A Long-Awaited Love for the Earl (Of Dukes, Dares, and Destinies #10)

Chapter 1

“Oh, Helena!” Lady Fairchild exclaimed as Helena turned toward her, dressed in white silk and delicate lace. “You will be the bride of the Season!”

Helena glanced over her shoulder at her reflection in the looking glass, while the modiste tutted over her hem, pinning it carefully.

The fitting room was small but comfortably appointed, its pale walls softened by lengths of muslin draped over polished wooden stands. A raised fitting platform occupied the center of the room, while a nearby worktable held neatly folded ribbons, pins, and a well-used pincushion.

Beyond the closed door came the muffled sounds of the showroom, where ladies discussed fabrics and trims, interrupted now and then by the distant chime of the bell announcing another customer.

“Thank you, Mother.” Helena smiled. “I can scarcely believe the day is finally approaching.”

“One moment, My Lady,” the modiste said with a quick curtsy. “Some French lace arrived only this morning, and I believe I saw a piece that would suit Miss Fairchild's gown perfectly.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried from the room.

Lady Fairchild crossed the fitting room and took Helena's hands. “Lord Ravenscroft is a good man. He may be ten years your senior, but you were never taken with younger gentlemen. I truly believe you will be happy.”

“I am sure I shall be,” Helena replied. “He has been patient enough to wait while Papa settled the particulars of the match with him, and I think that speaks well of his character.”

The modiste returned carrying several lengths of fine French lace, which she carefully unfolded across a nearby table for Lady Fairchild's inspection.

While her mother admired the delicate workmanship, and discussed which trim would best suit the gown, Helena's gaze drifted once more to the looking glass.

The young woman reflected there wore a wedding gown worthy of any fashionable bride. Her dark chestnut hair had been arranged with understated elegance, the style simple enough not to detract from her features, yet still perfectly suiting the smooth oval of her face.

She was tall and slender, with wide-set gray eyes, but she knew she had never possessed the dazzling beauty that caused gentlemen to stop mid-conversation, nor had she ever wished for it.

But taking in her appearance in the looking glass, she acknowledged the gown transformed her into precisely what every young lady hoped to become.

Yet, she felt oddly detached from the woman in the glass.

At twenty-four, Helena had long since accepted that marriage might never come. During her first Season she had refused more than one promising courtship, finding little to admire in the young gentlemen who seemed far more interested in her modest fortune than in herself.

The two Seasons that followed had also been endured with increasing resignation, rather than expectation. By the time her fourth arrived, however, her mother's concern had become impossible to ignore. Lady Fairchild wished only to see her daughter happily married, before another year slipped by.

So, when Lord Ravenscroft courted her, the match seemed everything a sensible lady could ask for.

Respectable, well-connected, and agreeable, he appeared to offer the secure future she had almost convinced herself was enough.

She had finally accepted him, believing that affection, if not love, would come in time.

Standing before the looking glass, she was every inch the bride. It was only when she searched her own expression that she realized how very different looking like a bride was from feeling like one.

“Helena, dearest!”

Helena turned at her mother's voice, startled from her thoughts. “Forgive me,” she said with an apologetic smile. “My mind had wandered.”

“I believe we ought to choose this one. It is particularly beautiful, is it not?” Lady Fairchild said, gesturing toward one of the lengths of lace spread across the table.

Once the fitting was finished and Helena had changed back into her pale blue day dress, she drew on her gloves and told her mother she wished to see the new fabrics that had arrived that morning.

Leaving Lady Fairchild and the modiste to continue discussing the finer details of her wedding gown, she slipped from the fitting room.

The showroom bustled with ladies examining silks, ribbons, and trimmings, while assistants moved briskly between them carrying bolts of fabric in every imaginable shade.

Helena wandered at an unhurried pace, allowing her fingers to brush lightly over fine muslins and richly colored satins, before pausing beside a display of bonnets.

“Miss Fairchild.” One of the ladies shopping with her mother offered a polite smile. “How lovely to see you. I trust you are well?”

“Miss Locke.” Helena returned the smile with a graceful tilt of her head. “Very well, thank you. And yourself?”

They exchanged a few pleasant civilities before Miss Locke continued on her way.

“Helena!”

Helena looked up just as a young lady with dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes, broke into a delighted smile. “Pardon me,” she said at once, laughing at her own enthusiasm. “I ought to say Miss Fairchild.”

“My goodness...” Helena's own smile spread before she could help it, when she saw Georgiana approaching. “Miss Wycliffe?”

Neither waited for any formality. They crossed the room together, each instinctively reaching for the other's hands.

“I had hoped I might see you this Season,” Georgiana said, her excitement impossible to disguise. “It is my very first.”

“I can hardly believe it.” Helena laughed. “The last time I saw you, you were barely taller than my shoulder. How have you been? And how are you finding your introduction to society? The ton can be rather intimidating at first.”

Georgiana giggled. “I have only survived the first few days, because Beatrice keeps reminding me to breathe.”

“I imagine she has delivered several lectures on propriety, and everything one ought to remember.” Helena smiled. “Pray tell, how is she?”

“Oh, at least three on composure alone,” Georgiana replied with an affectionate twinkle in her eye.

“I cannot complain, however. I am exceedingly fortunate to have her beside me.

She is quite well, and she ought to be here in a few minutes.

She allowed me to escape here, while she called at the bookseller's next door.”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

“The whole household has come to London for the Season,” Georgiana continued. “Beatrice insisted we should all return this year. Even Tristan has left Blackmere, though I believe it required a good deal of persuasion.”

Helena smiled despite herself. “And how is Lord Blackmere?” she asked. “It has been several years since we last met.”

“Entirely himself,” Georgiana said, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.

“As reliable as ever, and just as impossible to read. He has spent the past three years at Blackmere, and sometimes I think he would have remained there forever, if Beatrice had not insisted we all come to London. Though...” She paused, smiling to herself.

“I suspect a small part of him is rather pleased to be here, whether he admits it or not. I am convinced he always intended to be present for my first Season. He simply took an unreasonable pleasure in making Beatrice believe she would have to keep persuading him until the very last moment.”

“He is indeed entirely himself, then, from what I remember.” Helena laughed, shaking her head.

“He always took far too much pleasure in arguing with me when we were children. He would spend half the morning discovering some wonderfully obscure question, simply to see whether I could answer it. I confess I rarely let him have the satisfaction. Whenever I proved him wrong, he merely laughed and declared he should have expected no less.”

“Beatrice always said you were one of the few that ever got the better of him when debating.” Georgiana smiled, “Oh, it is wonderful to see you again!”

A moment later, Lady Fairchild appeared. After warmly welcoming Georgiana to London and insisting she call upon the Fairchilds one morning before the Season grew too busy, she reminded Helena that they would soon be late for their next engagement.

Reluctantly, Helena bade Georgiana farewell. She regretted missing the chance to see Beatrice again after so many years but comforted herself with the promise that they would all meet again before long.

The journey home passed in companionable silence. Lady Fairchild occupied herself with her fan, while Helena absent-mindedly watched the streets of London slip by beyond the carriage window, taking little notice of them.

Her thoughts had wandered North instead, to the long summers she had spent at Blackmere many years before.

She smiled as she recalled standing beneath the ancient apple tree in the old walled garden as a child, where she and Tristan would happily spend an afternoon arguing over the most unlikely subjects.

He had always enjoyed challenging her, and she had rarely disappointed him.

Another memory soon followed. She had been eleven years old when Tristan, then thirteen, had dared her to climb the old stone wall bordering the orchard. Determined to prove herself equal to the challenge, she had climbed higher than she ought to have, only for her foot to slip beneath her.

She had landed awkwardly in the grass, scraping both her knees and palms. The sting had been sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes, and the humiliation of falling in front of him had completed her embarrassment.

Yet, Tristan had neither laughed at her, nor teased her. Instead, he had simply crouched before her and told her to climb onto his back.