Page 3 of Letters to a Wallflower
“Helen, dear. Will you put down your tatting? There’s something we must discuss.”
She finished a last knot and looked up. “Is there something happening with Will? Something I have not heard?”
Grandmama blinked. “Well, I did hear some whispers that he’s set his cap for the Duke of Stratfield’s girl. The odds are half against him, though. She’s got more suitors than she can shake a stick at.”
Helen frowned. “I do hope he’s not to be disappointed.” Her brother might be an aggravating know-it-all, but she still loved him.
Her grandmother waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “That’s not what I wished to discuss.” She patted the bed in command. “Come now, put down both shuttles, my dear. I need your full attention.”
Unease began to slide through Helen’s veins. Her grandmother never maligned her tatting. The rest of the family might jibe at her or even grow annoyed over it, but Grandmama knew what it meant to her. She knew it had been her saving grace, during the long, lonely, angry and miserable months after her downfall. She’d shut herself away and lost herself in double stitches, knots and picots. She’d kept her fingers and her mind busy with collars and gloves and lace trimming instead of scandal and betrayal and embarrassment.
She set it aside now, to examine her grandmother’s kind, troubled countenance. “What is it?”
Grandmama frowned. “Well, it’s Dr. Ferguson, to start with.”
Helen straightened. “Shall I have him fetched? Are you in pain?” She frowned. “Is it your cough? I thought it was rather better since you saw him the other day.”
“He added something to my tonic, which has settled my cough a little. But no, no need to fetch him. We won’t be seeing as much of him, I daresay.”
“Is he leaving London?” Helen asked, puzzled.
“No. I am.” Her grandmother gave a short, sharp laugh.
Helen’s eyes widened. “Has he ordered us to the country? I daresay the cleaner air will do you good.” Her mind immediately filled with plans for packing and moving the household.
“Helen, dear. Listen to me, please. We will be going to the country, but not yet. I’ve told Ferguson I will have one last Season. I will enjoy my reign over the ton and relish bending them to my will one last time.”
Helen stilled. It felt as if the blood stopped moving in her veins. “One last time?” she whispered. “Grandmama, what are you saying?”
She knew, though. It had all been increasing over the last months. The coughing. The wheezing. The difficulty moving and the swelling in her grandmother’s feet and legs.
Oh. Helen clutched a fist over her heart. It was cracking open. She could not keep the tears away.
“Don’t fret, child. We have a little time yet. A year, if I’m lucky. And I’ve always been lucky. We are not going to waste it. I’m going to live every day fully and having you with me will make it a joy—and the end, bearable.”
A sob escaped her.
“No. No crying. We will be too busy. We’ve plans to make. And you have decisions to make.”
“Decisions?”
“Yes.” Her grandmother sighed. “You know I love your father.” She chuckled. “Likely because of our two boys, he’s the most like me. Far more than his brother, George, the earl. I don’t know how or when that one grew so stiff and solemn, for he did not take that after either me or his father.” She grew serious. “But your father did not handle your situation well, and I’ll be damned before I give him the chance to muck you about again.”
“Grandmama!” Helen said, shocked.
“It’s true.” She patted Helen’s hand. “You should know, dear, that I came to my darling husband with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds.”
Helen gasped and her grandmother chuckled. “You may well marvel, for I was quite the catch. But your grandpa loved me, not my money. He vowed never to touch it, and he did not. Not a penny of it. It came back to me on his death, and more besides, as he’d invested it and made it grow.” She leaned forward. “I mean to pass it on to you.”
“What?” Now she was truly shocked. “Grandmama, perhaps you shouldn’t. The family . . . They might not like it.”
“Irrelevant. It is my money and I shall do what I like with it. And what I mean to do is to give you a rare gift. Freedom, my girl. Think on it. William will get everything of your father’s. Young Charles will be taken care of by your mother’s settlements. But if you do not marry?—”
“You know I won’t,” she interrupted.
“Then you will be left to wait upon your parents as they grow old, before you become an unpaid drudge for one of your brothers and his family. You will become a duty, a burden in the home of one or the other.”
Helen made a sound of protest and her grandmother snorted. “I won’t have it, do you hear? You’ve been a joy to me in these last years. You’ve kept me young with your French novels and your keen observations and your endless quest for new and interesting teas.”
