Read Online Loving Helen by Michele Paige Holmes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Paige Holmes
Tags: clean romance
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Elizabeth’s grave, Helen spoke softly. “You have a beautiful daughter. Everyone says she is just like you. It is my great privilege to know her.” Helen placed the rose on the ground beside the others and stood.
Mr. Preston’s gaze, warm and filled with gratitude, lingered on hers as she blinked rapidly, attempting to hide her tears.
“You are very sensitive. That is why you understand people so well.” His voice was quiet. “You perceive others’ feelings and empathize with them in such a way that it touches your own soul — a rare and admirable talent.”
“It is not so much a talent.” She brushed hastily at her cheeks but did not take her eyes from his. “I simply prefer to linger in the background, observing people and imagining what causes them to act as they do. Your actions are motivated by pure love and devotion to your family.” Much like Grace . Helen forced thoughts of her sister aside. “That is to be admired.”
“And what motivates you, Miss Helen?” Mr. Preston stepped closer. She did not move, did not back away; she didn’t want to. Instead she found herself imagining what it would be like to feel his arms around her. Just once …
Beth tugged on his hand. “I’m cold.”
Looking somewhat startled, as if he had just remembered she was there, Mr. Preston glanced down at his daughter, then bent to pick her up. Once more the connection Helen had felt with him was broken. She turned away, and, wordlessly, they started down the hill, leaves crunching beneath their feet while Helen fought the tide of confusing emotions rising in her breast.
I cannot care for him. He still loves his wife. He may love Grace.
All good reasons, but she could not seem to help herself.
The walk downhill went much more quickly than the walk up had. They reached the carriage, and Harrison helped her in. Helen settled opposite Mr. Preston and Beth once more.
On the ride home, Beth snuggled into her father’s lap. The sunset lit the sky, its orange glow masking the gloom Helen had seen on the ride there.
“We never got to finish hide-and-seek,” Beth said sleepily, her head resting on her father’s arm.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
“Miss Helen is a good friend,” Beth said. “We must keep her.”
“I quite agree,” Mr. Preston said, his gaze flickering to Helen. “I quite agree.”
Helen sat near the fire of the guesthouse, head bent over a handkerchief on which she was embroidering Christopher’s initials. It wasn’t much of a Christmas gift, but given that the matter of their inheritance had not yet been resolved and their funds were extremely limited, it was the best she could do. The past few days, the last of November, she and Miranda had stayed busy in the evenings, cutting up old clothes that still had wear in them and making them over into new items for Christmas. Helen had pretended not to notice when Miranda embroidered a similar handkerchief with Harrison’s initials.
A knock sounded at the door, and both women looked at each other.
“Who could that be at this hour?” Miranda said. Setting aside her work, she stood and left the room. Helen followed, lingering in the doorway. A flood of possibilities entered her mind, making her stomach tighten. Had something happened to Grace? Had Christopher returned from London?
“Good evening, ladies.” Mr. Preston stood in the doorway, brushing the first snowfall from his cap and coat. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Miranda stepped aside, and he entered.
“Is everything all right?” Helen asked. “Is it Beth?”
The little girl was forever getting herself into scrapes. Just last week, she’d tried to climb the bookcase in the nursery, and it had nearly toppled over on her. After that, Mr. Preston had seen that all the furniture was secured to the walls.
“Beth is quite all right, at home safely in her bed. To my knowledge, your sister is well too,” he added, as if guessing Helen’s next question.
Miranda closed the
Mr. Preston’s gaze, warm and filled with gratitude, lingered on hers as she blinked rapidly, attempting to hide her tears.
“You are very sensitive. That is why you understand people so well.” His voice was quiet. “You perceive others’ feelings and empathize with them in such a way that it touches your own soul — a rare and admirable talent.”
“It is not so much a talent.” She brushed hastily at her cheeks but did not take her eyes from his. “I simply prefer to linger in the background, observing people and imagining what causes them to act as they do. Your actions are motivated by pure love and devotion to your family.” Much like Grace . Helen forced thoughts of her sister aside. “That is to be admired.”
“And what motivates you, Miss Helen?” Mr. Preston stepped closer. She did not move, did not back away; she didn’t want to. Instead she found herself imagining what it would be like to feel his arms around her. Just once …
Beth tugged on his hand. “I’m cold.”
Looking somewhat startled, as if he had just remembered she was there, Mr. Preston glanced down at his daughter, then bent to pick her up. Once more the connection Helen had felt with him was broken. She turned away, and, wordlessly, they started down the hill, leaves crunching beneath their feet while Helen fought the tide of confusing emotions rising in her breast.
I cannot care for him. He still loves his wife. He may love Grace.
All good reasons, but she could not seem to help herself.
The walk downhill went much more quickly than the walk up had. They reached the carriage, and Harrison helped her in. Helen settled opposite Mr. Preston and Beth once more.
On the ride home, Beth snuggled into her father’s lap. The sunset lit the sky, its orange glow masking the gloom Helen had seen on the ride there.
“We never got to finish hide-and-seek,” Beth said sleepily, her head resting on her father’s arm.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
“Miss Helen is a good friend,” Beth said. “We must keep her.”
“I quite agree,” Mr. Preston said, his gaze flickering to Helen. “I quite agree.”
Helen sat near the fire of the guesthouse, head bent over a handkerchief on which she was embroidering Christopher’s initials. It wasn’t much of a Christmas gift, but given that the matter of their inheritance had not yet been resolved and their funds were extremely limited, it was the best she could do. The past few days, the last of November, she and Miranda had stayed busy in the evenings, cutting up old clothes that still had wear in them and making them over into new items for Christmas. Helen had pretended not to notice when Miranda embroidered a similar handkerchief with Harrison’s initials.
A knock sounded at the door, and both women looked at each other.
“Who could that be at this hour?” Miranda said. Setting aside her work, she stood and left the room. Helen followed, lingering in the doorway. A flood of possibilities entered her mind, making her stomach tighten. Had something happened to Grace? Had Christopher returned from London?
“Good evening, ladies.” Mr. Preston stood in the doorway, brushing the first snowfall from his cap and coat. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Miranda stepped aside, and he entered.
“Is everything all right?” Helen asked. “Is it Beth?”
The little girl was forever getting herself into scrapes. Just last week, she’d tried to climb the bookcase in the nursery, and it had nearly toppled over on her. After that, Mr. Preston had seen that all the furniture was secured to the walls.
“Beth is quite all right, at home safely in her bed. To my knowledge, your sister is well too,” he added, as if guessing Helen’s next question.
Miranda closed the
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