“Yes, that was Miss Helen,” the man confirmed, though the confusion in his voice was quite evident.
“Which park was that?” Arabella asked.
The man paused, and she heard his foot tapping on the floor as he considered his response.
Finally, he gave them brief directions to the park, which appeared to be no farther than a couple of minutes. Arabella thanked him, linked arms with her sister, and then the two of them descended the narrow staircase.
“That girl was not much older than us,” Emma noted. “I do not understand. And she was in a wheelchair. Why would Harry visit someone so young and in such an unfortunate condition?”
“Perhaps that is the reason why he couldn’t marry her. Remember, the man referred to her asMissHelen, which means that her father is at most a viscount. Add to that the fact that she cannot walk and might be ill, she wouldn’t be a suitable match for a duke—hence, Harry couldn’t marry her. You know what Society is like,” Arabella reasoned.
But something nagged at the back of her head. Something wasn’t right here. She couldn’t figure out what it was.
The sisters just walked together until they reached the park, which paled in comparison to Hyde Park or the parks to which she was accustomed.
“There,” Emma said, pointing to a grassy patch where the older woman was sitting on a bench while Helen sat in her wheelchairright beside her. They were tossing some feed to the ducks, geese, and swans.
Arabella could see the young woman better now. “She is a child. This is no grown woman.”
Emma’s eyes were likewise fixed on the young woman—or rather, the girl. As they got closer and closer, it became clear that Helen was no woman at all. She was a girl, thirteen or fourteen perhaps. Her cheeks were still slightly chubby, and her body looked almost frail in the wheelchair.
As they got closer, Arabella could make out Helen’s jawbones, which stood sharply against her dark blonde hair, which had been pulled back into a low bun. She was pale—not fashionably pale, but sickly pale, as though she rarely ever saw the sunshine. The old woman beside her was knitting, her eyes on her lap, while she appeared engrossed in the animals in front of her.
No, this was not Harry’s lover. But who was she? And why did he care for her so much? No, he didn’t just care for her. Helovedher. His uncle had mocked him for his affection toward her.
They were just a few steps behind the bench now, though neither the attendant nor Helen could see them, as they had their backs to them.
“I do not know what I should do now,” Arabella whispered. “It is clear that she is no rival. My suspicions were wrong. Perhaps I should speak to Harry again, it would be the right thing to do.”
“I know. But can you trust Harry to tell you the truth if you confront him?” Emma asked.
Arabella shook her head. She couldn’t trust him—that was precisely the problem. She had already asked him about his frequent visits to the city, and he had assured her it was all business. But clearly, it was not.
Why was he visiting this girl in the middle of the night? Why was he so secretive?
She suddenly felt badly about approaching Helen. It had seemed quite right when she had thought her someone older than herself, someone who had engaged in a clandestine romance with her husband. But this wasn’t the case. She couldn’t confront this young girl.
“Hello!” a sweet voice called, pulling her out of her reverie.
She looked up and saw that Helen had spotted them. The girl looked at them and waved her free hand. Ducks and geese had flocked around her and were sitting near her, anxiously awaiting their treats. Some of them quacked, drawing her attention.
Helen smiled. “Aren’t they gorgeous? Do you not just love birds? There’s a sparrow that comes to my window every morning and sings.”
Her attendant looked up and turned around, glancing over her shoulder at the two sisters. She smiled at them.
“Good morning, ladies. Would you like to join us? Take some of the feed—we have plenty,” she offered.
Arabella looked at Emma, who nudged her.
“I’m not here because of the birds,” she said. “I’m here to meet Helen.”
The caretaker’s visage grew dark, and her eyes narrowed as she stood up, putting herself between Arabella and Helen.
“I must ask you to leave us be.”
“No, I mean no harm. I am Arabella, Harry’s wife,” Arabella explained.
This seemed to disarm the woman somewhat, and Helen beamed at her.
