A sigh left her, though whether she heard him or not was debatable.
Mr. Bly, in one of his more lucid moments, had mentioned a small village to Fletcher named St. Osyth. He’d once had an aunt who lived there, and Bly described the area as bucolic.
Fletcher had no idea what the word meant, but nodded all the same.
Nothing but acres of wildflowers until it ends in the sea.
Sounded like heaven to Fletcher. No soot. No stumbling over empty bottles of gin. No…fighting for your existence every day. The area was remote. Few people lived there. He could arrive, tell them all he was a prince from…well, somewhere and no one would know the difference.
He’d used some of his funds from impersonating Roxboro to purchase an abandoned manor house. The property came cheap because extensive renovations were required to make it habitable, but that didn’t bother Fletcher. He had the money to hire an entire fleet of tradesmen.
Closing the bedroom door behind him, Fletcher made his way back down the stairs to the door leading to The Dancing Swan. The music and laughter from the brothel bled through the thin walls making the plaster vibrate.
He threw the bolt, not trusting Ripps. He’d go around to the front entrance.
Chapter Five
Helen fluffed outher skirts. The elderly muslin had faded until you could barely make out the pattern of blue birds which now more closely resembled a flock of gray wrens. There was a tiny hole near the waist, barely noticeable and could be mistaken for the eye of a bird if one didn’t look too closely. At least her half-boots were still serviceable, which was something.
Lord Galway had strongly suggested that Lady Cerise and Helen take a walk in the park at exactly eleven o’clock. Exercise was not his primary concern; he merely wanted to have his well-bred daughter parade through the grass and flowers before a host of potential suitors. Helen had strict instructions that she and Cerise were to stroll sedately down the path winding along the Serpentine. Galway’s carriage, with driver and footmen, would wait a short distance away. After two days of rain, the sun had finally broken through the clouds, so Helen welcomed any opportunity to be in the fresh air, even if it was at the command of Galway and in the company of Cerise.
Helen took one last look in the mirror to ensure her bonnet was situated properly. Not that anyone would be looking in her direction, but she could still take pride in her appearance. Faded muslin or not.
“Hurry along, Miss Cosgrove,” Cerise’s voice echoed from the foyer laced with loathing. “Stop admiring yourself.” The sound of her foot tapping beneath her skirts reached Helen.
“I am only adjusting my bonnet,” she answered, before coming down the stairs.
“Papa says we mustpromenade.” She checked the small watch attached to her waist. “Lord Lowell rides every day at this time and we cannot be late.”
Lord Lowell the attractive, wealthy earl related to a duke, who Galway had identified as the front runner for Cerise’s hand.
“Promenading is a necessity.” Galway appeared from the depths of the house, eyes drifting over his daughter before settling on Helen. “How else for every gentleman to see your graceful stroll, my dear? I daresay you’ll be admired on your outing.”
The patently false smile, one Galway had likely perfected over years of use, flashed, exposing a row of yellowing teeth. He came forward, pressing a brief kiss to his daughter’s cheek. “You look lovely in this shade of green. A good choice, I think. Lowell will be smitten as will everyone else who sees you.”
Cerise’s cheeks pinked at her father’s praise. Thank you, my lord.”
“Off you go. Enjoy the park and this fine weather. Don’t wander off. I’ll expect you back in two hours if not before.” Galway’s eyes focused on the tiny hole at Helen’s waist. “Two hours,” he said again, daring her to say otherwise.
Barely enough time to take a decent walk.
Cerise inclined her head and walked out the door to the waiting carriage.
Helen moved to follow but halted as Galway addressed her.
“A word, Miss Cosgrove,” he purred with a hint of menace, as if she’d already disappointed him simply by standing in the foyer.
She clasped her hands and waited patiently for him to speak. Possibly she was overdue for yet another lecture on how poorly she executed her duty to Cerise. Or perhaps it was to adviseHelen, once more, that if so much as a kiss was stolen from his precious daughter, she would be tossed into the fires of hell. Reupdated and reviled all over London for her enormous failure. Cerise’s reputation would be ruined, and it would beall Helen’s fault.
No matter that Cerise behaved like a trollop.
Galway was a pompous, arrogant…arse. Helen had to tamp down her dislike or she’d say so.
“Lady Cerise is not to leave your sight, Miss Cosgrove. I do not want a repeat of the Stout ball when you failed in your duties. I will not overlook your carelessness again.”
If Galway only knew that Helen had rescued his overbred, vain twit of a daughter from certain ruin by London’s most notorious libertine. Cerise was such a peahen, so vastly enamored of herself, that she actually believed Roxboro would toss aside the daughter of Earl of Canterbell, Lord Speaker of Parliament, forher.
In all honesty, Helen had likely rescued Roxboro.
