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“Oh! How terrible!”
“This wall holds many joys and many sorrows.” Though her words were philosophical, her voice carried pain. “This happy painting is not by my hand, of course.” With fondness, she looked at the family portrait, where she and Vassilis sat at the center with their children around them.
Helen smiled, eyes moving over the image of Nicholas as a boy of perhaps thirteen, standing off and to the side of his family a bit, a protective hand on his older brother’s shoulder, who kneeled on one knee right beside his parents.
“Is that Pen on your lap?” The cherub-faced babe lifted her plump hands to her mother’s face.
Tenderness warmed Sirena’s expression. “Yes.” After a moment, she stepped to the next painting, her smile bittersweet. “Lady Anne, the Countess of Anterleigh. My dearest friend. A sister. Perhaps I will tell you about her one day. She passed away some time ago, but her family remains important to ours. Nicholas manages Lord Anterleigh’s firm—Anne’s son.”
Recognizing the name from Mr. Hughes, Helen glanced at Nicholas, who stood nearby, attentive but silent for the moment.
By the time they reached the marble staircase, she couldn’t help but compliment Sirena on her home, her awe clear.
“Thank you. Oh! I received your note about the townhouse—that it’s acceptable.”
Helen shook her head, laughing. “It’s not acceptable, Sirena. It’simpeccable. Truly more than I need, but I can’t say no.”
“The decor. We can make changes if you need.”
“I assure you, the house is perfect as it is.”
“I know what it is to be a stranger—and a foreigner—in London. It was difficult arriving here with a young family, not speaking English yet. You have your difficulties, eh? No family here. A widow. Your brother off to China.”
Her feathers ruffled, Helen stepped past the final stair and onto the next floor, well aware of Nicholas’s gaze on her back as he trailed the two women. “Have no fears on my account.”
Sirena, unafraid of open disagreement, frowned. “But I have. You’ll be a woman by yourself in a new place. It’s brave, but you must be careful.”
“I’m no fool. When I say have no fears for me, it’s not because I’m ignorant of the risks. I’m accustomed to caring for myself.”
Face contrite, the woman took in a breath to reply, but Nicholas spoke first. “Helen has done more than care for herself, Mama. From our first interactions, she evidenced advanced knowledge of lumber and shipbuilding. She ran her father’s mill and lumberyard. I’m confident in her assertion that she is well accustomed to challenges.”
Sirena peered, nodding as she did so. “I can see.”
“However,” Nicholas continued after turning to Helen again, “you are neither at the mill, nor in Boston. My invitation for you to remain in London and secure my investment was not made lightly, nor was my assurance of my family’s protection.”
All traces of interest in her as a woman were gone from his expression. That impassivity, combined with his words, told Helen she had been a fool to believe he might see her as more than collateral.
“Invitation?” Her tone and arched eyebrow conveyed her objection to his characterization.
A satisfied smile transformed his face. “You see, Mama? You’re both right. No one is unassailable, particularly in Helen’s circumstances. But she is more than sensible. Yes, Helen, I shall be more exact in my words. If not a request, what shall we call our arrangement?”
She made a sound in her throat. “A person serving as collateral—perhaps we should call this what it is. Imprisonment.”
He winced. “As bad as that?“
It took all of her willpower not to stomp her foot; only the knowledge that doing so would please him glued her shoes to the marble floor. “Imprisonment with parole, then?”
Sirena made a shocked sound, glowering as she uttered with disapproval a few words in Greek to her son. “Enough! You are ourguest—and that is all! Yes, I can see very well for myself that you are neither weak nor a coward, Helen. But London is not Boston. It can be vicious. Promise me that you won’t forget that.”
She looked at Nicholas, then back at Sirena. “I won’t forget that.”
Angling her head as she gazed upon Helen as if to gauge her truthfulness, Sirena eventually nodded, the diamonds at her ears again sparkling in the light of the nearby sconce on the wall. “When you move into the townhouse, know that we are not ten minutes away. Send word or call whenever you need or wish.” She smiled. “Nicholas’s townhouse is but two minutes from you.”
He bowed, his movements efficient and strong rather than debonair. “At your service, ma’am.”
Two minutes!
Swallowing, Helen didn’t know whether to feel threatened or reassured, but as the seconds ticked by, excitement rushed through her like a flock of birds.
