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George had required a complete report from his man of business before he married Helena. He flattered himself that he knew Helena's friends as well as she did.

Miss Theodora was the daughter of Baron Davenport, who had severed all public ties with Helena the moment her father had died in financial ruin and social disgrace. Yet, despite her parents' explicit prohibitions, Lady Theodora had refused to abandon her friend, secretly arranging weekly meetings with Helena in quiet obscurity. Now, as the newly elevated Duchess of Cavendish, Helena possessed higher rank and greater standing than the very family that had sought to cast her aside.

"Is that all?"

Mr. Gibbs strode in minutes later, bowing courteously to the Duke and Duchess.

"Gibbs, prepare the finest closed carriage, harness a team - the grays, I think - and assign two liveried footmen to ensure Her Grace's absolute comfort and protection throughout her outing. Take her to wherever she requires and provide her with whatever she requests of you. In my absence, I entrust you with her safety and wellbeing.." He paused. "And do have her back before six o'clock."

Mr. Gibbs replied with a humble bow. "As you command, Your Grace."

Helena blinked in surprise, murmuring a polite word of gratitude before departing the study, clearly amazed by how effortlessly he had granted her freedom.

Helena and Theodora were seated across from one another at a small wrought-iron tea table, a silver teapot and delicate china cups resting between them. Theodora was a pretty, fair-haired young woman whose open, expressive face currently wore a look of astonishment. Helena calmly recounted the extraordinary events of the past week, repeating George's three strict rules. Theodora stared at Helena, her teacup trembling slightly in her saucer, before she whispered in stunned disbelief. "Helena... what...?"

There was far too much for Helena to explain in a single sitting, but she did her best to outline the complex reality of her new life.

"In the evening, at exactly six o'clock, I go over to the drawing room where we have a round of chess. I never win, but it is still exciting to challenge him every evening."

Theodora's eyes widened with sudden memory. "Does he know of the swath you used to cut among the chess players of Mayfair? "You cannot let London's most notorious rake challenge you in such a manner. Do you remember back when you first debuted? You beat every single arrogant gentleman that challenged you to a chess match."

Helena let out a light, genuine laugh. Though she was coming to… tolerate… her sparring with the Duke, Theodora's uncomplicated friendship lifted her spirits. "I can hardly believe it's been this long since our quiet wedding."

Lady Theodora shook her head in wonder, leaning forward to ask the question that clearly baffled her romantic mind. "If you had such a quiet wedding, and he's kept you secluded for so long, would he simply let you come here?"

Helena nodded her head smoothly, a knowing smile gracing her lips as she narrated precisely how her morning had unfolded before meeting up with Lady Theodora.

Chapter Eight

Helena set her cup down upon its delicate saucer, her green eyes softening as she spoke of the morning's earlier events. Before departing the estate, she had personally supervised the nursery upstairs, ensuring that Oliver was comfortably settled into his routine. The new nursemaid, a gentle, highly experienced woman whom George's agents had engaged, had proven to be extraordinarily capable, handling the fragile boy with the exact patience and tenderness Charlotte would have demanded.

Only after seeing the child fed, swaddled in clean Irish linen, and resting peacefully in his crib had Helena felt secure enough to seek out her husband in his private study. "I feared that he would question my motives, or insist that since I fought so hard to remain with Oliver, that was where I must remain. Yet he was most reasonable about the entire conversation."

Theodora tilted her head in genuine surprise, resting her chin upon her palm as she listened intently. "Was he indeed? I must admit, Helena, from everything whispered in the London parlors regarding the formidable Duke of Cavendish, I expected him to keep you under lock and key like a prized treasure."

"I was equally astonished," Helena admitted. "He pulled the bell cord immediately to order his finest closed carriage and a team of greys for my journey. However, as I turned to leave the room, he called out to me from behind his desk. He reminded me only to return before six o'clock without fail..."

Theodora leaned forward across the small tea table, her eyes sparkling with keen curiosity. "And? He said something else, I can tell from the way you are not quite smiling."

Helena looked down at her lap, her fingers lightly smoothing the fine fabric of her olive wool skirt before looking up to meet her friend's eager gaze. "...and to wear the light green gown tonight."

Theodora gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as her wide eyes filled with amusement. "A gown. Truly he is scandalous."

The two young ladies laughed together, a musical sound that rippled softly and dissolved the lingering shadows of formal decorum. Helena pressed her embroidered handkerchief against her lips, attempting to compose herself.

No matter what it looked like on the surface, Helena knew her husband's attention was somewhat scandalous. He plays a game far more dangerous than simple chess, she thought to herself, her heart beating with a sudden, erratic rhythm against her ribs as her cheeks burned with renewed warmth. He deliberately constructs these intimate, provocative traps, compelling me to dress for his pleasure and sit across from him night after night, as though he takes delight in watching my composure unravel.

It was a deeply unsettling realization. The man who presented a cold, unyielding mask of arrogant authority to the outside world transformed into an entirely different person in the quiet privacy of their evening matches; a man who challenged her intellect, provoked her temper, and made her pulse race with a terrifying thrill.

Helena reached forward to stir a lump of sugar into her cup, when her hand froze mid-air. Right behind them, separated only by a decorative wooden screen draped in climbing ivy and potted ferns, a haughty voice cut through the soft murmur of the parlor.

"Have you heard the latest news going about the ton, my dear?" a high-pitched voice drawled with supercilious relish. "My husband's land agent confirmed it this very morning. The new Duchess of Cavendish was seen traveling in His Grace's private carriage."

Theodora's smile vanished instantly, her face turning pale as her eyes locked onto Helena's. She reached across the table in an attempt to draw Helena away, but Helena remained rooted to her chair, unable to move a single muscle as her own name vibrated through the air behind her.

"Ah, yes, Lady Helena," a second, older woman replied with a dramatic sigh of condescending pity. "Or Her Grace, as we must now formally address her, I suppose. One truly cannot help but feel a profound, aching pity for poor Duke Cavendish. To be burdened with such a sudden, tragic match!"

"Pity indeed!" the first voice chimed in. "Everyone in proper society understands the true nature of that hasty union. Clearly it was nothing more than a noble, self-sacrificing gesture on the Duke's part for the sake of his late brother's son. The child required a respectable woman to oversee his nursery, and Lady Helena was conveniently destitute enough to present herself."