Chapter Nine
Helen stayed silent as the carriage left Hyde Park, only half listening as Cerise gave a detailed accounting of the stupid boat race. When she was done describing how chivalrous Lowell happened to be, she launched into the topic of the Duke Roxboro.
Helen wasn’t overly fond of that subject either given her most recent interaction with the duke. She clasped her hands tighter and feigned interest. Cerise enjoyed hearing herself speak, at any rate.
“Had you not scared him off with your ridiculous behavior, I’m certain Roxboro would have gone directly to my father and declared for me,” Cerise insisted.
“I was performing my duties as chaperone,” Helen responded dully. “He’s a known libertine, my lady. And betrothed.”
“He’ll break the betrothal to wed me. Lady Sophia is a cow with abysmal manners. Barely passing pretty. Everyone knows he is being forced to wed.”
“Because he compromised her.” Helen said absently.
“Had it been Lady Mara, her sister, I might understand. But Lady Sophia? Roxboro must have been foxed.”
“I understand it to be his normal state,” Helen said, even while acknowledging that on the two occasions, she’d been in his company, Roxboro hadn’t seemed intoxicated. Which was rather odd for a reputed sot considering how the gossips claimed he stumbled about at times and fell off his horse.
“The duke is bound to call upon me any day. Speak to my father. Ask for my hand.” Cerise gave one of her elegant shrugs. “I realize there will be a scandal, but we’ll weather it.”
Helen snorted, then quickly coughed to cover it up. Cerise was delusional. Roxboro wasn’t going to call on her. Or wed her.
Perhaps I am nearly as bad.
Twice today, much to her mortification, Helen had kissed Roxboro. Or allowed him to kiss her.
It doesn’t signify.
Dear lord, she’d clung to him, like some sort of brazen vine. Pressing herself into all that marvelous, debauched duke. And it was splendid. Wonderful. Life changing.
She took a deep breath.
Now was not the time to relive the incident.
Given Cerise’s utter madness over Roxboro, Helen’s purpose was clear.
She could not, under any circumstance, allow the spoiled brat sitting across from her to be ruined, or worse, embarrass Galway by pursuing Roxboro in public.
Helen’s future, the sum promised at the completion of her duties, depended on it.
“Is there something you wish to say, Miss Cosgrove?” Cerise hurled at her, obviously put out by Helen’s lack of enthusiasm over Roxboro.
Yes. The duke couldn’t recall your name.
“My lady,” Helen used her best, placating tone. “The duke’s nuptials are mere days away. The banns have been read. Invitations sent. I find it unlikely that he would end his betrothal to Lady Sophia at such a late stage.”
“It has happened before.”
“True. However, Lord Canterbell is highly placed in Her Majesty’s government and the presiding Lord Speaker of Parliament.
According to your father, Lord Damon, the duke’s uncle, has political ambitions.
” Helen chose her words carefully lest Cerise fly into a tantrum.
“I think that even if the duke wished to end his betrothal, he might be unable to do so.”
Cerise narrowed her eyes. “Roxboro desires me. He would do whatever he must to have me.” She waved a hand. “You wouldn’t understand a gentleman’s obsession with your person.”
A part of Helen wanted to proudly inform Cerise that Roxboro, did in fact, find her appealing as he’d had her pinned to a tree while kissing her senseless. Even if he’d only done so to amuse himself.
Good lord. I shouldn’t be proud of that.
“Lord Lowell,” Helen attempted to change the subject. “Is a wonderful gentleman. He is obviously smitten with you. Your father approves.”
“Roxboro will call,” Cerise insisted. “He promised. Do you honestly think he would choose Lady Sophia, or anyone, over me? The very idea is ridiculous.” She drew a hand down her form. “Look at me.”
Helen pinched the bridge of her nose. Roxboro was correct in referring to Cerise as a cabbage. A sound left her, which Cerise took as agreement. Her charge shot her a haughty smile and turned her gaze to the passing street outside.
When the carriage arrived at the Galway home, Cerise flew up the stairs, yelling for her maid, while Helen, after discarding her bonnet, made her way down the hall to Galway’s study, prepared to endure a host of improper, thinly veiled threats and innuendos.
The door was open in invitation.
Best to get this over with as soon as possible.
Stomach pitching, Helen took a deep breath and composed herself to face Lord Galway. Only to find the room completely and blissfully…empty.
“His lordship was called away, Miss Cosgrove.” Parker, Galway’s butler announced from behind Helen, making her jump. Parker was always sneaking around and terrifying the staff. Eavesdropping and reporting back to Galway. “Lord Galway left this for you.” He produced a note.
“Away?” Relief filled her. No facing her odious employer. At least not today.
“I’m certain the note explains, Miss Cosgrove.”
Parker was stiff and unfriendly. Overly arrogant given his position in the household. Rather perfect for Lord Galway. He’d likely already read the note.
“I see. And Lady Cerise? Did his lordship leave word for her as well?”
“He did not see fit to leave one. You may explain the situation to Lady Cerise since she is in your care until Lord Galway’s return.”
Wonderful. Her father’s unexplained departure and the mooning over Roxboro was bound to put Cerise in a mood.
Helen opened the missive, keeping her features smooth. An urgent business matter at one of Galway’s estates required his immediate attention. He would be gone for at least a week, possibly a fortnight.
Helen had to contain her enthusiasm, especially with the butler studying her. “Is there anything else, Parker?”
“No, Miss Cosgrove.” He bowed, leaving her to read the remainder of Galway’s note. More instructions on how Cerise was to conduct herself in his absence.
Lowell may call upon Lady Cerise, but only once. No other gentlemen are to be admitted.
Unsurprising. Helen assumed Lowell had already been chosen as Cerise’s future husband by Galway. Good. She felt terrible when considering the fate awaiting Lowell, but Cerise’s marriage also meant Helen’s freedom from this house.
You may take her to the modiste, or a stroll in the park. Nothing else.
Cerise would grouse at that. So Helen could look forward to a great deal of sulking.
Turn away Lady Hester. She is a poor influence.
Helen strongly doubted that could be accomplished. The two were as thick as thieves. Cerise would throw a tantrum if she couldn’t see her friend and the end result would be the same. Hester would eventually be seated in the drawing room with a cup of tea.
Cerise would be unhappy at her father’s abandonment, especially since he hadn’t even deigned to leave her a note.
At times such as these, Helen felt a great deal of sympathy for Cerise.
She knew, more than most, what it was like to feel more like a possession, than a person, albeit Helen was a possession no one ever wanted.
Lord Galway’s affection for his daughter, if one could call it that, was based on Cerise’s ability make a splendid match, one that would enhance his own connections.
He was proud of her beauty, her bearing, and her pedigree. But little else.
“Miss Cosgrove.” Cerise came back down the stairs, saw the note, and snatched it from Helen’s hand. Reading her father’s words, she became red-faced and furious. “Let us have tea in the drawing room,” she snapped.
Helen inclined her head and followed. She could read Cerise’s moods well after so long. Tea was sure to be a trial, full of pouting and complaints.
Once Parker shut the drawing room door, Cerise turned on Helen, eyes full of determination.
“Compose a note.” She paced back and forth.
Not the first time Cerise had ordered her to do so. The girl had poor handwriting and Helen was often tasked with her correspondence. “To Lord Galway?” She went to the writing desk and pulled out a crisp piece of paper.
“No, to Roxboro.” She made a self-satisfied sound. “I wish to invite him to call upon me. Insist he must. Immediately. Or I will be forced to wed Lord Lowell.”
“My lady—”
“This instant. Lord Galway is not at home; thus, it is the perfect time for Roxboro to call. We will discuss plans to break his betrothal so that he might wed me. We can…elope to Gretna Green. Or find an amiable vicar in the country. I’m sure the duke has one at his estate.”
“I think, my lady—”
“You are not paid to think, Miss Cosgrove,” replied Cerise. “You take orders and this is one. Roxboro must call upon me or I will wed Lowell.” She lifted her chin. “Now, write exactly what I dictate.”
An hour later, Helen looked down at the ridiculous, flowery prose Cerise had spouted.
Good lord, not even Lowell would be swayed by such nonsense.
The list of reasons why Roxboro should wed her, most having to do with Cerise’s high opinion of herself, were laughable.
Helen wanted to remind her charge that ladies of good family did not invite notorious dukes who are about to wed another woman, to call upon them.
But her chastisement would fall on deaf ears.
Cerise retired to her rooms shortly after, smug and far too full of herself, after reminding Helen several times to discreetly send the note, lest Parker find out.
Parker would remain unaware of Cerise’s antics, as would Roxboro.
As soon as Cerise left the drawing room and Helen heard the click of her bedroom door, the note was tossed into the fire.
If Lord Galway ever found out Helen had written such tripe, and he would, or abetted Cerise in her behavior, Helen would be sacked.
No bonus for her labors these last few years would be forthcoming.
You make my mouth water.
She could still hear Roxboro’s words as she made her way up the stairs to her own room, ignoring the part where she was compared to drippings.
Felt the press of his mouth on hers, the sensuous glide of his lips.
Images of the duke, the hum along her skin, stayed with her even while composing Cerise’s stupid note.
He had made her…feel for the first time in her life and no matter if he was a libertine and a cad, there would be no forgetting Roxboro. Not for Helen.
The following morning, Cerise came down the stairs, regal as any queen. Dressed exquisitely, her hair absolute perfection, she perched on a chair by the window, anticipating Roxboro’s arrival.
But no one called. Not even Lowell, whom Helen had expected. Or Lady Hester.
Defeated, Cerise fled to her rooms after a fruitless afternoon and did not come down for dinner but took a tray in her room.
Helen, thrilled at having the evening to herself, curled up with her own dinner tray.
Placing it before the fire in the drawing room, she dared to sip a glass of madeira while enjoying a novel.
The book was romantic drivel, which did nothing but make her think of Roxboro.
Annoyed, she tossed the book aside and poured another, forbidden glass of wine.
Even if Roxboro had been the least sincere in his affections, which he most certainly was not, Helen was nothing more than a lady’s companion. He was a duke. The best she could hope for was to become his mistress.
Staring into the fire, Helen pushed all thoughts of the duke aside.
For now.