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Alistair stared into the other man’s watery brown eyes for a moment, and then he swung around and walked swiftly from the room. Reynaud St. Aubyn’s mother had been French.
HELEN WAS TURNING a hand-bound book over in her hands when Alistair entered the sitting room. She dropped the book from nerveless fingers and stared at him.
“He’s denied claim to the children,” Alistair said at once.
“Oh, thank God.” Helen closed her eyes in relief, but Alistair took hold of her elbow.
“Come, let’s leave. I don’t think it wise to tarry.”
Her eyes flew open in alarm. “Do you think he’ll change his mind?”
“I doubt it, but the faster we act, the less time it gives him to think about it,” Alistair muttered as he hustled her to the sitting room door.
Helen’s gaze fell on the portrait of Lord St. Aubyn. “I should write Miss Corning a note.”
“What?” He stopped and frowned at her.
“Miss Corning. She’s Lord Blanchard’s niece and quite nice. Do you know she binds books by hand? She told me.”
Alistair shook his head. “Good Lord.” He again started striding to the front door, so fast she had to trot to keep up. “You can write her a letter later.”
“I shall have to,” she murmured as they got in the carriage.
Alistair banged on the carriage roof, and they started forward with a lurch. “Did you tell her who you were?”
“I was in her home,” Helen said. She felt heat invade her cheeks, because she knew that Alistair meant her connection to Lister. She tilted her chin. “It would’ve been rude to lie.”
“Rude maybe, but there would’ve been less chance of you being thrown from the house.”
Helen’s gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “I know I’m not respectable, but—”
“You’re plenty respectable to me,” he growled.
She looked up.
He was still frowning, scowling really. “It’s just other people.” He glanced away and muttered quietly, “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I came to terms with what I am—what I made myself—a long time ago,” she said. “I can’t change the past or how it affects me and my children now, but I can decide to live my life despite my terrible choices. If I was afraid of being hurt by others and what they say to me, I would have to live all my life in hiding. I won’t do that.”
She watched as he thought that over, still not meeting her eyes. That was the problem still between them, wasn’t it? She’d made her choice about how she would live her life.
He still had not.
She glanced away, out the carriage window, and then frowned. “We’re not going to Lister’s house.”
“No,” he replied. “I hope to catch Etienne’s ship still in the harbor. If we hurry and luck is with us, I might be able to.”
But when they arrived at the docks a half hour later and inquired about the ship, a rather grimy fellow pointed to a sail disappearing down the Thames.
“You’ve missed her, guv,” the fellow said, not without sympathy.
Alistair tossed a shilling at the man for his help.
“I’m so sorry,” Helen said when they’d once more entered the carriage. “You missed your opportunity to talk to your friend because you were rescuing my children.”
Alistair shrugged, looking moodily out the window. “It couldn’t be helped. Had I to make the same decision again, I wouldn’t change my mind. Abigail and Jamie are more important than any information I could’ve gotten from Etienne. Besides”—he let the curtain fall and turned to her—“I’m not sure I would’ve liked the news he might’ve given me.”
Chapter Eighteen
