Page 20 of The Duke's Promise to Her Child
He settled at a table by the window, ordered tea, and propped a newspaper in front of him. He glanced over the top of it every now and again toward the corner where Whitcombe and Helena were seated. Helena’s back was to him, which was inconvenient. Whitcombe, however, he could see clearly and the man appeared to be doing most of the talking, with a manner that suggested he found the whole enterprise rather noble of himself.
He chuckled occasionally. He leaned forward with the attentive air of a physician at a bedside. At one point he patted Helena’s hand a way that made Gideon’s jaw tighten behind his newspaper.
Still, it did not look disastrous. Whitcombe seemed engaged. He seemed pleasant. Helena’s posture was straight and composed, which was either a good sign or the sign of a woman exercising extraordinary self-control with Helena, it was genuinely difficult to tell.
He was cautiously optimistic when, across the room, Helena’s hand moved to her ear. He watched it. She moved her hand from her ear along her neck and rested it against her collarbone. Perhaps she had simply been scratching. He had been inattentive. He could not be sure.
He watched. He waited.
Then the other hand came up, and she grabbed her earlobe and tugged it three times with some feeling behind it.
He set down the newspaper, noting, with some embarrassment, that he had managed to turn only a single page in half an hour, and cast about for a plan.
He waved over a young waiter. “Will you bring me a folded piece of paper,” he said quietly, “and hand it to me as though it arrived by messenger?”
The waiter stared at him. “A note, Your Grace?”
“A folded piece of paper. Tell me it has arrived by messenger. That is all.”
The young man went away looking thoroughly confused and returned two minutes later with a folded sheet.
“Your Grace,” he said then, clearly remembering his instructions, repeated it rather too loudly. “This note has arrived for you by messenger.”
“A note? For me?” Gideon said, matching the volume. “Thank you.” He unfolded the blank paper, made a show of reading it, and rose from his chair.
He crossed to their table. “I do beg your pardon, Whitcombe, but I am afraid I shall have to spirit Lady Vale away. Her daughter has taken ill.”
“Lavinia…” Helena said, and the genuine alarm in her voice made him close his eyes briefly in self-reproach.
“Nothing serious,” he said quickly. “But we must go at once.”
“Oh, the poor little mite,” Whitcombe said, rising with every appearance of warm concern. “These things happen, I suppose, when one is managing alone. You are doing a remarkable job, Lady Helena truly remarkable, given everything.” He pressedher hand. “Do not lose heart. Things have a way of coming right in the end.”
Helena smiled at him with such serene composure that Gideon almost believed she felt it.
“You are very kind,” she said. “You must excuse me.”
He bade Whitcombe a hasty farewell and followed her out. She was standing on the pavement, and as soon as he appeared at her side she rounded on him.
“What in heaven’s name…”
“There is nothing wrong with Lavinia,” he said quickly. “It was the only extraction method I could devise on short notice.”
“The only method…” She pressed her lips together. “Never tell me my daughter is ill again,” she said, her voice low and controlled and considerably more frightening for it. “I nearly suffered an apoplexy on the spot. And that was a whisker of the first order, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. When I said extract me, I assumed something rather more elegant might occur to you. You telling Lord Whitcombe we had another appointment, for example. Anything at all besides telling me my child is unwell.”
“Yes,” he said. “That was my first thought actually, but then…” He waved a hand. There was no good way to explain his thoughtprocess and he did not attempt it. “What happened? He seemed perfectly agreeable.”
“He is perfectly agreeable,” she said. “That is precisely the problem.”
Gideon looked at her.
“He spent the entirety of our conversation complimenting me on how well I was managing,” she said. “How admirably I was bearing up. How remarkable it was that I retained my composure given my circumstances. How very fortunate Lavinia was to have such a devoted mother despite everything.” She paused, composing herself. “He told me twice that he thought it very brave of me to be seen in society at all. He said, and I am quoting precisely, that many women in my position retreated, and that it spoke very well of my character that I had not.”
“He meant it kindly,” Gideon said.
“I am sure he did,” Helena said. “He is a kind man. A genuinely kind man who looks at me and sees a poor broken creature who has suffered a great misfortune and requires careful handling and a great deal of patient charity.” She met his eyes. “I will not marry a man who pities me, Gideon. I would rather take my chances in the poorhouse.”
He was quiet for a moment. He thought of Whitcombe’s expression when Helena had walked in. He had noticed it himself and not quite understood what he was seeing. Now he did.
