that status, nor had she any guarantee of success. Helene’s superior position was too close for comfort, and the consequent trivial and ungenerous remarks that Lady Slatterly rained upon her, almost unceasingly, eventually drew even mild Linas’s displeasure at dinner.
Handing Lady Slatterly a silver dish of sugary things, he told her, ‘Take a few, Veronique dear. Chew them slowly to grind your teeth down.’
Frowning, she took the dish from him. ‘What are they?’ she said.
‘Little sweet things, dear. Keep them by you. You need them.’
Damned if she did, and equally damned if she declined, she glared at Linas as everyone around them laughed, but the caustic remarks stopped for the rest of the evening.
This personal sniping would not in itself have caused Helene too much concern had she not already been feeling vulnerable, vaguely insecure and unsettled by not knowing how to relate to a host who treated her with such polite indifference as if it was no possible concern of his that she was caring so well for his ailing brother. As if she was doing it more for her own benefit, rather than his. Not that she expected their undying gratitude at every end and turn, nor even their thanks. Men only rarely went in for that kind of appreciation. But nor did she appreciate being taken for granted in the offhand way these brothers had. Linas was a very dear man, but he appeared to suppose that what Helene was doing for him was no more than he deserved after what he was doing for her. And since the question of the future was a subject he particularly wished to avoid discussing, it seemed not to occur to him that Helene would have benefited from some clarity on the issue. She had a house, servants, a horse and enough money to pay her bills, but presumably those would all disappear one day, unless she could make some other arrangement.
Had relations between Helene and Lord Winterson been more cordial, she might have broached the subject to him. But not the way things stood. There was a younger brother who also lived on the outskirts of York, a new country parson named Medworth whose profession and family kept him totally occupied. No doubt he was relieved to know that his brother was being cared for, but his absence showed that he had his hands full enough without involving himself in Miss Follet’s problems.
Mindful of Linas’s enjoyment, Helene made every effort to enter into the excitement of the first day, during which two of Winterson’s racing thoroughbreds were competing. The day had begun with an earlier-than-usual breakfast and, since the weather was blustery but dry, Helene and Linas borrowed two of his brother’s hacks to ride with the others, she in her habit of nutbrown velvet and matching plumed hat that drew many a compliment. Linas had retired early the previous night, well before the others, and had fallen asleep even before Helene could go in to wish him goodnight. His valet had told her that his master had been too tired even to take his usual night-cap of port, sharing with her a look of concern that did not bode well for the busy day ahead.
So it did not surprise her that no reference had been made to her birthday on the morrow, and it seemed to her inappropriate to mention it when all the attention was focused on the races, the guests, the winners and owners, the sumptuous feast, the meeting of old friends and the excitement of Winterson’s successes. Linas had completely forgotten, and Helene had already decided that his guilt would serve no good purpose. Even so, there were moments during the day when her lovely expressive eyes must have revealed something of her hurt and disappointment, the ache to be at home with her family on this special day, enjoying their warmth and love instead of maintaining a position for which she had no real appetite, which she would once have reviled before she lost her innocence.
Turning to look at Linas, she checked that he was comfortable on the well-mannered hack, heaved a sigh, and looked away into the distance to where the newly white-painted grandstand swarmed with racegoers. A large horse and rider moved up beside her, blocking her view of Linas. It was his brother. At first his eyes followed where hers had been and then, returning to find that she was looking down at her hands as if deliberating whether to go or stay, said, ‘No, don’t go. We have not spoken all day.’
‘To each other, you mean? What is there to be said, except congratulations?’
‘Oh, dear. You’re angry.’ His voice was deep and apologetic.
‘Not at all. But you must not be seen talking to me, my lord. That would look very odd, wouldn’t it? See, we’re being remarked already.’
‘What is it, Miss Follet? You are angry. With me? Linas? Has he been flirting with someone?’
‘I don’t know what he’s doing. Does it matter?’
His horse stretched its neck, pulling his hand forwards as it shook its head and jangled its bit, keeping its rider occupied with its sidling before he brought it back, almost touching her leg with his. She watched as he humoured the great beast with patience, as if he enjoyed controlling its movements, his face strong, impassive, astonishingly regular, for a man. His dark hair was too long, she thought, noting how it curled over his cravat at the back. He had obviously been thinking of what she said. ‘Or what he’s not doing? Is that it? He’s forgotten your birthday?’ he ventured.
She knew it to be a stab in the dark. It must be. Yet the sudden surprise in her velvet-brown eyes escaped before she could hide it, and the denial that followed was worse than useless. ‘Of course he hasn’t. He…’
‘He has, hasn’t he? He was never any good at birthdays, Miss Follet. He rarely remembers ours, either. Shall I remind him for you?’
‘No!’ The word shot out, compounding the earlier denial. ‘No, please don’t.’
‘Ah! You mean you’d rather remind him yourself in a week’s time? Or you’d rather he didn’t know at all?’
‘I mean, my lord, that it’s of no possible concern to anyone but me. Please say no more about it.’
‘If that’s your wish, then I must obey. But you’re wrong to think it concerns only you. You are my guest and you’re not entirely enjoying the experience. That concerns me. What can I do to put it right?’
‘Nothing at all. Your hospitality is the finest, and if Linas is content then that is all I ask for.’ She heard the emptiness of her reply and was not proud of its insincerity. She could hardly expect him to believe her.
‘Fine unselfish sentiments, ma’am. But I fear I’m too cynical to be taken in by them. To say that my brother’s contentment is all you desire, a woman of your age, is moonshine. Have you not thought ahead a little, to the time when you might wish for more?’
Like a ball of slow fire, a sob of pain rose into her throat to sear her with a longing so intense that she had once cried out in the night with it, soaking her pillow with tears, for it seemed at times that her thoughts were of little else. Before she could take herself in hand, her eyes had begun to flood with scalding tears, showing him what was in her heart as clearly as if she held its doors wide open. This man, of all men, to see her weakness, a man who had rarely condescended to speak to her until now.
She would have wheeled her horse away, blindly, but he caught at her bridle before she could do so, leading it away from the Abbots Mere crowd towards a deserted area of long grass where both mounts dropped their heads to snatch at a juicy mouthful. He held her reins and waited, keeping their backs to everyone but making no comment.
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. ‘Do forgive me. I had no wish to embarrass you, my lord.’
‘I am not in the least embarrassed, Miss Follet. I tend to be outspoken, and I have touched a raw spot. I am concerned,
