Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,89
that he might do Helena more harm than good by confronting Mr. Martin. What if Mr. Martin is not the one? Then word might leak that Helena was out and about when she ought not to be.”
A woman’s reputation was as fragile as a dragonfly’s wings. “Thank goodness Fitz is levelheaded.”
“Yes, he is very good in a crisis,” said Millie, slipping the letter into her pocket. “Do you think it will help to introduce the duke to Helena?”
“No, but we still must try.”
“Let us hope the duke does not fall for the wrong sister,” said Millie with a small smile.
“Pah,” said Venetia. “I am nearly middle-aged and almost certainly older than he is.”
“I’m sure His Grace will be more than willing to overlook a very minor age difference.”
“I’ve had more than my share of husbands and plan to be happily unmarried for the rest of my—”
Footsteps. Helena’s.
“Of course I shan’t bestow my hand freely,” Venetia said, raising her voice. “But if the duke woos me with a monster of a fossil, who knows how I might reward him.”
Helena listened carefully. Venetia was in her bath. Millie had gone to change out of her walking gown. She should be safe enough.
She pulled aside the curtain and opened the window of the parlor. The boy she’d employed to take her letters to Andrew directly to the post office was there, waiting. The boy had his hand extended. She set a letter and two shining copper pennies in his palm and quickly closed the window again.
Now on to the letters that had arrived for her in the afternoon. She looked for any that had come in Fitzhugh & Company’s own envelopes. Before she’d left England, she’d given a supply of those to Andrew with the instruction to have her American address typed on the front once he had it. Then he was to draw a small asterisk under the postage stamp, so that she might know it was from him and not her secretary.
Except on this particular letter, he did not put an asterisk, but a tiny heart beneath the queen’s likeness. She shook her head fondly. Oh, her sweet Andrew.
My Dearest,
What joy! What bliss! When I called at the poste restante office in St. Martin’s le Grand this morning, there were not one, not two, but three letters from you. My pleasure is all the greater for the disappointment of the past two days, when my trips into London bore no fruits at the post office.
And as for your question, the work on volume three of A History of East Anglia comes along slowly. King Æthelberht is about to be killed and Offa of Mercia soon to subjugate the kingdom. For some reason I rather dread this part of the history, but I believe my pace should pick up again when I reach the rebellion thirty years later that would restore independence to the Kingdom of the East Angles.
I’d like to write more. But I must be on my way home—I am due to call on my mother at Lawton Priory and you know how much she deplores unpunctuality, especially mine.
So I will end with a fervent wish for your early return.
Your servant
Helena shook her head. She’d instructed Andrew never to sign his name on his letters. That precaution became moot when he referred to both his book and his mother’s house by name. But this was not his fault. If he were capable of subterfuge, he wouldn’t be the man she loved.
She was tucking the letter into the inside pocket of her jacket when Venetia returned to the room, smiling. “What do you say we make a foray to Boston tomorrow, my love, and see what their milliners have to offer? Those hats you’ve brought are perfectly serviceable for speaking to professors and lady students. But we must do better for meeting dukes.”
“He will have eyes only for you.”
“Balderdash,” said Venetia firmly. “You are one of the loveliest women I know. Besides, if he has any sense, he will know that the best way to judge a woman is to observe how she treats other women. And when he sees you with your plain hat from two Seasons ago, he will immediately conclude that I am a selfish cow who ornaments myself like a Christmas tree and leaves you dressed in rags.”
If Venetia wanted Helena to believe that she was interested in the duke, then she shouldn’t have spent the four years since she became a widow for the second time cordially turning down every proposal that had come her way. In fact, Helena was convinced Venetia would swim the English Channel before she took another husband.
But Helena would play along, as she’d played along since Venetia unexpectedly turned up at Huntington. “All right, then, but only for you, and only because you are getting on in years and soon will only have gentlemen callers when they mistake your door for their grandmother’s.”
Venetia laughed, spectacularly beautiful. “Piffle. Twenty-nine isn’t that old—yet. But it’s true I might not have another chance of becoming a duchess if this one goes by. So you’d better have a proper hat.”
“I will allow you to select one for me that looks like a carnival.”
Venetia placed her arm around Helena. “Wouldn’t it be marvelous if you met the perfect man this Season and accepted his proposal? Then we could have a double wedding.”
I’ve already met the perfect man. I won’t marry anyone else.
Helena smiled. “Yes, wouldn’t it?”
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Beguiling the Beauty