Author's Note: Please excuse the long absence, my friends. My grandfather died on February 1st, without warning, without giving me a chance to say goodbye, or to tell him how much he meant to me. But I know that he knew how much I loved him. He was a great man; he encouraged me in every dream I ever had, he was always there for me with wisdom, advice and funny war stories. I will miss him for the rest of my life.
I'll see you in Heaven, Papa.
Jacob sighed, and his lips twisted in a bemused smirk. "Don't be so dramatic, Helena." He handed her a glass of lemonade and took a flute of champagne for himself. "The beau monde thinks you were the one to end our betrothal."
"Yes," Lena agreed, her voice cool and distant. "And wasn't I the one who exiled you to America?"
Jacob chuckled. "So it would seem." He shrugged. "Besides, there was no great scandal. Your reputation is completely intact."
And what about the rest of me, you heartless bastard?
Lena looked at her lemonade with eyes narrowed in calculation. Just how much of a scene would it cause if she shoved him over the banister and down twenty feet onto the lobby's shining marble floors? It would certainly draw attention. Everyone seemed to be sending furtive glances their way, as if they expected to see something of interest. They probably weren't sure what.
According to the beau monde, the story that had circulated about Helena Dubois and the Earl of Stanford was one of love and loyalty, broken dreams, broken hearts, and a whole host of other ridiculously romantic notions that the beau monde liked to believe in.
Two years earlier, Napoleon escaped from Elba and began revoking the titles of every established nobleman in France, and appointing his own friends as peers and protectors of the realm. Lena's father stood to lose everything: his family, his wealth, his lands, and his ancestral name. They had been in London at the time. Upon hearing the news, Philippe Jean-Marc, Vicomte de Dubois, and his son Gregoire, had returned to France. Jacob had been charged with protecting Helena, Margot, and their mother.
And that was when Jacob disappeared. Rumor had it that Helena had cried off, too afraid that Jacob would get caught up in the war with France, and that she would lose him just as she stood to lose her father and brother.
Of course, that was not at all what happened.
"I believe, 'married in all but name,' was the phrase you used," Lena said very quietly. Jacob's grip on her arm tightened. She looked up and met his dark, measuring gaze. "You made sure that I would never be able to cry off, Stanford."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said instantly, his full lips curling into a mocking smile. Lena felt anger swell within her, but it did not overwhelm her. She was far too tired, now. Too weak.
"I would tell you that I despised you, my lord, and that you were not worth the dirt on my slippers, but in truth, such words evoke a sense of passion that I cannot find within myself." She smiled. "I must admit, I am wholly indifferent."
His grin disappeared, as if he were truly taken aback by her honesty. For a few moments, Lena could see the war of emotions playing in his eyes, as he was caught between anger and surprise. His hand tightened on her arm, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of struggling against his grip.
"If you ever tell a soul, Helena Dubois…" His voice was menacing and sharp, and below a whisper.
Lena, who had spent the past several months listening to her beloved companion issue half-hearted death threats that he didn't realize he didn't mean, was struck by just how true Stanford's threat rang in her mind. She was also struck by the fact that she was unfazed by such anger.
"Spare me your threats, Stanford," she said, smiling pleasantly and nodding to a couple as they passed. "I am not afraid of you."
His grip had grown painful on her arm, carefully concealed by her shawl, and Lena had to fight the urge to wince.
Then Greg appeared at her side like a vengeful angel, pulling her gently from Jacob's grasp.
"I'm afraid my mother is feeling unwell, Stanford. She has requested that Helena accompany her home. Good evening."
They turned and walked away from Stanford, and Helena felt his eyes on her as they crossed the lobby and passed through the doors. The moment they stepped out into the cool, quiet spring night, Greg turned to her and pulled her into a quick hug.
"Do you want me to call him out, Lena?" he demanded in French, in a low, urgent voice.
Lena smiled, wrapping her arms about herself to ward off the chill in the air. "Of course not. He not worth it."
"He hurt my baby sister. He insulted our entire family." Her brother's voice was rough, and only barely civil. "Just say the word and I'll kill him."
Lena looked up and met her brother's gaze. When she realized that he was dead serious, her smile faded. This was an anger that had been simmering in him for two years. He looked ready to strangle Stanford with his bare hands.
"Greg, I know you would," she said in a gentle voice. I know someone else who would, too. But he's so far away. "But I mean it when I say he's not worth it. Please, just let it go."
Greg nodded reluctantly, and led her to the carriage. Her mother was already waiting inside. As soon as Greg closed the door, and the carriage rocked into motion, a stream of French curses came pouring from her mother's lips.
"How dare that miserable salaud show is face in your presence!" she seethed. Lena's mouth dropped open.
"Maman!"
Her mother looked at her, and raised one haughty blonde eyebrow. "I am sure you have called him much worse, Helena. I know your father has." She glanced out the window and sighed. "I don't know what Benjamin was thinking, bringing him into that box with us. He's just so… scatterbrained at times."
"It was probably just politics, maman," Lena said wearily. "You know how Uncle Ben is when it comes to Parliament."
Her mother sighed. Lena turned her gaze to the window. All she wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. Her nap earlier that day, though it had ended badly, had helped restore her energy. And then all of that energy had gone to controlling herself in Jacob's presence. Lena felt empty, hollow, drained of all emotion.
She rested her head back against the seat and fought to keep her eyes open.
The next thing she knew, her mother was gently coaxing her awake, and leading her into the house and up the stairs and into her bedroom. It had been years since her mother had taken care of her like this. In those moments, Lena wanted more than anything to be a little girl again, able to cry and run into her mother's arms. But she could not do that. She was twenty years old. A woman grown.
"Bon nuit, ma cherie," her mother whispered, and she kissed Lena on her forehead and quietly left the room.
It was only then that Lena allowed herself to cry. Half-asleep, she curled up in the pillows and sobbed quietly until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. She cried for the young, stupid, naïve girl she had been two years ago, and the tired, lonely girl she was now. She cried because she had not heard his voice in weeks, and she was beginning to see him in shadows and dreams. She cried because she feared for her sanity.
"If you were here, I could tell you what happened," she whispered, imagining that he was sitting next to the bed, just as he had been for the past several months. "You would be angry that I didn't tell you sooner. And you would vow to kill him. And I would talk you out of it, because I would just be so bloody happy that you were here that I wouldn't care that he was here, too. I hate you."
She drifted deeper into the haze of sleep, and when she felt the soft brush of his fingertips over her temple, her mind had no choice but to assume that it was a dream.