Mr Grey snorted. ‘And you thought she might be here? How would that come to pass, sir, after you have required her to cast us all off?’

  Reginald suppressed a wince. ‘I am very sorry to have disturbed you, sir.’

  A commotion down the corridor caused him to pause as he was leaving, however. A moment later, Miss Helena appeared—not merely the harridan he had encountered on Cheapside, but now as wild as a harpy.

  ‘You lout!’ she shrieked as she rushed at him, fists raised.

  Reginald took a startled step back.

  She stopped herself at the last moment, whirling aside and clutching her arms about her. ‘How dare you come here, after what you’ve done!’ she exclaimed over her shoulder.

  ‘This outcome pains me greatly, I assure you—’

  ‘Balderdash!’ the young lady cried. ‘Utter fustian nonsense!’

  Something in her manner recalled to him an angry child, and rather than repelling him, it pushed him to reach out to her—to attempt to soothe her—

  Have you taken leave of your good sense, man?

  ‘I really must be going,’ he said and started for the door.

  Unless she knows the whereabouts of Rose.

  With a grimace, he stopped, turning back to her.

  ‘Rose has not returned home,’ he said. ‘Did she say anything to you?’

  Miss Helena met his eyes, her own wide and shining. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She left us most abruptly when we met her in the garden below. She was distraught, of course.’

  The Devil confound it.

  ‘I see,’ he said. Then he gave her a bow and left.

  Rose had her maid with her. She was not alone. But in her current state, where could she have gone?

  Swearing under his breath, Reginald cracked the reins and drove to Oxford Street, a large avenue that led to Hyde Park. Rose was fond of the Park. Perhaps he would find her there.

  Sure enough, as he drove the gig into the Park, through the gate at the northeastern corner and down the wide alley that lined the eastern side, he soon caught sight of her walking in the north-east enclosure. Locating a place to tie up the horse, he hastened to overtake her at a run.

  As he approached, he saw that she was pacing, waving about a handkerchief as she spoke to her lady’s maid, who watched gravely, her hands folded in front of her. They must have been thus for some time, based on the maid’s expression as she nodded wearily.

  When Rose caught sight of Reginald, her face fell, and she covered her eyes with the handkerchief, her shoulders hitching with sobs.

  Reginald hurried to her.

  ‘Rose! My dearest Rosie,’ he said, his voice coaxing. ‘How frightfully distressed I have been, wondering where you were.’

  ‘Leave me be, Reginald. I want nothing from you,’ Rose said, her voice thick with tears.

  ‘Now, Rose, my sweet, I am most awfully sorry for all of it, but we must be reasonable. You cannot remain here. We must go home, and we shall have tea—or something stronger if you like. You must be weary.’

  Rose wept loudly.

  Reginald took her hand—for a moment, she resisted, and then the strength seemed to leave her.

  ‘Take Miss Wrencrest’s arm, if you please,’ he said to the maid. ‘We shall see her home now.’

  Reginald’s heart ached for Rose. But there was no alternative—he could not allow her to make such a bad match. She would recover with time.

  The way she grieved, ’twas plain that she had truly loved Lysander Grey.

  What a disappointment, he thought with melancholy. And for some reason, Miss Helena’s face came to mind.

  A disappointment for us both I must own.

  But we shall both recover—for what it is love but a flight of fancy? We have been crossed, but Rose is beautiful and of such a charming nature; she is sure to attract suitors as soon as she likes.

  And as for his own loss, Reginald had a sensible mind.

  Marriage had never been a wise idea for him. This upset only confirmed it.

  He would soon return to war, and all of these cares would pale in the harsh light of battle.

  A grim impatience filled him.

  The sooner he left England behind, the better.

  Chapter 9

  I shall never see India.

  Helena lay in her bed, eyes open in the darkness.

  Lysander might take the position, still, but without Rose, there was no reason—no justification—for Helena to travel with him. Their plan had been for Helena to travel as Rose’s companion. They would have visited temples, markets, the homes of local nobility—together. Without Rose, all of those possibilities disappeared.

  That detestable lout, Mitchell. And dratted Colonel Wrencrest was hardly any better—for believing whatever gross exaggerations and mischaracterizations Mitchell had spouted.

  How could he?

  I thought he liked me.

  And Lysander. I thought he liked Lysander as well.

  Her brother had not come home.

  Was he out, drowning his sorrows as he had a year and a half before after another romantic disappointment?

  When will he see that this is exactly the sort of behaviour that ruins everything? And not just for him, for me.

  Helena closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands to them.

  Really, Helena, you are dreadfully selfish.

  Lysander was too kind. Too sensitive. When he loved, he loved with his whole heart. ’Twas insufferable to see him so devastated.

  Reginald Wrencrest’s handsome face swam before her in the night.

  Impossible man!

  How could you cast us aside so coldly!

  Unfeeling, unnatural man.

  ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ she murmured, quoting Midsummer. The thought of the play was a comfort to her, for everyone in her household felt a special kinship to it, and to all of Shakespeare’s works. But now, even these soothing words did little to assuage the pain in her heart.

  If she could not bring Lysander home, she could at least attempt to change the mind of the gentleman who would ruin his happiness.

  I shall call on Colonel Wrencrest tomorrow.

  This resolution calmed her, and she rolled to her side, staring out into the darkness and allowing herself to imagine the interview.

  ‘You have greatly wronged us, sir! We are innocent of any scandal, and you were disloyal to ever entertain such stories,’ Helena would say.

  ‘I beg your forgiveness, then,’ the colonel would reply, chagrined. ‘I should never have listened to Mitchell—what a blackguard!’

  ‘Indeed, he is,’ Helena would say, and then the colonel would take both her hands in his, gazing into her eyes.

  ‘Will you forgive me, Miss Helena? I beg you.’

  And perhaps she would allow herself to lean against him.

  ‘You must swear never to doubt me again,’ would be her reply.

  ‘I swear it. And further, I must make you an offer ...’

  Helena sighed, sleep pulling at her. Would that the scene play out as she hoped—but she did not truly believe that it might.

  ***

  Reginald’s mother closed the door to Rose’s room with herself and his sister within, giving Reginald one final, piercing glare as she did. He stood in the corridor, and one could hear the grieving of his sister beyond the door.

  ‘I suppose Miss Wrencrest will not take a luncheon tray?’ Mrs Madding, the housekeeper, said as she approached him.

  ‘No, I expect not,’ Reginald agreed and made his way to the library, where he absentmindedly selected a volume and sat, holding it unopened on his lap.

  Dreadful. The entire business is simply dreadful.

  Rose detested him, that was plain.

  Will she ever forgive me?

  Surely yes. Perhaps it may take some time. But she cannot hate me forever.

  But what if she does?

  Reginald groaned and used his thumb and forefinger to rub his eyes wearily. He had slept little, and fatigue threatened a headache.

  A rap on the door made him look up. ‘Yes?’

  It was Addock. ‘A visitor, sir. Miss Helena Grey.’

  Bloody hell.

  Yet even as he thought the expletive, his heart rose.

  Can I still wish to see her, after everything?

  What a hopeless mooncalf I am.

  ‘Show her to the parlour,’ Reginald said, rising to his feet.

  As he took a moment to peer at himself in the mirror over the library’s fireplace, he straightened his waistcoat with a tug and fussed for a moment with his neckcloth.

  Mooncalf, he thought to his reflection with severe disapproval.

  The spring he felt in his step was quite irrational. His heart’s acceleration imprudent and incorrigible. This interview will be another rout, I daresay. And yet he could not help hurrying as he went.

  When he came to the archway that led into the parlour, at last his steps hesitated.

  There she stood, her hands both clasped in front of her. She wore a lavender walking dress trimmed in pale yellow, which suited her blue eyes and rich honey-golden hair delightfully. The curls that framed her face had a wild quality that inexorably drew Reginald’s eye.

  A lady’s maid hovered in a corner he saw after the initial moment when all of his attention sought only Miss Helena herself.

  ‘Miss Grey,’ Reginald said with a polite bow. He pushed himself to enter the parlour.

  ‘Colonel Wrencrest,’ she replied and gave him a curtsey.

  The colour in her cheeks was high, he saw now, and her eyes shone with a feverish quality. Reginald braced himself. ‘How may I be of service?’

  Miss Helena began to pull off a glove, then thought better of it and tugged it back on.

  After a long, uncomfortable moment, she said, ‘I have come in the hopes of persuading you, sir, of the error of your current course.’

  Reginald tore his eyes from her with difficulty. ‘Ah.’

  She took a step towards him, and Reginald’s foolish heart jumped. ‘I know not where you heard the evil rumours, which so turned you against my brother,’ she said. ‘But I cannot allow you to prevent the wedding when you have not even attempted to hear our side.’

  Casting about for some kind of escape, Reginald spied Addock as he was passing through the corridor beyond. ‘Tea, Addock,’ he said, and the butler gave him a startled look.

  ‘Oh, no, thank you,’ Miss Helena said. ‘I shan’t remain very long.’

  Addock raised his eyebrows, and Reginald shook his head, his shoulders tensing for the onslaught he knew was coming.

  ‘Colonel,’ Miss Helena said, showing by how she squared her shoulders that she would go on the offensive. ‘My brother Lysander is the kindest, most thoughtful gentleman you shall ever have the good fortune to meet. He is ambitious and charming, and he shall make a fine career in India, you may mark my words.’

  Reginald walked a few paces with a vague thought to inviting Miss Helena to be seated, then lingered behind an armchair for a moment as though seeking to use it as a shield.

  ‘I am shocked, Colonel—shocked and dismayed, sir, that you would so quickly cast him aside,’ Miss Helena said.

  From the relative safety of the fortification of the armchair, Reginald studied Miss Helena. Her eyes were wide and innocent, he thought. She seemed sincere. And nothing about her suggested easy virtue. She did not seek to entice him or convince him using feminine charms. She was a lady who wished only to defend her brother.

  And yet that kiss ...

  His body warmed to think of it—the stolen moment in the courtyard when she had kissed his cheek.

  This felt like ammunition against her, and yet he shied from a direct assault.

  ‘Would you have me believe, then, Miss Grey, that your brother has never engaged in gambling, nor drink, nor any of the dissolute pastimes one associates with a rake?’

  This volley gave the lady pause, and she glanced away.

  Well, then, Miss Helena. We shall see which way the battle goes now.

  ***

  Detestable man, she thought with heat as she glared at Colonel Wrencrest.

  ‘Perhaps Lysander ... strayed,’ she was forced to own. ‘I cannot claim that he has been a saint.’

  ‘Rose mentioned some scandal with a servant?’

  Helena’s cheeks burned. ‘Piffle!’ she said. ‘He was fifteen! ’Twas a chambermaid—a girl of close to the same age, I am told. Will you assert that no gentleman has ever engaged in such a trifle?’

  ‘And would you have it that he never gamed?’

  The gloved fingers of Helena’s hands balled into fists at her sides.

  Oh, he will provoke me! I shall fly at him again!

  She could feel Keene’s eyes from where the maid stood, attempting to blend into the corner. I cannot allow my temper to have its way, she told herself.

  ‘He may have gamed,’ she allowed. ‘But he has not for more than a year. In fact, he did pass through a ... dark period.’

  The colonel gazed at her, his face—those eyes—showing no sign of tender feeling.

  ’Tis all going wrong. This is not how it was supposed to unfold.

  But what had she hoped? A scene from some romantic story, where he took her in his arms and professed his undying love?

  With Keene right there to witness it all?

  And in truth, I did not come for that. I came for Lysander. I must explain.

  ‘I beg you, Colonel, think of all of those in your acquaintance. Surely you have known a gentleman to behave ... foolishly when he was crossed in love?’

  ‘Crossed in love?’

  With an effort of will, Helena made her still-fisted hands loosen, and she pressed them together before her in an attitude of supplication.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lysander courted another lady, in the autumn of the year before last. He was very taken with her—although not as taken as he is with Rose. But when he made her an offer, she refused, and it came to light that she had been secretly engaged for some time. It was a blow.’

  ‘And his response to this blow was to cast off all good society in favour of gaming and light-skirts?’

  Helena flinched. ‘You describe him as some fool without an ounce of steel in him—’

  ‘No, it is you who does so.’

  Helena let out a cry of frustration. Behind her, she felt Keene’s disapproval, but she no longer cared.

 

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