Page 12 of Letters to a Wallflower
As they followed the garden path around a bend and past a large yew, Ben stopped and turned to her.
“I do apologize for knocking you off balance and into the pond at Isleworth,” she said, before he could speak. “I understand you’ve taken quite a bit of ribbing about it. I truly did not meant for it to happen.”
His mouth quirked. “Oh, it was no accident.”
She started to sputter.
“Neither was it your fault,” he hurried on. “You did not overset me. Akers pushed me.”
“He did?” Helen was shocked. “But . . . why? And why let everyone think it was me?”
Ben shrugged even as Helen absorbed the truth. “Akers will never change. Let him have his moment. It’s no use baiting him with the truth. And in any case, I think you rose in some people’s estimates, getting a bit of your own back. Especially in the eyes of the younger, female members of Society.”
Helen was abruptly irritated with both of them. “I wish the both of you had just told the truth. This is the second time I’ve been falsely accused of something related to you, Mr. Hargrove.”
“You used to call me Ben,” he said softly.
“I used to be able to lay claim to my own sins—and only my own sins,” she retorted sharply. “I spoke the truth when we met by that pond. I never posted those letters to you.”
He blinked. “Of course not. I never believed such nonsense.”
His casual statement dispersed her rising anger. To her surprise and irritation, his simple declaration sparked a different sort of warmth in her chest.
He continued, speaking in earnest. “But I want you to know I also spoke the truth. I never received those letters before I left for Spain. I knew nothing of them, or of what you endured, until I arrived back in London. I never read them until three evenings ago.”
“Three evenings ago?” That was when she’d looked up in a crowded ballroom and found him suddenly gone. “What happened three evenings ago?”
“I went to the offices of the London Town Prattler.”
She felt the blood drain from her face.
“I had to know,” he said urgently. “Everyone kept telling me how bad it had been, but I needed to understand for myself.” He explained what he had done.
“You read them? My letters? As well as the newspapers?”
“I did. I’m sorry. For so many things. For never noticing how you felt. For everything you’ve suffered. For the fact that you had to endure it alone.”
The chagrin she felt at the thought of him seeing the letters shouldn’t have struck her so hard. She’d lived with the idea a long time, after all. And yet . . . “I wasn’t alone. Not completely. I had Grandmama.” She lifted her chin. “And Leighton.” She suspected he wouldn’t like hearing that.
He nodded. “Akers and I have never rubbed well together, but I give him full credit and thanks for standing by you.” He spun on his heel and walked back and forth. “I just don’t understand who would do this to you? Or why? It seems an act of pure deviltry.”
“If it wasn’t you?—“
He stepped back and took her hands. “You believe me? Please, say that you do.”
She stared up at him. Sincerity blazed in his face. And hope. And still, a bit of the appreciation that she’d seen as she stepped down toward him. She sucked in a breath. “I want to believe you, Ben.” She looked away. “But it’s difficult.”
“That is something, at least. Better than outright refusal.”
“I’ve believed it for so long, but now you deny it and I can’t help but wonder—if not you, who?”
He frowned. “I mean to prove it to you, Helen. I’ve been doing a bit of digging, trying to find what I can. Perhaps I can discover who did this to you.”
Helen shook her head. Her eyes closed. “I don’t want to relive it all.”
He looked struck.
“Grandmama tried to uncover who it was, but the editor stood firm on his journalist principles and she was unsuccessful. It doesn’t matter, in any case. It’s done. I weathered it. I’ve moved past it.”
