Page 117 of The Dueling Duchess

“What do you mean?”

“I’d hoped to marry the man after repudiating my betrothal and leaving my father’s house. But when I went to his lodgings, I discovered that he’d accepted a job in another city and would”—she squeezed her eyes shut but not fast enough to catch a tear—“he assented to my father’s demand that he marry a woman. A woman who is not me.”

Guy handed her his handkerchief.

She dried her cheeks and continued. “My father will not relent when it comes to marriage. He is . . . obsessed about linking our family to the peerage. And—and I find that I simply cannot live with his expectations any longer, even though it means I will have to earn my own crust. Don’t misunderstand me,” she added hastily. “I took the position you offered because I fully expect to work.” She glanced at Guy. “But last night it was brought home to me that you may be the focus of my father’s displeasure if he discovers me here. Guy insisted I tell you of my identity first thing this morning. I will understand if you don’t want me in your business or house.” Once she finished, she sat back in her chair.

None of them spoke for a long moment, the only sounds those of other employees moving about beyond the door.

“I am not afraid of your father,” Cecile said, no longer angry eyed and red cheeked. She slid a glance at Guy, but he couldn’t decipher it. “If I gave in to fear every time a man threatened me, I’d be a quivering heap hiding in a closet. If he discovers your whereabouts, however, he will have the legal right to make you go home—will he not?”

They both looked at Guy, who nodded. “I’m afraid he will, Helen—you’re only twenty. But let us not borrow trouble; as of right now you’re here.” He looked at Cecile. “And she may remain here?”

She nodded. “I hired you because you are the best candidate to fill both positions. I do not wish you to leave. Guy is right. When it comes to your father, we shall take things as they come.”

* * *

Guy knew he’d be waiting a long, long time if he expected Cecile to apologize for misjudging him.

Besides, he didn’t care if she apologized. It was worth being accused of lechery to find out that she at least cared for him.

Not that she demonstrated her affection in any way in the days after Helen joined the household.

No, instead she just avoided him at all times except during performances. Even their rehearsals had been cut in half now that Helen had assumed some of the assistant responsibilities.

“You really want to do this?” Guy had asked her the first time she’d shown up to rehearse Cecile’s routine. “I’m sure she’d let you out of this part of the job. Lord knows you’ve got your hands full with Cat.”

As ambivalent as the little girl had been about having a governess, Cat had fallen in love with Helen and shadowed her steps from morning until night.

“I want to do this,” Helen said, her face set in firm lines.

He smiled.

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I was just thinking that you’ve changed a great deal since, er, well, since our betrothal.”

“I’ve grown up, you mean.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. But he thought she was right; she had grown up. They both had. Guy was ashamed that maturity had taken so long to find him, but better late than never.

Perhaps a week or so after the confrontation between Helen and Cecile, Blade sought out Guy one morning.

He’d just finished swabbing the night-soil closet—a job he hated so much that he was surprised he didn’t incinerate the vile box just by looking at it.

“Aren’t you the fortunate one,” Blade said, wrinkling her delicate nose. Even Angus appeared to be holding his breath.

“What? Does she need something else done? A stall mucked? Chamber pots scoured?”

“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. “She might.”

“What do you want?”

“I have some information for you.”

Guy stilled the mop and looked up. “About which thing?”

“Both.”