She turned over the three sheets of paper but they were blank on their backs.
That was the sum of the advice.
No matter how she considered it, the promised counsel had been a disappointment.
Eliza would reply immediately to this Mrs. Oliver. That lady had to have more advice to offer on the question of seduction than these mere crumbs from the proverbial table.
If not, her book was surely doomed to failure—or worse, obscurity.
It was unfortunate, for the premise had been most enticing.
Almack’s, Helena was convinced, was the most dull establishment in all of London, perhaps in all of England. There was no question that it was more tedious than any place in Europe, where all the most daring and wondrous events occurred. Though she had been to the venerable club three times in her debut season, a year later, she was sorry to discover that its appeal had not increased a whit.
This should have been more remarkable, save that her aunt held Almack’s in highest esteem. Perhaps that was a warning of a kind, for Helena had no doubt that there were vouchers aplenty in her future.
Aunt Fanny was always impressed by the most mediocre things. She invariably informed Helena of her remarkable good fortune in even being allowed across the threshold of the club, and had done as much three times between tea and the arrival of the duke’s carriage. Aunt Fanny insisted that it was by dint of her own social influence that Helena gained vouchers, given that their own family connections were modest, but Helena could hardly regard this as a triumph.
Besides, on this night she knew she had been welcomed because her chaperone was the only sister of an unwed duke—not just any duke, either, but the Duke of Haynesdale whose very name lit a gleam of ambition in many an eye.
Mrs. North was amiable and surprisingly pretty, given her advanced age and the fact that she was a widow. Helena thought her new chaperone might even be as ancient as her own brother. Mrs. North’s dress was modest but of excellent quality, and her hair was as yet devoid of grey. She had an attractive smile, though Helena had only glimpsed it once or twice.
Perhaps she was happy no longer to be wed to a parson. Helena could not imagine a worse fate. There would be Bible verses and Sunday sermons—she would be obliged to listen if her husband was delivering them—visits to the poor and doubtless a great many other charitable duties. Helena would much prefer to go dancing or shopping.
Mrs. North had been a bit stern in the carriage on their way this evening, insisting that Helena sit with composure and not plague her with questions about her brother, the duke.
Helena supposed that riding in his smaller carriage should have been sufficient to thrill her, simply by the notion of proximity, but it had not been. It would have been if the duke had accompanied them, she was certain.
The difficulty with a second season after her debut was that it all seemed unchanged and dreary as a result. There was no longer any adventure to be had. At least in the previous year, she had been excited for her debut. She eyed the new crop of debutantes awaiting their dance partners and felt a measure of pity for them—soon enough they would learn that Almack’s was not the most amusement they might have in town.
What a shame that it was too cold as yet for a visit to Vauxhall Gardens. Helena had been vastly entertained by Mr. Melbourne there the previous year, warmed by his kisses in the shadows, an adventure that had left her feeling decidedly bold.
Sadly, the dashing Mr. Melbourne was not in attendance on this night.
Helena looked.
Twice.
She liked the ballroom at Almack’s well enough, with its mirrors and gas lighting. She did not care that there was no food and orgeat was a beverage she could take or leave. It was the company that she found excruciatingly difficult to bear. It seemed there were only anxious young women—peering toward the door, though each strove to hide her interest in every new arrival—along with their mothers and chaperones. To a one, these were fierce and often plump older women with sharp gazes and bold ambition. Watching her competition made Helena feel wise and fortunate that her chaperone was comparatively young.
With the surety of experience, Helena saw that there were far too few gentlemen in attendance and she guessed that even few of them had much fortune. The way that mothers avoided them and the necessity of introducing their daughters was a telltale sign—if a man in attendance had been eligible, titled and wealthy, any glimpse of him would have been obscured by a veritable hive of ambitious mothers and their charges.
“If ever your brother came to Almack’s, they would devour him,” she said beneath her breath.
“There is little chance of that,” Mrs. North said and Helena braced herself for a lecture. “For then there would be one less duke in need of a wife. Society could not incur such a loss, could it?”
This sounded like a jest, but Helena knew that no chaperone of merit would find humor in that situation.
“The only males in attendance are younger brothers of the debutantes,” Helena complained, unable to disguise her disappointment in that.
“It is early,” Mrs. North advised. “Your brother intends to arrive later and might bring a friend.”
“Oh!” Helena said with newfound enthusiasm. “Perhaps the Duke of Haynesdale will appear, after all.”
“Captain Emerson has other comrades, surely.”
“Yet I hear only of his good friend, the duke.” Helena smiled at her companion. “You cannot know all of your brother’s intentions. I cannot even guess at all of my brother’s schemes.”
“I know the duke’s habits well enough.”
