chair and reached for the green jacket draped across the back of it. “I never intended to marry the first one.”
Realizing his error, Ives grimaced. “I apologize, my lady.”
“There’s no need. The only one who owes me an apology is already dead, God rot his soul. Although I would prefer it if you stopped trying to marry me off. Once was enough, thank you.”
“I never meant–”
Helena brushed away his contrition with a wave of her arm. “I know you didn’t. Let us forget this unpleasant little exchange, shall we? I don’t want to disagree before tea. It’s unseemly.”
Ives bent at the waist in an elaborate bow. “As you wish, my lady. Here are your gloves.”
She slipped them on, then swatted Ives lightly on the arm. “You know I hate it when you call me that. Especially when you smirk when you do it.”
“I’m not smirking,” he protested.
“I do enough smirking to know what a smirk looks like.”
“Brat.”
“Ass.”
“Fussock.”
“Gollumpus.” She paused. “What the devil is a fussock?”
Ives shrugged. “Damned if I know. Heard it down at the pub one night. I’ve been keeping it in reserve.”
“I like it.”
“I thought you might.”
They grinned at each other.
“Please have my dress laid out as soon as it arrives,” Helena called over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “I do not want any wrinkles.”
“Of course…my lady.”
“Fussock,” she muttered fondly under her breath. There were times Ives plucked at her last nerve, but then, that was what family did. And he was her family. In every way it counted except for blood.
He’d been there for her when she was at her lowest. And whenever she came close to crumpling beneath the weight of her past, he was the one who reminded her to lift her chin and straighten her crown.
She was halfway down the stairs when someone knocked on the door. A footman answered it, but she hastened down the steps and intercepted him before he could pick up the bouquet of roses that had been left on the front step.
“I’ll take those,” she said, hugging them protectively against her chest. They were warm from the sun and slightly damp with morning dew.
Going into the kitchen, she unwrapped the flowers from their packaging and snipped off the ends of the long green stems before filling a vase with water and arranging them inside. Then she sat back on her heels and stared hard at the roses, her forehead unconsciously creasing as she wondered (for what must have been the hundredth time) who her benefactor was…and why he insisted on sending her such a beautiful gift.
She could think of no one in her life who would have the means or the motive. Even if her parents could have afforded such a luxury, they wouldn’t have wasted their money on a daughter they’d forsaken. Her sister Dahlia, happily married with adorable twin girls, would have given Helena the dress off her back if she requested it, but she’d never been able to keep a secret for longer than two minutes, let alone two years.
She’d considered it was someone her late husband, the Earl of Cambridge, had known. A relative, perhaps. Except she was aware of only one living relative, and he’d sooner throw her to the wolves than give her a single crumb of food from his table.
Helena’s lip curled in a sneer.
She still remembered the last time she’d spoken to Stephen. It had been several weeks after her betrothal to his father had been announced in all the papers. Her parents and Cambridge were trying to decide on a wedding date, and she’d been dragged along to participate, even though she had made it clear she would rather die than marry a man four times her age. Not to mention it was his son she’d fallen in love with, not him.
On the night she and Stephen had met, she hadn’t known his father was the Earl of Cambridge. She also hadn’t known Cambridge had an eye for young girls. And she’d certainly had no idea that while she and Stephen were flirting in the gardens, Cambridge’s eye had landed on sweet, innocent Dahlia inside the ballroom.
Over the following days, all three of those things had become clear. What had also become clear was that if Helena did not offer herself up in Dahlia’s place, her little sister would be forced to marry a monster.
Dahlia, who trapped ants in glass jars and carefully carried them outside to set them free unharmed when they found their way into