The Davenports(64)

“I didn’t tell you this for you to feel sorry. I only want you to know that life is precious.” Mrs. Milford adjusted her skirts. “Your behavior was surprisingly refreshing. Closest thing to normal since.”

Helen swallowed hard and looked around the empty ballroom. She licked her dry lips. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said. “It doesn’t seem real.” She watched the dust motes dance in the shaft of light, afraid to look Mrs. Milford in her eyes. “We met at the Tremaines’ party . . .” Her voice caught, and she lifted a hand as if to wave away her own words. “It’s hardly life or death.” This was the last thing Helen wanted—to get emotional about Mr. Lawrence in front of Mrs. Milford, especially knowing now all the woman had been through.

But the older woman offered Helen a handkerchief to wipe her face. “I wouldn’t change my life with Robert for the world,” she said. “Much of what affects our lives is out of our control. We should always strive to make the choices we can. Life is too short, too full of heartache.”

Helen nodded. “But what about Olivia? At first, she seemed thrilled. She and Mr. Lawrence spent nearly every day together. Now—” She caught herself, moments away from divulging to Mrs. Milford her suspicions: Olivia had been sneaking out at night, much like Helen herself had. Only her sister left the grounds. Helen cleaned her face and allowed Mrs. Milford to help her to her feet.

“And now,” Mrs. Milford prompted, “something has changed?” Her face said she saw more than what she revealed. “Perhaps, your sister has changed?”

Helen thought back to the dinner when Olivia challenged their father. Her sister hadn’t pestered her about community work, or complained about attending the charity board meetings with their mother. She had thought it was because Ruby spent so much time with Mr. Barton, and Olivia had nothing else to do. Could it be that Olivia was up to some mischief of her own?

“If you really feel so strongly for the Englishman, then you should tell your sister before they walk too far down the path they’re on.”

Path is another word for aisle. Her tutor raised her brow, as if sensing her conclusion. Helen nodded. Perhaps Mrs. Milford wasn’t too bad to have around after all. When the older woman called it a day and gathered her things, Helen escorted her to the front door.

“I see some things are starting to stick,” Mrs. Milford teased.

“I guess they are.” Helen pulled open the large oak door. The smile on her face slipped when she saw who stood on the other side.

Jacob Lawrence was there, arm raised, hand poised to use the knocker. Helen could not take her eyes off him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lawrence,” Mrs. Milford said. She edged her way past the two young people. Helen looked at her then, pleading with her eyes for her tutor to stay. Mrs. Milford only shook her head slightly and descended the steps. “Time is scarce,” she added.

Helen’s heart raced. Her breaths came quick.

She shut the door on him.

She did—she shut the door and leaned against it, putting some distance between them and breathing through the awful tightness in her chest. I can’t do this to my sister.

She opened the door again.

Jacob Lawrence still stood there, eyebrows raised. Beyond him, Mrs. Milford had paused at the door to the carriage. She gave Helen an incredulous look.

“I came to see Olivia,” he said.

“Of course you did,” she replied harshly. She immediately hated herself for it. She’d thrown herself at him during her parents’ anniversary party and included him in a betrayal against her sister and slammed the door in his face. If there was anyone who deserved scorn, it was herself.

“Helen, we should talk.”

“Fabulous idea.” Mrs. Davenport appeared at Helen’s side. “Olivia is not home. My, she will be on the board of every social club in Chicago by the end of the year.” She adjusted the collar of Helen’s shirt. “I think the two of you should spend some time together, get to know each other better. We’ll all be family soon.” Her smile was brighter than the sun. “Helen, I’m sure you can entertain Mr. Lawrence for a few hours?”

“Mama,” Helen started. “I believe you’re forgetting that—”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.” Mrs. Davenport waved to Mrs. Milford. The two women spoke near the carriage while Helen stood on the steps. Her distress multiplied. She mentally urged Mrs. Milford to say she was busy.

Mr. Lawrence worked the muscles in his jaw, like his next words would be painful. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Helen sighed and descended the stairs, walking onto the drive. She stopped at an automobile, admiring the detail along the trim. Hearing Mr. Lawrence behind her, she said, “She’ll know.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Mama always knows. Where’s your carriage?”

“Your brother convinced me to try one of these instead. Not sure how I like it.” He opened the door for her. “Where to?” he asked.

Mrs. Milford looked from the automobile to the reluctant pair. “It looks like it’ll be a tight fit, but we’ll make do,” she said, walking over.

The older woman brushed between them and climbed inside, where she arranged herself in the middle of the bench seat.