“Dreadful,” Helen whispered. “Even my skin hurts.”
Pulling a chair to the bedside, Kathleen sat and regarded her with aching concern. “What brought this on?” she dared to ask. “Did something happen during Mr. Winterborne’s visit? Something besides discussing the wedding?”
Helen responded with a minuscule nod, her jaw trembling.
Kathleen’s thoughts whirled as she wondered how to help Helen, who seemed on the verge of falling apart. She hadn’t seen her this undone since Theo’s death.
“I wish you would tell me,” she said. “My imagination is running amok. What did Winterborne do to make you so unhappy?”
“I can’t say,” Helen whispered.
Kathleen tried to keep her voice calm. “Did he force himself on you?”
A long silence followed. “I don’t know,” Helen said in a sodden voice. “He wanted… I don’t know what he wanted. I’ve never —” She stopped and blew her nose into the handkerchief.
“Did he hurt you?” Kathleen forced herself to ask.
“No. But he kept kissing me and wouldn’t stop, and… I didn’t like it. It wasn’t at all what I thought kissing would be. And he put his hand… somewhere he shouldn’t. When I pushed him away, he looked angry and said something sharp that sounded like… I thought I was too good for him. He said other things as well, but there was too much Welsh mixed in. I didn’t know what to do. I started to cry, and he left without another word.” She gave a few hiccupping sobs. “I don’t understand what I did wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“But I did, I must have.” Helen lifted her thin fingers to her temples, pressing lightly over the cloth that covered them.
Winterborne, you ham-handed sod, Kathleen thought furiously. Is it really so difficult for you to be gentle with a shy young woman, the first time you kiss her? “Obviously he has no idea how to behave with an innocent girl,” she said quietly.
“Please don’t tell anyone. I would die. Please promise.”
“I promise.”
“I must make Mr. Winterborne understand that I didn’t mean to make him angry —”
“Of course you didn’t. He should know that.” Kathleen hesitated. “Before you proceed with the wedding plans, perhaps we should take some time to reconsider the engagement.”
“I don’t know.” Helen winced and gasped. “My head is throbbing. Right now I feel as if I never want to see him again. Please, would you give me some more Godfrey’s Cordial?”
“Yes, but first you must eat something. Cook is making broth and blancmange. It will be ready soon. Shall I leave the room? I think my talking has made your migraine worse.”
“No, I want company.”
“I’ll stay, then. Rest your poor head.”
Helen obeyed, subsiding. In a moment, there was a quiet sniffle. “I’m so disappointed,” she whispered. “About kissing.”
“Darling, no,” Kathleen said, her heart breaking a little. “You haven’t really been kissed. It’s different with the right man.”
“I don’t see how it could be. I thought… I thought it would be like listening to beautiful music, or… or watching the sunrise on a clear morning. And instead…”
“Yes?”
Helen hesitated, and made a revolted little sound. “He wanted me to part my lips. During.”
“Oh.”
“Is it because he’s Welsh?”
A mixture of sympathy and amusement swept through Kathleen. She replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t believe that manner of kissing is limited to the Welsh, dear. Perhaps the idea isn’t appealing at first. But if you try it a time or two, you might find it pleasant.”
“How could I? How could anyone?”
“There are many kinds of kisses,” Kathleen said. “Had Mr. Winterborne introduced you to it gradually, you may have been more disposed to like it.”
“I don’t think I like kisses at all.”
Kathleen dampened a fresh white cloth, folded it, and laid it across Helen’s forehead. “You will. With the right man, kissing is wonderful. Like falling into a long, sweet dream. You’ll see.”
“I don’t think so,” Helen whispered, her fingers plucking at the counterpane and twitching with agitation.
Staying by the bedside, Kathleen watched as Helen relaxed and drowsed.
She knew that the cause of Helen’s problems would have to be addressed before her condition would truly improve. Having suffered from nervous distress in the weeks after Theo’s death, Kathleen could recognize the signs in someone else. It made her heart ache to see Helen’s cheerful nature crumbling beneath the weight of anxiety.
If it went on for too long, Kathleen was afraid that Helen might descend into a deep melancholy.
She had to do something. Driven by intense worry, she left Helen’s bedside and went to ring for Clara.
As soon as the maid reached her room, Kathleen told her briskly, “I need a pair of walking boots, a veil, and my hooded cloak. I must go on an errand, and I need you to accompany me.”
Clara looked disconcerted. “I can run the errand, milady, if you tell me what you need.”
“Thank you, but I’m the only one who can do it.”
“Shall I tell the butler to have the coach readied?”
Kathleen shook her head. “It would be much easier and simpler to walk. It’s a short distance, less than a half mile. We’ll be on our way back before they’ve even finished harnessing the team.”
“A half mile?” Clara, who wasn’t fond of walking, looked aghast. “Through London at night?”
“It’s still light outside. We’ll be walking through gardens and along a promenade. Now hurry.” Before I lose my nerve, she thought.
The errand would have to be carried out before anyone had time to object or delay them. With luck, they would return home before dinner.
Once she was warmly dressed and ready to leave, Kathleen went to the upstairs parlor where Cassandra was reading and Pandora was cutting pictures out of periodicals and gluing them into a scrapbook.
“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked in surprise.
“Out for an errand. Clara and I will return soon.”