Helen sat next to Delia in the carriage, her friend eagerly pointing out various silhouetted landmarks on the seafront as they made their way towards the Steine.
Helen’s sight, however, had turned more inward and was a great deal more critical. Since Monday and that disturbing conversation with Lord Carlston, she’d had at least three opportunities to speak to Darby about the rule forbidding love and had shrunk from them all. When had she become so weak-willed? She could not bear the thought of bringing Darby heartbreak; and perhaps, if she were honest, there was a little self-interest at play as well. Darby might very well leave her to serve his lordship in order to stay with Quinn. The possibility had only occurred to Helen after seeing Darby’s silent staunch support of the Terrene in the drawing room.
And, of course, she was guilty of another kind of weakness as well. She could not find the steel within herself to quell her attraction to his lordship. Well, now she must. He had made it very clear that self-control was the duty of a Reclaimer.
The coach turned up South Parade and made its way towards Edward Street. On Helen’s side, Donaldson’s Library was bright with candles and lamps and she could see an audience seated on rows of gilt chairs. One of their famous musical recitals.
On the next corner, three young gentlemen in evening wear stood outside Raggett’s Club and peered insolently in the coach windows as it passed. Helen drew back from their stares. Was the Duke inside the club? For all his vow of continued devotion, she had not seen him for a week. Perhaps he had finally realised the futility of his pursuit. Or perhaps he had been called back to London on Parliament business. Helen chewed the inside of her mouth. What was she going to do when her brother finally arrived? She could hardly ignore him in a town this size.
The line of waiting carriages outside the Dunwicks’ caused some delay, but finally it was their turn to move up and alight. Geoffrey opened the door and let down the steps, handing out Lady Margaret first. Helen descended next and stood for a moment to take in the handsome neo-classical frontage of the house. According to Pug, her father, the Earl of Dunwick, had secured the Brighton residence at the beginning of the Prince Regent’s patronage of the seaside resort. A canny investment, for it now sat close to the ever-expanding Royal Pavilion, the Prince Regent’s favourite palace and the venue of some of his most scandalous parties. In the shadow of such notoriety, the Dunwicks’ house was a suitable location for her own intrigue, Helen thought wryly. And for her first proper tête-à-tête with a Deceiver.
She pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to ease the nervous fluttering that turned within. Somewhere inside that house she was going to stand beside his lordship and bargain for his sanity with one of their sworn enemy. She could see the necessity of dealing with the creature, but even so, his lordship was dragging her into questionable deeds and unholy alliances. All behaviour that seemed to confirm Pike’s allegations.
Delia stepped down beside her and clutched her arm. ‘It feels so long since I have danced. I do hope I am asked.’
‘You can be assured of Mr Hammond,’ Helen said, glad to be diverted from her dark thoughts.
Inside the residence, a footman ushered them and Lady Margaret to a well-appointed library that was doing duty as the ladies’ retiring room. They quickly deposited their wraps and returned to the foyer to greet their hostess. It did not take them long to move down the line of arrivals, and with a quick curtsey and ‘Good evening’ to Lady Dunwick, and a delighted squeal of welcome from Pug, they were on the way up the staircase to the salon.
Lady Margaret was stopped at the top by an acquaintance and she waved Helen and Delia onward.
‘This is a much larger party than I was expecting,’ Helen whispered. ‘I thought it was to be a few select families.’
Delia giggled. ‘The Dunwicks do everything on a large scale. I think the entire Brighton Barracks has been invited.’
Helen stifled a smile. It was true, but Pug’s generosity and kindness did not deserve such ridicule. ‘At least so many people will obscure our purpose. If there were fewer guests, an extended conversation with the Comte d’Antraigues would look rather particular.’
Delia nodded. ‘Are you nervous about meeting him?’
‘Not at all,’ Helen lied as they entered the long, noisy salon.
They both paused on the threshold, taking in the sea of red uniforms interspersed with pale gowns and the dark jackets of non-military men. At least a hundred candles burned in white porcelain candelabra, their light reflected in large mirrors that doubled the sense of how many people milled in the room. The stink of beeswax and smoke, perfumes and heated bodies brought a rise of tears to Helen’s eyes, her Reclaimer sense of smell momentarily overwhelmed. A group of musicians sat at the far end, waiting to play, the flautist in their midst trilling a soft sweet song that soared above the thrum of conversation.
A familiar stooped figure and sour face caught Helen’s eye. Oh, no, Mr Pike. He was talking to a group of gentlemen, supercilious smile in place. He had not seen her, but she would wager he knew she would be attending tonight. At some stage he would come looking for a report about Lowry. She must warn Mr Hammond. Another search of the room proved fruitless. Mr Hammond was not yet amongst the throng.
‘Delicious, isn’t it?’ Pug said, bustling up to them. She flicked open her brisé fan with a click and hid her mouth behind the ivory span. ‘So many handsome officers, and far more of them than ladies, for you cannot ask only some of the men from the barracks and not the others. Mama has released me from greeting the arrivals to start the dancing.’ She leaned closer to Helen, her white satin-clad décolletage drawing a passing gentleman’s gaze. ‘I do like your new coiffure,’ she whispered. ‘Very queenly.’
Helen touched her carefully curled crop, threaded with a pale green riband that matched her muslin gown. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have something to confess.’ Pug raised the fan to conceal both their faces, her protuberant eyes contrite. ‘I meant to warn you before tonight, but with all the preparations I forgot. The Duke of Selburn is here. He is in the card room across the landing.’