Page 11

“Charlotte, stop!” Helena pleaded.

They had reached the stairwell, and from above, Helena heard the orchestra finishing a set. If her memory served her correctly, it was the last dance before dinner.

“I have nothing to say to you!” Charlotte retorted.

“I only wish to explain!” Helena was nearly at Charlotte's heels, almost out of breath. “Please, stop!”

To her surprise, Charlotte stopped at the landing.

With her back still to Helena, Charlotte inhaled deeply and smoothed the sides of her gown.

“Charlotte,” Helena said, cautiously approaching. “I know how this must appear, but I assure you, it’s a misunderstanding.”

Charlotte whipped around quickly, her blonde curls bouncing against her cheeks. “A misunderstanding?”

“Yes, I?—”

“You were alone,” Charlotte cut in, “with a man. In his arms,” she sneered, jabbing a finger at Helena. “A man whom I explicitly expressed interest in.”

Helena nodded, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, I know. I assure you, it is not as it appears. I have no interest in His Grace.”

“Is your need for attention truly so insatiable that you couldn’t help but come between us?”

Taken aback by the accusation, Helena struggled to find a quick reply before Charlotte spoke again. “Is this why you’ve been rejecting suitor after suitor? To merely bide your time for the biggest catch?”

Inquisitive murmuring came from above, and Helena’s attention shifted upward. Faces gathered quickly around the balustrade, lit by the moon, watching with vicious interest as the scene unfolded below them, like gods of Olympus spectating mortals.

Charlotte didn’t seem to care about the intrusion, too lost in anger to practice discretion. “And to think I once called you a friend,” she spat. “How long have you been scheming, Helena? How long have you been plotting to steal him away?”

“N-never.” Helena swallowed dryly, speaking more calmly than she felt.

“You misunderstand. It’s not what it looked like.

I—I spilled my drink on him, that’s why he took off his coat.

And we were only in the garden because I ran off after we exchanged words, but—but he followed me, and he only meant to escort me back to the ball. ”

Charlotte exhaled in disbelief.

“But I denied his offer!” Helena added quickly.“Please, you must believe me! His intentions were honorable.”

As much as Helena hated the man, slandering him would only raise more suspicion, and it was evident Charlotte would side with him. After all, what was a mere Miss Helena Hargreaves to the Duke of Carrivick?

“And why should I believe you?” Charlotte’s eyes blazed.

“Because we’re friends.”

“I’ve heard all the rumors about you. I’ve heard what Mr. Montgomery said you did in the gallery,” Charlotte said coldly, as snickers and gasps rose around them.

“But I thought nothing of it,” she went on.

“I assumed you were merely another woman among the ton, slandered through no fault of your own. But now I see—you simply can’t help scandalizing yourself, Helena. ”

“Charlotte, please, believe me,” Helena begged. Her lip had begun to tremble, and her words wavered. “I have no designs on the duke. Everything that happened tonight—it wasn’t some malicious ploy to steal him from you.”

“You were alone with him. I saw you in his arms, and for a moment, I thought he would—” She broke off, her voice weak. “I know what I saw.”

“Nothing untoward happened!”

“Enough!” Charlotte’s voice cracked like a whip. “I don’t want to hear another word. You are a disgrace, Helena Hargreaves. And after tonight, everyone— everyone will know it.”

With a final, disdainful look, Charlotte turned and ascended the stairs. A cold sweat broke out on Helena’s face, a culmination of a ruined friendship and a reputation that would soon be impossible to redeem.

The Babbages would surely see to that.

“Helena?” A soft voice called out to her.

Felicity’s hand found hers, tightly wrapping her warm gloved hand through Helena’s bare one. The skin on her palms was still tender from her fall, but Helena didn’t feel the jagged rocks embedded there, nor did she feel the stiffness in her knees. She didn’t care that voyeurs still lingered.

Suddenly, she was terribly numb.

“Let us return to our rooms,” suggested her sister in a tone one might use with a small child.

Helena complied, shielded between Felicity and Isaac, with their mother trailing behind like a shepherdess. Her father, Josiah, had disappeared somewhere. Helena thought nothing of it, only that he and her mother were now tasked with cleaning up her mess.

Once in the guest room she shared with Felicity, Helena collapsed onto the settee, kicking off her slippers and bringing her knees to her chest. She wished to be very small right now, as her sister, brother, and mother rounded on her.

“Did he… touch you?” Isaac asked again, his features tight with concern. “Did he hurt you?”

Shrinking even further into herself, Helena shook her head. “No—nothing like that happened…” she paused, regretting all the decisions that led up to this. “I spilled my drink on him, and impolite words were exchanged. We were less than cordial with one another.”

Margaret grimaced. “What impolite words?”

“I said I would muzzle him?—”

“Oh god,” her mother covered her face with her hands.

“But only because he said I was disagreeable!” Helena replied defensively.

“You are disagreeable,” Isaac countered.

“The duke is the one who started it!”

“Started what?” Her brother snapped. “You went off on your own and spilled your drink on him.”

“I merely wanted some air,” Helena explained apologetically. “I only meant to be gone for a short time. Just while you were speaking to Lord Fowler.”

“I told you to wait!” Now that it was established she wasn’t hurt, Isaac’s concern turned to irritation.

“Keep your voices down,” Margaret hissed.

“I was too distressed to wait,” Helena said, a little quieter.

Isaac threw his hands in the air in disbelief. “Distressed from what?”

“You said Mother and Father would marry me off if I didn’t find a suitable match before the end of the season,” she answered, hotly.

Margaret whipped her head around to glare at Isaac. “You told her?”

Isaac didn’t falter beneath their mother’s censure. “She can’t keep behaving as she does,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I hate the way they speak of her, and I would call them all out if I could—but a respectable match is better than shooting them all down.”

“Now we must contend with the likes of Carrivick,” their mother sighed. “To his credit, I doubt he’ll say anything—but what are we to do with you?” Margaret raised a brow at Helena.

Helena bristled with irritation. “Do you not care that he behaved unspeakably rude towards me?” she asked.

It was a pathetic ploy for sympathy, but Helena didn’t want to be alone in these accusations. She needed to establish that she wasn’t the sole agitator—that the Duke of Carrivick had played his part.

Margaret fixed her with a level stare but said nothing. When her mother was at a loss for words, which wasn’t often, Helena knew she had been pushed too far.

“But he did not lay a hand on you?” Felicity finally spoke up, surveying Helena’s appearance with skepticism.

Helena recalled how Carrivick had lifted her like a rag doll and torn the dance card from her wrist, but only after she had slapped him. Before that, he had been surprisingly gentle.

"Not a finger," she lied, omitting those details. The more she remembered, the more ashamed she felt.

“Yes, how unspeakably rude of him to not lay a hand on you,” Isaac mocked.

The room fell silent. All four of them lost in thought.

Isaac moved to look out the window into the night while her mother paced in front of the door and Felicity sat, examining Helena with an owlish expression.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Helena asked, “What are we to do?”

“The only option would be to send you away for a time,” answered Margaret, still pacing. “I know my cousin in Durham is in need of a companion.”

Exile.

Helena braced herself. She didn’t want to leave, especially not for Durham. It was terribly far and dreadfully dull. If she remembered correctly, that particular cousin was a widowed puritan who once rapped the back of Helena’s legs for swaying her hips too enthusiastically when she walked.

Nevertheless, she nodded in agreement with her mother’s suggestion.

“That’s the best I can do for now,” Margaret said, mostly to herself. She stopped in front of Helena and Felicity. “Perhaps your father has other ideas. I must find him. I think it’s best the two of you spend the rest of the evening in here. Lest Felicity seeks to find herself a scandal?”

With an adamant shake of her head, her sister replied, “No, madam.”

“Good, because then my only option would be to ship the both of you off to New Holland.”

Their mother then left the room.

“I need a drink.” Isaac sighed as he followed after her.

Alone with Felicity, Helena began to calm.

“Oh, your poor dress,” lamented Felicity, gently stroking the dirty lace on Helena’s skirt. “And where are your gloves?”

Helena slid her hands into the hidden pockets of her gown. Nothing there, save for a handkerchief. “I must’ve dropped them when I fell.”

“Did it all transpire as you said it did?”

“Of course not.”

“I thought as much.”

“I didn’t want to upset Mother any further.”

“I think she knows you’re keeping something from her, but I doubt she’ll press any further.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter if I did tell her everything. I’m being sent away anyway.” Helena slumped against the settee in defeat.

“Father would never agree to it,” assured Felicity.

“After tonight, I think he will.”

A burst of laughter echoed from the other side of the door—perhaps a couple finding their way to a room or women seeking a brief respite from the festivities.

Despite her lack of success in finding a love match, Helena didn’t want to leave London.

The balls, operas, soirées, galleries, and rides through the park—all of it, in exchange for Durham, with no promise of return.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

Please, anything. Anything, so I may stay here.

Her sister shuffled closer. "Will you tell me what really happened?”

Helena, keeping her eyes closed, replied, "Tomorrow. I have no desire to think or speak of him anymore tonight.”

Strangely, Helena’s skin contracted in memory of his brief, gentle touch—something she never would have assumed he was capable of. At the time, unsure and alarmed at what he might do next, she struck him. She would take it back if she could.

"Let's try to sleep then," Felicity suggested, pushing herself off the settee. "I know it's early, but I think we need the rest. I have a feeling Mother will want to leave quite urgently tomorrow.”

Helena agreed. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to fall asleep, but she would try her damndest to quiet her mind. No thoughts of this evening, of Charlotte, or of him.

“And perhaps the morning will fare better.”