Courting the Countess of Cambridge (Secret Wallflower Society Book 2)

by Jillian Eaton

  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 still 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.”

  “Awful things, hearts.” Helena pursed her lips. “Quite useless, really.”

  Before Percy could reply, there was a light knock on the door, and a maid stepped into the parlor.

  “There’s someone here to see you,” she said.

  Helena struggled not to curse when she watched all the blood drain from Percy’s countenance and fear flood into her eyes.

  At last they’d been making some progress. A step, however small, in the right direction. And now, with a simple knock, it felt as if they were back at the beginning.

  If only mental scars could heal as quickly as physical ones, Percy and Helena would be a great deal improved. For didn’t Helena still glance over her shoulder every time she walked past a Bow Street Runner? And wasn’t there a part of her that always waited and wondered if today would be the day that Runner stopped and arrested her?

  More than two years, and she still held her breath.

  More than two years, and she still felt guilt.

  Not for the act itself. That she would never regret. But for hiding it. For keeping it secret. For letting everyone, even her closest friends, believe the Earl of Cambridge had died of a heart attack.

  As if he’d ever had a heart to begin with.

  If her hidden scars hadn’t healed in two years, she could hardly expect Percy’s to vanish in two months. It was pure ignorance to believe otherwise. And yet, she still had hope. Because if Percy could find a way to rid herself of her ghosts and her demons, then perhaps, so too could Helena.

  “It’s all right,” she told the duchess, lightly touching her arm. “No harm is going to come to you here. You’ve my word.” It wasn’t an idle promise. Helena kept a small pistol in her bedchamber, and she knew exactly how to use it. Glastonbury could come looking for his missing wife, but he wouldn’t be leaving with her.

  Of that, Helena was certain.

  “Would you mind being more specific, please?” she asked the maid pointedly.

  The servant blushed. She, along with the rest of the household staff, had been informed that the Duchess of Glastonbury was a very special, very discreet guest, and if anyone came looking for her, they were to be detained in the music room and Helena was to be notified at once. “Of course, my lady. I – I should have said there is someone here to see the Countess of Cambridge. My sincerest apologies for any confusion.”

  “See?” Helena told Percy as she stood up. “They’re here to see me, not you. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She wagged her finger at her friend, whose color was slowly returning. “No peeking at my cards.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked out of the parlor and into the foyer where sunlight glinted off the marble tiles. In the middle of the oval shaped room stood a man with his back to her. From what little she could see of him, he was sharply dressed, with broad shoulders, a glossy mane of chestnut brown hair, and a very well-shaped arse.

  She’d always liked a man with a well-shaped arse.

  “Can I help you?” she said, smiling politely.

  “I think you can,” he replied as he slowly turned around.

  Helena’s smile faded as her gaze narrowed and recognition dawned, swift and terrible. She knew those blue eyes, cold and piercing. She knew that face, all rawboned and filled with angles. She knew that nose, long and slightly crooked near the middle, the only imperfection in an otherwise flawless countenance. She knew those brows, thick and slashing above sweeping black lashes that were longer than any man deserved to have. Especially this one.

  He was Stephen Darby.

  The Earl of Cambridge.

  The Viscount Ware.

  And her worst enemy.

  “Get the hell out of here,” she hissed, advancing on him with clenched fists as her entire body started to vibrate with barely suppressed rage. Stephen was lucky she was not in possession of her pistol, because she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him in the heart. Not that it would have done much good, because like his father before him he didn’t have a heart.

  “Now, now,” Stephen said, making a tsking sound under his breath. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”

  Chapter Five

  Stephen took immense pleasure in watching all of the color disappear from Helena’s high cheekbones. This was what he’d waited for. This was what he’d wanted. To witness her anger and humiliation when she understood he was the one who had given her everything…and he was the one who was going to take it all away.

  Just like she’d taken everything away from him.

  Over two years, and rage still burned in his heart for the hurt she’d caused him. Her betrayal had left him wounded for days, weeks, months. It would have been bad enough had she decided to marry before he returned for her…but to marry his own father.

  It was a transgression he could never forgive.

  A deception he could never forget.

  Helena’s lips parted, then closed, then parted again, but no sound came out. Instead she just stared at him as if he were a ghost.

  Or the devil himself.

  “That’s right,” he murmured, taking a step
closer. Close enough to see the wild leap of her pulse at the base of her throat. Close enough to smell her perfume; the same delicate scent she’d worn on the night they’d met. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her furious green eyes.

  “W-why?” she finally managed to choke out. “Why would you do this?”

  It was a question he’d been anticipating. After all, hadn’t he asked himself the same thing? Late at night, when sleep had eluded him and he’d stared bleakly at the ceiling, hadn’t he wondered why he was really supporting Helena? Why he had paid for her rent, and her extravagant shopping sprees, and her household staff. Why he had kept it a secret all these months. Why he had sent her roses in her favorite color.

  Revenge was too simple an answer.

  But it was the only one he was ready to give.

  “You didn’t really think you would be able to marry my father and live off his money for the rest of your life, did you?” he sneered. “Choices have consequences, lamb.”

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t – you have no idea – oh,” she sputtered, driving the heel of her shoe into the floor. She raised her fist, and for a moment, Stephen wondered if she intended to punch him. Then with a hiss of breath, she spun around and marched back into the parlor, slamming the door closed behind her.

  Stephen stared at the door incredulously, unable to believe she’d just…walked away from him. No one walked away from him. Not his servants, not his peers, and certainly not red haired hellions who would do well to display a little gratitude for all they’d been given.

  Grinding his teeth, he started to follow Helena into the parlor. But before he’d taken two steps, the door flew open and she came storming back out, a veritable whirlwind of temper.

  “We are not having this discussion here,” she snapped. “We’ll go to the library.”

  Now it was Stephen’s turn to stare as she stalked past him and disappeared down a long hallway. Of all the scenarios he’d imagined, this hadn’t been one of them: Helena barking orders at him while he stood in the middle of the foyer like a bloody idiot.