Chapter One
Miss Helen Cosgrove, lady’s companion and chaperone, scanned the crowd of the ballroom for her charge, Lady Cerise.
The willowy, overly pampered daughter of Lord Galway had been at her side only a moment ago.
But after asking for a hairpin, something Cerise knew would require Helen digging about in her reticule since it was full to bursting with everything a young lady might need at a ball, Cerise had disappeared into the crowd of the Stout ballroom.
Damn Cerise. I like her less every day.
The elaborate cascade of Cerise’s curls had been in danger of spilling over her shoulders which necessitated finding a hairpin, which now, given her disappearance, Helen suspected she’d pulled from her hair deliberately.
After all, what better way to draw attention to the creamy expanse of Cerise’s shoulders, displayed to perfection this evening, than a playful curl bouncing along her swanlike neck?
So while Helen dug through pins, ribbons, needle, thread, powder, and even a small vial of perfume in her reticule, Cerise had sprinted away like a gazelle. The girl was far too eager to be compromised.
I could tell her it isn’t all that grand.
Helen’s own pathetic romantic escapades, long in the past, had no bearing on this evening or on Lady Cerise.
The life of chaperone and companion, particularly when your charge was the spoiled, pampered daughter of a marquess, was not for the faint of heart, nor would Helen have chosen it as her occupation.
But she’d had little choice in the matter.
As the orphaned and impoverished distant relation, a state she’d managed for most her life, it was the only path open to her.
Resentment over her circumstances would not help matters.
You might show more gratitude, Helen.
Gratitude.
The bane of every poor relation.
Tossed about a sea of people who you were only at best, vaguely related to—and most didn’t even know how, exactly—you were at times a burden, charity, and when you achieved a certain age and no one showed any interest in wedding you, could be trained as a companion.
Neither a member of the family nor a servant, but something in between. A kindness, most called it.
Purgatory, is what Helen thought it to be.
When she’d arrived at the home of Mrs. Enid Hendricks, at least the sixth or seventh relation she’d been sent to, Helen had been relieved.
Mrs. Hendricks was older, in need of a companion and had two granddaughters who would require a chaperone.
She’d have a place with Mrs. Hendricks for years if she was useful.
Thankfully, Mrs. Hendricks agreed.
The older woman was far too frail to attend many of the events her granddaughters’ social calendar required.
So Helen did in her stead. Fetched hairpins.
Sewed ribbons on slippers. Eyed the gentlemen that approached asking for dances.
She tended Mrs. Hendricks as well, reading to her while they sat together in the garden.
Or at night before the fire. An entirely peaceful existence for nearly a decade, until Mrs. Hendricks succumbed to an illness at the ripe age of eighty-six.
Helen had been devastated by her loss. More than just an employer or a distant relation, Mrs. Hendricks had become a surrogate mother or aunt to Helen.
Apparently, Mrs. Hendricks had not returned her affection.
Upon the death of Mrs. Hendricks, Helen was left nothing. Not so much as a pound note. Only the clothes on her back and a letter of recommendation to the Marquess of Galway. Even now, a bitter taste filled her mouth at the knowledge she’d truly been nothing more than a companion.
Helen pushed aside the resentment threatening to bubble out of her as she wove through the crush at the Stout ball looking for Cerise. The treatment of Mrs. Hendricks, even now, years later, still pained her.
Not even so much as a token. Not a bloody button. A note.
The Marquess of Galway, a cousin of Mrs. Hendricks, had thankfully needed a chaperone and companion for his daughter. Her employer, sensing her end was near, had written a glowing letter of recommendation to Galway, pleading with him to offer Helen a position. Which he did.
Remember your place, Helen. And be pleased my grandmother cared enough to recommend you to her cousin.
“My place,” Helen muttered as she smoothed her skirts. “I have no place.” A decade in the household of Mrs. Hendricks, the longest she’d stayed anywhere, had been the only home she’d ever known. The maids and kitchen staff had wept as Helen packed her things.
But Mary, the eldest granddaughter of Mrs. Hendricks, wanted nothing more than for Helen to be gone.
You will be a lady’s companion and provide chaperonage to the daughter of a marquess. I’d think you’d be thrilled my grandmother secured such a position for you.
“I never did care for you, Mary,” Helen hissed as she moved through the crowd. Mary had the nerve to admonish her, all while digging through Helen’s valise to make sure the silver hadn’t been taken. Or one of the small, hand-painted boxes her grandmother collected.
Insulting.
Helen took a deep breath and sidestepped a rotund gentleman.
True, her circumstances could be far more hellish than chasing about a spoiled heiress who was determined to be ruined.
But, as the hateful Mary had pointed out over tea while informing Helen of her imminent departure, she possessed no discernable skills other than that of being a capable companion.
Nothing at all to recommend Helen but decent manners and a working knowledge of society.
Galway had initially been doubtful that a spinster who wasn’t entirely ancient and wrinkled, could provide his daughter with proper chaperonage, but in the end, decided to trust his beloved cousin’s recommendation.
I had to do a great deal of convincing before Lord Galway accepted. You should be more thankful, Helen.
Well, Mary should be grateful Helen hadn’t thrown the teacup decorated with roses at her snobbish head.
Lord Galway had greeted Helen with the smug, arrogant smile of one who knows he holds your life in his hands.
During their initial meeting, it became clear Galway knew of his daughter’s rather brazen…
manner. What he required of Helen was her absolute vigilance.
Cerise and her virtue must remain intact as she entered society the following year.
He hoped to make her a suitable match after, at the most, two Seasons.
But Galway was picky in his choice of a husband for his bratty daughter.
Not just any title would do. He had requirements.
He lacked patience. At most, Cerise existed as a beautiful tool Galway sought to use to further himself.
And ultimately, he agreed to employ Helen because without a wife—Lady Galway had died years ago—and the lack of any older female relatives, Lord Galway had few options.
Galway outlined the rules and Helen was promised, upon her acceptance of the position that if she succeeded in shepherding Cerise and her virtue for the next two to three years, an additional sum, a bonus of sorts, would be given.
But Cerise must remain scandal free and her virtue intact until her marriage.
Helen insisted Galway put the terms for the additional sum in writing, which he did, albeit reluctantly. She hadn’t trusted him then, nor did she have any more faith in him now. But the document which he duly signed, gave her some sense he’d honor their agreement.
The sum itself was not enormous, certainly not enough to put so much as a dent in the Galway fortune, but the amount would be enough for Helen to finally have a life that belonged entirely to her.
One far from distant relations and London.
Nothing grand, of course. A cottage. A home in which she would no longer risk being passed around like a rotten egg.
The knowledge that she would one day have her own home was enough incentive to tolerate Cerise and ignore the leering, hooded gaze of Lord Galway.
Helen was more than familiar with that look. Mary’s husband, Edward, often regarded Helen in the same lecherous manner though she’d done nothing to encourage him.
She stopped at the edge of the Stout ballroom and slowly turned around, searching for her wayward charge. Good lord, she had to find Cerise or Galway would lose his mind.
Cerise was overly flirtatious and far too confident for a young lady.
Worldly in every way she should not be. Even had Cerise not been a great beauty, the enormous dowry attached to her skirts would have attracted every gentleman in London.
In short, Helen’s charge was a most dangerous creature, a precocious virgin who begged to be ruined.
After nearly three years of her antics, Helen was quite frankly exhausted.
Galway had wisely ruled out a third Season for his troublesome daughter, so this tortuous existence of Helen’s was nearly at an end. Cerise would be wed by the end of this Season and Helen would have the sum Galway promised, plus her wages.
And a life that belonged to her alone.
Helen came to a sudden stop, skirts swishing along her calves, noting that the hem on this gown, at least five years old, needed to be patched once more.
No one else could see the tattered edges of the gown, but Helen could see every crease and patch.
The deep blue silk was still one of her finest gowns, which wasn’t saying much given most of her wardrobe was in a similar state of disrepair.
Mrs. Hendricks had always provided Helen with a clothing allowance specifically to avoid having her lady’s companion dressed as a pauper when guiding about her granddaughters, convinced the state of Helen’s clothing would reflect poorly on her.
Not for my sake. Never for my sake.