A Woman of Honour

Chapter 4

The cottage was small and quaint, with a well-maintained gabled thatched roof. The small oak front door opened into a narrow hallway that was sparsely decorated. After they had entered the cottage, Helen followed Lord Huntingdon through another dark oak door into what had once been a small parlour. Instead of containing furniture, one associated with a lived-in parlour, the room contained an artist's painting equipment.

Helen walked over to one of the paintings propped up on an easel by a compact bow window. It was a view of the cliffs where she had just been standing. Even though the picture was unfinished, the talented artist had already captured the wildness of the bleak landscape.

'My mother,' Lord Huntingdon said as he crossed the room to the fireplace, 'she comes here to paint. Not many people know of her extraordinary talent.'

Helen, despite beginning to shiver because of the wet clothes she was still wearing, was captivated by the scene and could not look away. It was evident, from the masterly placed strokes of paint on the large canvas, that the artist had understood the power of the natural world.

'It's beautiful,' was all she could manage to say as she continued to stare at the stark grey sky that the painter had created.

'She started painting soon after her marriage to my father,' Lord Huntingdon said as he took off his greatcoat and began to kneel by the fireplace. 'It was her escape from the world around her.'

She had not developed any affection for Lady Huntingdon. In fact, Helen had found her attitude both rude and condescending. Lady Huntingdon was a social elitist and seemed to only care about those who were on a similar standing in society as her and her family. However, as she continued to look at the painting, Helen was discovering a different side to her. Behind the cold and brusque manner, she adopted with those she thought were beneath her, she had demonstrated an understanding of the complexity of the world around her.

It was common knowledge that the previous Lord Huntingdon, her husband, was a libertine who had not altered his lifestyle when he had married. Helen knew only too well the shame and humiliation associated with an unfaithful spouse, who cared for only themselves.

As Helen continued to look at the painting, she felt Ralph stand behind her and rest his hands on the top of her arms. The warmth of his hands made Helen aware of how cold she was feeling. He turned her around so that she was facing him and looking into his grey eyes. Helen was above average height, and he was only a few inches taller than her. As she continued to look into his eyes, she felt that strong attraction to him that she had felt at the cliff.

The warmth of the fire, now crackling in the grate, began to spread throughout the room. But the warmth had yet to penetrate the cold, wet wool dress that Helen was still wearing, and her teeth began to chatter.

'You're cold and wet,' Ralph said with concern, 'if you stay in those wet clothes, you will catch your death. I suggest you take them off and then I will put them next to the fire to dry. Behind the screen, my mother keeps some overalls to protect her clothes when she paints, you could wear them until we are ready to leave.'

Helen went behind the screen and with difficultly peeled off her wet dress. She also removed her damp chemise that clung to her body like a second skin. She picked up an overall and wrapped it around her cold, damp skin and then ran her fingers through her wet hair. She was a lot taller than Lady Huntingdon and the overall reached to just below her knees.

When she had tied the sash loosely around her waist, she came back into the parlour and laid out her clothes in front of the fire. When she had finished, she looked over to Lord Huntingdon. He was sitting on a chair by the fire, trying to remove his riding boots. 'Let me do that for you,' Helen said as she walked over to him.