Chapter Ten
The next day was a repeat of the first. Cerise, coiffed and beautiful, waited in the drawing room for Roxboro.
Two other gentlemen called upon her, hopeful to be received, but both were told by Parker that Lady Cerise was not at home.
An hour or so later, Cerise stomped up to her rooms and slammed the door, leaving Helen free of her presence.
It had been a blissful two days.
But on the third day, as Helen finished her tea and toast in the kitchens, Cerise’s maid, Kate, rushed into the kitchens, utterly terrified.
“Miss Cosgrove,” she said, bottom lip wobbling. “You must come. Quickly.”
“Whatever has happened?” Helen came to her feet and followed the maid.
Upon approaching the stairs, the sound of Cerise’s tantrum could be heard echoing throughout the house.
Several of the staff were gathered, all looking upwards and then at Helen begging for salvation.
There was a great deal of screaming. Glass shattering. The thuds of things tossed about.
“Kate—” Helen regarded the stairs with a great deal of trepidation. “Has someone died?”
“The…the…papers,” the poor girl stuttered.
“Yes. Has someone died?”
A shriek echoed from Cerise’s rooms along with something heavy hitting the floor.
“No, Miss Cosgrove.” Kate wrung her hands. “I took up my lady’s breakfast tray as always. She likes to read the gossip column while she has her tea and—well, she is quite upset and…insisting you attend her immediately.”
Helen took a breath. Then another. There was a dart of pain in her chest, sharp but brief, though it shouldn’t be there at all. She had an inkling of what had caused Cerise’s distress.
“Don’t worry, Kate.” She lightly touched the maid’s arm. “I’ll handle Lady Cerise. Perhaps you could bring us a fresh pot of tea and,” she lowered her voice so that Parker wouldn’t hear. “And a bit of brandy.”
Kate nodded and rushed off.
Opening the door to Cerise’s chambers, a slipper flew by Helen’s head. Then a diamond tiara. Followed by stockings, one after another.
Good grief.
“Finally. There you are.” Cerise’s tear-stained face met hers. “What were you doing? When I call for you, I expect you to arrive. I am your only responsibility.”
Helen would have said chore. Or burden.
“I was having my morning tea,” she replied calmly. “And toast in the kitchens. Now then, what seems to be the problem, my lady?” Helen picked up the tiara and set it carefully on the vanity.
“Did you send the note to Roxboro?” Cerise marched back and forth across the room. She paused, only to toss a hairbrush at Helen. “Did you?” A small container of pins was next. Another slipper.
“Of course, my lady. Just as you instructed. I paid the messenger myself. I did so with great discretion,” she lied smoothly. “I waited until Parker went outside to smoke one of his rotten cigars.”
That seemed to mollify Cerise. Somewhat. Her pristine complexion, as smooth as cream, was blotchy and red. Her hair hung in spirals around her shoulders, only partially pinned.
“Then why?” she wailed. “Why? Why would he do this to me?”
Cerise strode to the bed where a wrinkled newspaper lay atop the coverlet. Waving it in the air, she tossed it at Helen. “If he received my note, tell me how this travesty occurred?”
Helen carefully smoothed out the pages of the newspaper, careful to keep her features perfectly bland and composed so as not to allow her own inner turmoil to show. She already knew what she would see. Had been expecting as much. Roxboro was an utter cad. She pitied Lady Sophia.
The duke and his marriage were none of her affair.
Scanning the announcement, Helen read that the Duke of Roxboro had wed Lady Sophia Simmons, daughter of Lord Canterbell.
Yesterday as it happened. There were other details.
Guests in attendance. Flowers. An unflattering description of Lady Sophia’s dress.
But none of that mattered because she was now the Duchess of Roxboro.
The pair were due to depart London after the wedding for Roxboro’s estate in the country.
Well, that was that.
Cerise rather dramatically let out a wail and collapsed on the floor. Only to begin pounding at the rug with her fists.
Good lord, what a spoiled brat.
“He didn’t come. He promised to speak to my father.” She looked up at Helen with swollen eyes. “You heard him say so.”
Actually, Roxboro hadn’t said that, exactly. But she didn’t bother to argue with Cerise who was clearly…distressed.
“My lady,” Helen started, resolved to be as gentle as possible, though the girl didn’t deserve her kindness.
Cerise had never even been introduced to Roxboro prior to the Stout ball.
She’d had one conversation with the duke.
One. A brief flirtation. They hadn’t even danced.
Their acquaintance was incredibly brief.
Why Cerise would ever imagine Roxboro would simply discard what little honor he possessed, toss Lady Sophia, daughter of a powerful man, aside to pursue Cerise because he’d seen her in the park was…
. Well, it made Helen wonder at her charge’s state of mind. Who believes such nonsense?
“Perhaps it was simply too late, my lady, for the duke to alter course. As I said, the entire wedding was already—”
“There must be a reason he didn’t come. He wouldn’t change his mind.
Not about me.” She thumped her chest. “I am adored by every gentleman in London. Sought out. Begged for dances. I am a diamond,” she screeched.
“Did you…do something? Dear God, did you offend the duke in some way?” She pressed a palm to her throat.
“Good lord did you throw yourself at him?”
Helen blinked, stunned at Cerise’s accusation. Mainly because it was somewhat…true.
Perhaps she isn’t completely a cabbage.
She thought of her hands curled into Roxboro’s coat as he kissed her in the park. The way she clung to him, wishing he’d never let her go. The twist of her hips against his.
Did that constitute throwing herself at him?
Yes, Helen. It does.
She swallowed. “What would make you say such a thing?”
“You did not immediately follow me back to my father at the Stout ball after interrupting my conversation with Roxboro. You lingered.”
“I did not.”
She had.
“You claimed that you dropped something.” She glared at Helen, wiping a tear from her cheek. “A pin or whatnot. Roxboro is incredibly handsome. A duke. Did you…. offer yourself to him?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are horribly jealous of me,” Cerise sobbed. “Lady Hester has mentioned it often. I can see how you might attempt to seduce him like some common trollop.”
Oh for goodness sakes.
“Well, he is rather fond of them, isn’t he?” Helen shot back, furious. First compared to dripping and now a trollop. Usually, she was only considered an unwelcome burden. Her temper, which so typically well-contained, had been unraveling. Fraying around the edges like an old shawl.
“My lady,” she begged her tongue to stay polite. “I would never do such a thing. You are my charge. I am your companion and chaperone. Under no circumstances would I entertain Roxboro’s advances or encourage them.” A shiver ran through her at the lie, slight and easily ignored.
Cerise wiped at her cheeks. “I misspoke. I am incredibly distressed. You are far beneath the duke, and I doubt he’d ever look twice at you with your childlike form. Not to mention your hair.”
My hair? Helen’s fingers clenched, wanting so badly to simply slap Cerise. What is the matter with my hair?
“I am…deeply offended by your accusation, my lady. I am sorry for your distress, but I did warn you that the duke is a notorious libertine. One only has to read the gossip columns to see a list of his sins which is rather extensive.”
Cerise turned away. “It is only gossip.”
“Lord Canterbell is a powerful man, more so than even Lord Galway. Vastly influential. Do you believe he would have allowed Roxboro to break the betrothal to his daughter? Cause her untold humiliation? Lord Damon Viceroy, whose political ambitions are well known would not have allowed his nephew, duke or not, to beg off for any reason. Despite your…charms, there was never any hope that Roxboro could extradite himself from the situation.”
“I see your point.” Cerise nodded slowly. “Yes.” A grin pulled at her lips. “Roxboro wanted to break his betrothal for me. He did. Of course he did. But circumstances beyond even a duke’s control would not allow him to. I see it clearly now.”
“No, that isn’t—what I mean to say is that the duke toyed with your affections, my lady. I fear you were played false.”
“Impossible.” Cerise sat up and tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“Roxboro desires me. He made as much perfectly clear. But, Miss Cosgrove, you’ve made me see that honor was involved and a man’s honor is everything.
Also, Lord Canterbell is extremely influential which is a pity that he has such a dull daughter.
At any rate, I believe Roxboro had to wed Lady Sophia though he would have preferred me.
But now?” A slender finger tapped at her lip as a calculating gleam entered her eyes.
“The duke will surely seek me out now that he’s fulfilled his obligations and I will encourage him to do so. Lady Sophia is not beautiful.”
Good lord, what a self-obsessed nitwit she is.
“I would rather have been a duchess but,” Cerise shrugged and came to her feet. “I suppose I will be a Lowell’s countess and settle for having Roxboro as my lover.”
Helen was aghast at Cerise’s words. She replayed their conversation in her mind and could not fathom how the girl had come to such a conclusion.
“You cannot mean that, my lady.” Galway would lose his mind if Cerise chased Roxboro about the ton while betrothed to Lowell and would most assuredly place the blame on Helen. Didn’t Cerise care at all for her reputation? Or Lowell? “Please do not pursue this course of action.”
“Or what, Miss Cosgrove?” Cerise raised one delicately shaped brow, strutted over to her vanity and shoved the diamond tiara aside as if it were nothing but a trinket.
“If you make the poor decision to inform Lord Galway of this conversation, I will sadly, need to explain to my father that it was you who dallied with the duke. I saw you, the night of the Stout ball, tossing yourself at him like a harlot. Given his…inclination towards you, my father is bound to be…annoyed.”
“But that isn’t true. It’s not—” She protested. “Lord Galway would never believe that of me.” But even as she said as much, Helen knew that Galway would believe the absolute worst of her, if only because it would put her at his mercy.
“Wouldn’t he?” Cerise interrupted. “Let’s see, I happened upon you pawing at Roxboro. I was absolutely horrified at the behavior of my chaperone, a woman sworn to protect my virtue and school me in decorum. When I duke rebuffed you, as he should, I watched you beg for his attention.”
“My lady—” Panic suffused her. Cerise would make good on her threats. Helen would lose everything. The freedom that was still within her grasp. The cottage she imagined. The trio of cats.
“I remained silent,” a cruel smile crossed Cerise’s lips.
“Because I could not bear the thought of what Father would do to you. Poor Cousin Enid would be horrified. Where would you go?” She fluttered her lashes with a pretty pout, tone becoming girlish.
“I’m so sorry, Father,” she simpered. “I didn’t know what else to do.
” Her gaze on Helen grew hard. “He’ll believe every word. ”
She’d done nothing but try to help Cerise, keep her from ruining herself and becoming a pariah yet the girl hated her, so much so she would lie about something of this magnitude. Parker would surely tell Galway about Cerise’s tantrum today and want to know the cause of it.
“I thought as much.” Cerise flicked her fingers in dismissal. “Now, go away. Vanish until I send for you or Lord Lowell calls upon me.”
Helen strolled out of the room, head held high. If nothing else, she refused to be intimidated by that brat. But at least she no longer feared that Cerise had seen Roxboro in the park. Nor kissing Helen.
Had she recognized the duke, she would even now be sitting in the street, valise in hand.