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Helen was suspicious.

Three days had passed, and her parents had scarcely said a word—to her, or to each other—about the scandal, the duke, or any impending match meant to save her from the fallout. It wasn’t like them to be quiet. Especially not when her reputation was bleeding out into the ton like an untended wound.

So, here she sat in the drawing room of her home, on a quiet Tuesday, with no pressing invitations.

They had attempted to attend a soiree the previous evening—only to be turned away at the door.

A very direct—and thoroughly mortifying—cut.

Her mother and father had merely shrugged, returned home, and said nothing at all.

And that silence, more than the insult itself, fed her suspicions. Last year, when scandal had circled her like vultures, they’d done everything in their power to shield her—fighting tooth and nail to preserve her reputation.

Now? They went on as if nothing had happened three nights ago.

Not that Helena was especially worried for herself. She could survive the repercussions—she always had. With a flutter of lashes and a well-placed smile, most men would trip over themselves to forgive far worse.

No, what concerned her was her sister, Felicity.

Felicity, whose engagement to Simon Axford had once seemed ironclad, hadn’t heard from him in days. Not a letter. Not a visit. Nothing but silence. And in their world, silence was not neutral.

It was deliberate.

A cold, calculated pause meant to sever without having to say the words.

Dastardly.

Cowardly.

But not at all unheard of.

So, Helena was now considering her options.

Since her parents had seemingly abandoned their plan to marry her off the moment she refused another suitor, it appeared the task had fallen back to her.

She would simply have to choose from the few men still foolish—or bold—enough to remain interested.

If only to make herself respectable again.

If only so Felicity could marry the man she loved.

If only to stop being a burden to her family.

“Lord Yarborough, then?” Helena asked, glancing at Elias—her only friend left—where he lounged across from her.

Lady Charlotte had effectively written her off—taking with her what little remained of Helena’s social circle—despite the dozen or so missives Helena had sent. It was a shame. Other than Felicity, Charlotte had been the only one who truly understood her. Or so Helena had believed.

Helena had felt certain they could work it out—a friendship shouldn’t end over a man. The Duke of Carrivick, no less. And if she was honest, she didn’t believe he had any real interest in Charlotte anyway.

His loss. And Charlotte’s gain. She needed someone far more exuberant than that stuffy curmudgeon.

Elias crinkled his nose. His cheeks had been flushed since the moment he entered the drawing room—though she attributed it to his usual shyness.

“Isn’t h-he old?” He asked.

“Well, older than me , yes,” she answered. “But for a man in his fifties, I’d say he’s quite handsome and robust.”

“But h-he’d die before y-you, and you’d be left a w-widow.”

“Yes, and I’d be free to do as I please,” she reasoned with a bright smile. Perhaps she should consider Yarborough. He really was handsome for his age and much more humorous than many of the men she’d dallied with.

Elias’s expression was one of mild distress.

“Oh, very well,” Helena sighed, leaning back against the cushioned chair. Her tea had long since gone cold, but she hadn’t had much interest in food or drink these past few days. The turmoil in her thoughts had unsettled her stomach. “What about the Earl of Auden?”

Elias shook his head.

“What now?”

“Isn’t h-he good f-friends with y-your brother?” he asked.

“Yes, and what of it?”

He leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret. “Doesn’t y-your brother have a reputation ?”

Helena blew out a breath of disgust. “I don’t want to imagine what the two of them get up to.”

She loved Isaac—and many other women seemed to as well—and that was the problem. His escapades around town, or rather, across England, were well known.

She blew out a breath in thought. “Mr. Thaddeus Kimball?”

Elias shifted in his seat. “Well…h-he’s always so…so…loud.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Y-You can’t be in a room with h-him without f-feeling like you’re being shouted at.”

“Now you’re just being fussy,” she told him with a wry raise of her brow. “Or do you have a personal vendetta against him?”

“I’m only trying to h-help.”

“Or you just want me all to yourself?”

“No!” He protested quickly, stiffening in his seat. “N-no.”

“Goodness,” Helena huffed. “There’s no need to insult me. Though…” She smiled slyly. “Perhaps you’d rather I marry no one at all? In that case, I suppose I could always marry you, Elias. We’d make quite the match, wouldn’t we?”

Elias blinked, his mismatched eyes widening slightly. “M-m-marry me?” he stammered, clearly flustered. “I… I don’t th-think that’s such a good idea.”

Helena chuckled, enjoying his discomfort.

“Oh, come now. You could do worse. And think of the scandal—it’d keep everyone talking for weeks.

” She scooted forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees as she glanced at him through her lashes.

“I daresay it might be the most interesting thing that’s happened all season. ”

“I… I suppose it would be… r-rather… theatrical,” he muttered, still unsure how to respond.

Helena shrugged nonchalantly, her grin never fading. “Well, just a thought. It’s always good to keep things interesting, isn’t it?”

“I… I’m not certain,” he admitted with a frown. “I never know when you’re serious.”

Helena gave a light laugh. “You needn’t worry—I won’t force you to the altar. We’re only friends.”

“Of c-course. Friends,” Elias echoed. Suddenly, he rose, his tall frame casting shadows over the delicate furniture. “I sh-should be going.”

Helena stood as well, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. “Oh, poo. Have you given up on finding me a suitable husband?” she teased. “I’ve given up on a love match, so I won’t be too picky this time.”

“I don’t th-think you should give up on your desire for a love match,” he said as she escorted him to the door. “I think you’ll f-find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you, but I must be practical now,” she sighed, watching as a footman brought Elias’s coat and hat. “Still, I shall remain hopeful that love finds me eventually.”

Elias’s face flushed even redder. “I’m sure it’s not far.”

Helena wanted to believe that. Truly.

If she could’ve reached his cheek to plant a kiss, she would have. Instead, she simply smiled, lingering at the steps of her home until he mounted his horse and rode off.

With another sigh, she returned to the drawing room. Before Elias had arrived, she’d been embroidering a colorful little bird on a handkerchief for her father, and she now resumed the task, declining her mother and sister’s invitation to visit Grandmother.

Helena had no desire to step out into society. Even riding in a carriage—passing faces, strange and familiar alike—set her nerves alight. She’d been thoroughly embarrassed by the Duke of Carrivick, by his continued silence, and by her former friend, Lady Charlotte.

Though she hated being confined to her home—however self-imposed the exile—Helena supposed she ought to grow accustomed to it.

There was no use dreaming of a suitor when she was no longer even invited into others’ homes.

She hadn’t admitted it to Elias—nor fully to herself—but she was beginning to doubt whether a reasonable match could be found.

There were still men who showed interest, but it wouldn’t be like before.

A flirtatious glance and a sweet smile were no longer enough.

It would require far more of her now.

The tumult of her thoughts left her hand trembling. After a few pricks of the embroidery needle, she gave up, tossing the hoop aside with a hiss of irritation.

She stomped up the stairs as if the weight of her own existence were too much to bear, each step a thud of protest.

Nothing held her interest anymore. She threw herself onto the bed, one arm flung over her eyes, and began ransacking her mind for the names of any eligible man who might still want her.