The look was dismissive, pitying.
It was the look of a woman who had expected to be the Duchess of Blackwood and was now faced with this pale, unnotable replacement.
“It is a large house,” Helena said, refusing to be drawn.
Sabine’s smile tightened.
“Indeed, and so difficult to manage without the proper experience. My mother always said the running of an estate like Ravensdale requires a very particular hand.”
She let the insinuation hang in the air.
“But I am sure you will learn eventually.”
The Duke entered then, and Sabine’s entire demeanor shifted. Her smile became warmer, more genuine.
She moved toward him, placing a familiar hand on his arm.
“Marcus, darling, I was just welcoming your bride.”
The Duke’s face was impassive.
He gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp.
“Sabine. I was not aware we were expecting you.”
The rebuke was subtle, but clear.
Sabine laughed, a tinkling, artificial sound.
“Oh, do not be such a hermit. I will not allow you to hide from all your old friends. We are having a small gathering at Finchley Park on Saturday. You must both come. It will do you a world of good to be in society again.”
It was not an invitation.
It was a summons, a challenge.
“We are not entertaining at present,” the Duke said, his voice flat.
“Nonsense,” Sabine trilled. “It is settled. I will expect you both.”
Then she turned her bright, malicious gaze back to Helena.
“Now, Your Grace, tell me. What do you do to occupy your time in this dreary place? I hear you have taken up a rather rustic new hobby, befriending the stable beasts.”
The cruelty was so polished, so pleasant, that it was almost admirable.
Helena felt a flush of anger, but she kept her voice calm.
“I enjoy the outdoors, Lady Sabine.”
“So I have heard,” Sabine said, her eyes glittering. “You must be careful. That black stallion killed poor Edward, you know, or as good as threw him right at the old stone wall. It is a monster. I am surprised Marcus has not had it put down.”
At the mention of his brother, the Duke’s face became a mask of stone. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“That is enough, Sabine.”
“I am only speaking the truth, darling,” she said, feigning innocence, “out of concern for Her Grace.”
The visit did not last much longer, but Sabine had accomplished her mission. She had established her territory, flaunted her intimacy with the Duke, and planted her sharp little barbs deep into Helena’s composure.
When she was gone, the silence she left behind was heavy with her cloying perfume and unspoken tensions.
“You will not be required to attend the gathering at Finchley Park,” the Duke said, his back to her. “I will send my regrets.”
“Thank you,” Helena said quietly.
He left the room without another word.