Chapter Eleven
The day following Cerise’s little fit, Helen’s charge sat lovely and composed in the drawing room.
She would be at home today for any callers, daring Helen to say otherwise.
Cerise’s threats still hung in the air, hovering about Helen as she went about her duties, which mainly consisted of sitting in a corner of the drawing room, greeting her charge’s callers and then remaining silent while pretending interest in her embroidery.
The only bright spot thus far was Galway’s continued absence.
The first caller of the day was Lady Hester, who Helen had been instructed to send away, but with one raised, defiant brow from Cerise, was admitted without protest.
Parker, no doubt, took note.
The two girls whispered, their heads bent together, sneaking glances in Helen’s direction to see if she were listening to their conversation which thus far was a tedious recollection of some ball they’d attended early in the Season.
Helen sighed and turned away.
Galway would not take kindly to having his implicit directions for his daughter so blatantly ignored. Helen was in a poor position whether Lady Hester had tea and biscuits or not.
Cerise said Roxboro’s name and immediately lowered her voice further, though not quiet enough for Helen to miss the constant mention of the duke, nor Cerise’s giggles.
Lady Hester related, from gossip overheard from an acquaintance, that most of London was convinced that Roxboro, deep in his cups, had been lured intentionally to the Perswick gardens by Lady Sophia.
She had, in fact, compromised him. Lady Hester agreed with the assessment of the gossips and went on to say there wasn’t any other explanation since Canterbell’s daughter, was in a word, horrible in both manner and appearance. ”
Helen thought that an exaggeration. Lady Sophia couldn’t possibly be as terrible as Cerise or Hester, for instance.
“I will soothe Roxboro,” Cerise cooed. “Given his marriage to that creature.”
She stared at the embroidery in her lap, pulling taut one thread, wishing to be anywhere but here, in Galway’s drawing room listening to such drivel. Cerise would be wise not to say such things about the new Duchess of Roxboro. Lord Canterbell would not take kindly to such talk about his daughter.
Lady Hester finally departed two hours later, Parker escorting her out with a polite scowl.
Cerise resettled on the settee, fluffed out her skirts and went to sit at the window facing the gardens posing so that the sunlight steaming through the window would bathe her in gold.
Helen stabbed at her embroidery. Cerise was yet another human being, in addition to Roxboro, who was splendid on the outside but rotten within.
“Lord Lowell,” Parker announced from the door with a bow.
Helen put down embroidery hoop, rising to greet Lowell.
Had there been any way to warn him away from Cerise, she would have done so, regardless of what it would mean for her personally.
But the earl was absolutely besotted by Galway’s daughter for inexplicable reasons and would just as likely not thank her for the warning.
Lowell stayed exactly one hour. He was unfailingly polite. Spoke of safe topics and attempted to include Helen in the conversation, which was lovely of him.
Cerise purposefully turned her back to Helen.
When it came time for Lowell to take his leave, there was such stark adoration for Cerise on his pleasant features that Helen’s own heart pinched.
“Inform Lord Galway that I would like to speak to him upon his return. I will call upon him,” he said to Helen, as he took Cerise’s fingers. “Until then, my lady.”
“Good day to you, my lord.” Cerise murmured softly, batting her lashes.
Cerise’s features hardened the moment Lowell was safely inside his carriage. The innocence faded from her features. “Well, I suppose that’s that.” She came to her feet.
“My lady,” Helen started. She felt compelled to somehow divert Cerise from her course of action, for no one’s sake other than Lowell’s.
“Tomorrow.” Cerise ignored her. “We will visit Madame Laurent’s. I have an appointment for a new ballgown. Unless you feel the need to object, Miss Cosgrove?” daring Helen to do so.
“No, my lady. Lord Galway has approved a visit to the modiste.”
“Splendid. Eleven o’clock. I am retiring for the remainder of the day. Have Kate send up a tray later.”
Cerise sailed out of the room leaving Helen, once more, blissfully on her own, which was vastly preferable to enduring the girl’s company.
She stared down at the pattern she’d been patiently embroidering on a handkerchief, a series of roses tied with a ribbon, wondering why she bothered.
Helen didn’t care for embroidery. Nor roses.
Embroidery was only a means to keep her hands busy, and it aided in her invisibility.
No one paid attention to the poor relation in the corner with a needle and thread.
She tossed the hoop aside.
Mentally Helen calculated the wages she’d saved so fervently for the last three years of working for Lord Galway. How many things, small pleasures and such, she’d gone without so that she might have the future she desired.
It wasn’t enough. Not for a cottage. Or to feed a cat.
I can’t leave.
There was no escape for Helen, at least not yet. She must ensure Cerise wed Lowell as Galway wished. Keep her from ruination before then. That was the truth, though she wanted nothing more than to abandon this entire enterprise.
Glancing out the window, she took in the color of the grass, so like those shimmering eyes glowing with bits of silver. She tried not to think of Roxboro; sot, libertine and now married, duke, but her attraction to him, her attachment, was so fierce, it was nearly impossible.
Her body remembered him, even if her heart didn’t wish to.