Page 16

Helena sat in her room at the window seat, knees drawn close to her chest, and stared numbly out into the street. She had just watched Elias leave. Hurriedly, he had prepared his horse and ridden off in a direction she knew did not lead home.

It wouldn’t surprise her if he meant to leave London altogether.

She had thoroughly broken his heart—and embarrassed him in front of one of the worst men she had ever met, no less.

Their friendship was beyond salvaging now.

And if she married the duke, she might lose her last chance to make amends with Charlotte.

If Helena had accepted Elias’s proposal, perhaps she could have fallen in love with him in time. But if it had been meant to be, she already would have.

Elias deserved someone who could love him with certainty.

And she wouldn’t have minded marrying Carrivick if her father had just been honest… well, she would’ve minded, but she would’ve gotten past it—for Felicity’s sake.

But to find out like this—ambushed, cornered, spoken for as if she were nothing more than a stock animal being sold to a farmer—left her feeling so exposed. Like an uncovered wound.

It didn’t matter that she was used to obedience. This was different. This tasted like betrayal.

Carrivick hadn’t even asked—not when she spilled her drink, not when she tripped, not once about how she was feeling.

Helena wasn’t na?ve.

And she knew exactly what sort of husband that made.

Dropping her head, she let out a sob. She had ruined everything in such a short amount of time—her friendships, her prospects, her future. All gone.

A shout rang out from the street.

Helena’s attention darted back to the window. A servant led the duke’s horse forward—a regal, chestnut-hued creature whose gleaming pelt betrayed the care its master bestowed upon it. It waited patiently for Carrivick, who had just appeared to take the reins from the groom.

Helena watched as he donned his hat and ran his gloved fingers along the horse’s neck, stroking it with a few affectionate scratches.

Today, he wore a rich burgundy tailcoat over black breeches, looking perfectly out of place against the dainty decor of her drawing room.

She likened it to Hades stepping out from the underworld into a field of flowers, preparing to snatch Persephone away.

Unexpectedly, Carrivick turned—and his eyes found the window of her bedroom.

Startled to be caught staring again, Helena launched herself to the floor with an audible thud. Wincing, she crouched and peered from the corner of the window.

Thankfully, his back was to her now. She reassured herself that he hadn’t seen.

The duke’s perfectly postured figure eventually disappeared from sight.

Now that her home was free of him, she had no desire to leave the room she shared with Felicity. So she resumed her perch at the window and watched the outside world, her gaze unfocused, her thoughts elsewhere.

It was only when her mother and sister returned home hours later that Helena was forced to interact. She joined them in the drawing room, where her mother wasted no time in informing her of their plans to attend a party at the Van Dorns’.

Helena regarded her mother with mild amusement and threw herself onto the chaise beside Felicity.

“The van Dorns? You don’t even like them.”

“Oh, hush,” Margaret tsked. She and Josiah sat across from the sisters, their tea freshly served. “But that is where His Grace plans to announce your engagement.”

A chill swept over Helena, and the teacup in her hand began to tremble. She placed it delicately back on the table. The looming shadow of her impending marriage to Carrivick attacked her very nerves. She would soon be his.

"I understand," she croaked.

Her parents exchanged a hurried glance.

“It was His Grace’s idea,” her father explained. “To act as a loving couple—to quell the talk that this is a scandalous union.”

From across the room, Isaac snorted into his book. He was splayed out in an armchair, one leg dangling lazily over the side.

“As if anyone will believe it.”

Indeed, Helena wanted to agree. She wasn’t even certain she could bear his touch, let alone behave like a lovelorn fiancée.

“What would he have me do?” she asked quietly.

“After dinner, he’ll make the announcement,” said Josiah. “All you need to do is stand beside him and smile. Perhaps a dance or two, and then we’ll make our merry way home.”

“And tomorrow we’ll begin the wedding preparations,” Margaret added, clapping her hands together with exaggerated cheer. Her smile was too wide, too bright—Helena recognized it as a balm, applied hastily to cover the bruise.

“Perhaps we can shop for a new trousseau?”

“You needn’t spend the money. There’s nothing I require,” Helena replied, even though she adored shopping. But today, she doubted even a new gown could distract her from what waited ahead.

“Of course there is. Once you’re a married woman, you’re free to wear much more exciting fashions.”

Felicity patted Helena’s hand and leaned in. “You can finally lower your neckline. Much more fashionable.”

Josiah hummed in disapproval.

Helena and her sister exchanged small smiles at their father’s grimace.

“I doubt anything will be finished before I marry,” Helena said.

“Perhaps a dress or two,” Margaret mused, pursing her lips in thought. “Maybe we can light a fire under the modiste if we happen to mention you’re marrying the Duke of Carrivick.”

“There, already benefitting from this marriage,” Josiah remarked. “You’ll be one of the most powerful women in England. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Only to you,” Helena grumbled.

Apparently, this was not a desirable answer. Her mother let out a long-suffering sigh. “Helena, we are trying our best to comfort you.”

“By offering me a new wardrobe?”

“No, by reminding you of your future position. Do you know how many women would give their left foot to be as lucky as you?”

“This is lucky?” Helena’s voice rose sharply. “I’m marrying a man I hate—and whom I know nothing about!”

Her shrillness drew the room’s attention. Even Isaac looked up from his book, and Felicity stiffened beside her.

“Yes! Exceedingly lucky.” Margaret’s tone cut like a whip.

“He could have us all ruined if he chose to. Instead, he offered for you and is doing what he can to quiet the rumors. You’ve been long spoiled by us, Helena.

We gave you ample time and freedom to make use of your seasons, and you squandered them with your impossible standards. ”

“Love is not an impossible standard,” she argued, trying to hold her ground.

“For the ton , it is,” her mother snapped. “Not every young woman is afforded the luxuries we gave you. Their livelihoods depend on advantageous marriages—and I will not have you sulk about your misfortune when you’re marrying a duke.”

Embarrassed, Helena sank into the cushions. Guilt twisted through her chest.

Her mother was right, of course.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m just… afraid.”

The angry brackets around Margaret’s mouth vanished as her face softened.

“We would never marry you to a villain.”

“But how do you know he isn’t?” Helena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carrivick had cut her to pieces with his words. His stony eyes had stripped her of all dignity—assessing her like some undesirable thing.

Margaret hesitated. “I understand that he can be…” She nibbled on her lip, searching.

“Reticent?” Josiah offered from his seat.

“Pompous?” Isaac chimed in.

“Reticent,” Margaret repeated firmly, ignoring Isaac. “But I assure you, he is a most respectable figure.”

“There are no secrets in London, my dear,” said Josiah, lifting his teacup. “Not when it comes to aristocrats. If there were even a whiff of deviancy, it would have been dragged into the light by now. Everyone would know.”

Margaret nodded in agreement. “From what I understand, the man has no interest in gambling, drinking, or philandering. He is—” she pressed a hand to her chest, “—impeccable.”

“Impeccably boring,” Isaac interjected as he stood. He tossed his book onto the chair and sauntered over, wedging himself between Helena and Felicity so that his long arms draped dramatically around both their shoulders. “His Grace and I have been acquainted for many years now.”

“Really?” Felicity quirked a brow. “I’ve never seen him so much as look in your direction.”

“Different circles,” Isaac sniffed. “But we attended Eton together.”

“I didn’t realize he was so young,” Helena said, recalling Carrivick’s unsmiling mien. He had no visible lines on his face, but his severity aged him.

“Two years older than me,” Isaac replied.

“Oh.” Only eight and twenty.

Isaac grinned smugly at Helena’s underlying insult. “Surprising, is it? I suppose a dour disposition can age a man prematurely.”

“Isaac, have care,” Josiah warned. “He is soon to be your brother-by-law. You ought to speak of him with more respect.”

“I’m only trying to comfort her.” Isaac pulled Helena closer in a brotherly embrace. “All I’m saying is: you needn’t worry. He’s no reprobate or spendthrift. You’ll lead an impeccably boring life with your impeccably boring duke.”

“It will be a quiet life,” said Margret in defense. “Lord knows knows you’ll need it after this is through.”