Helen nudged open the door to her father’s chamber, her hands full with a morning tea tray and her heart filled with a fresh hope—for Father’s smile, albeit weak, greeted her from across the room. She’d been hard-pressed to decide which had frightened her more these past two days: her disturbing encounter with smugglers or the deadly state of her father’s health. But perhaps today would be the day he turned the corner toward healing.
Pretend it will be so.
“Good day.” Her father’s words wavered on a wheezing breath, ravaged by age and dropsy.
“It is a good day, for you are awake.” She set the tray on a bedside stand and pulled over the only chair in the small room. “I am glad of it.”
“And I am glad for another day, Daughter.”
“So should we all be, hmm? Now, let’s prop you up.” Sliding her hand behind his shoulders, she lifted him and his pillow, choosing to ignore the swelling in his neck and fluttering breath.
Once settled, she retrieved the mug of tea and bottle of chamomile syrup, stirring a spoonful of the tincture into his drink. “Here you are.”
Some of the mixture leaked from the sides of his mouth, and she snatched a coarse cloth from the tray, the cheap fabric a bit rough for his frail skin. She frowned. “Would that I had been a son, and a prosperous one at that.”
“Pish!” His bare head, long removed of the dark hair she remembered, shook against the cushion. “I couldn’t have hoped for a better daughter. Nor a better patron.”
“Forgive me, Father. I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I am thankful for the Seatons’ generosity, and I shall let them know how much as soon as you are on the mend.”
He reached for her hand, his fingers swollen to the size of sausages. “There will be no mending. Not this time. My breaths are numbered, and the sum is small.”
“Do not speak so. You must live, for me, for your congregation.”
“We are all mortal, Daughter.”
She patted his hand, unwilling to acknowledge the grotesque changes destroying his body. “It benefits no one to accept defeat, even death, and so I shall endeavor to fight against it—for both of us, if need be.”
“This is not your fight.”
She squeezed his hand, then let go of his hold and his words. “I will not concede. You are all I have left.”
“No, child. There is always God.”
“Yes, of course, but …” She sighed. Why could doubts not be as easily exhaled?
“But what?”
“Well, I know in my head God is always present, but in my heart? I cannot credit it.”
A sliver of morning light angled through the single window, washing her father’s face in a pool of yellow light. “You keep your heart too well guarded, I fear.”
Of course she did—and always would. There was no better protection against hurt. “In the homes where I’ve served, I’ve seen what men do to women’s hearts.”
“You can’t judge all men by the actions of a few. Did you ever stop to think that by shutting off your heart from man, you’ve closed the door to God’s love as well? Those who leave everything in God’s hand will eventually see God’s hand in everything … even in man.”
A rap at the front door jarred her as much as her father’s words, and she patted his shoulder. “I shall return.”
Exiting his chamber, she crossed the small main room and opened the door. An angel of light appeared—or so it seemed.
Sunshine haloed a woman slightly taller than herself, but judging by the smoothness of her skin and brilliance of eye, she was roughly the same age as Helen. The visitor was dressed in an emerald pelisse devoid of any decoration or embellishments. Blue skirts peeked out beneath, their former brilliance subdued by several years of wear. But whatever elegance the lady’s clothing lacked, her lovely smile more than made up for it. Portrait artists would pay dearly to capture a beauty such as this.
“Good day,” she said. “Are you Helen Fletcher?”
“Yes.” Helen nodded at the wicker basket clutched in the woman’s grasp. “And you must be the good fairy who’s left food at our door the past two days.”
“I am Esther Seaton, but I adore the alias Good Fairy.” She angled her face, and a true pixie could not have looked more mischievous. “Mind if I borrow it sometime?”
“Not at all. Come in.” Helen stepped aside, allowing the lady to pass and setting her offering upon the table at the center of the room.
“Welcome to Treporth, Miss Fletcher. I trust you are settling in well.” The lady swept out her hand, encompassing the interior of the small cottage. Then slowly her fingers dropped, as did her smile. “I heard of the scuffle at your arrival, and for that, I apologize. Truly, the folk around here are not a bad sort, and I am sorry for the impression you must have.”
“It was harrowing, but I will not allow one bad experience to taint my opinion of all.”
Miss Seaton’s grin returned in full, and she crossed the room to gather Helen’s hands in her own. “I have the feeling we shall be the best of friends.”
A cough rattled out from Father’s chamber, and Esther’s gaze drifted toward it. “How is your father today?”
Shame tightened Helen’s throat. Had she not moments earlier begrudged the roughness of a cloth, given along with a roof overhead and food for their bellies? She squeezed the lady’s fingers then pulled back. “He is rallied this morn. I am hoping he shall be on his feet in no time.”
“Really? I’d been led to believe otherwise.” The lady’s brow knit together but unraveled as quickly. “Still, I am glad of your report.”
“And I am glad for your provisions. You have been more than generous.”
A delicate shrug lifted Miss Seaton’s shoulders. “Do not thank me. I merely deliver. It is my brother who provides.”
“Then I hope to meet him someday and thank him in person.”
Miss Seaton arched a brow. “Would you?”
“Of course.”
“Then come to dinner this evening at Seaton Hall. There’s a government official recently arrived, and the conversation will no doubt turn tedious. Politics is not my topic of choice.” She leaned closer. “I am sure you and I can find much to divert ourselves. Do say you’ll come.”
Helen bit her lip. Should she spend an entire evening away from Father? Somehow, it did not seem right, for he was the sole purpose she’d come here. “I am grateful for your invitation, Miss Seaton, but—”
“Esther, please.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the warmth in the woman’s voice. “Very well, Esther, I should like to go, but—”
“Your father wishes you to go, child.” The words traveled out the open door of her father’s chamber.
“There you have it.” Esther grinned. “Will you?”
Helen studied the worn floorboards, as if an answer might be found on the swept wood. She hadn’t left Ireland for socializing, but this would be a prime opportunity to thank their benefactor. What was the right thing to do?
Slowly, she lifted her head. “My answer is yes.”
Yes! Yes, yes, yes!
Isaac set the pen in the holder and leaned back in his chair. Two years of hard work had finally elevated the negative numbers to zero. A blessing, that. As was the improved state of his tenants. Perhaps his Robin Hood days were truly behind him.
But …
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand along his jaw. The relief was strange—like a rotted tooth pulled from his mouth, one that had festered far too long. It was good to have the thing removed, but hard not to continue probing the gap left behind. If he gathered his crew for just one more shipment, positive numbers could seed the new venture he’d been planning, and then some. Yet would that not be dangerous with a revenue man sniffing about?
Or as greedy as Brannigan?
He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Well God … what would You have me do?
The clock ticked overloud on the mantel. Windowpanes rattled from a gust of wind. In the hearth, flames licked lumps of coal, the low crackling the only other sound in the room.
Isaac grimaced. Just as I thought. No answer. Again.
“Here you are.” His sister flounced through the door, a sweet pout painted on her lips. “I sent Roberts half an hour ago to retrieve you. Can you not be finished with your paperwork? Our guests are arrived.”
“Guests?” Sitting upright, he closed the ledger and frowned at her. “I thought only Mr. Farris would be joining us.”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you.” Lamplight sparkled in his sister’s amber gaze. “I invited the parson’s daughter, Miss Helen Fletcher.”
“She’s arrived, then?” He shoved back his chair and stood, doubt rising along for the ride. How many other matters had he let slide these past months? “I didn’t realize she’d be here so soon.”
“I daresay you’d not notice should the world stop spinning.”
“Such saltiness from you, Esther?” He rounded his desk, trying in vain to keep a sheepish grin from twitching his lips. “I suppose I deserve it.”
She returned his smile. “That and more.”
Isaac’s heart warmed. This sister of his would make a fine wife for some deserving man—yet another thing he’d put off pursuing. But no more. Now that his financial preoccupation was at an end, he’d have more time to escort her to dinners and dances where she could meet some eligible bachelors.
Crooking his arm, he offered her a wink along with it. “Shall we?”
She rested her fingers atop his sleeve, and they left behind the confines of his study.
“I think you shall like Miss Fletcher.” The way his sister tipped her chin, a cat with a saucer of milk couldn’t have looked more pleased.
“And why is that?”
“Besides her beauty, she seems quite amiable, especially given the circumstances of her arrival.”
“Indeed.” He blew out a low breath. Taking in Parson Fletcher despite his poor health had been a gamble—a wager all would be sorry to lose. “How is the parson faring? I own I’ve neglected him of late, but I intend to rectify that.”
“Despite what Miss Fletcher says, I fear he’s not long for this earth.”
He patted her hand, a worthless consolation, but what else could he do?
The hallway emptied into the foyer, and he steered his sister to the farthest door on the right. Allowing her to pass before him, he trailed her skirts.
“Brother, may I introduce Mr. Farris and Miss Fletcher?” She beamed at their guests then swept her hand toward him. “And here, at last, is my wayward sibling, Mr. Isaac Seaton.”
Before he could get a good look at the parson’s daughter, a curly haired man, red of lips and cheeks, dashed up to him and reached for his hand, pumping his arm as he might a well handle. His clothes were surprisingly tailored in the latest fashion, odd for a government official whose job could sometimes turn violent. Whose nephew or cousin was this? For surely the fellow had not landed the position by merit alone.
“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Seaton.” The man’s voice was as overeager as his grip. Even more irritating, the fellow’s gaze never left Esther. “I am thrilled to have met your fine sister. I know we shall get on quite merrily.”
Isaac cleared his throat, shoving down a remark every bit as salty as his sister’s. “I trust your business here will not take very long, Mr. Farris.”
Hopefully. For besides the fact that Farris was a revenue man on the prowl for smugglers, Isaac could not stomach the man’s obvious interest in his sister, in spite of his wishing to see her married. Something was wrong about Farris.
“I shall do my best to remain in the area as long as possible.” Farris finally let go and swooped over to Esther.
Which gave Isaac full view of Miss Fletcher.
Her gown flowed along delicate curves, so slight her bearing, so small her frame. The woman floated toward him, almost like … a bird.
His gaze shot to her face, where brown eyes flashed recognition. Her lips parted.
His breath caught.
One wrong word, and a noose would bite into his neck.