Page 44

The hours dragged like days. Though it was well past noon, Helena had no interest in leaving her bed. She hadn’t even changed out of her ballgown, her hair a mess atop her head. The tears had stopped, leaving only a throbbing in her forehead and a heavy, numbing misery.

She shifted restlessly in bed, pushing the blankets aside until they formed a long shape beside her—Lowen’s preferred side. He always slept closest to the door. Her chin wobbled at the sight.

There was no chance she could move about this home as she once did. The silence would be unbearable. To see Lowen each day and pretend—just pretend—they were husband and wife would break her heart again and again.

Not just because she loved him, but because she wanted to hate him—and couldn’t.

Helena knew he would still take her body, as though it were all she had to offer. He had believed that of her for so long. She thought of the night they first lay together. Lowen had taken her like a man who believed she’d already been had—like she was something ruined.

She’d been mistaken. He hadn’t just thought her beneath him. He’d thought her soiled .

Helena clutched the pillow, dragging it close to wipe her eyes.

And the letters.

She wasn’t exactly sorry for writing to Elias—he was her friend, once. But what she’d written about Lowen—that’s where the true regret lived. The words she’d put to paper would wound anyone. Of course he’d felt betrayed.

But she had felt betrayed too.

Helena sat up, a sudden decision burning within her.

It would be better to leave, to seek refuge in her old home in Lancashire, where at least she wouldn’t face constant reminders of her husband—save for his child.

Her child, too. Perhaps she would find solace there, with a shorter journey and far better company.

Thomasin would be upset, but Helena would write to her often.

She was too young to understand why Helena had to leave, too young to grasp the painful distance that had opened between her and Lowen.

But this separation—this sudden departure—was for the best. Thomasin could remain in the home she knew, protected from the animosity that now lived between them.

With renewed determination, Helena rose and called for Mercy to help her dress and pack, ensuring both doors to her room remained locked as she did so.

Soon, Lowen would leave for his duties in Parliament—or so she hoped—and be gone for a few hours. In that time, she would say her goodbyes to Thomasin—and then she would go.

Helena sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. Waiting for hours, half-dazed, willing herself not to think, lest she unravel. This was the right decision. She needed the distance. She needed time to herself.

At last, the rumble of a carriage down the drive marked Lowen’s departure. With shaky urgency, Helena ordered the spare carriage to be brought around, then knocked on Thomasin’s door.

The poor girl was still resting in bed, worn out from dancing all night at the ball.

“Helena, what is it?” Thomasin murmured, propping herself up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Helena hesitated, suddenly finding the words difficult to say. “I—I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Thomasin blinked in confusion. “Pardon?”

“I’m leaving London,” Helena explained quietly, carefully settling onto the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Leaving London? But why? Why not wait for Lowen and me? We’re not due to leave for another sennight.”

“I know, but I’m traveling to Lancashire,” Helena replied, though she hadn’t fully thought out the explanation—or rather, the lie—before entering Thomasin’s room. “I want to spend some time with my family, that’s all.”

“But we’re your family too,” Thomasin said, frowning as she threw herself back onto the pillows. “Why are you really leaving? Is this about Lowen? Or did I do something wrong?”

“No, no—you did absolutely nothing wrong,” Helena reassured her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “It’s more about me. But don’t worry. I’ll rejoin you in Cornwall.” She just wasn’t sure when.

“What’s the matter?”

At the question, spoken so kindly by a girl with the same silver-moon eyes as Lowen, Helena felt a vice tighten around her heart.

“Nothing’s the matter,” she lied, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you again in Cornwall.”

Thomasin pursed her lips in consideration. “Well, it better be sooner rather than later.”

Helena nodded and leaned in to embrace her, trying not to dwell on Lowen’s reaction once he discovered she was gone.

He would be angry, of course—perhaps a little concerned, but only slightly.

At least she wasn’t traveling alone. Her first stop would be Bloomsbury, to her parents’ home, though not to see her mother or father.

As expected, Josiah and Margaret had gone about their day, making calls or visiting relations—Helena knew their schedule well. And if she knew anything of Isaac, he’d either just be arriving home or still lounging in bed.

It was the latter. As she barged into his room, Isaac nearly leapt from the bed to the ceiling.

“Helena!” he cried, pressing a hand to his chest. “Goodness, what if I’d been naked?”

She arched a brow. “Most of the women in London have seen you nude. Have you not grown accustomed to it?”

Isaac shot her a fierce glare before tossing a pillow at her, but she dodged it easily. “I need your help,” she said.

“With what?” He asked, stretching as he climbed out of bed. He was still in the same clothes he’d worn to the ball. Helena doubted he’d gone home immediately afterward; her brother bored easily, hopping from one indulgence to the next—whether it be parties, clubs, or women.

“Accompany me to Lancashire. I don’t want to go alone.”

He arched a brow. “Leaving Carrivick behind?”

“Only for a little while,” she said, watching him splash water onto his face from the wash basin.

After drying off, Isaac turned to look at her, now more alert. “Whatever for?”

“I—I wish to go home to Lancashire,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though her eyes began to water. “I just want to go home.”

Immediately, her brother was at her side, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbing beneath her eyes. “Don’t cry, pigeon. Of course, I’ll take you home. Perfect timing, too—I was getting bored here.”

“I’m afraid we have to depart immediately. I don’t know how long Lowen will be out, and if we wait too long, he may stop us from leaving altogether.”

Isaac gave her chin a gentle squeeze. “Well, we can’t have that. Give me a moment to prepare.”

Helena nodded emphatically, then made her way downstairs to the drawing room to wait. By the time Isaac returned, she was fighting back tears once more.

“You’re certain you wish to leave?” he asked, cautiously.

“Yes,” she replied firmly. This was no time to doubt herself. “I’m ready.”

Together, they headed out front to the waiting carriage. It was an older model that had belonged to Lowen’s father, but it was well-kept and reliable.

Isaac raised a brow, an amused glint in his eye. “Taking his carriage too? I like it.”

“I’m still a duchess, after all.” Helena sighed, as he helped her inside. After arranging some cushions in the corner, she settled back comfortably in preparation for their long journey.

Navigating London by day was an exhausting endeavor.

Crowds of gentry, merchants, and servants alike needled through the mews and around each other, greatly slowing the carriage’s pace.

Reaching for the shade by the nearest window, Helena pulled it down, hoping for some measure of privacy—even as the Carrivick crest remained boldly plastered on the carriage doors.

“So, what happened?” Isaac asked, crossing one leg over the other.

Helena blew out a breath. “A series of bad decisions from the very beginning.”

“Rather like many marriages?”

“I would prefer mine not to be like many marriages… but…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “His Grace and I don’t understand one another very well.” It was the blandest explanation she could muster, unsure even where to begin.

“I thought the two of you were getting on better lately. What changed?”

“He found letters I had written to Elias,” she confessed, then hastily added, “Letters I wrote a long time ago.”

Isaac’s face remained impassive. “I see,” he replied measuredly. “And what were the contents of these letters?”

“Nothing good,” she admitted, wincing at the memory of Lowen reading her own words back to her. “But when I wrote them, I was so angry and alone. I needed to talk to someone who understood me. In the end, I never sent the letters—I just kept writing to release everything I was feeling.”

“What exactly did you write, Helena?”

“Ugh,” she covered her face with her hands, slumping in her seat. “That I would’ve rather married Elias and that I could never love His Grace.”

Isaac let out a low whistle, leaning back as he absorbed her words."That’s… quite the revelation," he said, not unkindly. “And now? Do you still believe that?”

Helena dropped her hands. “No, of course not,” she answered. “I love Lowen.” The confession flew out of her mouth easily, surprising even her brother.

“Does he know that?”

“No, and now he never will.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Isaac was never one to comfort her with false platitudes, something she greatly appreciated. Using his finger, he peeked past the drawn shade and frowned. “We’re moving so slowly. Do you think he knows you’ve left by now?”

Helena gave a slow shake of her head, pressing her hands together to still their trembling. “Perhaps he does. But even if he does, I now doubt he’ll come after me immediately.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed as he turned back to her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because… he will think he has every reason to let me go. To him, I’ve been nothing but a disappointment.”

“But that’s not fair, Helena,” Isaac told her. “I’m sure he has faults of his own.”