The Wallflower's Wicked Wager (The Wallflower Wins Book 2) Read online

  His pent-up power was spent into her and she could barely fathom that she had caused that. She’d given him so much pleasure.

  It was a wonderful feeling.

  And as he tucked her close, Helena drew in a deep breath. This was life. This, here with him, was a hope she’d never dared dream—and now it was hers.

  Chapter 18

  What a remarkable thing it was to be married!

  Helena bounded down the stairs feeling completely alive and full of wonder for the world.

  The boys were already outside, having been taken by their nursery maid to go for a long walk.

  She smiled.

  As soon as they came back, she would arrange for some special time with them and then she’d join them for their afternoon tea.

  She did not wish them to feel neglected now that she had a new role in their life. If anything, she wanted them to know how much more important they were to her now that she was not some employee in their house but a part of their family.

  Still, she needed to finish her book. She was so very close. It was almost torturous.

  Gideon had gone out to take care of some matters with tenants which left her time to write without interruption.

  She decided that she would write in the library, surrounded by so many books. Surely, the tomes of others would inspire her and urge her on.

  She headed to the library, thinking of the fact that this had also been the place where she and Gideon had first kissed, where he had offered the suggestion of marriage. The place where her entire life had been transformed.

  She sat down happily at the desk, pulled parchment out, and took up a quill. Without hesitation, she began to write.

  Refusing to be too critical of herself, she let the words flow from her with a passion that had never been there before.

  A strange freedom filled her.

  She was married, she need not worry, and she had no concerns someone might find out what she was doing and punish her.

  And so she simply wrote.

  She wrote and wrote and wrote until her hand shook and she could scarcely hold her quill. But she did not stop until she had written the very last word. When there were simply no more words left to this story, she looked up and grinned. Rubbing her hand, she sighed. This was bliss.

  At long last, she had someone to care for her, she had someone to love, and she could write as much as she pleased, whenever she pleased. She did not have to wait for stolen moments or stolen hours. And this would be how it was for the rest of her life.

  Helena longed to sing with the joy of it.

  As soon as she wrote the fatal words the end down upon the page, she leaned back, stretching her taut muscles.

  Quickly, she sanded and pressed the page.

  Then, filled with exhilaration, she jumped up and did a little dance in front of the desk. She did not care how childish it made her. No, no. Life was made for joy, and she was embracing that now. She all but skipped back into the hall, ready to order her luncheon, hoping that Gideon would join her.

  As she walked down the hall all but humming, her mother-in-law turned the corner.

  “You look very pleased,” Lady Carmondy said warmly, her hands folded before her burgundy gown.

  “Indeed I am,” Helena admitted. “The world is full of glorious things.”

  “So it is,” Lady Carmondy agreed without hesitation. “And I think you’ll be going to London soon.”

  “Do you think so? I don’t particularly wish to leave you, the boys, or the Highlands.”

  Lady Carmondy’s eyes sparkled. “You must go and see your aunt and uncle. The boys and I shall get along. And the Highlands will still be here. Don’t you worry about that. Would you care to join me for luncheon?”

  “Of course I would, but won’t Gideon—”

  “I think Gideon will be out most of the day,” Lady Carmondy announced. “He’s gone to the outer regions of the estate and soon you’ll learn, my dear, how extremely large it is. Hundreds and hundreds of acres, if you must know.”

  “One day I shall see it all,” she mused, trying to envisage the vast scope of the glens, bens, and lochs.

  “Of course you shall. And I’m sure Gideon will take you out very soon. You will be overwhelmed by the beauty of it. I assure you. I still am.” Lady Carmondy bustled like a lady half her age to the small informal dining room. “And I have lived here my entire life.”

  She was so glad that her mother-in-law was kind and seemed so inviting. And so, of course, she said, “I’d love to have luncheon with you, for I must confess something to you.”

  Lady Carmondy’s silver brows rose. “Yes?”

  Helena leaned forward and said, “I finished my book.”

  Lady Carmondy clapped her slightly wrinkled hands. “My dear, how marvelous for you.”

  Helena was surprised that Gideon’s mother did not mind the fact that she was a writer. If anything, she, like her son, seemed to celebrate it.

  Helena cleared her throat. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” Gideon’s mother said as she headed into the dining room and crossed to the mahogany table.

  Helena took her courage into her hand and asked, “Why doesn’t it bother you that I write?”

  Lady Carmondy let out an easy laugh. “My dear, we are Scottish rebels. We have been rebelling against things since Robert the Bruce. I’m not about to censure someone who does not follow the rules to the mark. What kind of Scot would that make me?”

  Helena beamed at her mother-in-law, loving the reply so very much.

  That was a fair point.

  Helena began to sit in her usual position at the side of the table.

  “Oh no, my dear,” her mother-in-law said, “you must not sit there. You are the lady of the house. You must sit at the head of the table.”

  “I couldn’t possibly. That is your spot,” Helena protested.

  “It is not,” Lady Carmondy insisted kindly but firmly. “It is yours and you will sit there or else you shall make me very upset indeed.”

  Helena hesitated but then realized that this was what it was to be the lady of the house. “If that is what you wish.”

  “It is,” Gideon’s mother declared.

  Helena took the seat with some trepidation, but then she sat with more confidence. This was, after all, going to be her life, and she wasn’t going to apologize for it.

  “I’m so glad to see that Gideon has found something to live for,” Lady Carmondy said as she eased into her own chair to the right of Helena.

  Helena frowned. “He didn’t have something before?”

  “No, not particularly.” Lady Carmondy frowned. “I think he was just living out his days with nothing to particularly direct him.”

  “Was he sad, do you think?” Helena bit the inside of her cheek, hating the idea of it. “He seems like the sort of young man who should never be sad about anything.”

  “Oh, he’s very blessed.” Lady Carmondy sat back with ease as a footman entered carrying poached salmon on a silver tray. The young man laid the plates down and left as quickly as he’d entered.

  Lady Carmondy continued, “You’re correct in that. Everyone likes him. He’s charming. Everyone has always wanted his company. But deep in his heart, I don’t think he’s ever recovered from the death of his father at such a young age. He’s always trying to make everyone around him happy, to make them smile, to make them feel comforted.”

  Helena thought about that. That was exactly what he’d done with her. It wasn’t a particularly unique thing then, just for her, but she was glad that her husband wished to make people happy. It was such a wonderful trait to have.

  “And have people made him happy?” Helena queried, taking up her fork.

  “Oh they’ve tried, my dear,” his mother said, “but deep in his heart, I don’t know if he’s ever truly let anyone help him or make him happy. He’s put up such walls to that sort of thing, you know. I think he’s afraid of hurting anyone or being hurt.
And he keeps his distance. But with you, it seems to be different. He seems to genuinely want to know you. And that has made me very hopeful. For many years, I was concerned he might not ever allow anyone in.”

  “Truly?” Helena asked, quite surprised by this.

  “Truly, my dear, but he’s letting you in and all will be well.”

  Helena smiled, though she felt a hint of unease. “We have embarked on a great adventure together.”

  His mother laughed at that. “I can see why Gideon loves you.”

  “Do you think he loves me?” Helena gasped.

  “Well, clearly. You love him, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Helena admitted without hesitation. “It seems impossible, but I do.”

  “Yes, young Duncan did say it,” Lady Carmondy said, amused. “He was quite right. You are clearly meant to be together, which is wonderful. And I’m very, very grateful it has occurred. Now you must be patient with Gideon. It will take time for him to tell you that he loves you, I think.”

  “I don’t mind waiting,” Helena replied easily. “I never expected to have someone to love and who wished to marry me.”

  Lady Carmondy tsked, taking up her glass of white wine. “My dear, you must think better of yourself than that.”

  “You’re correct, of course,” Helena rushed, wondering if she’d ever stop seeing herself as a wallflower. “Gideon has said the same thing. I’ve just spent so much time becoming used to people, well, rejecting me, if you must know.”

  “Well, none of us ever shall,” his mother said.

  “Thank you,” Helena said quietly, and her heart only felt fuller at Lady Carmondy’s proclamation.

  Chapter 19

  Days passed quickly.

  Wonderful nights were followed by comfortable hours during the sunlit moments of the day.

  Helena and the boys played often.

  The parts of her book that hadn’t been sent to London now had been, leaving her aflutter with nerves.

  To allay the trepidation of waiting, she’d spent several hours plotting her next novel as Gideon poured over reports about the estate.

  In their free moments, they sat together eating, reading, or chatting about history, literature, and poetry, but they said nothing particularly about themselves.

  She did notice how little Gideon spoke of himself or the past. Gideon was far more interested in speaking about art or history or the land. She didn’t mind because he was very clever at it. And he loved to listen to her.

  He would sit before the fire and smile and stare at her, and she could not complain. How many women were ever listened to so thoroughly?

  But she also wondered if he would ever tell her anything meaningful about himself, about the inner workings of his mind or heart.

  It was asking too much, she thought.

  She should be content with what she had. And she wasn’t about to start complaining now. If she did, she’d be an absolute fool. She had won the proverbial lottery of happiness.

  So when it had come time to head south to London, she’d pushed all concerns aside.

  Now, as they sat together in a luxurious coach after several days on the long road to London, nearing the great city, she wondered how the devil they had survived a week traveling.

  Most of the trip had been spent entwined in each other’s arms.

  She nearly blushed at the shock of it. The poor coachman and footmen! She hoped to goodness that they had not discerned what she and Gideon had been about.

  But it had been absolutely wonderful, every single moment of it.

  My goodness, Gideon had been most inventive and rough roads had not put him off.

  They had spoken surprisingly little.

  Oh, he had read to her from various books, and she had read the end of her book aloud to him, and she’d continued plotting another one.

  He professed to love the new ideas as much as the previous storyline.

  She liked that. And she often spoke to him now about the characters she was conceiving, telling him her concerns.

  He listened and asked just the right questions, which helped bring the story more fully to life.

  It was perfect really. And she loved the fact that he took her writing so very seriously and encouraged her so much. He never seemed bored by it. He never seemed as if he thought it was silly, as others had done before.

  As they rolled into London town, she found herself taking a deep breath. She was returning to the place where so many people had thought so little of her.

  But now she felt bold and empowered by the way he saw her.

  So as they rolled up to, not his townhouse, but a building on Fleet Street, she swung her gaze to him and asked, “Whatever are we doing here?”

  “We’re meeting the man who wants to publish your book,” he stated, his eyes full of promise.

  Her own eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I didn’t wish to tell you until I was absolutely certain. A letter was waiting for me at our coaching inn this morning. My friend Robert wishes to publish your book. He thinks it’s magnificent.”

  She all but screamed with delight. “Truly?”

  “Yes,” he said, matching her joy by pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Then he continued, “And I wished to bring you here to meet him before going anywhere else.”

  She relaxed in his arms for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. “My goodness, shouldn’t I freshen up a bit?”

  “No,” he said. “You are perfection. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything you would truly wish more than to go and meet the man who is going to do your book the justice it deserves.”

  She grinned. “You’re absolutely correct.”

  “Let us go in then,” he declared.

  Gideon bounded down from the coach and held out his hand to her. She took it eagerly, slipping her gloved fingers into his and stepping down onto the busy London road.

  Fleet Street had been the center of London publishing for hundreds of years.

  It was a riot of people and color and sounds and smells. She could barely move. People jostled back and forth. Every type of Londoner was here, from the very lowest to the very highest.

  This part of the city was positively thrilling!

  As she stared up at the narrow but tall building, she felt her heart jump. Not with the sort of love or passion she felt for Gideon, but with excitement for her book. That was a wholly special kind of pleasure.

  Gideon led her through the busy publishing house and spoke to a footman at the door.

  The footman nodded, his blond head and pointed towards the wide stairs. Quickly, Gideon escorted her up to an office high above, away from the noise and dirt of the street.

  Her husband all but bellowed, “Robert, it’s good to see you, man!”

  Helena swung her gaze to the man in question.

  The big fellow at the end of the room didn’t look at all like what she thought a publisher would. She assumed that the fellow was going to be reedy and wear spectacles and have delicate airs. He’d be someone who spent hours and hours poring over manuscripts.

  This man looked as if he had spent his entire life hunting foxes, fighting at Gentlemen Jackson’s, and punching people in the face.

  Robert’s hands were quite large and hammy. His face was a bit red and his russet hair was absolutely wild about his rugged head.

  “Tell me this is she,” Robert said, almost ignoring Gideon altogether.

  “It is,” Gideon said.

  “My lady,” Robert intoned, taking her hand in his. “I bow before you.”

  She laughed, secretly pleased. “Sir, please, you mustn’t.”

  “Oh, but I must,” he countered, bowing over her hand. “Your novel kept me up for hours. I did not sleep for almost three days. My wife is furious with you.”

  “Is she indeed?” Helena asked, amazed.

  “Oh yes, I completely ignored her once I began it and that is a terrible thing for a husband to do. But books are m
y passion. I have re-read your novel more than once, and I cannot wait to begin the great work with you which will make it shine so that the public will devour it.”

  She beamed. This was a dream come true! “Devour it? You make it sound positively cannibalistic.”

  Robert let out a merry laugh and let go of her hand. “Oh indeed, they shall go mad for it. I guarantee you everyone will be speaking of it once we are finished.”

  “Then let us begin!” she all but cheered.

  “First, let us at least have a celebratory glass,” Robert suggested. And, with that, the publisher crossed to the silver tray atop an oak table stacked high with books. He poured out three small brandies.

  “I will not insult you with sherry,” her publisher said. “You are far too great a writer to foist such sweet drivel upon you.”

  Instead, he offered her a cut crystal snifter.

  She took the glass in her hand, feeling a sort of success and triumph she never imagined that she would.

  “To the great author,” Robert said.

  Gideon smiled and lifted his own glass, clearly proud. “To the great author.”

  And, at that, they lifted their glasses and drank in unison.

  The brandy danced over her tongue, teasing all the way down to her stomach in the most divine tumble.

  Was this truly happening?

  Was this man truly saying such wonderful things about her books? Had Gideon truly sent it to this publisher? Was this all a fantasy? Would she wake up in her aunt and uncle’s house and find out that, in fact, she was going to have to go to the Hargraves ball that evening and stand at the edge of the floor again?

  No, this was reality.

  It was her reality, and it was the greatest one she could have imagined.

  Chapter 20

  “Dear girl, I have no idea how you brought it about, but you are terribly clever to have done so!” Helena’s aunt exclaimed with sheer delight. “Who knew that your friends would have such incredible connections in Scotland and that you should make such a wonderful match?”

  Her aunt positively beamed, her silvery curls bouncing about her wrinkled but happy face.