Defeated, Cerise fled to her rooms after a fruitless afternoon and did not come down for dinner but took a tray in her room.
Helen, thrilled at having the evening to herself, curled up with her own dinner tray. Placing it before the fire in the drawing room, she dared to sip a glass of madeira while enjoying a novel. The book was romantic drivel, which did nothing but make her think of Roxboro. Annoyed, she tossed the book aside and poured another, forbidden glass of wine.
Even if Roxboro had been the least sincere in his affections, which he most certainly was not, Helen was nothing more than a lady’s companion. He was a duke. The best she could hope for was to become his mistress.
Staring into the fire, Helen pushed all thoughts of the duke aside.
For now.
Chapter Ten
The next daywas a repeat of the first. Cerise, coiffed and beautiful, waited in the drawing room for Roxboro. Two other gentlemen called upon her, hopeful to be received, but both were told by Parker that Lady Cerise was not at home. An hour or so later, Cerise stomped up to her rooms and slammed the door, leaving Helen free of her presence.
It had been a blissful two days.
But on the third day, as Helen finished her tea and toast in the kitchens, Cerise’s maid, Kate, rushed into the kitchens, utterly terrified.
“Miss Cosgrove,” she said, bottom lip wobbling. “You must come. Quickly.”
“Whatever has happened?” Helen came to her feet and followed the maid. Upon approaching the stairs, the sound of Cerise’s tantrum could be heard echoing throughout the house. Several of the staff were gathered, all looking upwards and then at Helen begging for salvation. There was a great deal of screaming. Glass shattering. The thuds of things tossed about.
“Kate—” Helen regarded the stairs with a great deal of trepidation. “Has someone died?”
“The…the…papers,” the poor girl stuttered.
“Yes. Has someone died?”
A shriek echoed from Cerise’s rooms along with something heavy hitting the floor.
“No, Miss Cosgrove.” Kate wrung her hands. “I took up my lady’s breakfast tray as always. She likes to read the gossip column while she has her tea and—well, she is quite upset and…insisting you attend her immediately.”
Helen took a breath. Then another. There was a dart of pain in her chest, sharp but brief, though it shouldn’t be there at all. She had an inkling of what had caused Cerise’s distress.
“Don’t worry, Kate.” She lightly touched the maid’s arm. “I’ll handle Lady Cerise. Perhaps you could bring us a fresh pot of tea and,” she lowered her voice so that Parker wouldn’t hear. “And a bit of brandy.”
Kate nodded and rushed off.
Opening the door to Cerise’s chambers, a slipper flew by Helen’s head. Then a diamond tiara. Followed by stockings, one after another.
Good grief.
“Finally. There you are.” Cerise’s tear-stained face met hers. “What were you doing? When I call for you, I expect you to arrive. I am your only responsibility.”
Helen would have said chore. Or burden.
“I was having my morning tea,” she replied calmly. “And toast in the kitchens. Now then, what seems to be the problem, my lady?” Helen picked up the tiara and set it carefully on the vanity.
“Did you send the note to Roxboro?” Cerise marched back and forth across the room. She paused, only to toss a hairbrush at Helen. “Did you?” A small container of pins was next. Another slipper.
“Of course, my lady. Just as you instructed. I paid the messenger myself. I did so with great discretion,” she lied smoothly. “I waited until Parker went outside to smoke one of his rotten cigars.”
That seemed to mollify Cerise. Somewhat. Her pristine complexion, as smooth as cream, was blotchy and red. Her hair hung in spirals around her shoulders, only partially pinned.
“Then why?” she wailed. “Why? Why would he do this to me?”
Cerise strode to the bed where a wrinkled newspaper lay atop the coverlet. Waving it in the air, she tossed it at Helen. “If he received my note, tell me how this travesty occurred?”
Helen carefully smoothed out the pages of the newspaper, careful to keep her features perfectly bland and composed so as not to allow her own inner turmoil to show. She already knew what she would see. Had been expecting as much. Roxboro was an utter cad. She pitied Lady Sophia.
