Chapter Five #3
Helen paused, pretending to pluck a flower from the grass so that neither girl would see the look on her face.
Roxboro was never going to break his betrothal to the daughter of one of London’s most powerful men.
She doubted he could. Not to mention, the duke seemed to barely recall Cerise’s name only moments after she returned to the ballroom.
The only solution to this unwelcome obsession of Cerise’s was to ensure she didn’t approach the duke, which would result in a great deal of embarrassment and scandal. All of which Helen would be blamed for. But given that Roxboro wasn’t often out in society, the task shouldn’t be too difficult.
“Miss Cosgrove.”
Helen straightened, daisy caught in one hand as Lord Lowell appeared before her. She’d been so busy mulling over Cerise’s supreme stupidity she hadn’t heard the earl approach.
Good lord, maybe I am derelict in my duties.
Cerise and Hester stood a short distance away, their eyes fixed on Lord Lowell, the pair posed as perfectly as if sitting for a portrait.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lowell, ever polite, greeted Helen.
“Woolgathering, I’m afraid,” came her reply. “Apologies, my lord.”
“I came across Lady Cerise and Lady Hester while riding.” He paused and smiled at Cerise. “Fortuitous.”
Just as Galway had said. “Fortuitous indeed, my lord.”
Lowell didn’t bother to hide his adoration of Cerise. Mooning over her, right in Hyde Park before half of London.
“There is a boat race taking place in a few moments, just there,” Lowell said to Helen, pointing towards the Serpentine.
A crowd had gathered at the water’s edge, the ladies waving ribbons and parasols while the gentlemen strutted about.
“With your permission, Miss Cosgrove, I should like to escort Lady Cerise and Lady Hester to the festivities. Perfectly proper, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt it, my lord,” Helen returned. Lowell was a lovely gentleman. She’d always thought so.
“Splendid. I have a friend who is racing today. He’ll appreciate the support of two such lovely young ladies.” Lowell bowed to Helen before walking over to Cerise and Hester. Holding out both arms, he said, “Miss Cosgrove has given her approval. Shall we?”
Cerise tossed Helen a glance. “Miss Cosgrove doesn’t care to get too close to the water, my lord. She’d best wait here. Or possibly there,” she said sweetly, obviously for Lowell’s sake, gesturing to a small circle of trees. “You’ll still be able to see the race, Miss Cosgrove.”
“And we shall not be out of your sight a moment.” Lady Hester agreed.
There wasn’t any point in objecting, though Galway would expect her to trail behind them cataloging every word Lowell uttered, but Helen wasn’t in the mood for the fit Cerise would throw if she insisted.
“Yes, of course.” Lowell was no Roxboro and would never take advantage of a young lady he meant to wed, which was certainly his intent. Also, the crowd was quite large. There was little room for impropriety.
“As you wish, my lady,” Helen said. “Pray do not get too close to the water yourself. Given my own fear, I would be concerned for your welfare.” Because that was absolutely something Cerise would do for attention.
Flounder into the water, gasping and thrashing about, so that she might be rescued, making sure that every gentleman present caught a glimpse of what was beneath the thin silk of her green dress.
Cerise scowled at her. “Miss Cosgrove is overprotective.”
“Lady Cerise has nothing to fear,” Lord Lowell stated with an absurd amount of gallantry. “I won’t leave her side.” He placed a hand to his heart. “I swear it.”
Ugh.
Lowell was far too nice for Cerise. Or Hester.
Helen had always wished for a gentleman such as Lowell, one who might regard her with adoration.
Might cherish her. Owen had for a short time, until he’d taken her virtue.
But having done so, he’d found Helen cold and lacking in appeal.
The betrothal didn’t survive the bedding.
Yes, but you didn’t love Owen.
True. She hadn’t. Owen offered her escape from merely being the poor relation.
The lady’s companion. Which made Helen incredibly dishonest. Honestly was a trait she valued, and she’d been horrified at her own deception.
That was why she’d never blamed Owen, not entirely.
Nor protested too hard when he broke their betrothal.
Enid had been furious. But having felt the attraction to Roxboro—
“Ridiculous. I’ve only been in his company once. Which was enough, thank you,” she said under her breath. “A momentary lapse that any woman in his vicinity might experience. But he is deficient in character.”
Wandering over to the stand of trees Cerise had banished her to, Helen took shelter beneath the canopy of the largest, a majestic oak.
Looking down at the water, she was surprised to see a row of tiny sails blowing in the breeze.
She’d been expecting gentlemen in rowboats with their shirtsleeves rolled up, anxious to show off their masculinity, not what looked to be a fleet of tiny ships.
Some of the boats had ribbons attached to them, favors she supposed, bestowed by a young lady.
One vessel had a miniature pirate’s flag complete with skull and crossbones.
The crowd clapped wildly as great bursts of laughter erupted near the shore.
Lowell, Cerise and Hester stood to one side and the earl was careful to keep them in clear view for Helen’s sake.
Hester clapped enthusiastically as a tall, ruddy gentleman pushed his boat into the water. Lowell whistled. Cerise as usual was posing, tilting her head so that her profile caught the sun to great effect.
“Grown men racing with tiny ships meant for children and decorated with ribbons. All in the hopes that later, they might be able to steal a kiss. What a stupid way to spend the day. My money is on the boat with the crimson ribbon, if you’d care to wager.”
Helen jolted at the sound of that whiskey-soaked rumble, feeling that delicious hum grow over her skin.
Roxboro. Here. In the park.
“I do not wager.” Helen kept her gaze firmly fixed on the boat race, ignoring the slight tremble of her body.
“Course you don’t. You’re much too prim. Don’t you get tired of it?”
“Tired, Your Grace?”
“The excessive primness. Must get old.”
Roxboro was directly behind her, making Helen’s spine buzz with his presence. “I’m not excessively prim.” She turned to face him, immediately wishing she hadn’t because, well, all the air left her lungs.
No man should be so…breathtaking. “Why are you in the park, Your Grace? Shouldn’t you have an entourage of footmen following you?”
“Ah, footmen.” He seemed confused for a moment. “I don’t need them to enjoy the park. The day is sunny. No rain that I can see. Flowers blooming. Small animals running about.” The side of his mouth tilted up in a half smile. “Rats and such.”
“Squirrels. And you don’t strike me as the sort to stop and smell the wildflowers. Nor do you walk about the park, only ride and fall off your horse. According to rumor.”
“You seem overly interested in my comings and goings, Miss Cosgrove.”
“I assure you I am not. That is common gossip.”
“Gossip.” He waved an elegant hand at her which is why Helen noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves. “Who listens?”
“Everyone.”
Sunlight streaming through the trees dappled his chiseled features, the green of his eyes nearly matching that of the leaves above.
The small streaks of silver in their depths winked back at Helen roguishly while the wind tossed about his dark brown hair, batting at his cheeks and the edge of his nose with that small freckle right at the end.
There wasn’t so much as an imperfection in the duke.
No hat, her mind whispered. Why is he not wearing a hat?
“So you didn’t fall off your horse and wander over to these trees to hide your embarrassment?” Helen tilted her head, admiring the slash of his cheekbones and wondering why his valet didn’t shave him close enough.
“Is that any way to speak to a duke, Miss Cosgrove? There’s a boat race going on.” His eyes narrowed on the Serpentine briefly before returning to her.
“I suppose it isn’t. I’ve forgotten my manners, Your Grace.”
“Highly inappropriate for a lady’s maid. Prim but not proper.”
“Lady’s companion,” she corrected. “And chaperone.”
He shrugged.