The Davenports(37)

“I’m no damsel,” she repeated. “But maybe I did need some minor rescuing.”

His eyes cut from the road to her. “What horrid fate did I save you from?”

Helen looked at the storefronts without really seeing them. “I’m running away from my etiquette lessons. My manners have been found to be lacking, and though I am far too old for a governess, my mother has employed one to correct my behavior before I chase away all the eligible bachelors Olivia passes over.”

Mr. Lawrence’s mouth screwed to the side at the mention of her sister. Helen barreled on. Did he not know he would have competition for her sister’s hand? “And it is horrid. None of what I’m learning has any practical value. I’d much rather be pursuing my own interests. There’s bound to be someone out there who wouldn’t mind a perpetually disheveled lady who can’t run her own household, but doesn’t mind helping saddle a horse or repair an axle or generally get her hands dirty.”

Helen and Mr. Lawrence both looked at her hands: chipped nails and dark stains. Part of her cursed the gloves she’d left on her chair, but the larger, truer part of herself was defiant and proud.

Her breath caught when she saw the hint of a smile on Mr. Lawrence’s face. He lazily held the reins between his hands and stared straight ahead. Helen’s stomach turned. This is exactly the kind of behavior her mother and Mrs. Milford were trying to lecture out of her. Great, he must think I’m a lost cause. But why do I even care? And with that thought, the rest of her grievances flew out of her head.

“It’s no easy task balancing what you want for yourself and what your family wants for you.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “I’m not only here looking for prospects for my family business, but ways to save it. The Lawrence family name means something in certain circles, as I expect yours does. I have been cursed and blessed to be an only child, all of the fortune as well as the burden of responsibility. Everything I do affects my parents and our future.”

“I know how lucky I’ve been.” Helen picked at the lace of her parasol. “Olivia shines under Mama’s attention and John always knew the business would be his.”

Mr. Lawrence looked at her from under his long lashes. “And you? What fills your days? I’m sure not having a defined role isn’t going well either.”

“What are you talking about? We’re going to save a damsel!” She smiled. Helen knew that she used her parents’ preoccupations as opportunities to do what she wanted. She wasn’t ignored and never felt neglected, but understood her place in the family dynamic. “No, I still believe I’m very fortunate.” Money and privilege set her family apart, and she was loved.

“I’m sure your future is not as bleak as you believe.”

Helen frowned. “They brought in reinforcements.” She remembered how she felt ambushed when her mother introduced her to Mrs. Milford. She knew she was capable of anything she set her mind to. “I once disassembled a bicycle at a birthday party just to see if I could. Everyone walked in ready to eat cake and there I was in the grass in a heap of twisted metal.” When Mr. Lawrence remained unfazed, she continued. “It wasn’t my party and the bicycle belonged to the nine-year-old son of one of my father’s friends. No one cared that I was seven myself.” She sighed as Mr. Lawrence laughed beside her. “They overreacted. I could have put it back together if they’d let me.” The sound he made beside her made her proud. He wasn’t appalled by her behavior. It was as refreshing as it was unsettling.

“I once swapped the ink in the well on my father’s desk with invisible ink. I’m afraid that went over about as well as your bicycle repair.”

Helen’s belly hurt and they were both in tears. After a deep breath, she said, “I sewed the sleeves of John’s favorite jacket shut after he called my stitching dreadful.” She wiped a tear. “That was more recent. And it was a particularly awful attempt at needlepoint.”

Mr. Lawrence threw his head back. The sound was wonderful. It washed away the frustration of her morning. She felt warm and light.

“I trust he didn’t take it well?”

“No,” Helen said. “He tore the lining when he punched his way through it.” She turned to him. “My friend Amy-Rose was able to replace the lining. Oh, but you should have seen his face!”

Mr. Lawrence laughed, then looked at her, eyes still smiling. “Which way?” he asked when they came to an intersection.

Helen no longer wanted to leave the carriage. “Let’s take a scenic route.” She pointed to the road leading away from the city.

He hesitated before turning where she directed. “I imagine I’d never like to be on your bad side,” he chuckled.

“Then you should do your best to avoid it.”

Somewhere along the ride, Mr. Lawrence and Helen had closed the space between them. The full skirts of her dress draped over his knee and their shoulders brushed with the sway of the buggy over the uneven road. At some point, the stone and cobbled streets turned to dirt. Suddenly, the left side of the carriage dipped. Mr. Lawrence’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close. His other hand, still gripping the reins, braced against the front of the buggy as they bounced in their seats. The horse reared onto its hind legs. The sun glistened down its back as they jerked to a stop. The horse reared again and cried out. Mr. Lawrence jumped down, reaching for the bridle. “Calm down!” he pleaded as the frightened animal evaded his grasp.