Free Loving Helen by Michele Paige Holmes Page A

would see it as nothing more, and neither should she. If only her rapidly beating heart would agree. She studied the house closely, in a desperate attempt to return her mind to safer areas of thought.
    The house he’d built had two floors with three rooms each and a sloped attic on top. The rooms were bare, but the staircase was done, and she could see where he was finishing the rail.
    “Fireplaces go here.” Mr. Preston pointed to walls on the lower and upper floors. “Cabinets on the wall here. Some of the furniture I’ve ordered, and I’m making some as well.”
    “You’ve less than a month until Christmas,” Helen said. “You’ll need to hurry.”
    “Do you think you can suffer my company that long?”
    Suffer was certainly the right word. It would be torture to be near him so often and reminded that it was Grace — not I — who held his interest. Attempting to pretend that his proximity would have no effect whatsoever, Helen brought a hand to her chin, pursed her lips, and pretended to consider. “I suppose we shall bear it somehow.”
    Across the room, Miranda rolled her eyes, and Mr. Preston’s brows drew together quizzically as he looked at Helen, as if not certain he’d heard her correctly.
    “I mean, we will be most happy for your company,” she hurried to amend. She’d only been jesting, but he did not seem to realize that.
    Because teasing is not my place. I am only Beth’s friend. A position she might very well lose if he thought her rude and unfeeling.
    She tried once more. “I am sorry. Forgive me. I only meant —”
    “I know what you meant.” A grin swept the disbelief from his face. “It was an unexpected, but delightful, change, I must say.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, his eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing her. “Dare I hope you are no longer afraid of me, Miss Helen — as your ability to tease would suggest?”
    “I was never afraid of you. However —” Helen ran a finger along the sloped roof of the dollhouse — “the evil king continues to give me nightmares.”
    “Does he?” Mr. Preston’s voice softened, and his look grew searching. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope it is a situation that may yet be remedied. It is not good to be fearful — of anything, pretend or real.”
    Beneath her gown, Helen’s heartbeat raced. Mr. Preston sounded almost as if he knew what she spoke of — and as if he understood. She turned from his gaze, forcing her attention to the dollhouse before she gave herself away entirely.
    “But what about the inside?” she asked. “You’ll need curtains and bedding and rugs.”
    “Yes, well …” Mr. Preston leaned a hand on the table. “Fathers are only good at so many things. I’m afraid that sewing is not one of them.”
    “I could do it.” Helen knelt, peering into the small rooms, imagining how they might look properly decorated like a real house. “Miranda will help me, won’t you?” She glanced across the room and smiled encouragingly at her maid.
    “If it will keep you out of trouble,” Miranda said, sounding more like the mother of an errant child than a lady’s maid.
    “Perfect. We will begin tomorrow.” Helen realized she’d left him no room for argument. I sound rather like Grace. Worried she’d displeased him, that she’d been too forward, Helen scrambled to think of an apology as she stood.
    But before she could speak, Mr. Preston collapsed on the settee once more, a grin on his face and hands behind his head. “It appears I have come to the right place.”



December
     
    My Dearest Helen,
     
    Lord Sutherland has decided to host a Christmas Eve ball, and his mother said it is for me …
     
    Samuel watched from the hall above as his butler opened the front doors and Miss Helen entered the foyer. Samuel had sent his carriage for her just fifteen minutes earlier, thinking, as he had before, how having her so close was convenient. He could not have chosen a better influence for Beth.