“If you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I return to my room. If you wish to speak with me about my plans I will be very happy to do so.”
BACK IN HER bedchamber, Helena took up her notebook and pencils, and looked around for something she might draw. Settling on the window seat, she began to sketch the wrens that came to perch on the sill each afternoon. They were sweet little creatures, tame enough to alight on her outstretched fingers, and cheery despite the threatening rain. It was spring, after all; they had survived the winter, and seemed to know that blue skies lay ahead. If only she could be as certain.
She had no education to speak of, nor was she beautiful or witty or elegant. But something came alive in her when she picked up a pencil or brush. She had the makings of an artist in her, she was certain of it, and she was determined to keep the promise she’d made to herself last December, in those bleak, lonely hours when death had crept so close. Her parents wouldn’t stop her, she knew, but it would be so much easier, and pleasanter, if they were to support her decision.
She meant to close her eyes for just a moment, but when she woke the sun had sunk beneath the garden wall and her mother was at her side, a cool hand smoothing her brow.
“You shouldn’t have fallen asleep there,” Lady Halifax fretted. “You might have caught a chill.”
Helena crossed the room and settled in one of the easy chairs drawn close to the fire. “I’m fine. Not cold at all.”
Her mother perched at the edge of the other chair, her stays creaking a little, and smiled rather wanly at Helena. “Papa and I have been talking. As you said earlier, you have always been such a good girl, and we do trust you. While we have our reservations about this, ah, this academy you wish to attend, we have decided to support your decision to go to France for a year.”
“Thank you, Mama. I really am very grateful.”
“I know you think I worry too much, but I can’t help myself. I know how you have suffered, how people have treated you since your break with Lord Cumberland. I know how lonely you’ve been—”
“I’ve always had you and my sisters, Mama. It hasn’t been that bad.”
“It has. And it’s so unfair. Just look at Lord Cumberland. He’s been happily married all this time, has children of his own, and no one says a thing to him.”
“It’s in the past, Mama. You mustn’t dwell on it.”
“How can I not? You’re almost thirty. Before long it will be too late for children, and then what decent man will have you? Please be sensible.”
“I have always been sensible, and that is why I have no interest in marriage with some stranger who is indifferent to me. I was lucky to escape such a fate with Edward.”
Her mother pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “How can you say you were lucky, when he all but ruined your life? If only you knew how it weighs upon me. What if something were to happen to your father? You know we cannot depend on your brother, for that wretched wife of his won’t wait five minutes before tossing us all out of the house. I don’t much care what happens to me, but you, my darling—what will become of you?”
Helena took her mother’s hands and pressed them reassuringly between hers. “Listen to me: if the worst were to happen, and David’s vile wife were to throw us out on our ears, we would take my bequest from Grandmama, buy a little house, and live quite comfortably together. But that is not going to happen, not least because Papa is as healthy as an ox, and likely to remain so for many years.” She smiled at her mother, willing her to believe, and received a feeble nod in response.
“I am going to France to live with Auntie A for a year, and to try to become an artist, and when the year is done I will think seriously about what I must do next. But I need my year first. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” her mother offered, her voice wobbly with tears, though she dried her eyes quickly enough. “Now, my dear: be honest with me. Are you well enough to travel?”
“Not quite yet,” Helena answered truthfully. “Perhaps in a fortnight?”
“Very well. Shall we see how you are at the end of next week? If you feel improved, I’ll have Papa’s secretary book passage for you to Paris.”
“Aunt Agnes is already at her house in Antibes, though. Wouldn’t it be better if I took the Blue Train from Calais?”
“That does make sense. Shall I have a tray sent up with your supper?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tomorrow we’ll go for a nice walk together. And we must see about getting you some pretty things for the seaside.”
“Thank you, Mama. For everything, I mean.”
As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Helena erupted from her chair and jumped up and down, taking great skips around the room, though it made her breathless and so unsteady on her feet that she had to sit again almost right away.