Page 113 of The Duke's Dream
He thought of Helene—rallying her army of Rosieres, defending the prisoners with reckless courage, standing with quiet dignity at that brutal soirée. But she was more than those moments. So much more.
Plato once taught that the gods, in their wrath, split souls in two as punishment for hubris—and love was simply the search for one's missing half. To a young man trained in logic and artillery, the idea had once seemed laughable.
But now he knew better. Helene hadn’t carried the other half of his soul. She had stolen the best part of it.
And the thought of a life beyond her garret, beyond her presence—was no life at all.
“With her, I understand happiness.”
“She sounds dreamy.”
“Dreamy,” William repeated, the word slipping from his lips with a reverence that surprised even him.
Once, he had chased her because of a dream—an image that haunted his sleep, a sprite he couldn’t touch. She had been a symbol, a fantasy. But now?
Now, she was the dream.
Not the ghostly wisp of longing that vanished at dawn, but the living embodiment of every hope he hadn’t dared admit. She had become his dream of joy. Of peace. Of home.
Clouds drifted by in the distance, pieces from Morpheus’s realm floating lazily across the sky. Seagulls called out, their cries mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves. Helene would like it here. The thought struck him, and it became an imperative—he had to show her the ocean.
His mother sighed, the sound weak, resigned. “It will not be easy to forget her.”
Her frail hand trembled as she tried to adjust the blanket on her lap.
William stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. “Forget her?" His voice caught in his throat. "Why would I—”
“You cannot mean to prolong this." The smile faded from his mother’s lips. "Your legacy won’t survive the scandal.”
William backed away. “How dare you talk to me about scandal? You live with a woman.”
“No one cares if a dowager retires from society. They simply ignore me.” A rough cough rattled her chest. “But you are the duke.”
“My father was the duke as well.” His voice came out grating and bitter.
“Your father was a good man. He loved you.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He doesn’t deserve this blow to his lineage.”
“Father was a good man, and yet you left him. You left all of us.”
William pressed his temple as a long-buried memory resurfaced with painful clarity. He was a boy again, running through the corridors in a blind panic, searching for his mother, only to find her bedchamber empty, her gowns gone, her jewelry missing. His father offered a hollow command: ‘We don’t say her name in this house.’
“Do you think it was easy?” she croaked, her voice breaking as she reached out to him with a trembling hand. “I think about you every day. I love you so much. But it is too late to resolve the past. I will take my sorrows to the grave.”
Her hand fell back to her lap, and she closed her eyes, a look of profound sorrow settling over her features. “Before you make a mistake that will haunt you, remember this—Passion, this fuel that burns in your breast and mine, flares high but dies quickly—”
“No.” William gritted his teeth. “I’m not fickle—”
She coughed, her chest bowing with the effort.
Why had he provoked her? He helped her sit up, steadying her as she struggled to catch her breath.
She caught his hand, her grip strong despite her weakness, her gaze sparking with a flicker of the determination she once had. “I have little time left,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “Before I go, you must promise me never to see her again.”
HelenestaredatWilliam’shouse. Black crepe covered the windows. His mother was dead. Her heart ached at the thought of him suffering alone. But what could she do? All her letters went unanswered. A fortnight had passed with no news. Doubt clawed at her heart, but she refused to let it in. Baines said he would return to London next week.
Helene pulled her cloak closer and crossed the square to Maggy’s house. Since William left, she felt disconnected from the stage, unable to summon the lightness of La Sylphide. The hours on pointe that once exhilarated her now drained her, a sputtering fountain trying to nourish a dry garden. The only bright spot in her routine had been her encounters with her shy pupil.
The butler received her with more coolness than usual. Instead of admitting her into the conservatory to start Maggy’s lesson, he showed her to the morning room.
