Free Loving Helen by Michele Paige Holmes

door behind him. “Won’t you come in and sit by the fire?”
    Helen knew it was she who should have made the offer, and she hurriedly added, “Yes, please,” while moving back to her chair near the fire.
    Mr. Preston followed, seating himself on the settee across from them. “I’ve come to ask if I may impose upon you both the use of a section of your sitting room.”
    “It is your sitting room, Mr. Preston,” Helen said. “We have been imposing on you these many weeks.”
    “On the contrary. You have been such a good influence upon Beth that I am in your debt.”
    “Thank you.” Helen looked down, grateful for his praise but not quite sure what to do with it.
    “I am making her a dollhouse for Christmas,” Mr. Preston continued. “But I fear she will find it, curious as she is. It seems there isn’t a room in the house safe from her explorations.”
    Helen glanced Miranda’s direction and caught censure in her eyes. Being everything prim and proper, Miranda disproved of riotous little girls. She’d had enough difficulty training the two older ones entrusted into her guidance and care several years ago.
    “You would like to build it here?” Helen asked, redirecting her attention to Mr. Preston. Since their visit to his wife’s grave two weeks earlier, she’d felt more comfortable around him. He’d shared a portion of himself with her that day, trusting her even beyond what he’d shown with his admission in the garden that ill-fated morning. Her romantic notions might be dashed, but, like his daughter, Mr. Preston had become a friend, one of the few men she’d ever known whom she could trust.
    “The outside of the dollhouse is already constructed, but the inside details are taking longer — and require warm fingers.” He held up his gloved hands. “If I might be permitted to finish the dollhouse here, it would be safely hidden until Christmas Day, and my hands wouldn’t be frostbitten as I complete the work.”
    “Bring it as soon as you can,” Helen said, eager to see his creation. “I can send Harrison to help you tomorrow, if you would like.”
    A sheepish look stole across his face. “Actually, it is just outside.”
    “Then let us see it.” She clapped her hands and stood. “Do you require help?”
    “No. It is a little awkward, is all. I can manage if you will but hold the door for me.”
    “I’ll find a cloth to cover the table,” Miranda said as Helen followed Mr. Preston from the room, then held the door after he stepped outside.
    He returned a moment later, arms stretched wide as he carried the large, rectangular dollhouse. Turning sideways, he maneuvered it through the doorway. Helen closed the door behind him and followed him into the sitting room, where he placed the dollhouse on the table.
    “I’ve just realized you’ll have nowhere to eat,” he said. “You will have to take your meals at the house — all of you.”
    “That is very kind, but we’ll be all right,” Helen said. He was easier to talk to now, but not that easy. The thought of conversing with him for even one meal a day made her anxious. It was simple enough to hide the attraction she felt toward him when they seldom had interaction. But if we were to dine together every day …
    “I insist,” he said. “It is the least I can do.”
    “It is not necessary —” The rest of Helen’s sentence died on her lips beneath Miranda’s pointed look of disapproval and strange gestures, which Mr. Preston, from his place in the room, could not view. “We — would be most grateful?” Helen said with reluctance. Miranda’s brief smile and nod told Helen she had answered correctly. Oh dear. I shall see him every day until Christmas — every day!
    “Good. It’s settled, then. A dollhouse at your table in exchange for dinner at mine.” Mr. Preston stepped aside, and Helen peered into the miniature house, telling herself that she must remain calm. They would merely be taking meals together. Mr. Preston