Chapter 2

She was picking morosely at her food when her father entered the breakfast-room the nest morning. Forcing herself to sit up straighter, she took a mouthful of food and tried to look like she hadn't been crying within the past ten minutes. Her father, of course, was not fooled. He knew her far too well.

"Still not eating, Helen?" he asked gently, sitting down next to her instead of in his accustomed space on the opposite side of the table.

"It's the baby," she lied, resting a hand on her stomach and pushing the plate away. "I'll eat later, Father."

"Still? I'll give you something for the nausea," he answered quietly, resting his hand on the one she had on her stomach. "Does it move yet?"

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. It was always uncomfortable discussing this topic with him. He hadn't openly condemned her for her mistake out loud, but she could sense his disappointment every time the topic was broached.

"It's early still," he told her. "You'll feel movement before you know it."

She didn't point out that it might be easier for everyone if the baby never did stir in her womb. Besides, he looked like he knew it. It couldn't be easy for him, to have a beloved only child bearing such disgrace. He'd done everything for her, raised her with every advantage, and this was how she repaid him. A small part of her, a part she loathed, thought that the best thing that could happen for him would be for her baby to die early enough that the pregnancy could be hidden. The rest of her reacted violently to the very concept, and her nausea only grew worse at the idea.

"Helen, sweetheart, don't," he directed, reaching up and wiping away the tears she hadn't even realized she'd started to shed. "We will find a way to salvage this situation."

"There's only so much that can be done, Father," she sighed. "I've ruined everything."

"You couldn't have known what would happen, how this would all end. Yes, you've made mistakes, but you can't blame yourself so entirely. And you certainly can't keep lingering on the past. You must accept what is and move forward."

"I know," she whispered, staring down at her hands. "But the future seems so bleak, for both of us. It's not the baby's fault, but it will suffer for my transgressions!"

"Perhaps not," he answered, his strong, gentle fingers wiping away more tears. "Can you think of no solution, child?"

Sniffling hard and rubbing away the last of her tears, she shook her head. "What solution could there possibly be?"

"A maid found this in a rubbish bins this morning, Helen," he answered, withdrawing a ring box from his pocket and placing it on the table. "Is there nothing you want to tell me?"

She choked softly, staring at it with wide eyes. "Where did that come from?" she demanded, not sure whether to feel angry, confused, or horrified. Hell, at the moment, she was not even sure if that conflicted jumble of feelings was directed against James or herself.

"So you don't know where it came from? You haven't seen it before?" he challenged, gently but without compromise. His eyes, on hers, were steady and searching. Clearly, he felt sorry for her but, just as clearly, he meant to have answers.

She was silent for a long moment, struggling to compose herself and formulate an answer. Finally, she managed, speaking slowly and carefully, "James offered me marriage last night. I didn't think he was serious. I certainly didn't know he'd bought a ring."

"Do you love him?"

"He's my best friend, Father, but I'm not sure I'll ever feel for him what I felt for John."

"Look what your feelings for that man have gotten you, girl!" he snapped in answer, shaking his head and slamming the ring-box down on the table.

She gasped softly at his outburst, clasping her hands in front of her mouth and nervously rubbing her face as she struggled to think how to respond. He didn't seem to require a response, though. After some time, he sighed and spoke again.

"Does he love you? As a man is meant to love a wife?"

"I don't know. I... I don't think so," she added since, to the best of her knowledge, the only person James had ever loved romantically hadn't even been a woman.

More silence. "Do you think he could learn to love you? Clearly, he seems to think he could."

"It's James. He'd do anything to protect me. I don't think he's thought it through."

"Well, there's hardly time for rational thought, in a situation like yours. You may end up having to swallow your pride and accept him. You know that, don't you?"

She swallowed hard at that, staring at him with wide eyes. "You once told me-"

"I married for love, Helen," he interrupted, holding up a hand to silence her. "I had hoped you would be able to do the same. It certainly looked like you would, but the situation has changed."

"You blame me."

"I don't have to blame you. You blame yourself." He shook his head. "Helen, this is not about blame or recrimination. It's about salvaging what's left of your life and your reputation. Do you know what the rest of your life will be like if you do not marry, and quickly? Do you realize what your child's life would be like?"

His words hit her like a blow to the gut, momentarily taking her breath away. She didn't answer because she couldn't. Her chest ached horribly, and so did her head. In her eyes, marrying James would be unspeakably selfish.. In her father's eyes, not marrying him would be even more so, because an innocent baby would suffer for it, too.

How could she reconcile the two facts? How could she chose between the future happiness of James Watson and that of her child? Was it even a contest? She couldn't make James happy, she was sure of that. So to marry him would be to make him miserable for life. But to not marry him would be to consign her own baby to an unspeakable fate. James knew it, too. That, after all, was why he had offered, wasn't it? Her own happiness didn't matter one bit. She had to think about the baby now. It was the only thing that mattered, the only good thing that had come out of her relationship with John. It had to be protected, at all costs.

"Do you think... Is it possible to learn to make a man happy?" she whispered finally, voice small and unsteady in her own ears.

She hated how weak and broken she sounded, hoped her father wouldn't notice. From the compassion in his expression, though, he definitely had taken note. He took her hands in both of his, squeezing them gently for a long moment without answering and just looking at her with a heartbreaking, shame-inducing level of sympathy and remorse.

"I think a lot of women marry men they aren't even friendly with, just for a little bit of security. I don't think it's right, but it happens every day. A girl could do worse than to marry her best friend. I've seen love grow up after the marriage takes place. I think that would happen much more easily if a man and woman were already close beforehand. James Watson may be your best chance at happiness, Helen. And he may be your only chance at normalcy and a life free of disgrace," he told her firmly, still holding her hands. "I've always raised you to be an optimist and an idealist. But now is the time for pragmatism."

"I'm afraid I would make him miserable," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Not if you try to make him happy. When have you ever failed at anything you tried, sweetheart?" he countered gently.

She swallowed hard, staring at the closed box on the table. "He may not have me now anyway. I laughed when he suggested it. I thought he wasn't being serious."

He blinked at that, then shook his head shortly. "He is your best chance. He's your child's best chance."

"Wouldn't it be wrong? I'd feel as if I were taking advantage of him."

"You'd have every opportunity to return his kindness."

She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. "You think I should do it, then."

"I do. You disagree?"

"I... I don't know. Father, I'm so confused!" she whimpered, squirming her hands free of his gentle hold and lifting them to cover her face.

"You must look to the future," he told her gently, gathering her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. "Helen, I'd do anything to protect you, but I can't in this case. Young James can, though. I'll talk to him myself if you're too squeamish."

"No," she protested, not trying to pull free, but shaking her head hard. However conflicted she felt about accepting the offer James had made, she drew the line at being bartered for by third parties. She didn't have much pride left, but she meant to preserve what tattered shreds remained. "I'll speak to him. I make no promises, but I'll speak to him on the matter. If he still wishes to have me..."

He nodded, patting her back gently. "You're making the right decision. I know it's difficult for you, but it's for your own good. And the child's."

"Yes, Father," she whispered, burying her face more firmly in his chest, the way she had when she was a little girl, scared of the monsters in her closest. That, of course, had been before she'd known that there were real monsters, and that the worst of those took human form.

"I always told you that the future was yours for the taking. I'm sorry, but that can no longer be the case. Your options are limited by necessity."

"I know, Father," she answered, nodding weakly.

"Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I gave you too much freedom and independence. If I did, I'm sorry, Helen. But I'm still going to do everything in my power to give you a good life, a good future. James will let you work, he'll let you study. Clearly, he's willing to acknowledge the child as his own. You really couldn't ask for better right now."

"I know, Father," she repeated dutifully, tears wetting his shirt.

"This is for your own good, Helen. You'll thank me later for helping you see reason."

"Yes, Father."

They sat in near-silence for what felt like hours, her father just holding her close and rubbing her back as she quietly cried against his chest. She couldn't help but feel guilty about what her acceptance of the proposal would do to James, how it would change his life.

Last night, she'd dreaded spending the rest of her life alone. Now, she was dreading the thought of forcing herself on another.