Helen bent to the page again and signed her name, the nib almost puncturing the paper. She placed the pen back in its stand and stood aside so that Pug could sign the book.
The inevitability of meeting the Duke sometime soon settled like a cold stone within her stomach. She would not be able to avoid him in a town as small as Brighton. What on earth would she say to him? More to the point, what would he say? The man had every right to be angry — she had abandoned her promise with little explanation and, to her eternal shame, by letter. However, that would pale by comparison if the Duke found her in the company of Lord Carlston. At her ball, the two men had nearly come to blows on the dance floor and, if her brother was to be believed, the Duke’s rancour had only increased since that night.
‘Shall we take a turn around the room, Lady Helen?’ Pug asked as her mother bent to the subscription book.
Helen had no objection — a walk would at least channel her anxiety into action — and she allowed Pug to take possession of her arm. They strolled across the floor to the neat line of display cases, nodding to the other pair of young ladies who were studying an array of beaded reticules.
‘To my mind, a ring should not be too plain,’ Pug said, rather forcefully steering Helen towards the jewellery case near the door. ‘Plain rings vex me. I think pearls …’
But Helen did not hear the rest of the sentence for she had looked through the window and seen the library’s footman again, departing Raggett’s Club. And before him strode a familiar tall blond figure: the Duke of Selburn. The footman had not been a Deceiver; he was an informant.
‘Oh, my,’ Pug whispered, her eyes also fixed on the Duke who was now crossing the road. She looked at Helen. ‘You’ve gone so pale. There was an understanding, wasn’t there?’
Helen managed a nod. ‘But not now. It is most … awkward.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Pug asked. ‘Can I be of service?’
‘Don’t leave me,’ Helen whispered. ‘Please.’
She felt Pug squeeze her arm. ‘Of course. Nailed to your side, dear thing.’
Helen fought back the impulse to throw propriety aside and embrace Pug Brompton right there in the middle of the library. She made do with a return squeeze.
‘Let us pretend we are engrossed in the display,’ Pug whispered, leading her to the nearest case. ‘Look, Lady Helen, what lovely stationery,’ she said loudly and with patently false enthusiasm.
Helen stared at the sheafs of paper bound with red ribbon, the bundles of uncut quills, and the stacked boxes of sealing wafers. ‘Lovely,’ she echoed.
Behind her, she heard the front door open, felt the cooler street air push its way into the room and, from the corner of her eye, saw the straightening of male spines and flutter of female hands. She tucked her chin down and stared fiercely at the uncut quills.
‘Your Grace. May I be of service?’ Mr Fountwell’s voice rolled with deference.
‘Not at this time. Thank you.’ He was still near the door.
‘His Grace is coming this way,’ Pug whispered.
Barely time to draw a steadying breath.
‘Lady Helen.’
His voice held a grave note of inquiry. Yet she could not lift her eyes.
Pug’s arm pulled on her own for a moment as she dipped into a curtsey. ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’
‘Lady Elizabeth. How pleasant to see you again.’
‘Indeed,’ Pug said. ‘We have not been in Brighton long and —’
‘Excuse me.’ He was moving, and every nerve in her body followed his trajectory around Pug to take the position at her other side. One of his hands — ungloved — curled around the edge of the glass case near her own. ‘Ah, I see what has your attention, Lady Helen. It is indeed an enthralling display, particularly the pyramid of wafers. Almost on par, I think, with Mr Turner’s epic painting The Battle of Trafalgar.’
She bit her lip. He could always make her smile.
‘The composition is less convincing, I fear,’ she said, and finally looked sideways at him. ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’
She met the relief in his warm hazel eyes, then ducked her head in a belated curtsey.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘How opportune to find you here.’
That brought her eyes back to his face. She glanced pointedly at the returned doorman. ‘Opportune perhaps, but not a coincidence.’
‘No.’ He smiled, a wry acknowledgment that made her own lips twitch again. ‘Perhaps not.’ He turned to Pug. ‘Lady Elizabeth, would you please leave us for a moment? I have a message of a private nature to give to Lady Helen. From her brother.’
‘Your Grace, I am … Well, in fact …’ Pug looked wildly at Helen.
‘It is all right, Lady Elizabeth.’ Helen braced her feet more firmly into the thick rug. ‘I will hear the message.’
With another curtsey to the Duke, Pug retreated to the next display case. A flat stare from him moved her further back, out of earshot.
Helen could hear Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond in whispered conference at the subscription counter. Some part of her — not the bravest part — wanted them to cross the floor and save her from the impending tête-à-tête, but another part knew she must hear what His Grace had to say.
For a moment, they were both silent. She had once thought his long narrow face rather plain. Not now. At some point in their friendship, his kindness and humour had subtly rearranged his features into something quite appealing.
‘I received your letter,’ he said. ‘You did not say why.’
She turned from the pain in his voice. It had been the most difficult letter she had ever had to write and she had known her carefully crafted words had not been equal to the task. There was no satisfactory way to tell a man that his accepted offer of marriage was now to be rejected.
‘You said you had a message from Andrew?’
‘Helen, please.’ He was claiming the lover’s right to use her first name, and she could not find it within herself to admonish him. ‘Am I to have no reason then? No understanding of why you have changed your mind?’
She gave a slight shake of her head — unfair, but necessary — and saw his hand tighten around the edge of the case.
Three heartbeats of awkward silence; she could not take her eyes from his long slim fingers pressed hard against the glass.
‘Your brother comes to Brighton as my guest on the thirteenth,’ he finally said. ‘He has asked me to inform you that he will call upon you at the first opportunity.’
‘He is coming here?’ The last thing she needed.
‘He wishes to ensure that you are happy and safe. He says he cannot be easy when you are with people so closely associated with Lord Carlston.’
She looked up. That was not only Andrew’s concern speaking. ‘What makes him think they are closely associated?’
‘He is not a fool, Helen. Carlston is known to be here too. Your brother, like yourself, is suspicious of coincidences.’
‘Most of London society comes to Brighton for the summer, Your Grace. There is nothing extraordinary about my friends and Lord Carlston being in the same town.’