Suffragette in the City by Katie MacAlister Page A

down.”
    Helena stood her ground. “I must first unburden myself and beg your forgiveness.”
    “Beg my forgiveness?” I asked with confusion, amused by her dramatic air. “What on earth have you done to me that you need to be forgiven?”
    Her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed to be having a hard time speaking. I looked at Griffin helplessly. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, sunlight from a nearby window casting a halo over his hair. His face was inscrutable as he watched his sister.
    “Helena?” I asked her gently. “Whatever can be the matter?”
    Two fat tears spilled over her lashes as she grabbed for her handkerchief. She clutched my arm and sobbed onto my shoulder, weeping as if her heart were broken
    “For heaven’s sake, Helena, you are the weepingest woman I know. Wipe your eyes and tell me what the problem is.”
    Griffin , suddenly grinning, seated himself on a nearby couch. His left hand was heavily bandaged, although the bandage appeared a big ragged, as if he had been worrying it.
    “I’m so sorry, Cassandra. I would never have asked you to take me with you last night if I had known Letitia would return home early.”
    I noted absently that she had begun the process of ruining yet another pair of gloves, and wondered if the destruction of hand wear was an inherited trait in the St. John family.
    “Can you ever forgive me for exposing you to such abuse?”
    “Don’t be silly, Helena. It wasn’t your fault at all. I knew full well the feelings of your family, and can’t blame them for being upset at your unexplained disappearance.”
    I looked over at her brother, who was being unusually (and to my mind suspiciously) quiet.
    “You are so good, so understanding,” she sniffled into her handkerchief. “Harold and Letitia have been particularly . . . unhappy since Rosewood burned down.”
    “Rosewood?”
    Griffin spoke. “Rosewood was our family home in Devonshire. The house burned down a few years ago.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. I take it Rosewood was the earl’s country seat?”
    He gave an odd bark of laughter. “You could say that.”
    Gripping my hand, Helena gave me a strange, impassioned look. “I can’t tell you how I cherish your friendship. It means a great deal to me, and I wouldn’t want anything to destroy it. You are so good, so kind—”
    “Hardly either,” I interrupted, uncomfortable with her fervent gaze. “No harm has been done other than a little damage to my pride, and that, I can assure you, will repair itself in no time. I admit that I was concerned about what sort of reception you would meet after I left.”
    “I’m not afraid of Harold when Griffin is home.”
    Griffin fidgeted uncomfortably, scratching at his collar. “My sister has told me of the evening’s activities.”
    “Did she?” I glanced at Helena, surprised that she would mention the exact details of our outing.
    With an air of martyrdom, he continued, although he averted his gaze from mine. “I attach no blame to her or you for the events that transpired. I was glad she had you as a companion.”
    Clearly she didn’t tell him about the purse thief. “I appreciate your support in this matter. I am just sorry that your brother and sister-in-law do not share your opinion.”
    “This is not easy for me to say. You . . . er . . . know my feelings upon the subject of women’s suffrage.”
    I started to make a face, then remembered he was a guest in my home and nodded instead.
    He cleared his throat and glanced at his sister. “My feelings have not changed about the appropriateness of women’s participation in politics; however, I have discussed the issue with Helena, and have agreed to allow her to attend meetings as long as she is in your presence.”
    Helena leaned slightly to the left and prodded at him.
    “Despite my better feelings, I have also . . . er . . . agreed to let her become a member of that women’s club you belong to.”
    “The Women’s Suffrage