Free My Pleasure by Connie Brockway Page B

you from digging yourself deeper into the hole into which you have purposefully flung yourself and into which you are now attempting to drag Flora, too?”
    He winced, but met her eyes bravely enough. “No. Sorry.”
    “Ach!” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and turned on her heels so she wouldn’t have to look at his stubborn, lovesick, genial face.
    “Miss Nash?”
    “And when,” she asked tightly, “is this great plan to come to fruition?”
    “Within the month,” he chirped at once. “By then, I shall have collected my monies, paid those sums I owe various people,” he hesitated sheepishly, “and still have plenty remaining to take Flora from her aunt’s house and set her up in her own home. Our own home.”
    She turned back. He was beaming, and she realized that nothing she could say would dissuade him. “And if you lose this bet?”
    “I won’t.”
    “But, say, the world stops spinning and the heavens fall and you do lose? What then?”
    “Then?” His face fell into such abject misery that for an instant Helena felt every bit a blackguard. He blew out a lengthy breath. “Then I shall have no recourse but to present myself to Lady Tilpot and ask her aid.”
    “And in response she will do everything in her power to see that your marriage is annulled,” she said with ruthless candor.
    “That is a chance I will have to take.” Tears sprang to Oswald’s eyes. “I can’t ask Flora to live alone under Lady Tilpot’s tyranny until she comes into her inheritance. If this does not work, I shall throw myself on her mercy…”
    And end up in debtors’ prison, Helena thought morosely. At least until Flora could bail him out four years hence. If her affection for the young miscreant lasted that long. Which wasn’t very likely, given that Flora’s commitment to her conjugal vows hadn’t even stood the test of a few bedbugs.
    No, Helena was not confident about the couple’s future. Not at all. But, she reminded herself, there was little she could do about it. God willing, maybe this latest havey-cavey plan of Oswald’s would actually bear fruit. Miracles did happen, and they say that God watches out for children and fools, and as far as Helena was concerned, Flora and Oswald qualified on both counts.
    “Have I convinced you of my sincerity?” Oswald asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Helena said because there was nothing else to say. “I believe you are utterly sincere.”
    “And you will support my decision? Because Flora holds your opinion in the highest regard, and she will feel so much better if I can write and tell her I have your full blessing.”
    “Full blessing” is hardly how Helena would have phrased it, but she supposed that anything that might help the couple out of their current predicament was worth commending.
    “I suppose—”
    “Oh!”
    “What is it?” Helena asked, swinging around. Midway down the path from where they stood, a pair of men in friars’ robes had stopped, their heads close together. Even from this distance and in the gloom of the poorly lit lane, their interest in Oswald was apparent.
    “I…have to go!” Oswald declared, edging backwards. The men on the path stilled like hounds on point. “I will send word through the London Post where next we are to meet.”
    “Next we meet? Next we meet! There will be no—”
    “Look in the advertisements for one from ‘Harlequin,’ ” he cut in. “And remember, no boy’s clothing! A dress. A pink dress!” he shouted, and bolted.
    The men raced after him, passing Helena on a dead run. Within a minute she was alone on the path, the sound of receding footsteps beating away into the darkness.
    “Wretched dunners,” Helena muttered, because as she hadn’t secured the all-important love letter from Oswald to Flora, she would be obliged to find Oswald next week or risk having her furnishings ruined by Flora’s torrents of tears. And where, pray tell, was she to find a pink fancy dress?
    Perhaps, she mused as