The small, fragile world they had begun to build lay in ruins.
She expected a summons at any moment.
A cold, formal note from his solicitor.
The end.
She continued her routines.
It was all she knew how to do.
She arranged the flowers.
She walked the grounds.
And she visited Chaos.
The great horse seemed to feel the oppressive mood of the house. He was listless, resting his head on her shoulder with a deep, weary sigh. She would stand with him for hours, her hand on his warm neck, drawing comfort from his solid, living presence.
She was waiting.
On the third afternoon, as she was returning from the paddock, she saw a familiar, gleaming phaeton making its way up the drive.
Sabine Finch.
A cold dread settled in Helena’s stomach.
What was she doing here?
Marcus had banished her.
Helena entered the house just as Sabine was handing her cloak to a reluctant footman.
Sabine’s face lit up with a malicious, triumphant smile when she saw Helena.
“Your Grace,” she purred. “Just the person. I was afraid I would have to have you fetched from the stables.”
“Lady Sabine,” Helena said, her voice devoid of expression. “I believe you were told not to return to Ravensdale.”
“Oh, that.”
Sabine waved a dismissive hand.
“A misunderstanding. Marcus was overwrought. He has since come to his senses.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“In fact, that is why I am here. He sent for me. He has finally made his decision about this unfortunate arrangement.”
Helena stood her ground, her heart a cold, heavy stone in her chest.
“He is ending it.”
“Of course,” Sabine continued, her eyes glittering. “The marriage was a mistake from the start, a madness born of grief. He is making arrangements for an annulment. He asked me to help ease the transition, to convey the news to you gently.”
It was a lie.
It had to be a lie.
But the Duke had been hidden away for three days.
What had he been doing?
What had he decided in his solitude and his pain?
“He wants you gone by the end of the week,” Sabine said, delivering the final killing blow. “He told me himself. He said he cannot bear the sight of you. That your presence here is a constant, painful reminder of his failure.”
Helena did not flinch.
She did not cry.
She met Sabine’s triumphant gaze with a quiet, unyielding dignity.
She did not believe her.
And yet, and yet, a sliver of doubt, cold and sharp, pierced her.
“If the Duke has a message for me,” Helena said, her voice level, “he can deliver it himself.”
“He will not,” Sabine said with a cruel little smile. “He cannot face you. But do not worry. I will be here to take your place. Ravensdale needs a true duchess.”
“That will not be necessary.”
The voice came from the top of the grand staircase.