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Oh, God, how was she to do this? The castle was filthy, its master a nasty, rude beast of a man, and she hadn’t a clue what to do first.
But then, it wasn’t as if she had any choice. Helen had known what kind of man the Duke of Lister was when she left him. The kind who didn’t let go of anything that belonged to him. He may not have lain with her for years, and he may’ve taken other mistresses in that time, but Lister still considered her his mistress. His possession. And the children were his possessions as well. He had fathered them. Never mind that he’d hardly said two words to the children over the years or that he’d never formally acknowledged them.
Lister kept what was his. Had he any suspicion that she was going to flee with Abigail and Jamie, he would’ve taken them from her; she had no doubt at all. Once, nearly eight years ago, when Abigail was only an infant, Helen had talked about leaving him. She’d returned to her town house from an afternoon’s shopping expedition to find Abigail gone and the nursemaid in tears. Lister had kept the baby until the next morning—a night that still haunted Helen in her dreams. By the time he’d come to her door in the morning, Helen had been nearly ill with worry. And Lister? He’d sauntered in, the baby on his arm, and explained quite clearly that if she hoped to keep her daughter by her side, she must resign herself to their relationship. She was his, and nothing and no one could alter that.
So when she had made the decision to leave Lister, she’d known that she would be burning her bridges behind her. Lister must never find her if the children were to be kept safe. With the help of Lady Vale, she’d escaped London in a borrowed carriage. She’d changed that carriage at the first inn on the road north and had continued renting different carriages as often as possible. She’d kept to the less traveled roads and tried to attract as little attention as possible.
It’d been Lady Vale’s idea for Helen to present herself as Sir Alistair’s new housekeeper. Castle Greaves was well away from society, and Lady Vale had been sure Lister would never think to look for her here. In that respect, Sir Alistair’s domain was the perfect hideaway. But Helen wondered if Lady Vale had any notion of just how wretched the castle was.
Or how stubborn its master.
One step at a time. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go. This was the path she’d decided on, and she must make it work. The consequences of failure were simply too unthinkable to contemplate.
Jamie landed awkwardly and slid off a chair in an avalanche of dust.
“Stop that, please,” Helen snapped.
Both children looked at her. She didn’t often raise her voice. But then, until a week or so ago, she’d had a nursemaid to take care of the children. She’d seen them when she’d wanted to—at bedtime, for tea in the afternoon, and for walks in the park. Times when both she and they had been in pleasant frames of mind. If Abigail or Jamie became tired or angry or out of sorts, she’d always had the option of sending them back to Miss Cummings. Unfortunately, Miss Cummings had been left behind in London.
Helen inhaled, trying to calm himself. “It’s time we were at our work.”
“What work?” Jamie asked. He got up and started kicking a cushion that had slid to the floor with him.
“Sir Alistair said we were to go away again this morning,” Abigail stated.
“Yes, but we’ll convince him otherwise, won’t we?”
“I want to go home.”
“We can’t, darling. I’ve already told you so.” Helen smiled persuasively. She hadn’t told them what Lister would do if he caught them. She hadn’t wanted to frighten the children. “Sir Alistair does need someone to clean his castle and put it back in order, don’t you think?”
“Ye-es,” Abigail said. “But he said he liked his castle all dirty.”
“Nonsense. I think he’s just too retiring to ask for help. Besides, it’s our Christian duty to help those in need, and it seems to me that Sir Alistair has a very large need indeed.”
Abigail looked doubtful.
Helen clapped her hands together before her too-perceptive daughter could make any more objections. “Let’s go down and order a splendid breakfast for Sir Alistair and something for ourselves. After that, I’ll consult with the cook and maids on how best to set about cleaning and managing the castle.”
Even Jamie perked up at the thought of breakfast. Helen opened the door, and they crowded into the narrow corridor outside.
“I think we came this way last night,” Helen said, and set off to the right.
As it turned out, that wasn’t the direction Sir Alistair had led them, but after a few more wrong turns, they found themselves on the ground floor of the castle. Helen noticed Abigail dragging her heels as they tramped to the back of the castle and the presumed direction of the kitchens.
Abigail suddenly halted. “Do I have to greet him?”
“Who, dear?” Helen asked, although she knew perfectly well.
“Sir Alistair.”
“Abigail’s afraid of Sir Alistair!” Jamie sang.
“Am not,” Abigail said fiercely. “At least, not very. It’s just…”
“He startled you and you screamed,” Helen said. She looked about the dingy walls of the hallway, searching for how to reply to her daughter. Abigail could be so sensitive. The slightest criticism sent her brooding for days. “I know you feel awkward, sweetheart, but you must think of Sir Alistair’s feelings as well. It can’t be very nice to have a young lady scream at the sight of you.”
“He must hate me,” Abigail whispered.
