The footman opened the carriage door and set the step. Hamlet leapt to the ground and Helena followed, turning as the wind caught a strand of her fiery hair and blew it across her cheek. ‘No idea. But Uncle Lachlan might know. And if he doesn’t, he’ll find out.’
Before she shut the door, Cynthia glanced at Hamlet, then back to Helena. ‘Can you hear animals’ thoughts as well? Or only people?’
Helena’s silver eyes clouded. ‘Only people. Why?’
Cynthia leaned back into the shadows of the carriage. ‘No reason.’ But she saw Helena’s lips press together. She shouldn’t have asked. It was impossible at any rate. She wasn’t a witch, no matter what the fox said. She was just a woman, realising nothing in her world was as it seemed.
14
Helena was buried in the covers of her bed. Ellie had flounced into her room far too early that morning and flumped on the foot of the mattress. Her cotton nightgown, covered in ruffles that would look ridiculous on anyone else, highlighted Ellie’s generous curves. She could have been a princess of old, trapped in some stone castle, with her tumble of blonde curls, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her. There were many endearing things about Ellie, but her complete lack of awareness about how beautiful she was always made Helena smile. Except for now. It was too bloody early, and Ellie was too perceptive for her own good.
‘You invited her for dinner? Tonight?’
Helena tried to align her still sleep-hazy thoughts. ‘What?’
‘Cynthia. I saw the whole thing. I should warn you now. Whatever you are planning to tell Uncle Lachlan, he is not going to be pleased. But it will be lovely to see Clio and Thomas!’
Furrowing her brow, Helena shook her head and grappled with the wild red curls obstructing her view. ‘I didn’t invite Clio and Thomas.’
Ellie giggled as her ferret scrambled up the coverlet and scampered to where Hamlet curled next to Helena’s legs. ‘Well, they’re coming.’
Helena was unaccountably nervous. She changed her dress three times. First, the mint day dress. Then the dark-blue one that contrasted with her hair. She finally settled on her favourite green silk gown with a daring neckline. Helena never spent time contemplating her reflection. She was of average height and slender build. Her breasts were modest but drew the eye in a tight corset. Her face didn’t herald sonnets, but she was striking in the right lighting. She knew her strengths and played to them when needed. But today felt different. Today felt… important.
‘Dear goddess. I’m primping. In front of a mirror. For a woman who isn’t even sure of her desires.’
Hamlet sat next to her, his bushy tail neatly wrapped around his feet. He blinked at her with stoic contemplation.
‘Can you hear animals’ thoughts?’
Cynthia’s question echoed in her mind. She crouched next to her familiar, running her hand between his ears and down his back.
‘Can she hear your thoughts, Hamlet?’
The fox bumped his head against her knee and yipped. His golden eyes glowed in the early-evening light.
‘Is that a yes? Or are you telling me I’m crazy?’
The enigmatic fox rested his paw on her knee.
Ellie rushed into Helena’s dressing room in a pale-pink summer gown that cinched tight at the waist and flared over her hips. Her blonde curls were piled high, and her cheeks were flushed. ‘You look lovely, Helena. Come on, Cynthia just arrived.’
Butterflies fluttered in her belly. Which was ridiculous.
What she told Cynthia in the carriage was true. She had explored pleasure with a few women, but she never let it go beyond fulfilling a physical desire. Like scratching an itch or indulging in a slice of cake. Moments of madness best forgotten by morning.
While pursuing a discreet affair with someone was not impossible, it carried with it certain risks. Intimate friendships among women made it far easier to conceal a romantic attachment in plain sight. Spinsters could lodge together without raising any eyebrows, for who really cared about the private habits of inconsequential middle-class ladies if their families did not raise a fuss? Aunt Rowan certainly wouldn’t begrudge Helena a partner if she wished to pursue a lasting romance. But such an arrangement would be far more difficult to maintain under the watchful eyes of the beau monde’s most vicious gossips.
More to the point, Helena didn’t want to pursue such permanent bonds. She knew the dangers of giving her heart to another. Her mother willingly sacrificed all that was light and good within herself to a man who twisted her magic for his own gain. She would never follow in such foolish footsteps.
She closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge the sacrifice her mother was willing to make for blood magic, or the price she forced Helena to pay.
The unexplainable force drawing her to Cynthia couldn’t possibly be more powerful than her fear of becoming just like her mother. Losing sight of her purpose and her power in pursuit of love. It was a path she refused to walk.
Besides, she didn’t even know if Cynthia wished for anything more with Helena than a passing flirtation. A widowed marchioness ensconced in society’s expectations could get away with much, but a sapphic relationship was beyond the pale. Certain rules simply couldn’t be flouted.
‘Come, Helena. Everyone is waiting.’ Ellie tugged on her hand.
Helena nodded at her reflection, decision made.
