Page 27

“R emind me again—why are we here?” Louise asked, buffing her nails against the lapel of her military-cut coat. “Ten in the morning, in a private garden—another example of the British enclosure of public lands.”

Helene adjusted her new pelisse. “I’m waiting for Lady Margaret while you are pestering me.”

Arms akimbo, Louise stared at her. “Awaiting a lady and dressing up like a lady… I wonder where my friend Helene has gone.”

“Oh, sweet Louise, would thy eyes see more than cloth and coin?" Placing her hands dramatically over her chest, Helene declared in a voice that would make Shakespeare proud. "Tis but fabric that adorns my frame, not a fortress to divide us. Thy words paint a tragedy where none exists.”

The sun had graced her stroll, and Helene lifted her face, enjoying the rare warmth.

Louise huffed. “I’m not being dramatic. Why do you still bother with the little aristocrat? I thought Verón had increased your paycheck.”

“I love Maggy. I cannot abandon her or Lady Thornley.”

“They don’t need you. They are exploiting you, more likely. Like your duke—”

“I’m a friend of the family, Louise,” Helene whispered furiously. “Please control your tongue. Here they come. Smile, please.”

“I know how to behave. You won’t see me screaming Vive la France ! Vive Bonaparte ! In this den of fat shopkeepers.”

Louise’s artificial smile made her face quite pinched. “But they are not your friends. If they were, you would stroll with Lady Margaret in Hyde Park, not in this caged garden frequented by old fools and children. You cannot be one of them, and frankly, I don’t know why you even care. You became a different person after the duke debacle.”

Helene glared at Louise, refusing to speak. Why should she doubt herself? Her long years of hard work had finally bloomed—she was the toast of the ballet, adored by the aristocracy, cherished by William. What if both spheres of her life, the ballet and William, could not blend? She quickly dismissed the thought, telling herself that the secrecy made their relationship more thrilling because it was forbidden.

A young family passed by—a mother and father strolling arm in arm, their little daughter skipping behind them. The sight of them opened a hole inside her chest, and she fought to keep her breath steady. Common people and their living meant little to her. Why did they affect her now?

She spun away, blinking back the sting in her eyes. This was the life she had chosen—the life she had wanted.

When Lady Margaret stepped closer, Helene grabbed her pupils’ hands, welcoming the distraction.

“Remind me again why we are outside?” Her voice came out in a shy whisper.

Louise lifted her expressive black brows. “I like her already.”

“Lady Margaret, this is my friend Louise Bonechoix.”

Louise shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Helene made a face at Louise. She knew perfectly well that ladies didn’t greet each other in such manly ways, but Louise enjoyed being obtuse.

“It's a splendid day.” Helene linked her arm with Maggy and guided her over the path. “And I planned a game to help you improve your confidence.”

Maggy widened her eyes. “If it involves rotational therapy or cold baths, I must warn you I hate the cold and get awfully dizzy.”

“Nothing like that. It’s an old theater trick. Do you see the people taking their morning constitutional?” Helene pointed to the manicured paths.

“Hard not to look at a bunch of snobs pretending to be something they are not,” Louise said petulantly.

“Ignore her.” Helene stepped over Louise’s foot. “We will play a game called Naked Man in the garden.”

Maggy jumped, her eyes scanning the bushes. “A naked man? Where?”

Louise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see certain ton members in their birthday suits.”

Helene blushed. She would love to see one member of the aristocracy sans a suit, too, but alas, William would not oblige. At first, she thought he had something to hide, but now she believed it was the intimacy that he was opposed to… Would she ever feel his skin close to her, that ultimate form of love?

Thornley's footman darted off. Helene hoped he wouldn’t tell Maggy’s mother of her outlandish methods.

“It’s a game.” Helene lowered her voice. “There are no naked gentlemen loitering about. It’s a trick. To conquer your shyness. I want you to look at all the strangers in the eye—”

“But you know I can’t.” Maggy wrung her hands.

Helene beamed. “Yes, you can because we will imagine the person is naked.”

Maggy blushed, her blue eyes so round they would fall out of their sockets. “Rotational therapy sounds excellent right now. All you have to do is sit in a chair while they spin you—“

“Nonsense. You trust me, remember?” Helene said, clasping the girl to her side.

As they wandered the garden paths, footmen scurried about, peering into bushes and behind statues.

“Seems we’re not the only ones enjoying the sun today,” Louise said, her gaze following a flustered butler. “Maybe they’re searching for your imaginary naked man, Helene. That or they grew a backbone and are planning a revolution.”

Ignoring Louise, Helene prepared Maggy for the first stranger. The tall fellow with rusty sideburns wobbled near, swinging his cane.

Helene gripped the girl’s arm to give her confidence.

Lady Margaret pressed her eyes closed, exhaled all the air in her lungs, and fired a stare toward Mr. Rusty Sideburns. She held his gaze for a full two seconds!

When the stranger was safely out of hearing, Helene hugged her.

“I knew you could do it. All you have to do is allow others to see the amazing lady you are.”

How wonderful to brush a bit of her confidence on the girl, even if they were all ruses.

Maggy warmed up to their game, her giggles mingling with the birdsong. They were on the third challenge when Lord Thornley’s butler approached them.

“Ladies, pardon the intrusion, but have you, by any chance, noticed anything... out of the ordinary this morning?”

“Everything is splendid.”

“Are you certain you didn’t see perchance a—” He cleared his throat, and his face turned florid. “A nude gentleman?”

Louise burst out laughing, and Maggy giggled behind her lace gloves.

“There is nothing amiss. We were merely playing a game.”

The butler tugged at his cravat. “The staff was frantically searching for a naked man in the garden.”

“Naked man! Naked man!” A shrill, nasal voice echoed in the private garden.

Maggy glanced at Helene, who glanced at Louise, who glanced at the butler. After a startled pause, they trotted towards the sound.

Behind a hedge sat an ornate cage, its gilded bars curving into intricate patterns. A turban-wearing servant polished the brass. Inside, an exotic bird perched, stirring his plumage.

“The naked man!” the bird croaked.

“Who are you, you dear, dear thing?” Helene crooned.

Maggy held the cage’s bar. “This is Echo, Sir Frederick Babcock’s Indian Ringneck’s parakeet. The aloof gentleman from number twelve. He can speak words but cannot understand them.”

“That’s no surprise,” Louise said. “Few lords can.”

Maggy giggled. “I mean Echo. He was a gift from a maharajah. My father thinks he is a prime example of the British Empire expansion, while my mother is miffed that Sir Babcock installed him here. She believes he should have consulted her since the garden belongs to all the square’s residents.”

Helene caressed the bird’s breast. Why lock this beautiful being? A bird’s natural state was to fly. She would feel the same if someone tied her feet. She touched the trapdoor. One flick of her wrist and Echo would be free. The turbaned servant stepped forward as if aware of her intentions.

Helene dropped her hand by her side.

A cluster of clouds covered the sun, plunging the garden into shadows. Helene shivered and hugged herself.

The butler called Maggy aside, leaving Helene alone with Louise.

Louise touched the cage. “This is what the duke is doing to you, you know?”

“Stop. Why is it so wrong if I take a lover?”

“I don’t care that you took a lover. You can take two if it suits you.”

“Then what?” Helene crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Louise caught her hand, pressing affectionately. “He is a duke, The Silent Sovereign, a bloody peer from the British aristocracy. They think themselves better than everyone else. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Louise was wrong. Why couldn’t she see how wrong she was? Helene was safe, and her heart was safe, because she refused to fall in love with William. She and William enjoyed each other’s company—she told herself this was enough. But love? She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. She hopefully wouldn’t.

Helene reached for the bird, her hand trembling as she extended her fingers. “William is different. He cares for me, and I demanded a relationship of equals.”

Louise’s gaze remained unyielding. “You might compare a swan with a wolf and say they are equals, but they are not.”

Helene touched Louise’s arm. “Please, Louise, I’m not a swan, and he is not a wolf. Must you—”

“Then who are you, Helene?” Louise’s eyes flashed as she pointed at the cage. “Is that what you want to be? La Sylphide? A white fairy who doesn’t exist? Their plaything?”

Helene stared at her friend, then at the bird, her chin quivering.

“Who are you?” The bird croaked. “Who are you?”