Loving Helen Read Free

it. If I must marry, why can it not be to a man who is gentle as well as generous? In her heart she cared more about his demeanor than whatever wealth Mr. Preston was in possession of, but her dire circumstances dictated that she also consider his fortune.
    A dismal reality, with no help for it. Such was the lot of females: to do their best to marry well. Now that she was a grown woman of eighteen, the time had come for her to join the hunt. She had set her cap for Mr. Preston and must go about securing his interest.
    Helen had never expected to find herself in pursuit of any man, yet she could not deny a certain thrill — and a definite terror — to the process. At night she thought of Mr. Preston, oft as she sat at her window, looking out at the lights glowing from his house, wondering which room was his and what he was doing. New feelings stirred within her, emotions she had never expected to experience for any man, and she found them both frightening and exhilarating. As her older brother Christopher had remarked at dinner that first night here, she was growing up.
    And so I must act like it. No more hiding. To get Mr. Preston’s attention, she must look pretty and smile and be pleasant, as Grace had witnessed other young ladies doing to gain the attentions of their potential husbands. How difficult could it be?
    Crossing the drive, Helen walked beneath the neatly trimmed arbor, still abundant with blooms late in the season. She thought Mr. Preston’s gardeners must be very good, as she had never seen such lovely flowers with such enormous blooms, bright color, or sweet fragrance.
    In addition to the yellow roses lining the drive, the garden boasted plants and flowers in what seemed to be every hue of orange, red, and gold. Helen had viewed them from her window, but standing among them, she realized that the labyrinth she’d spied from above would be more difficult to navigate than she’d anticipated. Multiple paths spread in various directions, tall hedges lining many of them. She paused before starting down any as she tried to recall where she had most often viewed Mr. Preston.
    After a moment’s contemplation, she remembered that he usually ended up in one of the two courtyards with a fountain. Helen set off on the path she hoped would lead her to the nearest one. As she walked, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say upon meeting him.
    Good morning, Mr. Preston. Pleasant day for a walk, isn’t it?
    He would agree, compliment her on how fine she looked, and invite her to stroll with him. She would inquire after Grace, as he saw her when he delivered their letters, and Mr. Preston would then inquire as to how she and Christopher were faring. They would stroll and visit politely — about what, Helen wasn’t quite certain, but she supposed an appropriate topic would manifest itself at the right time.
    At breakfast she would employ all of the manners instilled in her while living with Grandfather, and Mr. Preston would find her so charming that by noon their courtship would be well underway.
    Helen clasped her hands in front of her, pleased with the imagined scenario and feeling certain that the events would transpire in just such a way — if only she could locate Mr. Preston.
    She reached the first courtyard and found it empty. The fountain spouted no water, and the bench sat vacant. No footprints marred the dew upon the moss growing between the stones. It seemed unlikely that Mr. Preston had visited here this morning.
    Resolute in her cause, Helen gathered her skirts and marched on, toward the back of the house along a path she hoped would link the west garden to the east. She passed the gazebo, which was centered in the middle of the vast back lawn, and found it deserted as well. The path forked, the right heading in the direction Mr. Preston walked most afternoons when he went to exchange letters with Grace. Helen chose the other path, following the flagstones around the eastern corner of the mansion.