Page 107 of The Duke's Dream
Cavendish stepped in front of him. "We must speak."
"Not now."
Cavendish caught his arm. "Is she worth it calling out a friend? Because if you advance over Ashford with your murderous expression, that is what will happen."
If it came to that, so be it. "Lower your voice."
"You've hidden the affair well, but these things have a way of surfacing." Cavendish pointed his chin at the group of men, now enjoying port and cigars.
William’s teeth ground together. "We've been discreet."
"A chap can be discreet about a French spy or a French chef, not about a French mistress and one who is the ballet sensation." Cavendish lifted his brows. "I came from White's. Someone placed a bet tonight. The subject is La Sylphide's monthly allowance, her annuity, and who will be her next protector."
A fracture opened in William’s chest. Cold air poured in. Helene. His Helene. Reduced to a name on a betting slip. A prize passed between gentlemen like a racehorse. If all knew, Helene's reputation would be ruined.
His pulse pounded. The weight of his fury so complete, he could barely breathe.
"Who set the wager?"
"Does it matter? Because of her, you are neglecting the season, even parliament. Thornley is furious. He wanted to dissuade Lady Thornley from having this soiree, but she is enamored with La Sylphide. You are lucky that none of the ladies heard about your affair."
He would not allow society to punish Helene. If the bet was placed tonight, he could manage the consequences before the rumors caught fire. "I will force the club to withdraw the bet."
He shouldn't have allowed Helene here. While she had been a character on the stage, people overlooked the woman underneath, but now, they would revel in the scandal. The ladies would have another subject for gossip and the men, a chance to compete for her attention. It was his fault.
Cavendish exhaled. "And if this gallant scheme doesn't work?"
William squared his chest, each breath a struggle against the iron bands squeezing his ribs. "I will protect her, whatever the costs."
Cavendish's eyes widened. "You cannot be serious. Thornley is right. You are mad."
***
Helene curled into the corner of Lady Thornley’s carriage. How long until it would depart? The dinner party had been more exhausting than a triple bill. She needed tea, a blanket, and to vanish beneath her counterpane like a tragic heroine. For sore muscles, she had rosemary and camphor. But what, precisely, did one apply to sore pride? Perhaps lavender for dignity. Or arsenic, if she had to endure another evening like this…
"She’s lovely on stage, but what else is there?" Lady Elisabeth's voice drifted up from the courtyard.
Helene froze by the window, arms folding tightly around herself.
"Everyone knows a swan loses its grace the moment it touches the ground."
So that was how they saw her.
"And have you noticed how she fawns over the Duke of Albemarle? Poor thing doesn’t know her place."
The words lodged like splinters. The carriage walls pressed inward, the silk upholstery suffocating.
Helene flung open the opposite door and stepped onto the street. The cold slapped her burning cheeks, but she welcomed the sting.
Her feet led her to Grosvenor Square, where she wandered aimlessly through the trimmed hedges and stone statues that seemed to look down on her with silent judgment.
What if William agreed with them? What if, beyond La Sylphide, he saw nothing worth keeping?
Her chest tightened. She shouldn’t have left the stage.
She turned a corner—and came face to face with Echo’s cage, the gilded bars dulled by the night's mist. Helene stared at the bird, hands trembling. Her lips parted to speak, but no words came out.
At her approach, Echo’s head turned, his inquisitive eyes catching the moonlight.
