Helene’s Honor

Lelia M. Silver

 

PROLOGUE

Helene Wharton knew better than to expect Kaverstow to be quiet. The house she’d grown up in with her aunt and uncle and their five daughters was always filled with laughter and the sound of running feet on the floorboards. Their family wasn’t one of those families that adhered to the whole “children should be seen and not heard” motto, much to the chagrin of the neighborhood in general.

At sixteen, Helene was starting to understand just how different her family was than most of the other families in polite society. Grandmama Bennet liked to fret and complain that they’d never be accepted in society, much less (horror of horrors!) find suitable husbands for their brood of girls if they continued as they had been.

Uncle Thomas liked to respond that if worst came to worst, he’d just will Kaverstow to the lot of them and they could live out their days on the property they’d called home for so many years. Of course, Helene privately thought he liked to respond in such a way just to see how many times he could get Grandmama Bennet to complain about her poor nerves. They kept a running tally whenever they went to visit Longbourn, and whoever managed to provoke the most got an extra serving of pudding at supper the next night.

Of course, now that Aunt Mary was increasing again, there was always the chance that Helene would have a little nephew who would be tasked with the care of his older sisters should they fail to marry. Since Aunt Mary and Uncle Thomas had successfully managed to marry off Helene’s older sisters, Emilia and Sophia, quite happily in fact, Helene was fairly certain that all the dramatics were unwarranted.

Still, six girls in one house, and an aunt still struggling with feeling ill from carrying a child, meant that Helene was often left in charge as the eldest while Uncle Thomas saw to business. It wasn’t that she minded per se, it was just that she sometimes needed a few moments to herself.

Kaverstow wasn’t the place to be when you wanted a few quiet moments to yourself.

That was why she found herself slipping out the back door late one morn with a book tucked into her apron pocket and her bonnet dangling by its ribbons from her fingers.

She held her breath as she closed the door softly behind her, tensing as she waited for the pounding footsteps or rush of voices that would signify she’d been caught attempting to flee. Silence greeted her ears and she breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped into the gardens and on to the trail that wound through the woods toward their nearest neighbor.

The farther she traveled, the easier she breathed. She broke from the trail when it curled back toward the road and cut across one of the many deer trails to a meadow filled with the first wildflowers of the summer. At home in its center stood the largest oak tree in the county, branches sprawling wide in welcome. Grateful for a gown that was out of date and passed down from her older sisters, Helene used one of the gnarled roots at the oak tree’s base to propel her up to the first limb. From there she climbed upwards until the old branches swallowed her up in their warm embrace.

Dappled light bathed her hiding place with a golden glow. The soft breeze through the leaves teased the hair at her temples and whispered a lullaby to her ears. High above the ground, no passerby would see her. She was safe from scandal and cousins.

She straddled a sturdy branch and leaned her back against the tree trunk before she pulled the book she’d secreted away from her pocket and settled in to read.

*****

Amos Wilkinson breathed deeply of the country air as he strode away from Chalmour. It’d been too long since he’d been home, and it would be longer still before he would return again. In a few short weeks he’d be back at school again, lost to his studies instead of the great outdoors.

He quickened his stride, snapping his fingers for his loyal hound dog, Phineas, to rejoin his side. Anger twisted his mouth. His parents were determined to send him away again, and no amount of cajoling or arguing on his part would deter them. It didn’t matter that he’d rather be at home learning the practical business of running the estate than spend his time avoiding the boys in his class that would rather be out drinking and attending fights and doing other things he didn’t dare mention.

No, young men of a certain societal rank went off to school, so he would go off to school. It had been good enough for generations of Wilkinsons, so it was good enough for him.

With his thoughts in an anxious and angry tizzy, Amos didn’t pay attention to the direction his feet carried him. He only came out of his self-induced fog when Phineas took off across the meadow in front of him, barking madly and wagging his tail frantically as he raced ahead.

“Phineas!” He sighed and started at a jog behind the dog. “Come back here!”

It had been a while since he’d explored the grounds of Chalmour as a young child, but he was reasonably confident he’d wandered past the boundaries of their land. He didn’t recognize the wooded glen on the other side of the meadow or the large oak that stood sentinel in the center.

The dog made a beeline to the oak, sniffing around the base and then began baying. It looked like Phineas had managed to tree some sort of animal. The dog bayed and jumped up on the trunk as Amos neared, his tail thumping with joy and pride.

Amos rubbed the dog’s head as he came alongside. “Good boy, Phineas. You can stand down now. Whatever you’ve treed doesn’t need to come home as supper.”

“I should certainly hope not.”

Amos jerked at the unexpected voice and cast his gaze about for the young lady who had spoken. All that met his gaze were the bobbing heads of the wildflowers and an errant song bird flitting through the air. There was no young woman in sight. Hesitantly, he responded, “I beg your pardon?”

“I should think so, especially considering I’m what your dog has treed. I dare say I would make a horrid supper.”

The voice was warm with humor. He could hear the smile in her voice.

Slowly, Amos raised his gaze to peer up into the tree limbs. A young woman sat with her back against the trunk perhaps ten feet in the air with a book on her lap and a twinkle in her eye. The light filtering through the leaves gave her a soft glow. Her hair had come loose from its arrangement, leaving tendrils to caress her cheeks, probably due to the exertion of climbing the tree. Wide green eyes peered at him over a pert nose and a Cupid’s bow of a mouth. He was surprised to find she was his age, or perhaps a little younger. All in all, she reminded him of a woodland nymph from the fairytales his nanny had read to him when he was younger. She was perhaps not classically beautiful in society’s eyes and the current trends, but very pretty in her own way.

“Hello,” she said, her voice going soft and shy now that he’d seen her.

“Hello,” he parroted back, stunned enough that it was all he could manage.

His response made her smile and that gave him enough courage to ask, “What are you doing up there? How did you get up there?”

He immediately winced at the stupid question. It was obvious she had been reading and how else would she have gotten up there but to climb? He blamed the societal expectations that had been ingrained in him since the day he was born. No young lady of his acquaintance would ever dare climb a tree for any reason, much less in order to read a book in solitude. It just wasn’t done. But she had done it, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

She didn’t blink at his ineptitude, just smoothed it over with a sweet smile. “Perhaps what you meant to ask was why am I up here?”

Amos nodded.

She sighed and closed the book on her lap, tucking it into the pocket of the apron he just now noticed was tied about her waist. He’d been so taken in by the twinkle in her eyes he hadn’t paid any attention to what she was wearing. He took in her gown, realizing with a start that it was at least ten years out of style and worn around the edges. None of his female cousins or their friends would be caught dead in such an outfit. Only the very latest and best would have done. Still, the gown marked her as a woman of gentle birth despite its age and condition and the apron that covered it. This was no servant girl or maid.

“Turn around,” she directed.

He snapped out of his perusal of her attire. “What?”

“Turn around,” she repeated. “I’m coming down. How else am I to introduce myself to you properly?”

“Oh.” Bemused, he turned around, waiting patiently as he heard the sound of rustling behind him as she descended. How, indeed? There was no one around to introduce them. On the ground or in the air, there would be no true proper introduction, but he was charmed nonetheless.

He heard the thud of her feet hitting the ground and Phineas abandoned his post at Amos’ feet to greet her. She murmured to the dog and Amos imagined his dog’s squirm of happiness as he begged for a pat on the head with a smile.

A few moments more and she said, “All right, you may turn around now.”

He did so, slowly. She curtseyed prettily. “Miss Helene Wharton of Kaverstow at your service.”

His mind whirled as he tried to place the name even as he performed his own bow. “Mr. Amos Wilkinson of Chalmour.”

She tilted her head to study him, her fingers finding Phineas’ ears and scratching them in a way that made the dog melt at her feet. He had a feeling he’d lost his dog’s allegiance forever under her ministrations. “Ah, you’ve been away at school, haven’t you?”

He nodded, filtering through what he knew of Kaverstow and its residents. The estates were neighbors, and Amos knew a sudden certainty that he was trespassing on Kaverstow’s borders. He’d heard his mother complain often enough of the family that resided there, with their large brood of daughters and the cousins that also lived within its walls. She described them as uncouth and untrained, with no respect for propriety, but Amos had the suspicion after meeting one of their ranks that he would find them utterly charming and free from artifice.

He drew his brows together at a sudden thought. “I thought the family at Kaverstow had the surname of Bowen?”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “That would be my uncle and aunt and cousins. My mother was Uncle Thomas’ sister, so my surname differs, but I’ve been living at Kaverstow since I was two years old. They’re the only parents I’ve ever really known.”

He remembered the story now. Her uncle had become their guardian when his sister died and her husband was away at sea. Overwhelmed, he’d hired Miss Mary Bennet of the nearby Longbourn to act as their governess. The town had been abuzz when the eccentric Thomas Bowen had fallen in love with the prudish Mary Bennet and married her. If he remembered correctly, the family was quite well connected due to Mrs. Bowen’s sisters, regardless of how the upper echelons of Meryton society might view them. The family didn’t tend to gather in their little corner of Hertfordshire but in Town or at the other larger estates in the family, which might be why his mother seemed to conveniently forget about their powerful relations.

“You asked why I was up in a tree?” Her raised eyebrows inquired if he still wished to know the answer to his question.

He nodded and she continued, “I come here often for a few moments of peace and solitude. There is not much to be found in our house. So far, my cousins haven’t thought to look up, even if they do manage to follow me this far.”

He was an only child, so an empty house had driven him outside more often than a full one. He would have given anything for playmates as a child, so it was hard to imagine a house so full that you’d need a reprieve. Reflecting on how he felt about the overflowing hallways at school though, he imagined he could understand why she might need some time away from home.

That still didn’t answer one question though. “Where did you learn to climb trees?”

She grinned so wide that dimples deepened in her cheeks. He was utterly enchanted by those grooves. “I do have a brother, Mr. Wilkinson. Besides, don’t all children climb trees and run through meadows?”

She said it like it was a foregone conclusion, but he knew differently. The few times he’d dared to go exploring and came home with muddied and torn clothes had sent his mother on a rampage he’d not soon forget. He was to be the very image of a gentleman, no matter the age he had been.

“I’ve never climbed a tree.”

His face heated at the blurted admission until he could feel the very tips of his ears burning red. Whatever had induced him to just spit that out there? Usually, he had the good grace to think before he spoke, but something about the sprite before him seemed to lower all his inhibitions.

She stared at him in silence for long moments, eyes wide. He very nearly excused himself and turned away to return home. What business did he have talking to a wood sprite with no chaperone, after all?

She finally spoke. “Well, then. I suppose we must remedy that.”

His eyebrows shot up. “We must?”

She nodded sagely. “Of course. How can a gentleman teach his own children how to climb trees someday if he’s never done so?”

Amos liked that reasoning a great deal. He hoped to be the type of father to climb trees with his children one day, the type to let his children enjoy their childhood before they had to take on the responsibilities of adulthood. Of course, he was suddenly picturing those children with vibrant green eyes and pert noses. He shoved those images away in order to focus on the woman in front of him. “Indeed. And how do you propose we do that?”

She cocked her head. “I’ll teach you.” She waved him forward and pointed to a gnarled root that curved out of the ground. “Stand here and reach for the limb above you. You’re much taller than me, so you likely won’t need a step up all the time, but this is a convenient spot for a beginner.”

He followed her directions obediently, noting that the top of her head only came to about his chin when they stood side by side. She was a little imp, wasn’t she? And she smelled of the forest. The young ladies he’d interacted with were well acquainted with the perfumery, with rose water being a favorite of many. The cloying fragrance tended to make him sneeze. Helene Wharton didn’t need that adornment. She was as fresh as the summer sunshine.

When he was positioned as she directed, she told him, “Now pull up on the branch with your arms at the same time you push off with your feet and swing yourself up. Once you’ve got your feet beneath you on the branch you can just keep going. It’s much the same as climbing a ladder. Just look for handholds and footholds as you go.”

He had to shake his head a little at her assumption that he’d climbed a ladder, but he dutifully followed instructions and found that once he’d started, it was fairly simple to keep going. Once he’d reached the branch she’d been reclining on, he managed to straddle the branch and looked down, only to find she’d followed him into the tree.

She stood below him, balanced with her feet on one branch and her arms draped over another that was situated at chest height. She grinned at him. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I wonder that I’ve never tried it before, but my mother was always sure to keep me well supervised as a child. I didn’t have much time to explore on my own.”

“We always had to tell Aunt Mary where we were going when we were younger. Apparently, there was an incident with my siblings when we first came to Kaverstow that necessitated that rule. Now that I’m older, it’s not such a worry as long as I don’t leave the property. The youngest ones still have to abide by the rule though, unless they’re with me or Hannah.”

“That sounds like a reasonable request.” He gave her a boyish grin. “I guess that means I’m trespassing. I admit I’m not sure of Chalmour’s borders anymore. It’s been ages since I’ve rode the property with my father.”

She chuckled. “You most certainly are, but I shan’t complain for I’d have to give up my own hiding spot in the telling.”

“I suppose that means this meeting will have to remain our little secret.”

Her smile turned shy. “I suppose you are right about that.”

“Helene!” The faint call turned both their heads. Still on the ground, Phineas’ ears perked up and he gave a happy bark.

The color leached from Helene’s face. “What time is it?”

Amos dared to reach one hand into his pocket to pull out his watch. “Nigh on half past three.”

“No, no, no!” She started scrambling down the tree. “I’m going to be late for tea!”

Amos did his best to follow her out of the tree, feeling awkward and clumsy next to her easy grace. She was off and running across the meadow to the wooded glen on the other side before he could make it down to join her. His feet hit the ground with a thump just in time to grab Phineas’ collar and keep him from taking off after her.

“It was nice to meet you, Helene Wharton,” he called after her, careful to keep his voice from carrying too far. It wouldn’t do to expose his presence to whoever it was that was calling for her.

She paused long enough to turn around and grin at him as she walked backwards, those dimples flashing. “You, too, Amos Wilkinson. I hope you don’t forget me and everything I taught you once you’re back at school and filling your head with book learning.” She waved and then she was off again, disappearing into the woods.

Amos stood there for long moments after she had gone, Phineas whining at his feet to go after her. He didn’t rebuke the dog, for he understood exactly how Phineas felt. Helene Wharton had fled with his enchanted heart on feet as fleet as a doe. Then he turned them both in the direction of Chalmour and home, carrying the words he couldn’t say in his heart.

I couldn’t forget you if I tried.

After all, he was pretty certain he’d just met the girl he’d someday call his bride.

 

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