Page 32 of The Duke's Dream
Sophie narrowed her green eyes. “The ball was your duke’s idea, wasn’t it? He wants you there and invited the rest of us. Bold move. I like him already. You should wear a revealing gown. Perhaps Cleopatra’s costume?”
Louise held Helene’s hand. “Is this true?”
Helene nodded, ashamed.
“Oh, what will you do?” Celeste bit her lip. “InAs You Like It, Rosalind escaped to the woods as Ganymedes.”
“Or she could grow out of this ridiculous Shakespeare obsession and use the invitation to her advantage,” Sophie said, caressing Helene’s hair. “If you became his mistress, you would have jewels, horses, houses—the world at your feet.”
Louise placed herself in front of Helene. “And sell herself to the Englishman? How long would it take for her to appear on Harry’s list?”
“You may not care about securing your future, Louise, but some of us plan on making the most of every opportunity. If you were less dismissive, you’d see the benefits too.” Sophie exhaled dramatically and sauntered to her more influential friends.
Louise glared at her retreating back. “The arrogance of these aristocrats! If your brother were here, Helene, he would blow him up with grapeshot.”
“Louise, please!” No one could ever suspect her brother was a French general. “We have enough problems already.”
Celeste eyed them, her face flushed. “Why don’t you feign sickness and stay home?”
“Verón was emphatic. If I displease the duke, I’ll be dancing in the gutter.”
Their jobs depended on complying with his wishes.
All around her, the dancers searched through the costumes, their chatter rising under the vaulted ceilings. One ballerina held Juliet’s gown. Another twirled with a Hamlet’s cloak.
“If we must attend, we should make a protest.” Louise caught a crown and inspected the paste jewels. “We can wear red ribbons around our throats and go as guillotine victims.”
Helene shook her head. “The gore would attract too much attention.”
Since she had to reveal her costume, going incognito was not an option.
Helene walked along the storeroom, and halted before La Rosière’s tulle dresses. The duke’s voice replayed in her mind as surely as if he was whispering in her ear.
Tell me something, Miss Beaumont—why do ballerinas have such an excessive fondness for white?
A slow smile formed on her lips, and Helene exhaled all the air in her lungs. “I might have a plan, but I will need help.”
Louise grinned wickedly. “Does it involve sabers? Oh, better yet, cannons?”
Helene hugged the girls who had been dear companions all her life. “What would I ever do without you?”
Celeste laughed. “Why, you could run to the woods, because God knows you would look terrible in boy’s clothes.”
Helene’s chin lifted, and a smile tugged at her lips. Her plan didn’t involve guns or breeches… The duke wanted a chase, didn’t he? Well, she would give him a merry one.
Itwaspasteleveno’clock when William’s carriage overcame the traffic and arrived at Burlington House. The flicker of candles and chandeliers cast dancing shadows over the ballroom’s gilded walls. Laughter and music blended, pulsing with possibilities. William maintained a composed exterior while navigating the throng of elaborate costumes. Every nod, every polite smile was measured, a part of the dance he had mastered over the years. Beneath the surface, his thoughts simmered, his gaze slicing through the crowd in search of a woman dressed in white.
A Rosière. A peasant girl offered to the Lord. Of course he knew the tradition—he knew everything about France, especially customs that might ripple across the Channel. But Rosières were more than quaint symbols; they embodied chastity and submission.
She kept surprising him.
Joan of Arc would’ve made sense—defiant, national, if a touch overdone. A Greek goddess, perhaps.
But a Rosière?
What was Helene playing at? Was it a message? Was she ready to yield?
The image of her in white muslin swept through him like a fever.
