Chapter One
Miss Helen Cosgrove,lady’s companion and chaperone, scanned the crowd of the ballroom for her charge, Lady Cerise. The willowy, overly pampered daughter of Lord Galway had been at her side only a moment ago. But after asking for a hairpin, something Cerise knew would require Helen digging about in her reticule since it was full to bursting with everything a young lady might need at a ball, Cerise had disappeared into the crowd of the Stout ballroom.
Damn Cerise. I like her less every day.
The elaborate cascade of Cerise’s curls had been in danger of spilling over her shoulders which necessitated finding a hairpin, which now, given her disappearance, Helen suspected she’d pulled from her hair deliberately. After all, what better way to draw attention to the creamy expanse of Cerise’s shoulders, displayed to perfection this evening, than a playful curl bouncing along her swanlike neck?
So while Helen dug through pins, ribbons, needle, thread, powder, and even a small vial of perfume in her reticule, Cerise had sprinted away like a gazelle. The girl was far too eager to be compromised.
I could tell her it isn’t all that grand.
Helen’s own pathetic romantic escapades, long in the past, had no bearing on this evening or on Lady Cerise. The life of chaperone and companion, particularly when your charge wasthe spoiled, pampered daughter of a marquess, was not for the faint of heart, nor would Helen have chosen it as her occupation. But she’d had little choice in the matter. As the orphaned and impoverished distant relation, a state she’d managed for most her life, it was the only path open to her.
Resentment over her circumstances would not help matters.
You might show more gratitude, Helen.
Gratitude.
The bane of every poor relation.
Tossed about a sea of people who you were only at best, vaguely related to—and most didn’t even know how, exactly—you were at times a burden, charity, and when you achieved a certain age and no one showed any interest in wedding you, could be trained as a companion. Neither a member of the family nor a servant, but something in between. A kindness, most called it.
Purgatory, is what Helen thought it to be.
When she’d arrived at the home of Mrs. Enid Hendricks, at least the sixth or seventh relation she’d been sent to, Helen had been relieved. Mrs. Hendricks was older, in need of a companion and had two granddaughters who would require a chaperone. She’d have a place with Mrs. Hendricks for years if she was useful.
Thankfully, Mrs. Hendricks agreed.
The older woman was far too frail to attend many of the events her granddaughters’ social calendar required. So Helen did in her stead. Fetched hairpins. Sewed ribbons on slippers. Eyed the gentlemen that approached asking for dances. She tended Mrs. Hendricks as well, reading to her while they sat together in the garden. Or at night before the fire. An entirely peaceful existence for nearly a decade, until Mrs. Hendricks succumbed to an illness at the ripe age of eighty-six. Helen had been devastated by her loss. More than just an employer or adistant relation, Mrs. Hendricks had become a surrogate mother or aunt to Helen.
Apparently, Mrs. Hendricks had not returned her affection.
Upon the death of Mrs. Hendricks, Helen was left nothing. Not so much as a pound note. Only the clothes on her back and a letter of recommendation to the Marquess of Galway. Even now, a bitter taste filled her mouth at the knowledge she’d truly been nothing more than a companion.
Helen pushed aside the resentment threatening to bubble out of her as she wove through the crush at the Stout ball looking for Cerise. The treatment of Mrs. Hendricks, even now, years later, still pained her.
Not even so much as a token. Not a bloody button. A note.
The Marquess of Galway, a cousin of Mrs. Hendricks, had thankfully needed a chaperone and companion for his daughter. Her employer, sensing her end was near, had written a glowing letter of recommendation to Galway, pleading with him to offer Helen a position. Which he did.
Remember your place, Helen. And be pleased my grandmother cared enough to recommend you to her cousin.
“My place,” Helen muttered as she smoothed her skirts. “I have no place.” A decade in the household of Mrs. Hendricks, the longest she’d stayed anywhere, had been the only home she’d ever known. The maids and kitchen staff had wept as Helen packed her things.
But Mary, the eldest granddaughter of Mrs. Hendricks, wanted nothing more than for Helen to be gone.
You will be a lady’s companion and provide chaperonage to the daughter of a marquess. I’d think you’d be thrilled my grandmother secured such a position for you.
“I never did care for you, Mary,” Helen hissed as she moved through the crowd. Mary had the nerve to admonish her, all while digging through Helen’s valise to make sure the silverhadn’t been taken. Or one of the small, hand-painted boxes her grandmother collected.
Insulting.
Helen took a deep breath and sidestepped a rotund gentleman.
True, her circumstances could be far more hellish than chasing about a spoiled heiress who was determined to be ruined. But, as the hateful Mary had pointed out over tea while informing Helen of her imminent departure, she possessed no discernable skills other than that of being a capable companion. Nothing at all to recommend Helen but decent manners and a working knowledge of society.
Galway had initially been doubtful that a spinster who wasn’t entirely ancient and wrinkled, could provide his daughter with proper chaperonage, but in the end, decided to trust his beloved cousin’s recommendation.
