The effect upon Helena was instantaneous as she passed through the gates to Alverton Hall. Crossing the threshold from freedom to within the confines of the Alverton estate once more, it was as if the past two months had never taken place. Helena felt herself shrinking; altering in size to fit the shrunken life she was expected to lead here in her childhood home.

Within the carriage, the mood was subdued. They had been travelling the length of the country for a number of days, their progress hindered by Margaret's frequent need to rest and tend to George. Although his recovery had been remarkably swift, there was still some concern over the delicacy of his health, and Helena privately wondered at Margaret's bringing him with them - but Margaret had been adamant that she would not allow her son out of her sight.

Mary had suggested that perhaps both Margaret and George should remain in London - but Margaret did not take kindly to that idea either.

"I am not a child," she had snapped indignantly, upon discovering that Helena and Mary had concealed Sir Edmund's letter from her for two full days. "I am a mother, with the responsibility of setting an example to my child - and hiding from Mr Roach in fear is a poor example indeed!"

Helena wondered, now, if Margaret perhaps regretted her decision. As the imposing Alverton Hall drew ever closer, she withdrew further into her plush red seat as if wishing to disappear into it entirely, clutching George tight to her bosom. The infant slept soundly, unaware of the imminent danger before them - and this innocent vulnerability struck Helena like an icy blade to the heart. She had expected herself to fear meeting the beastly Mr Roach; yet her fear was only for the safety of George.

Poor Allen the butler appeared startled out of his skin to receive the party into the entrance hall moments later. His eyes swivelled from Mary, to Joseph - who everyone in Alverton still believed to be abroad - before widening upon regarding baby George, and eventually fixing upon Helena.

"Lady Helena!" he gasped, mortified. "Please forgive me - we were not expecting your arrival this afternoon!"

"Oh, think nothing of it, Allen," replied Helena. It was nice to think that the faithful butler had wished to give her a fine welcome home; sadly, Helena felt he would be in the minority.

"Is my father in?" she enquired bravely, wishing to have the painful reunion done with so that they may go about rectifying the situation with Mr Roach.

Allen frowned.

"Lord Alverton does not leave his chambers," the butler told her.

Helena's heart constricted at his words; guilt lacing her insides as she imagined her poor, frail father, all alone and bed-ridden.

"How long has he been this way?" she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Allen looked most distressed.

"Since - since Christmas, milady," he replied, with a painful grimace.

Helena pinched her eyes shut, causing a solitary tear to escape from beneath her lashes.

It was all her fault! She was solely responsible for her father's demise - thanks to her selfish impulsiveness, her father had suffered months of agony! How could she have neglected her duty to him in such a way? How could she have been such a dreadful daughter?

Just as Helena felt on the verge of breaking apart for all to see, she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, anchoring her in the turbulent sea of thoughts washing through her mind.

"Shall I accompany you?" murmured Joseph, his voice a calming lullaby.

Helena shook her head.

"No - I must have this conversation alone," she told him decisively. "Besides, I do not think it wise to share our news quite yet. We must allow him to recover from the shock of my return before we concern him with any other matters."

Allen's eyes popped at the mention of other matters, his gaze swivelling between Helena and Joseph as he fought to maintain professional despite his evident burning curiosity. Much had happened since her departure, Helena realised - the house staff would have enough material for months' worth of gossip once all the various pieces of shocking news became common knowledge!

"Shall I inform Lord Alverton of your arrival?" asked Allen, steering the conversation back to more familiar ground.

"No, thank you," Helena told him. "I shall visit him directly in his chambers."

Helena had barely taken two steps towards the staircase, however, when two figures appeared on the landing above, deep in conversation. The first was Sir Edmund - and judging by Mary's gasp of horror, his companion had to be the despicable Mr Roach.

"...see what I can do, Mr Roach," Sir Edmund was saying, before jolting to a halt on the staircase as he regarded the party assembled in the entrance hall.

"Lady Helena!" he gasped, hurrying down the remaining steps. "And Miss Thorpe!"

Sir Edmund's palpable relief at seeing them returned led to yet another stab of guilt. He had been a fine friend to Helena this winter when she found herself severely lacking; he deserved to have been treated far better.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies for treating you so ill these past months," implored Helena, crossing the entrance hall to meet him at the foot of the stairs.

Sir Edmund heaved a sigh, running a hand through his golden hair.

"I forgive you, Lady Helena," he replied. "I trust whatever matter it was that took you so urgently from Alverton must have been of great importance."

His eyes travelled hesitantly towards Margaret, and the sleeping infant in her arms.

"It was indeed a matter of great importance," Helena assured him, "yet that does not make my behaviour acceptable."

A snide voice came from somewhere above Helena, interrupting her conversation with Sir Edmund.

"Reluctant as I am to disrupt this most stirring reunion," cut in Mr Roach, swaggering down the remaining stairs until he was level with Helena and Sir Edmund, "I have one or two matters of my own to discuss."

Helena caught Margaret flinch out of the corner of her eye, and felt a stab of pity for the poor girl. This man was truly repulsive indeed; Margaret would have been far better remaining in the safety of Louisa's home, miles away from this vile creature!

"The first thing I wish to know is whether that child belongs to me," said Mr Roach. "Or rather, to us. To Miss Thorpe and myself."

"Child?"

Sir Edmund's expression was a mask of horror - had Helena ever been seeking confirmation of the extent of his feelings for Mary, this was it.

"Is it true?" he whispered, turning to face Mary.

"I should not expect to gain any information of use from such a senseless creature!" sneered Mr Roach, eyeing Mary as if she were of no greater importance than a speck of mud on the toe of his boot.

Sir Edmund bristled, cheeks colouring with uncharacteristic rage.

"How dare you speak to a lady in such a manner!" he cried, glaring at Mr Roach with utter loathing.

"I have attempted to treat you with perfect hospitality since your arrival - listening to your countless demands for money and abhorrent lies - yet you have the nerve to address Miss Thorpe in such a fashion! I believe, sir, it is time you took your leave!"

There was a momentary pause as all present digested Sir Edmund's outburst. Then, in perhaps the most shocking reaction Helena could have imagined, Mr Roach uttered a hearty guffaw.

"Oh, my good man - what a fine jest you make!" he exclaimed, still laughing. "Miss Thorpe, indeed!"

Mary blanched, Helena's heart constricting painfully as she shared her friend's pain.

"I can assure you, sir, that I make no jest!" replied Sir Edmund, vehemently.

Mr Roach appeared understandably confused.

"But - surely you must know that this is Miss Thorpe?" he questioned, gesturing towards the stricken Margaret. "Was she not a guest at Alverton Hall this winter?"

"I - I do not -," stuttered Sir Edmund helplessly. With wide eyes, he gazed imploringly at Mary, silently urging her to deny Mr Roach's words.

But of course, she could not. Face positively glowing with shame, Mary simply lowered her gaze to look determinedly at her feet - and this action said far more than any words she might have uttered.

The expression on Sir Edmund's face was agonising to behold. He had the appearance of a man whose hopes and dreams had been extinguished entirely in one single moment; a man whose spirit had been crushed beyond repair.

"Who are you?" murmured Sir Edmund, desperately attempting to capture Mary's gaze.

Mary visibly swallowed, steeling herself to utter the words which would single-handedly lose her the trust and good opinion of the man she loved.

But Mr Roach got there first.

"She is a maid," he spat, oblivious to the world of hurt he was inflicting upon Helena's dear friend. "She is nothing but Miss Thorpe's lady's maid!"

The silence which followed was among the most excruciating Helena had ever witnessed. She felt instinctively drawn to Sir Edmund's face, watching in horror as it moved from disbelief to a brief flicker of anger - and then, far worse, came deep an expression of deep hurt and betrayal.

Baby George began to grizzle, his cries ringing out through the deathly silent hall. The sound startled Helena out of her stream of tortured thoughts, and with some effort she succeeded in returning to her usual brisk, no-nonsense manner.

"Joseph - would you care to show Margaret upstairs to a bedchamber, and have a maid assist her in making George comfortable?" she instructed.

Joseph, oblivious to the consequences of the interaction between Sir Edmund, Mary and Mr Roach, eyed the latter warily, clearly reluctant to leave Helena in his company.

Helena replied with a confident look, assuring her betrothed that all was well, leaving Joseph with no choice but to assist the severely shaken Margaret and her child up the stairs.

With the infant's cries echoing into the distance, the silence in the room became all the more pronounced. Mr Roach, of course, knew nothing of the damage he had caused - yet he still looked rather pleased with himself, knowing at least that he had succeeded in creating some form of disruption. Helena's stomach churned violently at the mere sight of him; she sorely hoped that George took after his mother, for there could be nothing worse to aspire to than this despicable person before her.

Sir Edmund had by now ceased his attempts to look Mary in the eye. Instead he turned his head dejectedly away; hurt and resignation etched across every feature.

"Sir Edmund," prompted Helena gently. "Perhaps you would like to take a turn about the gardens with Mary?"

Mary's eyes widened in horror, understandably furious. Helena, however, determinedly ignored her friend's pleading expression - for she knew that providing Sir Edmund with an explanation was possibly Mary's only chance for forgiveness.

The pause was long - far too long - and for one dreadful moment, Helena thought Sir Edmund might truly refuse.

"Very well," he sighed eventually, his reply flat and emotionless, as if he hardly expected it to be worth his time.

Mary cringed at his cold tone, quite unable to speak.

"Shall we?" prompted Sir Edmund, gesturing in the direction of the drawing room.

Watching the pair disappear from view, Helena finally turned to face the evil man before her with a sense of grim satisfaction.

Mr Roach had treated both Margaret and Mary abominably - the time had come for Helena to give him a jolly good piece of her mind.

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A/N: So, we've finally met Mr Roach! What do you guys think of him? Is he how you imagined?

Poor Mary and Sir Edmund, though! :( Do you think Sir Edmund will forgive Mary once she explains why she pretended to be Miss Thorpe?

Don't forget to give this chapter a vote if you enjoyed! :)