Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

EVELINE/HELENA

O ne hundred pounds! How would she collect one hundred pounds by midnight?

Not only did Helena not possess that large amount of money, but she also didn't know anyone who'd willingly part with that sum without explanation, and the reason for her need was something she couldn't share. Ever.

However, she couldn't allow this mysterious person to publish the truth of her identity in the morning's paper. If Miss Webb or her sister learned that Helena had lied to them for the whole of their brief acquaintanceship, neither of them would forgive the deception.

Then she'd be trapped in Wiltshire—waiting for Humphrey to find her—without a friend or any means of escaping the financial prison she'd placed herself in after spending most of her funds letting the residence. Or, her brother, Ernest, would discover her, drag her back, and demand she wed Humphrey… And she'd be forced to admit she sold Humphrey's ring to fund her escape.

Of all of Humphrey's faults, his lack of compassion would ensure a most violent death for Helena when she confirmed the betrayal.

She swallowed, her eyes sliding over the letter vibrating in her trembling hand. She recognized the writing but couldn't deduce who was responsible for the threatening missive. Scooting closer to the fireplace, Helena leaned down, squinting as she studied the words in the fire's flickering light.

The flames reached out, brushing against the edge of the paper, and ignited the corner of the parchment. Helena screamed and dropped the letter as the rapidly moving fire singed her fingers. However, instead of fluttering to the hearth, the letter floated into the fireplace and, within seconds, was reduced to charred ash.

"I suppose that was for the best," she said, her gaze locked on the flames. "The discovery of that letter would've resulted in an investigation."

She chewed her lip, then spun in a slow circle, inspecting the items in her chamber. Nothing she possessed was worth enough money to meet the blackmail demand, which left very few options—the least repugnant requiring her to cheat at cards, and the most requiring her to steal directly from her guests.

Neither option was ideal.

"Miss Rowe!" Mrs. Hawkins entered the chamber without knocking, drawing a terrified shriek from Helena.

Mrs. Hawkins offered an apologetic curtsey. "I heard a scream."

Placing her hand over her racing heart, Helena collapsed into a nearby armchair. "I dropped something into the fireplace by accident, and when I tried to retrieve it, I burned my fingers. You must have heard me yell. I apologize. I don't know where my head's at."

"Allow me." Mrs. Hawkins took Helena's hand, clucking as she inspected the light red burn marks staining Helena's shaking fingertips. "I know an important social event such as this can be overwhelming for a young woman, but I have something that will help."

She pulled a small, brown bottle from a pocket of the white apron tied around her waist, uncorked the top, and waved the opening toward Helena.

"What is it?" Helena inhaled a deep sniff as the bottle slid under her nose.

"Laudanum. For your nerves." Mrs. Hawkins gestured for Helena to lean her head back.

Helena complied, parting her lips as Mrs. Hawkins tipped the bottle and poured a mouthful of the bitter liquid into Helena's mouth.

Choking, Helena forced the burning medicine down her throat. She coughed for several minutes, then wiped the tears streaming from her eyes.

"You'll be right in a moment." Mrs. Hawkins tucked the bottle into her pocket and swept from the room.

The crackling fire drawing her attention, Helena glided closer to the warmth, mesmerized by the flickering flames. Reaching out, she pressed her hand to the grate, marveling at how the blaze stretched toward her skin.

She was supposed to do something…

A loud rap echoes through the house.

The guests!

Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs forming across her brain, Helena turned and glided across the floor, aiming for the doorway. She grabbed the door frame, swung into the hallway, and floated down the staircase.

Her body numb and her mind blissfully blank, the terror of the blackmail note subverted by the dose of laudanum, Helena wrestled open the door to welcome her first visitor, Miss Octavia Sinclair, whom Helena had grown close to during and after the Duke of Lennox's Christmas party.

"Miss Rowe!" Miss Sinclair flung her arms around Helena, coating her in a light shower of snowflakes. "I was honored to receive an invitation to tonight's event."

"I could never forget you." Helena's tongue tripped over the words, her lips mashing the sentence into a garbled mess.

A tiny frown appeared on Miss Sinclair's forehead, but instead of commenting on Helena's sluggish speech, she asked, "Am I late?"

"Actually,"—Helena looped her arm through Miss Sinclair's, leading her toward the parlor—"you are the first to arrive."

"Oh, no!" Her face paling, Miss Sinclair's free hand whipped to her mouth. "I should leave and return in an hour after more guests have come."

"You shall do no such thing!" Helena tightened her hold on Miss Sinclair, wobbling slightly as they maneuvered through the parlor doorway. "If you catch a chill from the evening's air, I will hold myself responsible."

Miss Fernsby-Webb glanced up from shuffling a deck of cards. "Why does Miss Sinclair wish to go outside?"

"She believes herself to have arrived too early," Helena replied, gently squeezing Miss Sinclair's arm.

"Impossible." Miss Fernsby-Webb waved her hand, then jerked her head toward a steaming bowl of negus on the refreshment table and winked. "May I suggest something strong to warm yourself?"

Relief flashed across Miss Sinclair's face as though the appearance of the alcoholic punch had dissipated her concern for Helena's odd behavior, and she nodded. "I could definitely be tempted."

"An excellent proposal," Helena said, releasing Miss Sinclair's arm when a knock sounded in the hallway. "If you would excuse me for a moment."

Turning, Helena glided into the corridor, floating toward the door as though she were walking on a cloud.

Everything would work out. Somehow. She may not even need to resort to theft.

Helena smiled, warmed by the giddy feeling coursing through her veins. She opened the door and gasped, grabbing hold of the wooden edge to steady herself.

On the snow-dusted doorstep stood Miss Arabella Venning, her black hair peeking out from beneath a fur-lined hooded cape, accompanied by the specter that had haunted Helena since that morning when she shoved aside the Duke of Lennox to chase down a hallucination—Miss Selina Drummond.

Except this woman wasn't a delusion…

"What a beautiful dress," Miss Venning said, unaware of the effect her companion had on Helena. "Did you purchase it from Mrs. Talbot's shop?"

"I-I did," Helena said, her fingers turning white from her grip on the door.

"I'm ever so grateful to Miss Fernsby-Webb for suggesting I bring my cousin tonight." Miss Venning gestured behind her. "She arrived just a week ago, and I didn't want to leave her with no one to keep her entertained but my father."

Miss Venning glanced back at Miss Drummond, flashing an apologetic grimace.

"Of course, any family of yours is welcome." Swallowing the nervous lump growing in her throat, Helena curtsied, then moved aside. "Do come in."

"Miss Rowe," Miss Venning said, removing her cape, "I'd like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Selina Drummond."

The forced smile on Helena's lips faltered as she turned to greet Miss Drummond, whose bored expression gave Helena a flutter of hope that her henna-dyed hair obscured her true identity just enough that Miss Drummond didn't recognize her brother's missing fiancée.

"This,"—Miss Venning, pointing at Helena's light pink sarsnet sleeve—"is the material I was searching for yesterday. I adore how the gown changes color as she moves."

Miss Drummond's nose wrinkled. "The hue wouldn't compliment you as well as it does Miss Rowe. Slate was a fine choice."

Helena's gaze landed on Miss Drummond, studying her face for any indication that her lack of recognition was feigned, but Miss Drummonds' green eyes, which flicked to Helena for confirmation of the observation, remained cordial.

"I agree with your cousin," Helena said, bobbing her head.

She couldn't quite bring herself to speak Miss Drummond's name aloud.

Miss Venning beamed. "You're both so kind. I do hope you remember that affinity while you're attempting to lighten my reticle."

"I do not promise mercy," Miss Drummond said, adding a soft chuckle that sent a shudder slithering down Helena's spine.

Despite the congenial tone, a sinister undercurrent flowed through Miss Drummond's comment, and… Wait a moment, did she just wink?

Chest constricting, Helena indicated the parlor with a trembling hand. "Please enjoy some refreshments before the games begin."

"I know so few ladies who reside in Wiltshire," Miss Drummond said as her cousin turned toward the doorway, "I do hope we're seated together for the whole of this evening. I'd love to speak more with you, Miss Rowe."

If it cost her every possession she owned, Helena would ensure that did not happen.

She forced her lips into a—hopefully—sympathetic smile. "Miss Webb felt it best to change seats every hour to allow each lady a chance to converse with those outside their usual circles. The table assignments were selected at random."

That was before Helena learned she'd be spending the evening playing cards with her jilted fiancé's younger sister, who was decidedly not a supporter of Eveline Braddock or her family… Especially after Helena vanished in the middle of the night, leaving no trace of herself or the valuable family ring.

Miss Venning placed a comforting hand on Miss Drummond's arm. "I'm certain all the ladies attending this evening possess personalities similar to Miss Rowe, and therefore, any table we play at will be a delightful experience."

"Of course." Acquiescing with her cousin, Miss Drummond nodded. "It wasn't my intention to disparage any lady. I was merely hoping to nurture this new connection."

"Perhaps Miss Rowe would join us for tea later this week," Miss Venning said, ushering Miss Drummond toward the parlor as a knock sounded on the outer door.

"An excellent suggestion," Miss Drummond replied, glancing over her shoulder and locking eyes with Helena. "I'll send an invitation."

The words themselves were not a threat, but something about Miss Drummond's tone caused Helena's heart to stutter, and she took an involuntary step backward.

Thankfully, the first table Helena sat down at contained Miss Venning, Miss Isabel Philbert, and Miss Creasey, whom one could argue was not a nicer substitute for Miss Drummond, but at least Helena didn't need to worry about accidentally revealing her identity during the gossiping conversation that accompanied each round of cards.

And with the ladies occupied by the latest rumors, Helena used the distraction to deal herself the best hands.

Earning one hundred pounds before midnight seemed entirely probable.

Lifting her cards, Miss Creasey tilted her head to the left, indicating the table nearest them. "Your cousin is quite striking, Miss Venning. I'm surprised she's unattached."

"Sadly, that is the reason Miss Drummond came to stay with us," Miss Venning said, then drained her cup of punch and exhaled a heavy sigh as she set down the glass. "My cousin has been quite unlucky holding onto her fiancés. Her mother hoped Wiltshire would offer better opportunities."

"Fiancés?" Miss Creasey arched her eyebrows. "How many has she lost?"

"Three," Miss Venning said, tossing three coins into the center of the table.

"Is that your wager or your answer?" Miss Creasey's eyes flicked between the money and Miss Venning.

A mysterious smile crossed Miss Venning's face. "Only Miss Drummond can confirm the truth."

"I can't ask your cousin about her failed engagements," Miss Creasey muttered as she added her coins to the stack.

"You could," Miss Philbert said, setting her cards face down and placing her money in the center of the table. "However, it would be incredibly offensive, and I'm quite certain Miss Venning would be obligated to disinvite you from her ball."

"I would," Miss Venning said with a grimace as she gestured for one card.

Helena pulled the bottom card from the deck, hoping none of the ladies noticed her sleight of hand, and placed a seven of clubs in front of Miss Venning.

"I would swear," Miss Venning said, shoving her cards toward Helena, "but my father would never forgive such language, even if losing was the cause."

"Perhaps the table is unlucky," Miss Philbert said, pushing her cards toward Helena. "The only person to have done well is Miss Rowe."

Helena swallowed.

Had she been too obvious in her fraudulent dealing?

"It's the dress," Miss Venning replied with a decisive nod, gracing Helena with a magnanimous smile. "I knew that color would bring good fortune."

Miss Webb stood and clapped her hands together, silencing the room. "Ladies, we will take a small break and resume playing with new seats. At the first table will be Miss Drummond, Miss Sinclair, my sister, and…"

"Please don't say my name," Helena whispered, repeating the phrase over and over under her breath.

"Miss Rowe!"

Damn. How would she fool Miss Drummond for nearly an hour with only several feet of wood separating them?

Mrs. Hawkins! Or, more specifically, the laudanum in Mrs. Hawkins' apron pocket.

Setting down her cards, Helena leaned forward. "Ladies, I had a lovely time this evening. Please excuse me."

Before any woman could reply, Helena popped up and dashed from the room, tripping over her hem as she hurried toward the kitchen.

Bursting through the doorway, she called, "Mrs. Hawkins, are you here? I need you."

"What is it?" Mrs. Hawkins appeared in the doorway leading to the larder, her apron covered in flour.

"Do you have any of that medicine left?" asked Helena, winding her fingers together in front of her waist.

"The laudanum?"

"Shush!" Glancing over her shoulder, Helena darted closer. "I don't want anyone to know."

"It's a perfectly acceptable solution for ladies to employ when dealing with nerves," Mrs. Hawkins withdrew the bottle from her apron and wiped off a tiny bit of flour from the top.

"It's also dangerous," Miss Sinclair said from behind Helena.

Mrs. Hawkins peered around Helena and her eyes narrowed, partially due to the audacity of Miss Sinclair to interrupt her and partially because the young woman had deigned to enter her domain.

"How is it dangerous?" Mrs. Hawkins asked, her voice soft.

"That,"—Miss Sinclair nodded toward the small, brown bottle in Mrs. Hawkins' hand—"is my mother's sole interest, and it has been for nearly two years. She cares nothing for her responsibilities, including assisting me with finding a suitable match."

"Surely your father?—"

"He's dead." Miss Sinclair turned to Helena, her light brown eyes burning with an intensity Helena had never previously witnessed. "Promise me that you won't drink another drop. I don't want to lose you, too. We've just become friends."

Helena grasped Miss Sinclair's hand and squeezed it. "I swear."

"Thank you." Flinging herself at Helena, Miss Sinclair enveloped Helena in a suffocating hug. "I knew I spied a true companion when we were first introduced."

Her mouth pinching into a frown, Mrs. Hawkins returned the bottle to her apron pocket. "Since you no longer need my assistance, may I suggest returning to your guests? I have a great many tasks that need my attention."

"Certainly," Helena said, detangling herself from Miss Sinclair's octopus-like embrace. "Please know I do appreciate your generosity."

Mrs. Hawkins grunted an obligatory response and turned away, dismissing them.

As they entered the corridor, Miss Sinclair leaned in and whispered, "I don't think your housekeeper likes me."

"Your motivation was concern. She cannot fault you for expressing compassion," Helena said, dragging her feet as they neared the parlor.

Her heart raced, beating a furious rhythm of terror.

How was she going to survive the next hour?

"Ladies," Miss Webb said as they entered the room, "if you all would take your seats, we will begin in five minutes."

Miss Sinclair grasped Helena's elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know you're terrified, and I appreciate you honoring my request not to drink that vile concoction. However, don't be intimidated by these other ladies. You are the most beautiful one in the room."

"You are too kind," Helena said, her eyes finding Miss Drummond. "But you're mistaken. I am not extraordinary."

"You cannot convince me otherwise," Miss Sinclair replied as they approached their table. "There's nothing I could hear that would alter my opinion of your good nature."

Helena was willing to wager that there was one thing: learning that Helena had lied to her since their first introduction.

"Miss Sinclair," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, joining them at the table, "I'm so delighted you could join us this evening."

"I was honored to receive an invitation. I haven't attended many functions since the Duke of Lennox's Christmas party."

"I understand your hesitation," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, placing her hand on her chest. "However, I swear that no one is going to die this evening."

Miss Drummond gasped from behind them. "Someone died at a Christmas party? Are we in danger?"

"The culprit was captured," Miss Sinclair said, then clucked her tongue. "Unfortunately, the horrific act sowed a large amount of fear in the residents."

Her face paling, Miss Drummond sank into the empty chair. "Though the prospects in my town are quite small, I'm certain my mother would have kept me there instead of sending me to stay with my cousin had she known."

"Nonsense." Miss Fernsby-Webb snatched up the deck of cards and shuffled them. "Wiltshire is an excellent place to find a husband, and as Miss Sinclair stated, the killer was arrested and placed in prison."

"I thought you were unmarried," Miss Drummond said, a tiny line wrinkling her forehead.

"I am," Miss Fernsby-Webb replied. "However, my sister has just become engaged to a duke."

"A duke?" Miss Drummond's eyebrows shot up. "How fortunate for her."

"And for us." Miss Fernsby-Webb dealt the cards. "He has friends in need of wives."

"Which duke would you recommend?" Miss Drummond selected a coin and dropped it in the middle of the table.

Leaning forward to toss in her coin, Miss Sinclair said, "The Duke of Lennox is most kind."

"Indeed," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, her traitorous gaze sliding to Helena. "He, quite generously, donated his time this afternoon to assist Miss Rowe with planning this event."

"Such charity," Miss Drummond said, her eyes returning to Helena, "is expected from great men. Do you not agree, Miss Rowe?"

Dropping her head to hide the bright red flush spreading across her face, Helena replied, "His motive was solely to free the Duke of Roxburghe from his obligation to Miss Webb. However, I suppose one could consider the action charitable."

Though Miss Drummond didn't recognize Helena as the woman who'd run out on her brother and whose younger sisters had stolen three fiancés from her, she didn't want her feelings regarding the Duke of Lennox revealed.

To hide her discomfort, Helena flung a coin toward the center of the table and said, "Miss Sinclair, if you were to capture the attention of a duke, whom would you prefer?"

"None of them," she replied, setting down her cards. "I have no interest in finding a husband."

"You, my dear friend, are fibbing."

Everyone laughed.

Miss Drummond won three consecutive hands, leaving Helena with a growing, sickening feeling in her stomach.

She couldn't lose, not tonight, not when she needed one hundred pounds by midnight.

Grateful for her turn as the dealer, she collected the cards, shuffled, and passed out two cards to each lady, pulling her cards from the bottom of the deck.

She dealt the hand quickly, believing no one had seen her slip the cards from the bottom. However, when she glanced at Miss Sinclair, a peculiar expression crossed the young woman's face. Miss Sinclair said nothing. Instead, she placed a coin in the center of the table and requested one card, which was too high and caused her to lose the round.

Despite the dealer position moving to Miss Fernsby-Webb, Helena won the next hand and the one after that, and the iron vice constricting her chest released a fraction of an inch.

Her luck had turned.

However, by the time Helena's second turn for dealer came around, a burgeoning suspicion seized her mind… Miss Sinclair was purposefully losing.