But there was one debt of greater significance than all the others. One that had been circled, and then circled again. One that wasn’t money, or alcohol, or land.
It was a person.
A woman, to be precise.
Lady Helena Darby, Countess of Cambridge.
Side-stepping around a wagon loaded with fish barrels bound for market, Stephen navigated the chaotic London docks with ease. The ship he’d been traveling on had arrived a day late, courtesy of a storm that had caught them unawares in the Bay of Biscay, but after a tumultuous night of howling winds and raging waves, it had successfully made port.
Moving past other departing passengers who were glassy-eyed and green-faced, Stephen hailed a hackney and gave the driver an address, then leaned back against the threadbare cushions and stared blindly out the window at the city he’d done his damndest to avoid.
When was the last time he had been in London? Three years? Four? He hadn’t bothered to return for his father’s funeral. Why waste a month of his time on a man who hadn’t given him a minute of his?
He would have been well within his rights to despise his sire. But for all the sins Cambridge had committed against his only son and heir, Stephen didn’t hate him. He didn’t love him. He was…indifferent. And in the two years and three months since the earl had died, Stephen could count on one hand the number of times he’d bothered to think about him.
But he’d thought about Helena.
He’d thought about her a great deal.
The carriage slowed as it rounded a corner and turned onto a tree-lined street. Here the houses were narrow but tidily kept. Shutters were freshly painted, cheerful daffodils sprang from window boxes, and the pavement had been swept clean. Stephen smelled lilacs as he descended from the hackney; a distant reminder of boyhood memories best forgotten.
He tipped his hat at a trio young ladies as they walked past, then gave himself a deliberate moment to conceal his emotions behind a steely façade before he opened the gate guarding 310 Cherub Lane – ironic because the woman he’d come to see was no angel – and strode up the footpath with the regimented steps of a soldier ordered to the frontlines. He wrapped his knuckles against the door and had only a moment to wait before it swung open and a footman peered out.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes. I have come to see her ladyship, the Countess of Cambridge.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Cambridge isn’t in at the moment.” The footman started to close the door.
Stephen slapped his hand against it.
“Do you know when she will return?” He hadn’t traveled over five hundred miles and spent the past eight hours being tossed around the hull of a ship for Helena not to be in. And even though he hadn’t announced he would be paying a call, it annoyed him that she wasn’t where he wanted her to be. Where he expected her to be. Where he needed her to be.
For no matter how hard he tried or how far he traveled, Stephen had been unable to break the inexplicable connection he felt for the woman he hated. A connection that had endured far longer than it should have. A connection he’d come to severe once and for all. Except Lady Cambridge wasn’t in at the moment.
“I don’t know,” said the footman, shaking his head. “The countess does not keep to a specific schedule.”
Of course she didn’t.
“I will return later then.” Stephen turned to go, but the footman’s next words stopped him cold in his tracks.
“Best come back after the wedding. I’m sure she’ll have time to take callers then.”
Everything inside of him went impossibly still, except for the thud of his heart pounding against the wall of his chest. The Runner he’d paid handsomely these past twenty-four months hadn’t mentioned a wedding. Or a groom, for that matter.
His jaw clenched. Helena couldn’t be getting married. Not now. Not when he was this damned close.
“What wedding?” he snarled, and the footman’s eyes widened with alarm.
“I…uh…that is to say, Miss Haversham and Lord Winchester,” he blurted. “Miss Haversham is a close friend of Lady Cambridge. They’ve known each other…for…where are you going?” Perplexed, the servant watched as Stephen whirled around and stalked back down the footpath, slamming the gate shut behind him.
“To get a bloody drink,” Stephen muttered before he proceeded to do precisely that.
“Oh Calli, you are beautiful,” Helena breathed as she took in the sight of her friend in the gown she was going to wear for tomorrow’s wedding. Beside her the modiste, who had designed the pink dress, nodded in agreement.
“Très magnifique,” she chimed in her native language.
“You look like a princess.” This from Persephone Stillwater, the Duchess of Glastonbury, or Percy, as she was fondly known by Helena and Calliope.
They’d discovered the diminutive, dark-haired beauty one rainy night huddled in an alley. She’d been soaked to the skin, her face covered in bruises, courtesy of her husband’s violent temper. Helena hadn’t hesitated in her decision to take the duchess into her home, and she’d been looking after Percy ever since.
Collectively, the three ladies had formed what they’d named the Secret Wallflower Society. A formal name for an informal group of women who had bonded over old hurts and unconventional eccentricities that set them apart from the rest of the ton.
“It’s just a dress,” Calliope said even as she blushed with pleasure from the compliments. “Do you think Leo will like it?”
“He’s going to love it,” Helena promised. “You’re still leaving for Scotland right after the ceremony?”
Calliope held up her arms as the modiste started to remove the pins she’d placed after making a few small, last minute adjustments. “Yes. Leo is very eager to spend some time alone.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Helena said, a mischievous smirk dancing around the corners of her mouth. Then she thought of her own wedding night, and the smirk abruptly disappeared.
The consummation of her marriage was something she hadn’t shared with anyone. At least not in its entirety. It was an ugly secret she’d put in a box and locked away. A secret shame she couldn’t even think of without experiencing an unpleasant flush at the back of her neck and a queasy tightening to her stomach.
“It’s going to be so very romantic,” Percy sighed. “Just the two of you in a charming little cottage in the middle of the woods. Like something out a fairytale.”
“As long as we’re not eaten by a bear,” Calliope grimaced.
“A bear wouldn’t dare.” Swallowing hard, Helena shoved all her memories of Cambridge, and that night, back into the box where they belonged. “And if it did, he’d have me to reckon with.”
“And me,” Percy added loyally.
Calliope smiled at her friends. “I can’t believe the day is finally here.”
“Almost here,” Helena corrected. “We still have to get you to the estate.”
The wedding was to take place in a small village church within walking distance of Winchester Manor. As the sprawling country estate was only a two-hour journey from London by carriage, the women had decided to remain in town until tomorrow so as not to risk Leo seeing his bride before the nuptials. They were all spending the night with Helena, then making the short trip together first thing in the morning.
After Calliope and Leo departed for their honeymoon, Percy and Helena were going to remain at the manor for a short holiday, as neither of them had a home in the country. Well, a home they could openly visit, anyway.
As the Duchess of Glastonbury, Percy had her very own castle in Sussex. But she couldn’t go there. Not unless she wanted her husband to discover her whereabouts. Which she didn’t.
None of them did.
It was risky business, hiding a duchess from one of the most powerful men in all of England. But what choice did they have? Helena refused to let Percy go back to the duke. Not after she’d seen the bruises that had taken weeks to fade. And the fear that stil
l flickered in the depths of the duchess’s eyes whenever a man she didn’t know entered the room, or an unexpected sound startled her, or someone knocked on the door.
Percy put on a brave front. But while her bruises had faded, it was clear that injuries still existed beneath the surface. Injuries born from years of pain and fear and abuse at the cruel hands of a man who should have been her protector.
So, Helena would protect her now. For as long as necessary, she would stand between Percy and the monster in duke’s clothing. And if anyone ever asked her why she would do such a thing, the answer was simple: it was what she wished someone had done for her.
Before she’d been forced to take matters in her own hands.
“–Told us what you’re wearing yet.” Calliope looked at Helena expectedly, and too late Helena realized she’d stopped following the conversation.
“What?” she asked, feigning a sudden interest in a bolt of rich velvet fabric.
“You haven’t told us what you’re wearing yet. To the wedding. Tomorrow.” Calliope frowned. “Is everything all right? You’ve seemed…uncharacteristically distracted.”
That was one way to put it.
“I’m fine.” Summoning a smile, Helena buttoned her pelisse and picked up her reticule. “As to what I’m wearing, it pales in comparison to your magnificent gown. Leo isn’t going to be able to take his eyes off of you.”
And she had absolutely no idea why that would make her feel jealous.
Helena liked Leo. As a friend. They’d kissed once, years ago. It had been a terrible kiss, and they’d both laughed it off. Why then, was she seeing a flicker of green whenever she imagined Calliope and Leo walking down the aisle? She was the one who had put them together in the first place!
Maybe because her jealousy didn’t stem from wanting the Earl of Winchester, but rather from wanting a man to look at her the way Leo looked at his future countess. As if she was the only person who mattered in the entire world, and his next breath – and every breath after that – would be solely for her.
Cambridge had never looked at her that way. To him, and to a lesser extent her parents, she’d been nothing more than a commodity. Something pretty to be purchased and put on a shelf, like a vase or a doll. After her husband died, she had promised herself she would never let a man control her again. Not her head…or her heart. In making that vow, she’d protected herself from falling victim to another brute like Cambridge. But she’d also prevented herself from falling in love.
It was, Helena decided as she followed Percy and Calliope out of the shop, a fair exchange. Hard sometimes when she saw what she was potentially giving up.
But fair.
“Should we get some tea?” she asked brightly. “There’s a little place not too far from here. They have the most delicious chocolate biscuits.”
Percy bit her lip. “You two go ahead,” she said, her gaze darting nervously. “I think I’ll return to the house.”
“And do what?” Helena said, lifting a brow. “Sit about and stare out the window? No,” she said firmly when Percy started to nod. “That is not how you’re going to live your life.”
It had taken a herculean effort to get the duchess outside in the first place, and Helena wasn’t about to let her go scampering back without a fight. She knew Percy was afraid of being recognized. Of her whereabouts being reported to Glastonbury (who was, the last anyone had heard, lounging at his country estate in the company of his mistress, the notorious Lady LaBec). But she also knew Percy couldn’t hide indefinitely. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve her mistreatment. Why, then, should she be the one who continued to suffer while her arse of a husband did whatever he pleased?
“But what if someone sees me?” Percy whispered.
In unison, Helena and Calliope each took one of her arms.
“Then they’ll have to get through us first,” said Calliope.
“And I’ve been practicing my right hook,” Helena added.
Tears shimmered in Percy’s eyes. She blinked them away, then managed a watery smile. “I’m so grateful to have met you. You’re the dearest friends I’ve ever had.”
It went without saying the feeling was mutual. But as they struck off three abreast towards the tea shop, Helena couldn’t help but feel a familiar prickling of guilt in the back of her mind. Because dear friends did not hide secrets from each other, and there was one secret she hadn’t been able to bring herself to share. One secret that would change the way Percy and Calliope saw her. One secret that would destroy her life. One secret that she would do anything to keep buried.
Just like she’d buried her husband….
After she murdered him.
Chapter Four
The wedding was a beautiful affair. Percy wept openly as the vows were read, and even Helena found herself wiping away a stray tear. When it was over, they exchanged hugs with Calliope and then watched as the new countess and her earl were ferried away to their happily ever after in a gleaming black carriage pulled by matching greys.
“Care for a game of cards?” Helena asked Percy. “Then, I believe a nap is in order.” She made a face. “I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten up this early in all my life.”
“It was rather early,” Percy said as she cracked a yawn.
Following the rest of the guests back to the estate, where a small luncheon would be served before everyone departed (excluding Helena and Percy, of course), the two women excused themselves to the parlor and were soon engaged in rousing round of whist.
“You’re getting much better,” Helena complimented Percy after the duchess won her second hand in a row. “No one would know you hadn’t played until a few weeks ago.”
Percy smiled. “I’m a quick learner and I’ve always enjoyed little games like these. My sister and I used to make up our own when we were little. Our favorite was one we called Snap the Dragon.”
“I didn’t know you have a sister,” Helena said casually as she drew her next card. She peeked at her friend over the top of it. Percy had been reluctant to discuss her family and Helena hadn’t pushed her; she knew from personal experience Percy would speak when she was ready.
And now, it seemed, she was.
“Had a sister,” Percy corrected softly. She looked down at the table, then up at Helena. Her eyes, so blue they often appeared violet in the right light, glistened with tears. “Annabeth died four years ago. She took ill with fever, and there was nothing the doctor could do. I…I miss her terribly.”
“I cannot imagine what I would do if something happened to my sister.” Even the mere thought of losing Dahlia wrenched Helena’s stomach. Her sibling and two nieces were the only blood family she had left, excluding her parents. But then they’d been dead to her from the moment they sold her to Cambridge. “I’m very sorry, Percy. You’ve had to endure so much pain in such a short amount of time. It isn’t fair.”
Percy’s lips twisted. “Life is not fair.”
No, it wasn’t.
But then, such was a woman’s lot in a world designed to favor men.
They resumed their game, pausing only to enjoy tea and raspberry shortcakes. The conversation lightened as it shifted to weather and fashion, before ultimately circling back around to the wedding.
“Calliope looked so happy, didn’t she?” Percy said, sighing a little bit as she carefully shuffled the deck in preparation for another round. “Leo seems like he will be a wonderful husband.”
“The best,” Helena agreed.
Percy began to distribute the cards, then hesitated, her hand hovering in midair. “Do you think…never mind.” Biting her lip, she laid a card down in front of Helena, who picked it up without bothering to look at it.
“Do I think what?” she asked.
“Do you think…do you think there are other men, like Leo?”
“If you’re asking if he has a brother, I am afraid the answer is no.” Helena’s mouth curved in a conspiratorial grin. “I already checked.”
/> Percy giggled. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” Sobering, Helena laid her hands flat upon the table and stared hard at a tiny nick in the wood before raising her gaze. “Leo is a true gentleman, and true gentlemen are in alarmingly short supply. Not to say they aren’t out there. Somewhere. But…”
“They’re difficult to find,” the duchess surmised.
“Exceedingly so. Which is why I’ve washed my hands of the whole lot. I find being a widow vastly preferable to being a wife, and it’s not a title I’m keen on relinquishing.”
“You mean you’re never going to marry again?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“But…but what about love?”
Helena barely managed not to snort. “Love is all well and good, and I’m happy Calliope has found it. But love isn’t for everyone, and it’s certainly not for me. Oh, don’t look so downtrodden, darling,” she exclaimed when Percy’s face fell. “My decision doesn’t have to be your decision. If there’s anyone who deserves to ride off into the sunset on a white horse, it’s you.”
“I would like to fall in love,” Percy confessed. “I thought I had, with Glastonbury. And he with me. Maybe if I’d behaved differently–”
“You did nothing wrong.” Helena might not have all the answers when it came to love, but of this, she was absolutely convinced. Reaching across the table, she took her friend’s small, pale hand and squeezed it tightly. “Look at me. Look,” she insisted when Percy’s gaze started to fall into her lap.
Reluctantly, the duchess lifted her chin.
“There,” Helena said firmly. “That’s better. You’re not to lower your head for any man ever again. Is that understood?”
“But–”
“No. There are no buts, or exceptions, or excuses. And there was nothing you did, or did not do, to earn your husband’s cruelty. He is a weak man, Percy. And weak men will always try to disguise their shortcomings by hurting those they perceive as weaker than themselves.”
“I hate him,” Percy whispered. “Sometimes I can’t breathe for all the hate. And I know, up here” – she tapped the side of her skull – “what you’re saying is true. But it’s my heart I still need to convince.”
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 13
