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The princess didn’t trust him. And she trusted him even less around her friend, Mrs. St. John. And by the sharp look in her eyes, Ian understood that that look would be following him around all day.

The trip promised to be interesting.

* * *

There was something very unsettling about the way Lord McAlliastair looked at Helen. It made her heart beat faster and her body shiver.

Helen was used to being overlooked, especially in the company of a beautiful lady such as Victoria. Yet, Lord McAllistair barely glanced the princess’s way. He had answered her questions politely and was acting a perfect gentleman, but the moment his gaze turned to Helen, it started blazing with fire.

Perhaps she was imagining it.

Helen stared at the man sitting before her, trying to determine if her imagination was playing tricks on her and if her own hopes and desires were clouding her judgment. She wanted to believe that a man as handsome and dashing as Lord McAllistair would look at her and find her attractive—desirable, even—but a nagging voice inside her head kept questioning if it was all too good to be true.

Especially considering the fact that she had barely spoken to him before that fateful article announcing his proclivities. And now he had appeared at her doorstep a few days after dancing with her on the balcony.

It could all have been a huge coincidence.

Or a providence of God, her naive heart whispered.

Victoria, usually welcoming and warm, kept throwing suspicious glances toward Lord McAllistair. And after asking a few cautious questions, she endeavored to completely ignore him, turning to Helen with questions and hypotheses about what they’d see in the shelter.

Helen just smiled and nodded, feeling a headache coming on. Conversation always took a lot out of Helen, and she endeavored to keep what little energy she had left for when they actually reached the shelter.

The carriage drew to a halt, and Victoria glanced out onto the street through a window, her expression changing to one of pure shock. Helen smiled encouragingly at Victoria as the door swung open, revealing the dirty street that was little more than a dirt path.

Lord McAllistair deftly jumped off and helped Victoria out of the carriage. As the princess froze, exploring the little, wooden cottage, he turned toward Helen and stretched out his hand, his tall form blocking the view.

Left one on one with the charming lord, Helen felt uncomfortable. She thought his gaze dropped to her mouth, perhaps lingering there as she pressed her palm against his. But it could have been her nerves playing tricks on her.

She felt attracted to him. That was undeniable. He was young, strong, and handsome. He was kind and gentle. And he was the first gentleman to notice her since Greyson. He was the first gentleman she had noticed. And it made her feel guilty.

Helen stepped onto the pavement and snatched her hand back.

“This place looks rather… gloomy,” Victoria noted hesitantly.

“It does,” Helen agreed. The rickety old house, the dusty street, and the dreary atmosphere around did look discouraging. However, Helen had not expected a shelter in the dangerous part of town to look grandiose.

For a moment, a pinch of doubt crept into Helen’s soul. Perhaps a princess who grew up in a castle and moved from one mansion to another across Europe and who was now living in the earl’s townhouse would not appreciate the struggle of common women huddled in a rickety old building.

Victoria was young. And despite the recent tragedy in her family, she was still spoiled. She was used to big, glittering houses, beautiful gowns, and expensive jewelry. She was sheltered from poverty and hunger. And yes, she’d lost her parents when she was young, but she still had people around her who loved her and did everything to ensure her safety and comfort.

Helen didn’t want Victoria to feel uncomfortable. She felt personally responsible for her well-being and her emotional state as Helen was the one who’d insisted on visiting this place without adequate escort, Lord Ian McAllistair notwithstanding, or perhaps he was only adding to the princess’s discomfort.

For a moment, Helen had forgotten her own woes, so worried she was for her friend.

But the next moment, the door swung open, and a large, rotund woman, with a round face, dressed in a brown gown, a white apron tied around her waist, and a simple head scarf wrapped around her head appeared on the doorstep. She squinted at them as she placed her hand to her forehead. Having appraised them with keen eyes, her face split into a friendly smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and took a step forward. “Good afternoon, dearies! Come to visit the shelter, have you?”

Helen exchanged a timid glance with Victoria before smiling at the woman.

“Yes, we have. Lovely to meet you, madam,” Lord McAllistair said with a sharp nod after removing his hat. “I am Lord Ian McAllistair. Allow me to introduce Princess Victoria and Mrs. Helen St. John.”

The woman’s eyes flickered with excitement at the word ‘princess.’ Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she obviously battled with shock.

Then she opened the door wide, her chest puffed up. “Welcome to our little shelter. My name is Mrs. Brown, but everybody calls me Maggie.”

Helen threw one last glance at Victoria, this one more confident than the last, and walked into the house, her eyes adjusting to the dimly lit exterior. The air was thick with the smell of cooking, rotting wood, and something else indecipherable.

“I am a housekeeper here,” Maggie continued. “Would you care for a tour?”