She’d been ready to take Bea in hand only a few days ago. Had she changed so much with her loss of memory? And what could he say that would not alienate her and endanger this fragile new bond of theirs?
“I understand your objections,” he heard himself say. “But I will not relegate my daughter to the periphery of my existence simply to please my wife.”
Her countenance was unyielding as granite. He could scarcely draw in air. If they should clash on this point…if she should prove as obstinate as she was capable of being…
Her eyes softened. “Good. Her illegitimacy is not her fault.”
He reeled. “But you just—”
“I was testing you.” Her small smile was apologetic, almost sheepish. “You are a stranger, yet I must live with you and, well, be your wife. I wanted to know something of your character this instant. Forgive me my impatience.”
He breathed hard. “So I passed.”
“Beautifully.”
That might be the first word of sincere praise he’d ever heard from her.
It wasn’t just a new beginning, it was a whole new world.
He turned his face to the side. Helena blinked. His profile was perfect. Beyond perfect—the cameo brooch must have been invented so that someday it could be engraved with the silhouette of his features.
“I’d like to meet Bea at the earliest opportunity,” she said, so as not to be wordlessly gawking at him.
He looked back at her. “I’ll take you to Easton Grange as soon as you are well enough to travel. And thank you for taking an interest in her.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I am her stepmother, after all.”
He smiled, a warm, lovely smile. “Then I hope you won’t mind that I must leave to see Bea today.”
This surprised her. “All the way to Kent? Is it her birthday?”
“No, but she expected me on Wednesday. It is already Friday.”
“Why not have her brought to London?”
“Eat more,” he reminded her. “Unfortunately Bea does not leave Easton Grange.”
She dug into her porridge. “Why not?”
“She does not wish to.” He gave a barely perceptible sigh. “And she is not the kind of child who can be bribed with offers of sweets or dolls.”
“Not even for the woman who is raising her?”
“She doesn’t know you yet—you were going to meet her the day of your accident.”
“I see.” Helena supposed it made sense that she would leave London only near the end of the Season, but she found it less than impressive that she’d put off meeting the child. She should have introduced herself to Bea as soon as she became engaged to the girl’s father, especially given that Bea did not seem to be someone who adjusted easily to changes. “Are you departing now?”
“No, I’m loath to leave your side. I’ll probably need to ask Fitz to pull me away. In fact, it will probably take him, Lexington, and a few footmen to shove me into a carriage and then onto the train.”
When he’d told his story of turning into jelly at his first sight of her, she’d responded rather severely. There was a contrariness in her that refused to fall too easily in love with him: It would be the expected, expedient thing to do, and she did not want to commit to him simply for the sake of convenience.
But this time she couldn’t quite summon the same coolness. She dropped her gaze to her tray and ate the rest of her porridge without speaking.
The day nurse, Nurse Gardner, arrived alongside the maid who came to take away the breakfast trays. “My lord, Miss Redmayne asks that you engage in no further conversation after my lady’s breakfast. But you may read to my lady, if you wish, so that she may close her eyes and rest.”
“But it is not even midmorning,” Helena protested. “And I’ve been sleeping for three days, haven’t I?”
“Nevertheless, doctor’s orders,” said the nurse.
Hastings rose to examine a small, laden bookshelf by the window.
“You needn’t take the trouble. I’m not particularly fond of being read to—too slow.”
“Think of it as a therapeutic luxury, then: My voice is generally considered to possess the power to lure unicorns out of their secret forests.”
She barely remembered not to raise her brows to her hairline. “Conceited, aren’t we?”
“You used to tell me I had enough hot air to power an armada of dirigibles. And when I countered that people thought my voice lovely enough to rival that of a chorus of angels, you said that particular band of angels must have been singing with their rear