offer them luxury, they are bound to accept. I beg you not to do so. It will be that much harder for them to accept a life as a teacher or governess when the time comes.”
The duke pursed his lips. “Surely you paint too grim a picture, Miss Whitcombe. You are bound to marry. At such a time they will live with you, will they not?”
“I do not know that I will marry. And should I do so, my husband may not have the means . . .”
“Cut line, Miss Whitcombe! You must know very well that young Blakeley intends to offer for you. He is wealthy enough to support any number of sisters.”
She could feel anger rush from her chest into her head. “Where, might I ask, did you get that idea?”
“Mr. Blakeley said as much to Lord Shrewsbury.”
“And all three of you take my acceptance of his suit for granted?”
The duke pounded her desk with his fist. “Why must you be so confounded difficult? Take my stipend then! You would not deny it if it were for your orphans, would you? Why should you and your sisters, who are also orphans, be denied funds simply because of your mistaken pride?”
Was it pride? The idea that it could be thus construed took the wind out of her sails. She and her sisters were a charity case. Just as surely as these girls from the East End. Like it or not.
“I will not offer you an exorbitant amount,” he continued. “I will ask Mrs. Blakeley to recommend a better situation for your sisters. When I have found it, I will arrange to pay for it. I will also arrange for their board. All that will remain is for me to leave with you money for clothing and emergencies, such as doctor bills.”
She could not help it. With this offer, the heavy responsibility she had felt for her sisters’ welfare lifted from her shoulders, and tears brimmed and flowed. At the sight, his grace came to her side and put a hand on her arm. “Do you not understand? It will always be the duty of those who have the most to help those with the least. I did not earn my wealth. It is mine by birth. It blesses me so that I have the means of blessing others. The situation does not mean you are weak.”
Hélène wept now in earnest, divested of her pride, if it were that. Deep inside she also divested herself of all the fear she had carried that something might happen to her. That she would be unable to provide even the meager funds she had to support her sisters. That they would be cast upon an uncaring world.
“Thank you, your grace. And bless you for your generosity.”
He smiled at her. Once she had provided him with her sisters’ direction, he took his leave.
It was only after he had gone that she realized the duke never would have come if Lord Shrewsbury had not been concerned about her and what Samuel had revealed about her situation. As things had transpired in the end, she had to admit—though it pained her—that she was grateful to him. And rather surprised at the depth of his concern.
*~*~*
After seeing the orphans settled for the night, Hélène took the carriage back to Blakeley House and, as she wanted time alone to think, wrapped herself in a shawl and went to sit outside in the garden.
Is it my duty to my sisters to marry Blakeley? I could still teach. If he is elected to Parliament, I could help him with his speeches and platform. I could have an influence there. And my sisters could live with us indefinitely. They would not have to go out as governesses unless they desired it. Even if Samuel were to die young, I would undoubtedly have a significant inheritance to continue to care for them.
Of course, she would not even be considering the matter, if she did not think she could count on Samuel to treat her as an equal. He would prize her ideas, her intelligence, her talents. Yes, it would be a very good marriage. Samuel would give her security, but she would have something to give, as well. Inspiration and counsel. He would be able to count on her to further his career in every way.
There in the dark,
The duke pursed his lips. “Surely you paint too grim a picture, Miss Whitcombe. You are bound to marry. At such a time they will live with you, will they not?”
“I do not know that I will marry. And should I do so, my husband may not have the means . . .”
“Cut line, Miss Whitcombe! You must know very well that young Blakeley intends to offer for you. He is wealthy enough to support any number of sisters.”
She could feel anger rush from her chest into her head. “Where, might I ask, did you get that idea?”
“Mr. Blakeley said as much to Lord Shrewsbury.”
“And all three of you take my acceptance of his suit for granted?”
The duke pounded her desk with his fist. “Why must you be so confounded difficult? Take my stipend then! You would not deny it if it were for your orphans, would you? Why should you and your sisters, who are also orphans, be denied funds simply because of your mistaken pride?”
Was it pride? The idea that it could be thus construed took the wind out of her sails. She and her sisters were a charity case. Just as surely as these girls from the East End. Like it or not.
“I will not offer you an exorbitant amount,” he continued. “I will ask Mrs. Blakeley to recommend a better situation for your sisters. When I have found it, I will arrange to pay for it. I will also arrange for their board. All that will remain is for me to leave with you money for clothing and emergencies, such as doctor bills.”
She could not help it. With this offer, the heavy responsibility she had felt for her sisters’ welfare lifted from her shoulders, and tears brimmed and flowed. At the sight, his grace came to her side and put a hand on her arm. “Do you not understand? It will always be the duty of those who have the most to help those with the least. I did not earn my wealth. It is mine by birth. It blesses me so that I have the means of blessing others. The situation does not mean you are weak.”
Hélène wept now in earnest, divested of her pride, if it were that. Deep inside she also divested herself of all the fear she had carried that something might happen to her. That she would be unable to provide even the meager funds she had to support her sisters. That they would be cast upon an uncaring world.
“Thank you, your grace. And bless you for your generosity.”
He smiled at her. Once she had provided him with her sisters’ direction, he took his leave.
It was only after he had gone that she realized the duke never would have come if Lord Shrewsbury had not been concerned about her and what Samuel had revealed about her situation. As things had transpired in the end, she had to admit—though it pained her—that she was grateful to him. And rather surprised at the depth of his concern.
*~*~*
After seeing the orphans settled for the night, Hélène took the carriage back to Blakeley House and, as she wanted time alone to think, wrapped herself in a shawl and went to sit outside in the garden.
Is it my duty to my sisters to marry Blakeley? I could still teach. If he is elected to Parliament, I could help him with his speeches and platform. I could have an influence there. And my sisters could live with us indefinitely. They would not have to go out as governesses unless they desired it. Even if Samuel were to die young, I would undoubtedly have a significant inheritance to continue to care for them.
Of course, she would not even be considering the matter, if she did not think she could count on Samuel to treat her as an equal. He would prize her ideas, her intelligence, her talents. Yes, it would be a very good marriage. Samuel would give her security, but she would have something to give, as well. Inspiration and counsel. He would be able to count on her to further his career in every way.
There in the dark,
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