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Her father and Uncle William stepped over to the nearest bookshelf, examining a few of the latest purchases from Hatchards, a famed bookseller located in Piccadilly Circus.
“Not here five minutes and William already has your father engrossed in a book,” Sarah chided, shaking her head. “At least when we are out shopping tomorrow, I shan’t feel any trace of guilt in leaving them to fend for themselves.”
“We’re going shopping?” Helen tilted her head to the side. “I had several new day dresses and a ballgown made up for myself before Papa and I left Winterbrook.”
“That is all well and good, but what of your gloves, hat, shoes, stockings, and your undergarments?”
Heat rushed through her body. “What I have is serviceable.” She rubbed the nape of her neck.
Aunt Sarah raised an eyebrow. “You are no longer in the country, dearest. Serviceable will not do you any favors amongst the Ton. You are undermycare now.” She placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders. The weight of them was comforting.
“Shopping is about more than picking out new trinkets. Whilst we are out tomorrow, you’ll be introduced to several key acquaintances of myself and Lord Greenly. Their support will go far in securing invitations to the most sought-after engagements, such as Lady Woodrow’s ball, over the next few weeks.”
She had never thought about how shopping could be like a game of chess. It was all about tactics. She blinked slowly. “Thank you, Aunt Sarah. I don’t know what I might do without you.”
“I only wish your father had enlisted our assistance when you first made your debut.” Aunt Sarah sighed. “Nevertheless, you’re here now, and rest assured, I’m going to do everything in my power to find you therighthusband.”
Helen resisted the urge to wince. Aunt Sarah was so confident. How could she be so certain of Helen’s success? Each of the last four Seasons, it was difficult to earn any invitations. The women of the highest echelons of society, the first circle, would instantly see that she had little to offer their sons. Her dowry was small and she had so few connections.
Aunt Sarah redirected her attention to Papa, her eyes narrowed. “It is high time Hugh’s clothing was also addressed,” she whispered into Helen’s ear. “Your mother would never have wished him to mourn her for so long. We’ll send a message to Lord Greenly’s tailor in the morning. Best we launch a surprise attack.”
“Just like the ancient Greeks at the Battle of Marathon,” Helen said.
“Indeed. Who knows, perhaps with a change of wardrobe, your father might even consider finding himself another wife. If he has a companion, it might help to make the transition easier when you began your married life and say farewell to Winterbrook.”
Helen froze.
Leave Papa and Winterbrook? They had both been a constant in her life. Since she was a girl, Papa has always been right by her side.
She watched her father engage Uncle William in a debate over the context and meaning of a word translated from a Latin treatise of Cicero.
If I am gone, who will take care of him? Who will see to the tenants? I’ve been so focused on myself that I’ve lost sight of how marriage would affect those around me.
Helen lowered her head. A thin layer of dust coated her pelisse.
Understanding her niece’s plight, Aunt Sarah said in a raised voice, “You both must be fatigued from all of the traveling. Would you care to refresh yourselves?” The men didn’t stir. Aunt Sarah pressed her lips together.
Over the years, Helen had learned if she wanted her father’s attention when he was occupied by a new book, she had to physically attain it. Walking over to her father, she tapped him on the shoulder.
In a matter-of-fact tone, trying to imitate Aunt Sarah, she said, “Papa, we must change.”
Her father blinked slowly several times. “Change?”
“Yes, Papa. We are coated in dust from the road.”
“I had you placed on the second floor in your normal rooms,” Aunt Sarah added quickly. “I’ll have Watson send up your valet and maid.”
“Quite right.” Papa snapped the heavily bound volume he was reading closed and placed it back upon Uncle William’s bookshelf. “We’ll continue our debate after the evening meal.”
Aunt Sarah winked.
Helen squared her shoulders and stood tall. Perhaps being confident was easier than she had thought.
Excusing themselves, she and her father exited the room.
* * *
The fog had lifted. The morning sun emerged from behind the patchwork of remaining storm clouds. Puddles of water dotted the walkway. Helen was mindful of her steps as she walked out the next morning.
