Virtue's Reward by Jean R. Ewing Page B

since he had arrived at Trethaerin, with his haunted eyes and his compassion for her loss of Edward. Dear Cousin Edward! She had mourned him as a childhood friend, but they had long been apart. His infrequent letters might have been dutifully written to an aged aunt. Yet had he come back, she would no doubt have married him. Then she might never have met Richard at all.
    She dried her eyes on her handkerchief and laughed at herself. What on earth had she anticipated when she married a perfect stranger? The countess had warned her of what she might expect. She was fortunate if he treated her with kindness and was a tender, passionate lover. Many women were grateful for much less.
    With a new determination Helena walked down through the gardens of Acton Mead. Mrs. Hood had explained that funds arrived regularly from a trust left by Richard’s grandmother to pay for its upkeep. Certainly, nothing had gone neglected. A regular army of gardeners was busy maintaining the grounds, and there was apparently a perfectly competent estate manager who ran the home farm and oversaw the tenants. He had his own house in the village of Mead Farthing.
    Nevertheless, there was plenty for Helena to do.
    * * *
    Three days later she was busy in a stone-flagged outbuilding, her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her oldest dress covered in a long white apron borrowed from the understairs maid.
    There was a great deal of laughing and giggling, for she was overseeing the making of ink, and the village girls had never done it before. All of them seemed to be liberally coated with soot.
    “I declare, my lady,” one of the girls said. “It’s more messy than the making of gooseberry pie.”
    “At least when you make pie, you may lick the spills off your fingers,” Helena replied gaily. “I don’t think our ink would taste as good. Now, this mess is all yours. I leave you to it.”
    She stepped out of the shed and began to pull the rag from her hair, when strong hands grasped her around the waist from behind. She whirled around to find herself gazing into a pair of merry blue eyes. Their owner smiled at her, revealing a set of perfect teeth, and tossed back a lock of black hair that had fallen over his forehead.
    His dress declared him a gentleman, but he did not seem inclined to act like one.
    “What on earth have we here? I came looking for a fellow with hair just your color, but the devil has put a wench in my path instead. I think I would happily make it a permanent trade.”
    And pulling her to his broad chest, he began to kiss her on the mouth. Helena was furious. His lips were accomplished and gentle, yet she knew only a strong desire to slap the insolent smile from his face.
    “If you were looking for me, Harry,” a cool voice said, “you have a very odd way of conducting your search. For that wench you are manhandling is my wife, and I’m damned if I won’t call you out.”
    The owner of the blue eyes instantly spun away from Helena.
    Richard stood watching them, tapping his riding crop against his thigh. He was dressed in tall boots and a plain brown riding coat. The dust of the road still dulled his clothes.
    “God’s teeth, Richard,” Harry said. “How was I to know?”
    “You couldn’t, of course,” Viscount Lenwood replied. “Let me introduce you. Helena, this is my brother, the Honorable Henry Acton, who has apparently seen fit to come down from Oxford for the express purpose of dishonorably accosting you in the garden. Harry, my wife, Lady Lenwood.”
    The line was drawn deep between the black eyes.
    But Harry laughed and gave her a bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sister-in-law. I congratulate brother Dickon on his taste. It seems every good fortune comes his way: you, Acton Mead, and at last, but of course not least, the earldom.”
    “I have heard of you, sir,” Helena said serenely. “But I don’t think I can so easily forgive you.”
    “Damn it all, my lady,” Harry said, giving her a charming