“Would you see Madame first, Mama?” she asked, looking to the modiste’s door. “I should like to take a turn up ’round the shops before the midday crush.”
“Lovely, darling,” her mother had said, eager for her own time with Madame. “I’ll take the first fitting. But mind your sisters, will you? Their squabbling has awakened that terrible throbbing behind my left temple. It was an error in judgment to bring only one governess.”
Helena had planned for this, but she feigned irritation as she gathered her sisters and dispatched the youngest girl’s governess to retrieve forgotten parasols from the carriage. Her sisters were fourteen, seventeen, and eighteen; well old enough to relish time to themselves in New Bond Street.
“Theresa, Joan, Camille,” Helena called when their mother had gone, “how would you fancy a refreshment before your appointment with Madame? A little lemon ice, perhaps, to sustain you through hours of pinning and prodding?”
Her sisters’ bickering and preening fell silent and three heads swiveled in her direction.
“What refreshment?” challenged Joan, her oldest sister.
“Why, there is a café just there,” said Helena, pointing. “You see? On the corner? Fromley’s Emporium, it’s called. The duke has told me Fromley’s is known for the loveliest lemon ices in all of London. The grandest ladies and gentlemen pop in for tea as a respite from shopping.”
“Since when do you converse with the duke?” asked Theresa.
“He is my betrothed,” defended Helena, “of course we converse.”
Three sets of green eyes stared at her with open suspicion.
Helena ignored them. “Perhaps you’re not hearing me. I’ve got two shillings for each of you. Indulge in whatever the café has on offer. Settle in at a window table and examine the fashionable ladies and gentlemen.”
“What do you care for fashionable ladies and gentlemen?” asked Joan.
“Iwon’t be there. I’ve my own errand in the street. You’re old enough to enjoy the café without me. When Theresa’s governess returns from the carriage, she will accompany you. And I’ll send a groom to watch over you.”
Helena glanced around. Shaw had gone to settle the carriages. Only Nettle hovered on the periphery of their group.
“You hate shopping,” said Camille, the shrewdest of her sisters.
“I do not hate shopping, and I’m in search of a gift. For the duke.”
Now the girls burst into laughter.
“Ah, yes. Hilarious.” Helena shook her head and led them to the café. “You won’t convince me that you’re not interested in a London café. I won’t believe it.”
The girls quieted and followed her, casting sidelong glances amongst themselves. After a moment, Joan said, “You cannot simply leave us. We’re not like you, accustomed to tromping around in the forest alone. We are meant to be ladies.”
“First of all, I said the governess will be with you. Miss Turtle.”
“MissTuttle,” Theresa corrected.
“MissTuttle,” repeated Helena. “Second, I don’t tromp in the forest. I tend my apples and ride my horse and shop in the village, just as you do. If ever you chose tovisit meand see the beauty of Castle Wood for yourselves, you would know this. How sad it has made me that you no longer come to the forest. Your preference is the manor house with Mama and Papa, I understand. But—”
“It’s not a preference, Helena,” said Camille matter-of-factly. “Mama and Papa do not allow us to visit you.”
Helena paused, surprised by this admission. Visits from her sisters had dwindled after their grandmother died, and Helena had been too grief-stricken and busy with the orchard to pursue them. When she called to the manor house,the girls’ reception of her had been cool and distracted. They very clearly sided with their parents on the topic of merging families with the Duke of Lusk. Helena had begun to view them as disinterested bystanders at best; at worst, traitors.
Honestly, she’d been so wrapped up in her own deliverance she’d given very little thought to the girls. She could only save herself. Or could she?
“What reason do they give,” Helena asked, “for not allowing you to visit the forest?”
Camille shrugged. “They don’t want to lose us to it, as they lost you.”
Helena made a bitter laugh. “They’ve not lost me. I’m a mile away.”
“Are you not? Lost to them?” Camille asked, watching her closely.
“I am lost as any pawn, perhaps.”
