“Call upon you?” Hester glanced over her shoulder at Helen. “But isn’t he about to wed Canterbell’s daughter?”
“He is willing to break his betrothal. For me.” Cerise giggled. “I’ll be a duchess. I can hardly believe it.”
Helen didn’t believe it at all and rolled her eyes at the absurdity of Cerise’s thinking. Thank goodness the pair ahead couldn’t see her.
Hester, who wasn’t nearly as much of a nitwit as Cerise, appeared skeptical. “Really.”
“Yes. Entirely true. He saw me walking in the park and was struck by me.Struck,” Cerise repeated, blinking at her friend. “He would have spoken to my father at the Stout ball had it not been for my chaperone. Miss Cosgrove saw fit to interrupt us,” she ground out. “I should have her sacked.”
Helen paused, pretending to pluck a flower from the grass so that neither girl would see the look on her face. Roxboro wasnevergoing to break his betrothal to the daughter of one of London’s most powerful men. She doubted he could. Not to mention, the duke seemed to barely recall Cerise’s name only moments after she returned to the ballroom.
The only solution to this unwelcome obsession of Cerise’s was to ensure she didn’t approach the duke, which would result in a great deal of embarrassment and scandal. All of which Helen would be blamed for. But given that Roxboro wasn’t often out in society, the task shouldn’t be too difficult.
“Miss Cosgrove.”
Helen straightened, daisy caught in one hand as Lord Lowell appeared before her. She’d been so busy mulling over Cerise’s supreme stupidity she hadn’t heard the earl approach.
Good lord, maybe I am derelict in my duties.
Cerise and Hester stood a short distance away, their eyes fixed on Lord Lowell, the pair posed as perfectly as if sitting for a portrait.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lowell, ever polite, greeted Helen.
“Woolgathering, I’m afraid,” came her reply. “Apologies, my lord.”
“I came across Lady Cerise and Lady Hester while riding.” He paused and smiled at Cerise. “Fortuitous.”
Just as Galway had said. “Fortuitous indeed, my lord.”
Lowell didn’t bother to hide his adoration of Cerise. Mooning over her, right in Hyde Park before half of London.
“There is a boat race taking place in a few moments, just there,” Lowell said to Helen, pointing towards the Serpentine. A crowd had gathered at the water’s edge, the ladies waving ribbons and parasols while the gentlemen strutted about. “With your permission, Miss Cosgrove, I should like to escort Lady Cerise and Lady Hester to the festivities. Perfectly proper, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt it, my lord,” Helen returned. Lowell was a lovely gentleman. She’d always thought so.
“Splendid. I have a friend who is racing today. He’ll appreciate the support of two such lovely young ladies.” Lowell bowed to Helen before walking over to Cerise and Hester. Holding out both arms, he said, “Miss Cosgrove has given her approval. Shall we?”
Cerise tossed Helen a glance. “Miss Cosgrove doesn’t care to get too close to the water, my lord. She’d best wait here. Or possibly there,” she said sweetly, obviously for Lowell’s sake,gesturing to a small circle of trees. “You’ll still be able to see the race, Miss Cosgrove.”
“And we shall not be out of your sight a moment.” Lady Hester agreed.
There wasn’t any point in objecting, though Galway would expect her to trail behind them cataloging every word Lowell uttered, but Helen wasn’t in the mood for the fit Cerise would throw if she insisted.
“Yes, of course.” Lowell was no Roxboro and would never take advantage of a young lady he meant to wed, which was certainly his intent. Also, the crowd was quite large. There was little room for impropriety.
“As you wish, my lady,” Helen said. “Pray do not get too close to the water yourself. Given my own fear, I would be concerned for your welfare.” Because that was absolutely something Cerise would do for attention. Flounder into the water, gasping and thrashing about, so that she might be rescued, making sure that every gentleman present caught a glimpse of what was beneath the thin silk of her green dress.
Cerise scowled at her. “Miss Cosgrove is overprotective.”
“Lady Cerise has nothing to fear,” Lord Lowell stated with an absurd amount of gallantry. “I won’t leave her side.” He placed a hand to his heart. “I swear it.”
Ugh.
Lowell was far too nice for Cerise. Or Hester. Helen had always wished for a gentleman such as Lowell, one who might regard her with adoration. Might cherish her. Owen had for a short time, until he’d taken her virtue. But having done so, he’d found Helen cold and lacking in appeal. The betrothal didn’t survive the bedding.
Yes, but you didn’t love Owen.
True. She hadn’t. Owen offered her escape from merely being the poor relation. The lady’s companion. Which made Helenincredibly dishonest. Honestly was a trait she valued, and she’d been horrified at her own deception. That was why she’d never blamed Owen, not entirely. Nor protested too hard when he broke their betrothal. Enid had been furious. But having felt the attraction to Roxboro—
