Page 26 of The Duke's Dream
Gasping, Helene covered her mouth. “Is this what I suspect?”
Lady Thornley smiled wistfully. “I saw Anna Heinel in the Paris Opera in 1779 when she danced Echo et Narcisse.”
Helene sighed, imagining the magnificent piece catching the theater’s light as the prima ballerina shone on the stage. She was reputed to have invented the pirouette.
Helene’s hand instinctively reached for Anna Heinel’s trademark, but she stopped herself before touching the priceless jewel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right, child.”
Lady Thornley placed the tiara on Helene’s head and guided her to a Venetian mirror. Helene avoided looking at herself, gazing instead at the pleasure reflected in the other woman’s eyes.
Lady Thornley smiled. “When you dance, you have the same passion and stage presence as Heinel.”
To be compared with the marvelous Anna Heinel, and by Lady Thornley, a renowned connoisseur of art—Helene’s chest swelled with pride. She didn’t know what to do with her face, so happy she was with the praise. “Oh, thank you.”
“Don’t let anything hinder your career.”
Helene was startled. “Why, I don’t—”
“I noticed the Duke of Albemarle’s interest today.” Lady Thornley removed the tiara. “He is handsome and influential, and I understand it might be flattering to catch his attention.”
Hands clasped together, Helene searched the other woman’s face, looking for signs of disapproval, but saw only concern.
Guilt swam in her stomach. She gazed at the jewel, now safely stored in the case. Who was she? A girl who flirted and blushed and quite forgot herself in front of her employer? Or the crowned figure she had seen in the mirror, proud and gleaming, the promise of exceptional talent?
Lady Thornley pressed her hand affectionately. “Love is only a part of a man's world. War, land, politics, sports, other women… They all claim a share of his life. For a woman, love becomes her entire existence. Passion robs her goals and ends up ruining her. Is that what you want, Helene? To exchange all your dreams for a glimpse of love?”
Thescentofdustand paper from The Public Safety Committee room clung to William's coat. gray walls, gray day, gray everything. His mind drifted to their waltz. What was she doing now? William gazed at the clock. At least six hours until he could see her again. Feel her skin underneath the tulle...
Today, he would taste her smile.
"Distracted, Your Grace?" Rodrick Deverell, Viscount Montfort sat opposite him, lounging in his chair. His black hair was slicked back from his sharp features. But it was his eyes that unsettled most men—dark, assessing, and remorseless. Few people would believe that this man used to be William's best friend in Eton.
William dragged his focus back to the meeting. He was not a man given to flights of fancy. He was guided by reason, not impulse.
"Not at all. Merely expecting the other members to join us."
Cavendish's seat was empty. Again. What sort of revelry had his friend embarked on last night? William frowned. Cavendish’s excesses—late nights, missed meetings—would wreck his future.
Thornley pushed his bulky frame into the room and assumed his seat by William's right. Panting, he threw a newspaper atop the table.
"Albemarle." Thornley's voice cut through the stale air. "I assume you are aware of this filth."
The Clarion.
The headline read: "Britain's War: A Noble Cause or A Nobleman's Greed?"
Below, lines of tight print unraveled scathing words about Wellington's campaign. How the British regiments were no different than animals plundering their way into Spain.
"Farley's influence grows by the day. Two thousand copies last month. Seven thousand this week." Thornley's mouth twisted in disdain. "We must stop him."
The war minister had been his father's closest friend. When William assumed the dukedom, Thornley had appointed himself as his mentor. William admired his political acumen, but nowadays, his obsession with Napoleon clouded his judgment, but in this, he was right. The writer was a risk to the status quo.
William pressed his thumb against the paper's coarse edge. "Agree. His radical ideas are spreading from the Whigs to every liberal-minded insurgent in town. Farley's simple words and penny price make him accessible to the masses. After the Luddite riots, we cannot be too careful in managing public opinion." One false step would cause them to lose control of the situation.
The others fell into debate—Farley's methods, his motives. The voices dulled to a murmur.
Is a society that stifles its members worth protecting? That cripples their passions?
