She wished there was somebody who could tell her what she was supposed to do. She had thought that they would at least share a meal and she could ask Silas, but if he had chosen to eat in his room, then she had no clue what to do next.
She looked around her quarters, feeling like a misplaced toy.
Everything was alien, nothing truly belonged to her. They all belonged to this person named “the Duchess.”
She walked to the window and curled up against the seat, staring outside, trying to get used to the notion that this was her new home.
A wave of misery overtook her, and she suddenly missed her brother and father terribly.
Burying her face in her arms, she let a few tears fall, grieving for the family that was lost to her.
She realized that this was the first time she’d ever felt safe enough to simply contemplate everything. To really feel the loss of her father, feel the pain of being torn away from her brother and the potential life she could have had.
A soft knock on the door had her wiping away her tears. “Come in.”
Patricia came in brandishing a tray which she placed on the sitting room table. The aroma of fresh bread and hot spicy stew filled the room. Next to the bowl of stew was the promised chocolate gateau as well as a bottle of port.
Helena smiled. “Thank you.”
Patricia curtsied. “If you need me, just ring the bell, Your Grace. I’m at your disposal.”
Helena nodded as she got off her window seat and walked to the sofa. She sat down with a sigh, contemplating her food.
For a moment, she regretted not asking Patricia to stay, for she hated eating alone.
She turned her head, staring at the door that led to the duke’s chambers.
Is he in there now? Will he join me?
With a sigh, she picked up a piece of bread, cut it in half, and dipped it in the stew.
Might as well eat it while it’s hot.
Silas finished his dinner, and then downed a glass of brandy as he read the evening paper. Not much was happening in London, if one was to believe what was written. Clearly, the country did not know about the rebellion fomenting in their midst.
He wondered how long it would take before James Porter heard that the wedding had taken place and what he would do in reaction. It was clear to Silas that James was afraid of Helena and what she knew. Which led him to wonder if she did indeed know more than she was telling. Perhaps she didn’t even know that the information she had was valuable.
He put his newspaper aside, contemplating the door that led to her chambers. He was in two minds about stepping through it. For one thing, he was not sure about his own motives for doing so, and he wasn’t sure if Helena was aware of what happened between a man and wife after the wedding.
She certainly hadn’t had anyone to educate her.
But he knew he could not just ignore her, for that would be extremely ungentlemanly.
Pouring himself some more brandy, he downed it in one go, and then strode determinedly to the door. He lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, before knocking.
“Come in,” a very nervous-sounding voice said from the other side of the door.
He opened the door and stuck his head into Helena’s chambers. “Good evening.”
She blinked at him, nonplussed. “Good—good evening.”
“May I come in?”
She nodded jerkily, and he stepped slowly into the room, closing the door behind him.
He leaned against the door with a sigh. “How are you doing?”
She moved her head from side to side in a so-so gesture. “It’s been, erm, an eventful day,” she said ruefully.
