“St. Ambrose provides well for you,” Sebastian said.
“I owe him everything. He found me at Madam Montgomery’s and brought me here after paying my debts. He made a home for Edith too.”
The older woman smiled fondly at Helena’s sister and began pouring tea.
Lavinia accepted the first cup and passed it to Helena. “When Cora heard of my improved circumstances, she insisted I take Gracie. Her husband has several mouths to feed already. St. Ambrose arranged for our youngest sister to come live here as well, although this is no place for a child. That was eight months ago.”
It seemed her sister had found a generous benefactor, but Helena didn’t know how long Lavinia would receive his protection. According to Olive, gentlemen tired of mistresses quickly and discarded them. Helena sat up straighter. Her sister would never need to worry about her future again. Wickie had left Helena a fortune and there was no heir to inherit.
“Do Pearl and Cora remember me?” she asked.
Lavinia chuckled. “Do you truly think any of us could forget you? You were like a mother to us.”
A deep longing tugged at her, the feel of their baby sister’s weight on her hip. Her chubby fingers tangled with Helena’s hair. She hadn’t felt it this strongly since those first months away from her family. “Could I see Gracie now?”
Lavinia set her cup aside and stood. “Of course. Lord Thorne, is there anything Edith could get for you while you wait? St. Ambrose keeps brandy in the study. I’m certain he wouldn’t mind if I offered you a drink.”
“A brandy would be lovely, Miss Kendrick.”
At the doorway, Helena glanced back at Sebastian and he shooed her away with a grin. “Go see your sister.”
Twenty
Sebastian paced the parlor as he waited for Edith to return with his drink. His fingers curled tightly into fists at his side. If Prestwick were still alive, he’d call him out. How the bastard could look into Helena’s soulful eyes and refuse to help her family proved how dark his heart had been. And her own father gave her away. Sebastian cursed him under his breath.
A door slammed and he jumped.
“Where is he?” a man demanded.
“My lord, it’s not how it appears.”
“Lavinia!” Angry footsteps stomped down the foyer and started up the stairs.
Bollocks! It was St. Ambrose, and he was going to discover Helena. Sebastian dashed for the parlor door. “Are you looking for me?”
The marquess halted near the top of the stairs, turned, and slammed back down the stairwell. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Edith cowered at the edge of the foyer. Her gaze was trained on the stairs as if contemplating the odds of reaching the upper floor before the marquess overtook her.
Sebastian lifted a haughty brow as the man approached. “Clearly not what you think.” He spread his arms wide and indicated his clothed state. “But you have a wicked imagination, St. Ambrose.”
The man bore his teeth and drew back his fist. Sebastian bobbed to the left just in time to dodge. The marquess’s punch merely grazed his ear. His miss fueled his rage and he charged Sebastian. Sidestepping, Sebastian kicked out his foot to catch St. Ambrose’s ankle. The marquess lurched forward into the parlor and landed hard on a side table. The fragile piece splintered.
The man was older than Sebastian’s five-and-twenty years, which gave Sebastian a slight advantage, but the marquess was still fit in his early thirties.
“If you will listen instead of trying to kill me, St. Ambrose, I can explain my presence.” Only Sebastian hadn’t thought that far ahead. He couldn’t think of anything other than getting Helena out of this situation unscathed, which might mean admitting to something he wasn’t guilty of doing.
The marquess wasn’t interested in an explanation anyway. He lumbered to his feet, his face redder than Sebastian thought humanly possible. “I know who you are,” he said with a jab of his finger in Sebastian’s direction, as if that explained the man’s mad behavior.
This time when St. Ambrose barreled toward him, Sebastian hooked an arm around his neck and swung behind him to lock the man in a hold. The marquess struggled and Sebastian tightened his grip. He didn’t want to cut off the man’s air, but applied pressure to his windpipe to show he could if he wanted. This didn’t slow St. Ambrose. He cursed and bucked as Sebastian threw his weight against him in an attempt to knock him to the ground. St. Ambrose’s leg kicked back and struck Sebastian’s shin.