Page 4

Later, beneath the springtime sun and upon the meticulously manicured lawns of Lady Crockwell’s estate, Helena stood alongside her sister, Felicity, and their mutual friend, Lady Charlotte Babbage.

The women were half-heartedly engaged in a game of pall-mall, though in truth, they used the activity as little more than an excuse to loiter and discreetly observe a group of men seated on the upper terrace, looking out over the lawn.

Absorbed in their own conversation, the men seemed oblivious to the attention they had drawn.

With most of the other guests having ventured off to tour the expansive grounds, the relative quiet left the women free to speak more openly.

“Have you heard? The Duke of Carrivick is at last resolved to marry?” Charlotte asked, her lovely features alight with interest.

It was a name Helena had no desire to hear again so soon. But avoiding it was impossible; the man was a sought-after guest. No doubt he had already forgotten their introduction today—let alone the insult he had dealt her.

Pushing aside the unsavory memory of her run-in with the duke, Helena steadied her mallet, readying to take a whack at the wooden ball resting on the grass.

“Not at all.”

Charlotte had long since abandoned any pretense of playing, her mallet discarded somewhere on the lawn.

"Hmph, I thought you, of all people, would take an interest. He is the catch of the season—no, the catch of the century!”

With a tap, Helena sent her wooden ball smoothly rolling through the wicket. Her sister nudged her affectionately with her elbow.

“Any relatively young man with all his teeth is considered a catch these days.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “And I thought you were the romantic of the two.”

“She usually is, but I doubt the duke is marrying for romance,” Felicity interjected in her defense.

“What’s more romantic than marrying a rich and handsome duke, not to mention one in possession of all his teeth?” Charlotte bared her own perfect teeth in example. “It’s not as if there are many of them to go around.”

Helena thought back to when she first encountered the duke a year ago.

At first, she had considered Carrivick of passing appearance; certainly, his appeal seemed to lie more in his title, and perhaps that was all Charlotte saw as well.

But when he spoke, any gracious opinion Helena had of his looks vanished.

“I suppose if that’s what you like,” Helena replied with a sniff, unwilling to yield.

“Well, it is what I like,” Charlotte said with a sly smile. “Father is trying to secure a match between us.” She looked at her friends expectantly, as though she had revealed some harrowing secret.

But Helena wasn’t surprised. Charlotte was popular, charming, and demure when the occasion called for it—everything a lady ought to be.

She glided through ballrooms with the grace of a butterfly in flight, using her beauty to her advantage.

Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, she was perfect by English standards, and if anyone was suited for a duke, it would be her.

“Has His Grace shown any particular interest?” asked Felicity.

“Some, yes,” Charlotte answered blithely.

“He is the only eligible duke in the country, and every young lady is fluttering after him, so naturally, he must weigh his options. But in the end, he shall see reason.” She twirled a loose strand of butter-blond hair from beneath her bonnet. “I suit him best.”

“Besides,” she continued, her smile widening, “Father is a friend of his, you see. Or rather, he wishes to be… but there is a certain fondness there, I’m certain of it.”

“Yes, men practically fall over themselves to gain his esteem—more so than the women,” Felicity chimed in dryly. “Though not for lack of trying.”

Charlotte laughed behind a gloved hand. “Yes, definitely not for lack of trying. But now, even more women will be vying for his attention.”

“Perhaps they’ll start dueling for his favor,” Helena teased, though she wouldn’t have minded seeing the spectacle herself.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Charlotte replied archly.

“Though I have noticed the carroty-haired Lady Cerys sniffing around him.” She sighed, as if imagining the situation already.

“But if my father can secure the match, I do hope His Grace and I might be wed before the year is out.” She cast a wistful glance, then turned to Felicity.

“And what of you, Felicity? Has Sir Simon at last proposed?”

Since her debut, Felicity had been dutifully courted by Sir Simon Axford, a handsome baronet from Wiltshire.

From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he had been smitten, and as time passed, his feelings only deepened, until he finally asked for her hand earlier this month—coincidentally on the same day as Felicity and Helena’s birthdays.

For Mr. and Mrs. Hargreaves, it had been a moment of relief, as one daughter’s future was now secured.

Yet, for Helena, the news had stirred something bittersweet—a longing that tugged at her heart, for she feared she would spend the rest of her life alone, a spinster, a burden to her family as Felicity and her brother, Isaac moved forward with their lives.

Felicity hesitated at the question. “No, not yet,” she answered softly. “I’ll just have to be patient.”

She was in love with Simon, yes—but the weight of the impending changes had left her in a near panic.

Helena wasn’t certain if it was the excitement of the engagement, the pressure of family expectations, or the sudden realization of her new future, but Felicity was not yet ready to announce it to the world.

“And you, Helena? How was your perambulating with Mr. Pyle? He’s certainly handsome enough.”

“Wholly unremarkable,” Helena answered quickly, unwilling to elaborate. “I reckon the rest of the season will be as well.”

“Ho-hum.” Displeased by Helena’s taciturn response, Charlotte steered the conversation back to herself—as she often did. “If I’m to marry a duke, the only reasonable place for such a wedding would, of course, be St. George’s. It’s utterly fashionable, and I simply must have a new dress for thhh?—”

Charlotte’s words faltered, before she abruptly collected herself. “He’s here! He must’ve just sat down!”

Helena and Felicity stared at her blankly.

“Pardon?” Felicity asked.

Charlotte inched closer, turning her back on whatever had interrupted her chatter. “Look past my left shoulder.”

They did as instructed.

“No, my other left.”

It took Helena a moment to spot him, as the men surrounding him obscured her view. Charlotte’s eyes, apparently much sharper, had already located him. There, across the greens and high on the terrace, sat the Duke of Carrivick.

While the others engaged in merriment, the duke sat silently, his expression one of bland amusement. Perhaps the present company was beneath him, not of the ‘ elevated standing ’ he thought himself entitled to.

What a dreary man. And such dreariness was so out of place on a day like this.

The sky was clear, the sun proud in its springtime brilliance, and England had been blessed with an early season of warmth.

For once, even the weather conversation didn’t feel tedious.

Yet, someone like him could always find fault with the day.

Perhaps a bee had stung him, or a bird had shat on his coat? She nearly snickered at the thought.

Helena didn’t know why, but she continued to watch him, her visceral dislike growing with every moment, as if she were determined to find more reasons to loathe him.

It wasn’t just his arrogance that set her teeth on edge, but his earlier insult—so careless and so subtly cruel.

He had treated her with a disregard she hadn’t deserved—he’d never once spoken to her before!

Even Mr. Pyle, for all his bumbling, had been the target of his disdain.

Not that she cared for Mr. Pyle—but still, it was impossible to ignore the way Carrivick dismissed them both with such ease.

She knew well enough why he had done it—her damned unearned ‘reputation’—his scorn was to be expected.

But that didn’t make it sting any less.

Her gaze moved over him, from the breadth of his chest to the bobbing Adam's apple in his throat, and then higher. Only when her eyes met his deep-set ones did she realize, too late, that he had been staring right back at her.

For a moment, he held her captive with his brooding stare before slowly raising one dark brow and tipping his head in a mock greeting. Mortified at being caught, Helena nearly dropped her mallet as she jerked her head away, forcing her attention back to the other women.

“You were meant to be subtle,” Charlotte remarked, her tone tinged with annoyance. “Now he’ll suspect we were talking about him.”

Heat flooded Helena’s face as she subtly shifted her body in front of Felicity’s to stay out of the duke’s line of sight. “And what of it?”

“I don’t want him to think I’m a gossip.”

“I’m sure he’s thinking no such thing,” Felicity reassured, stepping closer to Charlotte. Helena mimicked her movement, determined to stay hidden.

From the slight dip in her sister’s brow, Helena knew Felicity was suspicious of her behavior, but Charlotte was blissfully unaware.

“He’s handsome, even from a distance,” Charlotte said with a smile. “I’ll be sure to introduce you tonight.”

Helena nodded with feigned enthusiasm, though she was resolute in her desire to avoid him at all costs.

“Oh, your cheeks are positively red!” Charlotte’s face softened with concern as she regarded Helena.

“I think we’ve been outside too long,” Helena said, making a show of fanning herself. Thankfully, the others nodded in agreement.

The trio sauntered off but even as they did, Helena felt a frightening inkling that she was being watched.

Why was she staring at him ?