sisters.
“I do not hate shopping, and I’m in search of a gift. For the duke.”
Now the girls burst into laughter.
“Ah, yes. Hilarious.” Helena shook her head and led them to the café. “You won’t convince me that you’re not interested in a London café. I won’t believe it.”
The girls quieted and followed her, casting sidelong glances amongst themselves. After a moment, Joan said, “You cannot simply leave us. We’re not like you, accustomed to tromping around in the forest alone. We are meant to be ladies.”
“First of all, I said the governess will be with you. Miss Turtle.”
“Miss Tuttle,” Theresa corrected.
“Miss Tuttle,” repeated Helena. “Second, I don’t tromp in the forest. I tend my apples and ride my horse and shop in the village, just as you do. If ever you chose to visit me and see the beauty of Castle Wood for yourselves, you would know this. How sad it has made me that you no longer come to the forest. Your preference is the manor house with Mama and Papa, I understand. But—”
“It’s not a preference, Helena,” said Camille matter-of-factly. “Mama and Papa do not allow us to visit you.”
Helena paused, surprised by this admission. Visits from her sisters had dwindled after their grandmother died, and Helena had been too grief-stricken and busy with the orchard to pursue them. When she called to the manor house, the girls’ reception of her had been cool and distracted. They very clearly sided with their parents on the topic of merging families with the Duke of Lusk. Helena had begun to view them as disinterested bystanders at best; at worst, traitors.
Honestly, she’d been so wrapped up in her own deliverance she’d given very little thought to the girls. She could only save herself. Or could she?
“What reason do they give,” Helena asked, “for not allowing you to visit the forest?”
Camille shrugged. “They don’t want to lose us to it, as they lost you.”
Helena made a bitter laugh. “They’ve not lost me. I’m a mile away.”
“Are you not? Lost to them?” Camille asked, watching her closely.
“I am lost as any pawn, perhaps.”
“And this,” said Joan, “is why we are not allowed to call on you.”
“Girls,” Helena said, looking each of them in the eye, “mind yourselves. Be thoughtful about the men they propose under the guise of ‘your own good.’ Perhaps you’ve not been committed to arranged marriages like me—in this, perhaps, they’ve learned their lesson—but that doesn’t mean you will have say over your lives.
“This is the strong-headedness they do not want,” said Camille, still watching her closely.
“You are a bad influence,” recited Theresa, clearly a commonly heard refrain.
“I am an influence,” Helena corrected, “this I’ll not deny. But you are old enough to decide for yourselves if I am a bad one. The truth is, I miss you very much. Perhaps I’ve indulged in my private sanctuary of the forest for too long. If I manage to return, I shall contrive to get you there more often. But you mustn’t believe what Mama and Papa say about exploring the world around you. You’ll be ladies in the forest. Certainly, you may enjoy lemon ices in a busy café for ten minutes. I am a lady. I’m . . . er, marrying a duke, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” asked Camille.
Helena narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Joan crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression said their parents were correct; for Joan, the indoctrination had already begun. Theresa barely listened, looking at the activity of the street. But Camille stared back with a level gaze, studying Helena like a door she wanted to unlock. Helena bit her lip, wishing she had more time. Later, she told herself. Soon but not now. If she could escape Lusk and gain a real relationship with her sisters in the process, she would have success beyond her wildest dreams.
“Can you stay together?” Helena said now. She shot Camille a heartfelt look. “And follow Miss Tuttle’s lead on how to place your order and settle the bill. And keep in sight of the groom.”
“The groom called Shaw?” This from Joan, a note of challenge in her voice.
Helena paused.
“Careful,” Theresa said, giggling.
“No,” said Helena, leading them down the street, “not Shaw. He is my private groom and he will remain with me. Mr. Nettle will attend you.”
They reached the café and Helena paused, digging for coins in her reticule. The sisters gathered cautiously, straightening hats and tightening gloves. Miss Tuttle returned with the girls’ forgotten parasols, and she