Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVELINE/HELENA

"S wear this is a falsehood!" Miss Sinclair, a newspaper clutched in her trembling hand, bore down on Helena.

Stepping outside the iron fence marking her property, Helena, eyes widening, shushed Miss Sinclair and said, "I didn't expect to see you this early. What is wrong?"

Miss Sinclair thrust the paper at Helena.

"Mother has forbidden me from associating with you. If she knew I was here…" Her voice trailing off, Miss Sinclair glanced over her shoulder as though speaking her mother's name would conjure the woman to that very spot.

Helena unfurled the newspaper, her gaze skimming over the articles. Halfway down the page, her heart stopped. Her name jumped out from the text.

"Gentlemen, beware," Helena whispered, the page slipping from her fingers.

Miss Sinclair grabbed Helena's wrists, clamping them in an iron grip. "This will ruin any chance you have for marriage. You must fix this."

"I-I don't know how," Helena said, lifting her head.

The Duke of Lennox would never speak to her again.

"Try!" Miss Sinclair squeezed harder, her eyes blazing. "I won't lose you."

"And…" Helena swallowed. "If the rumor is true?"

"No." Paling, Miss Sinclair released Helena and took a step backward.

Her eyes rolled backward in her head, and Miss Sinclair collapsed in the snow, a cloud of white fluff flying into the air above her unconscious body.

"Miss Sinclair?" Kneeling, Helena shook the young woman, but she wouldn't open her eyes.

Helena's head swung between the path leading to her front door and Miss Sinclair. She couldn't abandon Miss Sinclair in the snow, even for the few minutes it would take to retrieve assistance. Shoving her hands under Miss Sinclair's arms, Helena lifted Miss Sinclair's torso and jerked her toward the break in the iron fence.

When she dragged Miss Sinclair onto the path, Helena stopped, resting Miss Sinclair's head against her thigh. Twisting around, she cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Help!" The word rolled toward her house.

A minute later, the front door creaked open, and Miss Fernsby-Webb peeked her head out.

"Nora!" She yelled for her sister as she ran toward Helena.

Slipping on a patch of ice, Miss Fernsby-Webb crashed into Helena, knocking her over. Helena lost her hold on Miss Sinclair, dropping her beside the icy branches of a bare rose bush.

Miss Webb rushed toward them, skidding on the same slick spot. However, she managed to maintain her balance. Releasing a trembling chuckle, Miss Webb planted her feet, then extended her arm to her sister and hauled Miss Fernsby-Webb upright. Together, they assisted Helena, each of them grabbing an arm. Once Helena was firmly established, they turned, assessing Miss Sinclair.

"If each of you takes a leg," Helena said, cautiously inching toward Miss Sinclair's head, "I'll carry her torso."

The sisters agreed, and after counting to three, they lifted at the same time, staggering slightly as they struggled to maintain their footing. Then, with Miss Fernsby-Webb directing, Helena took a blind step backward, then another, and another, the trio moving in unison.

In this slow manner, they shuffled toward the door, none of them speaking until they crossed the threshold. Arms burning, Helena paused and adjusted her grip, struggling not to drop Miss Sinclair in the foyer.

"What happened?" Mrs. Hawkins rushed toward them.

She grabbed hold of Miss Sinclair's arm, easing some of the weight, and helped carry her into the parlor. They maneuvered around a settee, aiming for the sofa nearest the fireplace, and stretched Miss Sinclair out on the cushions.

"Where did you find her?" Mrs. Hawkins asked, stuffing a pillow beneath Miss Sinclair's head.

"She stopped me outside," Helena said, winding her fingers together and dropping to the floor beside the sofa. "She was distraught because her mother forbade her from associating with me."

Miss Webb frowned. "Why would she make that declaration? Mrs. Sinclair has never met you."

Clearing her throat, Mrs. Hawkins brushed a piece of blonde hair from Miss Sinclair's face. "I'll fetch some water and a cloth. Don't move her."

"Thank you," Helena said, waiting until Mrs. Hawkins left the room before adding, "Mrs. Sinclair's decision was determined by today's newspaper."

There was no purpose in lying. She couldn't prevent them from reading the damning gossip. Her heart rose to her throat as Miss Fernsby-Webb darted toward the front door. A moment later, it opened and shut.

Would they depart immediately, choosing to stay in rented lodgings or, worse, their mother's home over the house of a reprehensible liar and thief?

The outer door slammed again, shaking the walls.

"Miss Helena Rowe is new to Wiltshire but not new to love." Miss Fernsby-Webb marched into the parlor, clutching the wrinkled newspaper in her trembling hand. "Nora, you need to read this."

Helena froze, trapped on the floor beside Miss Sinclair as Miss Webb floated in slow motion across the room and bent her head, reading over Miss Fernsby-Webb's shoulder. When Miss Webb reached the end of the paragraph, she gasped, lifting her gaze to Helena.

"Why would someone pay to print such horrible things about you?"

"I don't know," Helena whispered, her lower lip trembling.

Except she did know.

Only one person in Wiltshire knew Helena ran from Humphrey, the same person who demanded an additional four hundred pounds to keep that secret quiet.

Today was a warning. If Helena didn't pay Miss Drummond, the next article wouldn't just reveal Helena's true name; it would place her in unimaginable danger. She wouldn't survive Humphrey's fury at having to travel to Wiltshire to collect her.

No one could protect her—not her brother Ernest, not the Duke of Lennox, not even the sturdy Miss Fernsby-Webb, whose brown eyes blazed with an intensity Helena had not previously witnessed.

Miss Fernsby-Webb slapped the newspaper against her open palm. "This is a vicious attack by someone who realized the Duke of Lennox developed an affinity for you yesterday evening."

"No." Helena shook her head. "The Duke of Lennox isn't interested in anything more than friendship. He told me after our card game."

"He's obstinate." Miss Webb waved off Helena's revelation. "He doesn't know his own mind. This inane wager is making them all irrational."

"Love isn't rational either." Miss Fernsby-Webb strode over to the fireplace and tossed the paper into the flames.

"Those words," Helena indicated the burning page with a tilt of her head, "will sway any man's mind from nurturing affection for me."

And as long as Humphrey didn't appear, she would consider the sacrifice of the Duke of Lennox worth her freedom… even if it broke her heart.

Mrs. Hawkins hurried into the parlor, moving as quickly as possible without slopping water over the edge of the porcelain bowl she carried. She knelt beside Miss Sinclair, set the bowl on the floor, and, after wringing the excess water from the cloth, draped the material across Miss Sinclair's forehead.

"How long has she been unconscious?" Mrs. Hawkins dug in her apron, pulling out a vinaigrette of salts.

"A few minutes," Helena replied, her gaze locked on Miss Sinclair.

Waving the perforated lid beneath Miss Sinclair's nose, Mrs. Hawkins waited until Miss Sinclair coughed and opened her eyes before removing the metal container.

"Where am I?" Miss Sinclair murmured, rubbing her hand across her face.

Upon realizing her location, she sat up with a gasp, her head whipping between Mrs. Hawkins and Helena.

"How did I get here?" Miss Sinclair's voice pitched, cracking on the last word.

"We carried you," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, walking into Miss Sinclair's eyeline. "Miss Rowe, Nora, and I brought you in from the street."

The color draining from her face, Miss Sinclair grabbed the sofa, steadying herself. "Did anyone see you?"

"I don't believe so," Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, the edge in her tone sharpening. "However, if you're concerned someone witnessed your visit to the home of such a scandalous lady…"

"That's not…" Miss Sinclair choked back a sob. "If Mother discovers I ignored her wishes and called upon Miss Rowe, the punishment will be severe. The last time I disobeyed her, I couldn't walk for days."

Mrs. Hawkins retrieved the damp cloth, which dropped to the rug when Miss Sinclair jerked into a sitting position.

"A woman on laudanum isn't violent," Mrs. Hawkins said, placing the material into the bowl and rising from the floor.

"True." Miss Sinclair daubed her fingertips beneath her eyes and shuddered. "But a woman without her medication is."

Striding around Mrs. Hawkins, Miss Webb collected her skirt, sat beside Miss Rowe, and laid a comforting hand on the young girl's arm. "Your mother won't learn of this clandestine visit."

Miss Sinclair's lower lip trembled. "Are you not concerned?"

"About your mother?" Miss Webb tilted her head, adding a soft chuckle.

"About what was printed in today's newspaper regarding Miss Rowe's past?" Miss Sinclair lowered her gaze, avoiding Helena's eyes.

"Until Miss Rowe confirms the story," Miss Webb glanced at Helena, who vehemently shook her head, "I refuse to believe what I've read. As should you."

"Even if the rumor was true…" Miss Sinclair finally raised her head to meet Helena's gaze. "To run from a fiancé, Miss Rowe would have had an excellent reason."

If ever there was the moment to reveal the truth to her companions, this was it, but Helena couldn't bear the thought of watching disappointment spread across their faces, especially when they learned her name wasn't Helena as she'd claimed over the past few months.

"You're correct," Helena said, climbing onto the sofa. "Only an inexcusable offense would justify my severing a promise to wed."

She said nothing more, allowing her words to twist into suppositions and false beliefs about her character.

"Which is what," Mrs. Hawkins said, adding a firm nod, "any sane woman would do when faced with a disparaging situation. If you would excuse me, I'd like to finish preparing the meal before the afternoon."

As Mrs. Hawkins swept from the room, Miss Webb leaned forward, craning around Miss Sinclair until she caught Helena's eye.

"Not every person will feel the same." She offered Helena a sympathetic smile. "Many members of the ton will denounce you as Mrs. Sinclair has, even without evidence. However, I have an idea."

"What do you suggest?" Miss Fernsby-Webb asked as she perched on a nearby armchair, staring at her sister.

"To combat a rumor, one must expose a greater scandal."

Helena sighed. "I don't know any."

Except about herself.

"You don't need to." Miss Webb rose and strode to the fireplace. "What type of person would deign to write such a dreadful statement about Miss Rowe?"

"A jealous one," Miss Fernsby-Webb muttered.

"Exactly," Miss Webb said, spinning around. "And if a reputable source, such as Miss Sinclair, were to advise the printer that today's gossip was fabricated by a malicious competitor…"

"Then a correction in tomorrow's newspaper would dispel any negative effects from the lie!" Miss Fernsby-Webb jumped up and clapped her hands together. "An excellent plan."

"Except," Miss Sinclair said, her wispy voice barely reaching Helena, "whoever is responsible may resort to a worse revenge."

"In addition to burglary?" Miss Fernsby-Webb asked, sinking onto the arm of the chair. "Miss Rowe's guests were robbed last night in their sleep."

Miss Sinclair's mouth popped open. "Someone stole from a duke?"

"Three," Helena replied, misery washing over her.

After all her lies, she deserved to be tortured by Humphrey in this life and the next.

"I'll do it!" Her eyes shining, Miss Sinclair jumped up. "I'll speak with the printer."

"Are you certain?" Helena asked, rising as well. "We could send an anonymous missive with the information."

"How will we know the printer read the letter?" Miss Sinclair asked, her eyes rounding to the size of teacup saucers. "If I go in person this afternoon, we're certain he will run the article in tomorrow's printing."

"I agree," Miss Webb said, disappearing from the parlor.

Her sister frowned at the doorway through which Miss Webb vanished.

"You'll need a few coins to pay the printer," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, returning her gaze to Helena. "Miss Rowe, do you have a few farthings in your reticule?"

How would she explain why her winnings vanished? She'd told Mr. Hughes none of her items disappeared.

Helena opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat.

"She doesn't need money," Miss Webb said as she glided into the room, holding a folded missive. "I included a pound with this statement regarding the false attack on Miss Rowe."

"I can't accept?—"

"Certainly, you can," Miss Webb interrupted Helena. "Since our engagement, Merritt pays all my expenses, and once we're married, you'll have one less companion."

Holding out her hand for the letter, Miss Sinclair approached Miss Webb.

"Miss Rowe invited me to live here, and after your wedding, I believe I shall agree to her generous offer. Delivering this missive is only the first step in my repayment for her kindness."

Miss Webb released the letter. "When you arrive at the printing shop, tell the printer we will offer him double for the name of the slanderous person… if she returns."

"Are you sure it's a woman?" Miss Sinclair asked, tucking the missive into her reticule.

"I would wager my wedding date on it."

"And," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, joining her sister, "when we find this woman, we'll expose her secrets to the whole of the ton."

Shuddering, Miss Sinclair took a subtle step backward. "I'm grateful to have never crossed you, Miss Fernsby-Webb."

"Perhaps," Miss Webb said, adding a reassuring smile, "you could join us tomorrow afternoon for tea."

"Oh, I do hope so." Miss Sinclair returned the grin, then curtsied to all three ladies. "Until tomorrow."

Helena escorted her to the front door and gave her a quick embrace. "Don't allow anyone to see you leave. I wouldn't want your mother to hear about this visit."

Biting her lower lip, Miss Sinclair nodded. She opened the door, peeking around the edge, and yelped, jumping backward and pulling the door with her. Waiting on the doorstep, his hand raised to knock, stood an elderly man whose wrinkled face broke into a giant smile when he spied Helena.

He bowed sharply, then held out a missive. "His Grace invites you and your companions for an afternoon of sleigh riding."

"Please excuse me." Miss Sinclair ducked her head, pulling the hood of her pelisse over her face, and darted around the man.

"Mr. Kendall?" Miss Webb asked, appearing behind Helena. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all, Miss Webb," he replied, favoring her with a grander smile. "His Graces and your fiancé are filled with ennui and looking to amuse themselves."

"What did they decide upon?" She took the missive from Helena and ripped the seal, giggling as her eyes scanned the scribbled note.

Leaning back into the foyer, Miss Webb yelled, "Winifred, would you like to go for a sleigh ride?"

"At this moment?" Miss Fernsby-Webb asked, huffing as she materialized beside her sister.

"Their Graces will collect you in one hour." Mr. Kendall bowed again, turned, and strode toward the street.

"All five?" Helena's eyes bulged.

"Apparently," Miss Webb said, winking at her sister, "none of them care about the lies printed by that newspaper."

"Or they didn't read it," Helena muttered, earning a reproachful glare from Miss Webb.

"Name one person in this town who doesn't delight in gossip." Miss Webb arched her eyebrows, daring Helena to counter her argument.

Helena shrugged. "I cannot."

"This is quite fortuitous," Miss Fernsby-Webb said as they climbed the stairs. "No one questions the opinion of a duke. This invitation will lend weight to the claim you've been wronged by a vindictive?—"

"We will meet," Miss Webb spoke loudly, drowning out the profane description used by her sister, "downstairs in thirty minutes."

Time flew much faster than Helena anticipated. A knock resounded on the front door, causing all three ladies to simultaneously pop their heads out of their chambers.

"He's early." Miss Webb giggled, her face flushing light pink.

She floated down the staircase, leaving her sister and Helena trailing after.

As they descended the steps, Miss Fernsby-Webb leaned over and whispered, "I hope that one day we are both as happy as she."

"As do I," Helena replied, a sharp pang slicing through her chest.

She didn't deserve happiness.

"Of course, I understand." Miss Webb's voice rose from the foyer. "We won't need more than three sleighs."

When Helena and her sister reached the bottom of the staircase, the Duke of Roxburghe approached them and apologized.

"Warwick won't be accompanying us this afternoon," he said, gesturing toward the snowy grounds visible through the beveled window beside the door. "The cold is bothering his leg, and Mansfield stayed to keep him company."

Beaufort snorted. "Mansfield is sulking because he can't determine the identity of the woman who stole from him."

Collecting a fur-lined pelisse from the coat rack, Miss Webb asked, "How should we select partners?"

It appeared an innocent question, but Helena knew Miss Webb intended to steer her toward the Duke of Lennox.

A low rumble echoed through the foyer.

"No other man accompanies you," the Duke of Roxburghe growled, crossed the floor, and wrapped his arms around Miss Webb, constricting his embrace until she vanished.

"I was referring to my sister and Miss Rowe." Her muffled voice crawled over the Duke of Roxburghe's shoulders.

"Easily solved." Keeping one arm on Miss Webb's waist, he turned and pointed at the other dukes in succession. "Lennox will escort Miss Rowe, and Beaufort will chaperone Miss Fernsby-Webb."

Miss Fernsby-Webb bristled. "I don't need a chaperone."

"I do." The Duke of Beaufort wiggled his eyebrows.

She laughed, then placed her hand in the crook of his offered arm. "I shall do my best to protect your virtue, Your Grace."

"You've already failed miserably at your task," he said, leaning closer as he led her out the front door. "I'm quite a scoundrel."

The Duke of Lennox bowed to Helena, then extended his elbow. When she accepted it, his other hand came down on top of hers, pinning her fingers to his arm.

"Now that you cannot escape," he murmured as they followed Miss Webb and the Duke of Roxburghe toward a trio of sleighs. "I have some questions for you."

Helena's heart exploded into triple-time.

She glanced at his profile. "Questions?"

He turned, locking his eyes on her. "I wish to know more about Miss Helena Rowe."