Page 119 of The Duke's Dream
Helene closed her eyes and allowed the memories to come, engulfing her in sunshine and bluebells. “You said you knew how to contact my brother.”
Helenetrudgedovertheprivate garden’s path. Leafless trees cast spiky shadows over the pebbles, and she crunched them under her walking boots. Her heart was still raging. How dare William send his solicitor? Did he really think she would accept money from him? Didn’t he know her at all?
When she arrived at Echo’s cage, she had decided that such an offer didn’t even deserve her reply. Let him stay enthroned in his country seat, wondering at her answer. He could wait all spring for all that she cared.
A ruffle of leaves alerted her to a newcomer. Maggy emerged, framed by a frilly parasol, and Helene pushed the offense out of her mind. Unlike William, her friend needed her.
“I came as soon as I got the message,” Helene said, hugging Maggy.
Maggy interlaced their arms and tugged her behind a tall shrubbery, out of view from her house.
Helene held her friend at arm’s length. “Does your mother know you are here?”
Maggy shrugged. “She has been in mourning since that day. She barely leaves her room.”
Helene covered her face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to—I feel horrible.”
Maggy grinned. “Lady Thornley is sad and sterner than usual, but I dare say she will survive. I miss you, Helene. How have you been?”
Helene plucked a crocus, her face heating. Of all the people in London, Maggy was the last one she wanted to let down. “I miss you, too. But you shouldn’t worry about me. Tomorrow is your presentation, and—”
“I decided I won’t go.” Maggy shrugged, her chin raised in defiance. “First thing in the morning, I will stow away in a boat to the Peninsula. I’m certain Wellington would appreciate a wallflower strategist. Much more than the bunch of aristocrats at St. James.”
“You will do marvelously—”
“I won’t.” Maggy bit her lip, her eyes flaring with panic. “Without you, I will step over my train, spill wine over the queen, and make a fool of myself. Just thinking about it makes me shake and sweat. Unless, of course, you were there with me.”
Helene’s heart constricted. She wanted desperately to help Maggy, but she wasn’t the ethereal figure who could inspire confidence anymore. She was only Helene.
“You know I can’t. Your mother forbade it—”
“She doesn’t have to know." Maggy joined her hands in pleading. "Please, I need you.”
Helene exhaled, her chin trembling. “You don’t need a swan with plucked feathers, Maggy. I’m no longer La Sylphide.”
Maggy held Helene’s hand, pressing it affectionately. “You taught me that what matters is on the inside. When I look at you, I don’t see the grand ballerina who enchanted London and fell from grace. I see a kind person, full of life, honest, strong, and principled, who does not hesitate to help others. I see my best friend.”
A wave of warmth invaded her chest, and she embraced Maggy, inhaling her scent of old parchment and ink.
“Does this mean you will be there?”
Helene hiccuped. “The Queen had better admit this plucked swan.”
***
Helene walked back to Soho, enjoying the respite from the cold. A few rays of sunlight graced the path, and she lifted her face, hoping to catch a bit of warmth. It would be risky to go to Saint James, but Maggy said the debutantes would be alone in a room... If Helene’s presence could help her confidence, it was worth a try.
Helene smiled for no one, just for herself. Her chest felt lighter for the first time in days. Maggy’s words kept playing like the coda of a gentle folk song. Maggy saw beyond the surface of what most people noticed when they looked at her. What a difference from the Duke of Albemarle… During their romance, Helene had come to believe he saw more, more than the ballerina, more than a person available for sale. But after the visit from his solicitor, she was no longer sure. What did he think of her to send such a demeaning offer?
When she arrived at her building, the hum in her head merged with the music of her neighbors. The air was alive with the sweet strains of the violinist on the first floor. From the third came the voice of the opera singer, practicing her scales and arias, and the tap-tap-tap of a hammer on metal added a down-to-earth counterpoint.
Invigorated, Helene was smiling when she reached her landing.
Light spilled from under her door. Helene’s heart lifted at the thought of Louise and Celeste being home early from the theater. They could help her concoct a plan to help Maggy. Louise was as cunning as a spy, and for all her romantic nature, Celeste had a vivid imagination.
Humming, she opened the lock. A shadow moved near the piano. Helene gasped.
William’s presence dominated the small room, every taut line of his body radiating tension. Wearing a black overcoat and a murderous expression, he haunted her space like a ballet villain.
