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She nuzzled into his neck. “I know it’s only afternoon, but come home with me? Or were you going to your offices?”
“I’m not leaving you today,” he growled, bending to find her mouth.
When they descended from the carriage minutes later, she was smiling, eager to go inside…and upstairs.
But as soon as the door opened and she saw Farnworth’s face, a grave mood took hold.
“You have visitors awaiting, Mrs. Gray. Mr. and Mrs. Sideris are with Mr. Hughes in the drawing room.”
∞∞∞
Nicholas caught Helen before she rushed off the porch, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
“I can’t go in. Ican’t.”
As soon as he’d heard the names of who awaited, he’d known—as had she—that there was only one reason those three people would assemble at her house. There was but one connection between them.
Elijah.
Her hands tightened over his forearms, but only for a few seconds before she pulled out of his embrace. Farnworth stepped back to admit her, and when Nicholas looked at him upon entering, the man’s gaze dropped sadly to the floor.
“My dear!” His mother stepped into the entryway, her eyes red, her arms open.
Helen froze, shaking her head. “How do you know?”
Mr. Hughes stood in the open doorway of the drawing room. “Today’s newspaper.”
Though quiet, her voice was insistent. “But how do theyknow?”
His posture was rigid, but Mr. Hughes’s eyes were full of compassion. “Yesterday, a British captain arrived in London from Africa. He reports that in April, near the Cape of Good Hope, he pulled a sailor from a teak lifeboat, who, before dying, said he wasAlacrity’ssole survivor after she was lost in a storm. The man died within a day, for he was too far gone.”
Nicholas’s father stood behind Mr. Hughes. “The Graveyard of Ships,” he said, invoking the sobriquet for the treacherous waters near where the Atlantic and Indian oceans met.
Anger over the unnecessary and painful comment flared within Nicholas, but he focused his attention on Helen, who stood frozen, shaking her head, as if denying everyone’s words.
“Come, come sit down,” his mother urged.
Nicholas guided Helen into the drawing room, but no one sat. Her body was stiff, and she pushed his arms down when they would have closed around her. She stared into the distance.
“In April?” Helen gasped, calculating. “He never even made it to China. He died on the way! All these months, while I’ve been here!” She covered her face. “I was eating pastry today while Elijah was…”
His mother stepped close. “I’m sorry, Helen. This is a tragedy for you, I know.”
“A tragedy,” his father repeated, pacing. “Your brother has perished. That magnificent ship is broken apart. A fortune in silver—gone!” He groaned. “My wagers on Miller’s return—lost!”
Everyone’s eyes shot to Vassilis, except Helen’s. She sank into a chair. Twin exigencies competed for Nicholas’s attention—supporting Helen and eviscerating his father. Clenching his fists, he looked away from where his mother murmured angrily in Greek to his father. He heard the quiet yet biting tone, and it was not enough. The man deserved far worse for his materialistic obsession and insensitivity.
Choosing Helen and ignoring his father, he sank to his knees next to her chair, but she stood up and moved away.
“May I have a few days?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He stood. “A few days?”
“To find new lodgings.”
His vision filled with red. “No!” She flinched, and he forced his voice to calm. “You’ll stay here as long as you need, Helen! My God, you can’t believe we would—“
His mother rushed to Helen. “My son is right! Ofcoursethis house is yours as long—”
