type who would have all sorts of plots hatching."

"It's less sinister than that. He's full of himself; he always was. He's inherited the estate, and he's playing lord-of-the-manor. He's trying to impress me with his generosity."

"And are you impressed?"

"Not yet."

It was his turn to chuckle, and she sighed and snuggled nearer. She felt so safe, so adored.

"May I ask a favor of you?" she inquired.

"Anything."

"May I leave for a bit?"

"Leave?" He glowered. "Where do you need to go?"

"Now that I've seen Nigel, I would like to speak with my sister."

"She's here in London?"

"Yes."