He found that he very much wished to see what Miss Helena Ashford looked like when she was not vanishing from rooms.
The next morning dawned with an ordinary quiet that felt almost dishonest considering what Helena had left behind in the scented tumult of Lady Harbury's house.
She woke with a faint ache in her chest, as if some small invisible muscle had been strained.
It was silly, she scolded herself as she plaited her hair and pinned it with habitual care.
It had been only another dinner party, another evening of sidelong glances and careful invisibility. Nothing had changed.
By eleven, she sat in the smaller sitting room near the window, her work basket at her feet.
She was embroidering a sprig of wildflowers on a handkerchief for her aunt. Tiny, neat stitches in shades of blue and green.
The world outside the glass seemed clear and simple. Sunlight glancing off the neighboring rooftops. A milk cart rumbling by. A boy calling out the morning paper.
The bell rang.
Helena did not look up. Callers came often enough for her aunt that the sound scarcely registered.
Voices murmured in the hall.
A moment later, the housemaid appeared at the door of the sitting room.
Miss Helena, ma'am, that is, Miss, her ladyship requests you in the front parlor. At once.
The girl's eyes were round, her cheeks pink with barely contained excitement.
Helena set her needle carefully into the cushion.
Has someone called?
Not exactly called, miss. The maid almost bounced. It's a card with a crest on it. A ducal sort of crest, Mrs. Briggs says.
A strange little tremor moved through Helena's fingers.
Thank you, Molly. I shall come immediately.
In the front parlor, Lady Ashford stood by the writing desk, a square of stiff pasteboard in her hand as though it might ignite at any moment.
Alicia hovered beside her, already fully dressed for the day in pale lavender, a ribbon artfully tied at her throat.
There you are at last, Lady Ashford said, though Helena had come within a minute. Do you know whose card this is?
Helena's gaze dropped to the bit of cream in her aunt's fingers. A coat of arms delicately stamped in black and silver gleamed at the top.
Beneath it, in an elegant masculine hand: His Grace, the Duke of Everre.
Her breath caught.
He has called.
No, no, not in person, Alicia said quickly, reaching to touch the card as though it might confer some of its magic onto her. But he has sent this. And a note, Mama, do read it again.
Lady Ashford cleared her throat, assuming a tone of dignified composure that fooled no one.
She unfolded a single sheet of thick paper, the ink still looking almost damp.
Lady Ashford, she read, I beg you will forgive the liberty of this note from one who is all but a stranger. I fear that my late arrival at Lady Harbury's dinner yesterday evening occasioned some disarrangement of her table, and that a young lady, Miss Helena Ashford, may have been inconvenienced on my account.
Lady Ashford's eyes flicked up, her expression sharp with astonishment before she forced it back into something milder.
He remembers your name, she said, as though pronouncing an impossibility.
Helena felt her pulse in her throat.
He—he cannot possibly. I was not introduced to him.
He continues, Alicia urged, impatient.
I was distressed to observe that Miss Ashford seemed to leave the room for a time, and hope that it was nothing more serious than the heat which forced her to do so. I should be grateful, ma'am, if you would convey my sincere apologies to your niece for any part I may have played in disturbing her evening, and my earnest hope that she is quite recovered this morning.
The words wrapped around Helena like a too-warm shawl. Mortification burned beneath them.
The Duke of Everre had noticed her leaving. He had gone so far as to write about it.
It felt less like honor and more like exposure.
There is more, Lady Ashford said faintly.
If you would permit, I should be pleased to pay my respects to you and to Miss Ashford in person within the week, to assure myself that no lasting ill has come of Lady Harbury's rearrangements. I have the honor to remain yours, etc.
Silence fell bright and taut as crystal.
Alicia was the first to break it.
Well, she breathed, obviously he writes out of politeness. Lady Harbury must have spoken of us. He must be curious about our family. I dare say he hardly remembers which of us is Helena and which is Alicia.
The note is quite specific, Lady Ashford murmured, scanning it again as though the letters might rearrange themselves to support Alicia's theory. Miss Helena Ashford, he says twice.
Helena wished the floor would kindly open and swallow her.
It is only a courtesy, she managed. He must feel obliged. He is a gentleman. We ought not to read more into it.
Of course it is a courtesy, her aunt said briskly, though her eyes were bright with calculation. But it is not every day that courtesy arrives on ducal paper, and he wishes to call on us. On you and Helena, Alicia corrected, trying hard to sound light, but naturally we shall all be present. It would be quite odd otherwise.
Helena folded her hands tightly together.
There is no need to put yourselves out on my account. You may reply that I am already fully recovered and that His Grace need not trouble himself to call.
Nonsense, Lady Ashford said sharply. We will not give the impression that we throw away ducal attentions like unwanted ribbons. You will be at home and suitably dressed and you will receive him with proper composure.
Alicia, we must think which gown best becomes your complexion. He will of course wish to see the whole household.
There it was, the familiar twist.
The note might be addressed to Helena, but the possibilities it represented immediately rearranged themselves around Alicia like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
Helena did not blame them.
She had long known that if fortune ever chose to glance in their direction, it would most likely fix its gaze on her cousin's bright loveliness, not on her own quiet, aging edges.
Still, a small unreasonable ache bloomed beneath her ribs.
Wear the blue muslin, Lady Ashford said to Helena, as if granting a favor. It softens your complexion, and do not sit in the corner as you usually do, though, she added, almost as an afterthought, do try not to monopolize the conversation. These things must be allowed to unfold naturally.
Of course, Helena replied, her mouth twitching in a humorless almost-smile. I doubt I shall present much danger of that.
The day arranged itself around the impending visit, like furniture shifted to accommodate a new piece.
Floors were swept again, silver polished, a fresh spray of roses placed on the parlor table.
Helena changed into the blue muslin with fingers that fumbled more than they ought, smoothing the skirt as though calming herself.
As the clock reached three, they took their places.
Lady Ashford in the best chair. Alicia on the settee where the light kissed her hair to gold.