Helena nodded slowly. “That’s clever,” she admitted, tucking that little insight away.
Helena was just sitting down for breakfast, after having enjoyed a long hot soak, and feeling much calmer. The mist had cleared up but the drizzle had gone into light rain, with dark clouds that made for a gloomy start to the day.
She looked up as the butler brought in a basket piled with fresh loaves.
“Will His Grace be joining us?” she asked, not having checked on him before coming down.
Jeeves shook his head. “His valet said he would be sleeping in today.”
Helena nodded. “I see.”
She was disappointed because she’d wanted to speak to him further about next steps. She felt impatient for them to act, and she wanted to know when he thought the next shipment might be leaving the abbey.
She wanted to go there personally and wait.
She wanted to talk to Charlie.
She felt as if she might jump out of her own skin if she had to sit and wait any longer.
One of the serving girls came in, holding a tray. “A letter has arrived for you, Your Grace.”
Helena frowned. She had no one who she would expect a letter from. She held out her hand, and the serving girl plucked the letter from the tray and gave it to her.
She stared at the familiar handwriting with some trepidation before snatching it up and tearing it open. Unfolding it slowly, she began to read.
My dear Duchess,
Congratulations on your nuptials. Your mother tells me you’ve acquired some airs since you were wed and now you think we’re beneath your touch.
I’m sorry to dissuade you of this notion, but need I remind you that your brother is in our tender care, and should you wish that care to remain tender, you shall do exactly as I say.
Your father bequeathed you some things. I suggest you make arrangements to collect them personally as soon as possible. You do not want me to tire of waiting. You know I’m not very kind when I’m tired.
No need to send a reply. We shall be awaiting your personal visit.
James Porter.
By the time she reached the end, her hands were trembling. She dropped the letter onto the table as if it burned her fingers, staring at it like it might leap up and bite her.
She could read between the lines. James had Charlie. And if she didn’t do exactly as he said, her brother wouldn’t survive.
Her first thought was to go to Silas.
Her second was:And then what?
He’d storm in with armed men and fury, and if James felt even slightly threatened, he would retaliate.
Charlie could already be dead by then.
Her breath came quicker, panic rising. She had no time to explain. No time to reason.
And she didn’t want Silas talking her out of it—not this. Not when it was Charlie.
She shot to her feet, waving the nearest footman over and ordering him to fetch her a horse. As she hurried to change intosturdier shoes and grab her cloak, she told herself again and again.
She would speak to Charlie first.
She’d get him out.
