Chapter 1
“The timing could not be worse, Helena. Although I am beginning to suspect that is the entire point.”
“Were it not for the fact that you are expected tomorrow evening, your father and I would have forbidden you from attending.”
“Which we would do, if it would not make things infinitely more complex. As if they are not that already.”
“This is a warning, Helena.”
“Your final warning.”
“We do not want it to be so—you know that we do not. If only you would listen to us.”
“Is it so much to ask that you behave? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“I feel as if we are being punished! After everything your father and I have done for you, this is how you pay us back.”
“Helena! Look at us when we speak to you.”
Lady Helena Monstrose was sitting on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, doing her best to feign remorse because she knew from experience that it was the only way her parents would stop their nagging.
She did not feel any remorse, however, which made the charade infinitely more challenging to pull off.
As was so often the case, when her parents scolded her, and when she became distracted or bored, her mind began to wander. She had been watching her parents with a look in her eyes that she hoped conveyed apology, but once she stopped paying attention…
Soon, her thoughts were elsewhere. Stories she had yet to write. Scenarios she was still puzzling through. Fantastical settings in which her mind lived as if they were reality, far removed from this world and her angry parents.
“Helena!” her father, the Earl of Montrose, snapped.
His voice snapped her back into the room. A shake of the head, and her eyes focused on her parents, who stood before her.
Her father was not an unkind man by any measure, but as an earl, he was not accustomed to not being listened to or obeyed. Hands on his hips, he fixed her with a glare. While Helena’s mother’s arms were folded across her chest, she looked more worried than upset.
“Oh… sorry…” Helena tried for an apologetic smile. “I… What were you saying?”
Her father groaned. “This is the problem! How can you be expected to behave, Helena, if you can’t focus for more than thirty seconds without getting lost in your head?”
“Perhaps it will be better if she does not attend tomorrow evening?” her mother suggested. “We might say that she has been taken ill.”
“That will not do,” her father sighed and rubbed his eyes as if in pain.
“The lie will be too obvious—seen through like a glass window. She has no choice but to attend. Just as…” He raised both eyebrows at Helena in warning.
“… she has no choice but to behave herself. Although I might have better luck asking a rabid dog not to bark.”
“Please, Helena…” Her mother, the Countess of Montrose, stepped around her father and sat beside her.
Then, she took her hands and squeezed them gently.
“Tomorrow evening is most important, and you know why. All we ask is that you behave yourself. That you…” She pursed her lips. “That you do what is expected of you.”
“And what exactly is expected of me?” Helena asked, even though she knew the answer.
Her father groaned. “Not this again.”
“You know well enough,” her mother said softly, squeezing her hands again. “When in doubt, just think about what your sister might do. She was always rather adept when it came to societal etiquette.”
Helena snorted. “I think you mean boring.”
“She did as she was told,” her father snapped. “Which is the same I expect from you.” He glared at her in warning. “This is your final chance, Helena. Do not make me regret it.”
If Helena were anybody else, she might have accepted the warning, agreed with the assessment, and made promises that she had no intention of keeping, if for no other reason than to see an end to this conversation because the whole thing was as ridiculous as it was insulting.
A shame that I am not somebody else. Better that than being who they wish I was. My sister, for example. I would rather be yelled at every night for the rest of my life than succumb to a fate such as that.
But she also was not stupid, and that needed to be said.
Were the circumstances slightly different, Helena might have baited her parents that little bit further and forced their hand.
Tomorrow evening, her father and mother are hosting a Seasonal Ball at their estate. It was the first time they had done so in years, and it needed to go well. More than that, it needed to be perfect.
Helena had no desire whatsoever to attend. She was not a fan of balls, finding them pedantic and fake and representative of everything she disliked about the ton.
Her parents’ threat to ban her from the evening should have been music to her ears, the very reason why she acted the way she did. Alas, in this singular instance, things were not that simple.
It was a damn rare situation, one that Helena doubted would ever happen again. But for the first time ever, she wanted to attend the ball that her parents were hosting.
No. She had to.
And so it was that she was forced to do something that she rarely did: she apologized.
I just hope they believe it because such things are surely as rare as pigs sprouting wings and learning to fly.
“Mother, Father.” She looked between them, sincerity dripping from her voice in ways that would make even the most accomplished thespian jealous. “I am sorry.”
Her father balked, leaning back as if struck.
Her mother sighed with relief, seemingly thrilled that this most unfortunate situation was reaching its end.
“I admit that my actions today were not…” Helena bowed her head. “I am ashamed by them and wish I had not done as I did. Truly, I was not thinking. Were I able to do so, I would take them back. Please know that I never meant to embarrass either of you. Or myself, for that matter.”
“Oh, Helena, you did not embarrass us.” Her mother put an arm around her. “We just wish you would try harder sometimes. To think before acting.”
“And I will,” Helena assured them both, still lathered in sincerity. “Starting tomorrow evening, I will…” She had to work hard to hold back her disgust, which threatened to take over her visage. “I will endeavor to be more like my sister.”
Her mother bought the apology without question, her arm tightening around her shoulders.
Her father narrowed his eyes at her because he knew her well enough to know that she had to be leading them on. “I hope for your sake that you are telling the truth, Helena. I would hate to think you are just saying what you think we need to hear.”
“I am, Father,” she said. “I promise.”
In hindsight, even Helena was willing to admit that she had made a fool of herself today.
Not something she would ordinarily care about, but considering how desperate she was to attend the ball tomorrow evening while not being watched closely by her parents as if she might humiliate them, she really should have controlled her impulses a little better.
The benefit of hindsight, I suppose. If only there were a way for hindsight to exist before something happened… it might save us all the headache.
As to what she had done exactly…
Truly, it wasn’t nearly as big a deal as her parents were making it out to be. At least not as far as she was concerned.
She attended a luncheon with her mother and father, had a few too many drinks out of boredom, and then found herself arguing loudly with the host… in front of everyone.
Such a silly argument, too, about the aspirations of women in society. This particular lord seemed to think that a woman’s role was to marry and breed, and Helena thought differently. Which she was happy to tell him, loudly, as her parents watched on with embarrassment.
It was not the first time Helena had embarrassed her parents in this way. Nor the second. Nor the third. It had become common, a natural consequence of her bold personality and rather controversial views.
Needless to say, her parents were reaching their limit. And while Helena would not usually care…
Again, that she was allowed to attend the ball tomorrow evening was paramount to everything she had been working toward for as long as she could remember.
“We are so glad to hear you say it.” Her mother rose and walked to join her father. She took his hand and raised an eyebrow at him in warning. “Aren’t we, dear?”
“Yes…” Her father continued to eye her skeptically. “Tomorrow evening, Helena. If you put one foot out of place…”
“Both my feet will remain firmly in place,” Helena assured them. “You have my word.” And then, a smile of apology, to seal the deal and see an end to this conversation.
It was a few minutes later that her parents finally left her room, and a few more minutes after that when Helena could be certain that they would not come back.
She stood by the door, listening closely to ensure absolute privacy, and then got about doing the only thing that mattered to her. And not just of the moment, but always.
Across the room, she hurried to her writing desk.
There, she opened the drawer and delicately pried open the base, which acted as a secret compartment that she had made herself.
Sitting in this compartment was her pride and joy, that which made her heart soar and her excitement peak beyond what any ball might do.
It was a manuscript for a novel that she had written. Her very first.
She scooped it from the drawer and carried it to her bed, where she lay on her stomach as she started to read it for the hundredth time. It was titled The Lady Who Would Be King, and as the title page claimed, was written by a Henry Monroe.
Oh, to see my own name on that page. To live in a world where I might claim credit for such a thing, be lauded for it, even praised. But even my imagination could never conceive such a thing.
Helena could not remember when she fell in love with writing. All she knew was that for as long as she could remember, it was the only thing she ever wanted to do.
Of course, being a lady of the ton meant such pastimes and vocations were not encouraged, even frowned upon, forcing her to take drastic measures so her love of the quill might never die.
She adopted the male pen name Henry Monroe so she could see her work read by others.
She submitted short stories to the local papers, many of which were accepted, printed, and read widely across England.
She had even seen her own father reading one!
What was more, the smile he wore when he did told her that he liked it.
But it wasn’t enough. Helena’s dream went beyond mere print in newspapers, read once and then forgotten. What she wanted more than anything was to be published officially.
That was why tomorrow evening was so important to her.
She might have promised her parents to behave, but the reality was infinitely more wicked.
Posing as Henry Monroe, she had invited a publisher to the ball, one she intended to meet with as herself, to force him to take her manuscript and read it so he would see how damn talented she was and have no choice but to look past her gender and laude her as she deserved!
The thought made her entire body tingle with excitement. She knew her novel was good. She knew that once it was read by the right set of eyes, it would be great. She knew… she knew… she knew how dangerous this was, which also told how much this meant to her.
So, rather than turning to sleep, she spent the late hours of the evening reading and rereading her manuscript, ensuring that there was not so much as a T uncrossed or an I undotted. It had to be perfect.
Helena was not meant for this world. And while many would simply accept their fate and bow their heads into subservience, many were not like Lady Helena Monstrose. And that, as far as she was concerned, was nothing to be ashamed of.