Ignoring the curious stares from the society matrons, Helena accepted Mr. Elias Stockwell as a dance partner for the third time, wrapping her small gloved hand around his large one and happily allowing him to guide her out to the dance floor.

As the other couples assembled to complete the set, Elias leaned forward piercing her with his mismatched eyes. "My lady, how did I b-become so lucky to have you as my partner again?"

Helena liked many things about the young Mr. Stockwell, his manners, his easy nature, and especially his eyes. One brown, one blue. Strangely, she even liked his occasional stutter though once he found comfort with someone, the stutter lessened.

"It is because you asked, Mr. Stockwell," She said with a grin.

Having come to know him over the months, Helena had found a genuine friend within the thrush of haughty aristocrats though perhaps that was because Elias was not an aristocrat himself. An upstart, that is what she had heard whispered so scathingly whenever the Stockwell family entered a room of their peers. It was no concern of hers how the Stockwell's amassed such great wealth, the usually shy Elias treated her with kindness and unlike many of the men that had come to pay their respects to the Hargreaves twins, he actually knew how to tell her apart from Felicity.

He replied with his usual effortless manners. "Then I am lucky still that you did not decline."

The melodious hum of violins signaled the start of the dance and the lead couple began their movements.

"How could I decline when you're a wonderful dancer," Helena peaked around the woman standing to her left, awaiting their turn to begin.

"I'm only as good as my partner," Elias offered, slightly tapping his foot in rhythm.

Forgetting herself, Helena snorted. "Did you not feel me crush your toes during the last dance?"

The woman to her left gave her a side look before smiling back at her partner who had not reacted to the offending noise.

"Hardly felt a th-thing."

Helena laughed, prompting some party goers to turn their heads in her direction. Mrs. Margaret Hargreaves, Helena's mother, who sat with a cluster of other married women thankfully did not notice, staying engrossed with whatever conversation she was having.

"You were supposed to deny that I did so!" She chided playfully.

"It was meant to compliment your tiny feet," At this, Helena could not help to laugh again, this time softer.

It was ill-advised to express oneself so openly, but with Elias, there was no place for rigidness. This was the very reason she had agreed to dance with him once more, even though it was well known that such a thing was an open invitation for gossip and assumptions that he was courting her. Elias was pleasant to look at and young, only twenty-three, yet Helena thought something was rather wrong with her, for whenever she was with him, there was no hint of ardor. No pulse of desire when he touched his hand to hers. No heat burned between them when their eyes met across the room. No rapid heartbeat from nerves when she saw him approaching.

Surely there must be something wrong? By all accounts, Mr. Elias Stockwell should be perfect for her but he simply felt like another brother.

As the lead lady worked her way down the set, prompting the next couple to start dancing Helena became aware of a dark shape stirring in the background.

The Duke of Carrivick inspected his surroundings with natural aloofness, while other men partook in festivities and flirtations, the lone duke stood in the outskirts as if hiding. Now confined to closer quarters Helena observed him between the gaps of the men lined before her. Carrivick's ebony hair was freshly cropped and shorn close his head, not at all in fashion but she couldn't imagine he much cared to spiral perfect curls over his forehead, too superfluous for someone like him. His attire still impeccable though bland, a dark blue coat and grey waistcoat were rather simplistic with nary a decorative pin or pattern. It struck her that perhaps he wished not to draw attention to himself. He failed, of course, he was a glaring contrast in a sea of bright textiles and glittering jewels.

While he continued to scan the room Helena could not help but watch him. The distraction during a dance proved hazardous as she was struck out of her own musings by a forceful shove which sent her flying into another participant. Before Helena toppled over on her hands and knees Elias skillfully caught her in his firm grasp. A harangue of gasps and simpering laughter cut over the music as Helena steadied herself in his arms, using him to support herself to a standing position.

The crowd swirled to avoid them and they quickly escaped to the sidelines, ignoring the eyes that continued to track them. Helena's face reddened but she smiled nonetheless, a weak ploy to mask her mortification.

Once appropriately away from the rabble, Elias released the gentle hold on her elbow "Are you injured, Helena?" Such familiarity had been reserved for their more private moments.

"No, save for my pride," She replied with a shaky laugh and brushed out her skirts. The ribbon fastened around her wrist which held her dance card swung with the movement. "I do apologize, Elias. I was so looking forward to stepping on your toes again."

"N-no need to apologize, you still managed to," He winked "Come, refreshments are in order."

Complying, she took a hold of his arm once more. Pitying looks were thrown her way but Helena's face was frozen in a serene façade. Mother warned her that aristocrats had always been bloodthirsty and it was imperative that she and Felicity did not falter in the eyes of society. Any simple mistake or misunderstanding would be unraveled, examined, and blown out of proportion for the sake of gossip. It was inevitable, Helena supposed, women were always easy targets for slanderous words and no doubt her minor blunder would be repeated until something else came to view.

Once at the refreshment table, Elias handed her a generously full flute of ratafia "Th-think nothing of it."

Helena accepted the glass, taking hold of the opaque stem "Impossible, I shall relive the humiliating misstep until the end of my days," She then took a sip and relished in the sweetness of it. "And so will everyone else."

"If it makes you feel any better, I overheard that the Earl of Rokeby not only attempted admittance in Almack's after midnight but... w-was wearing trousers," He raised his brows comically high in some effort to appear appalled.

"I do feel my spirits rising," Helena pretended consideration, tapping a finger to her chin. "What else have you heard?"

This time Elias leaned slightly forward though maintained a proper distance. "Th-this is not for delicate ears, my lady."

"Tell me," She breathed.

"I o-once witnessed Mrs. van Dorn," He paused for effect. "Use the wrong spoon to eat her soup."

"How is she still accepted into polite society?" Helena shook her head ruefully.

"She certainly won't be invited to any my dinner parties — "

"Mr. Stockwell," The vibrato of her older brother's voice interrupted Elias' as he materialized next to her. "I thank you for keeping my sister company this evening but it is now time for me to play the part of chaperone."

"Of c-course Hargreaves, she is the most lovely company," Elias bowed to Helena before making his exit. "Until next time, Miss Helena."

"Next time he better come with a proposal," Muttered Isaac as soon as the other man was out of earshot.

"He's not going to propose," Insisted Helena, inclining her head to meet her brother's eyes, the same shade of blue as hers. "We're only friends and I prefer it to stay that way."

"Men and women can't be friends so expel that foolish notion from that pretty little head of yours," Isaac extended his arm which she accepted and they began a slow promenade around the ballroom. "You danced with him thrice and according to the rules of propriety that's cause for an engagement right there."

"You know nothing of propriety—"

"Do not think that I did not witness that spectacle of yours, which of course informs me that you know nothing of propriety either."

Helena hadn't pinched her brother in a number of years but the urge to do so began weighing seriously on her mind, she inconspicuously inspected the thickness of his sleeves and wondered if she did administer a twist how hard would she have to clamp down on his skin in order for him to feel it. Ultimately and reluctantly, she decided against it as it would prove his point on her knowledge of propriety or lack thereof.

So, due to her merciful decision, her brother calmly continued on surveying the partygoers, nodding politely to some as they passed. "Truly, what is so wrong with Mr. Stockwell proposing? He comes from obscene wealth although the nature of how they came about such wealth is cause for conjecture."

"His wealth does not matter to me."

"Wealth matters to me. I daresay, I'd have him if I was a woman."

"Mr. Stockwell truly does not know how fortunate he is then," She remarked under her breath before finishing the rest of her ratafia in one gulp.

"Careful with that," Her brother pried the glass from her, handing it off to a passing servant. "It's unbecoming for a lady to overindulge."

Helena gave him a sidelong glance. "I've seen you unbecoming on plenty of occasions."

"I'm a man—" Isaac retorted.

She scoffed.

"And a man," He continued resolutely. "Is allowed different liberties."

"The liberty of being a rake?" She asked, the desire to pinch him arising once more as her irritation resurfaced.

"Hush, imp. I don't make the rules and thankfully I don't have to follow them anyway," How like her brother to flippantly remind her of their places in society as if father hadn't been pressuring Isaac to finally polish up his behavior and consider scouting for an appropriate bride, a fact which he was conveniently ignoring.

They came to a stop near French doors that opened to the upper terrace. A seductive breeze of night air wafted into the warm ballroom, bringing a slight relief.

"I'm quite serious Helena, if Stockwell offers for you, you're to accept."

"And I'm quite serious that he will do no such thing—we're only friends," She repeated firmly but Isaac blew out a breath in disbelief.

"Believe what you will then but you will absolutely not deny the next suitor. Mother and father have had enough."

"Why? Did they say something?" Helena asked, alarmed.

"I didn't wish for you to find out like this but you ought to know," Isaac gave a precursory glance over his shoulder before he spoke again. "If this season ends without a betrothal, they'll be selecting a gentleman for you to wed."

Before she could object Isaac spoke again. "The ton is talking."

"They always talk."

"I'd rather them not, at least not about you." Anymore.

Helena knew of the whispers and murmurs of her supposed reputation but the gossip was still quiet enough to ignore so it didn't bother her and it never seemed to bother the rest of her family. Or so she thought.

"This is serious, Helena," Isaac said.

"I'm treating it as such. I'm diligently husband hunting," She explained, rather defensively.

"Hunting? Good heavens, you've nearly shot all the game—what is left?"

At the question Helena rolled her eyes but luckily Isaac wasn't paying attention to her anymore.

"Blast," He suddenly cursed beneath his breath. "Felicity has been cornered by Lord Fowler. The fiend. He's nearly seventy and still acts a rake. The man can't even see his own c—"

Following the trajectory of his scowl, Helena indeed saw her sister slowly step backward with every inch forward Lord Fowler took, his rotund belly just nearly grazing her arm while Felicity smiled stiffly.

"He can't see his what?" Queried Helena, looking up at her brother.

Flushed red, Isaac cleared his throat before answering. "Feet."

"That wasn't what you were going to say."

"Mother really should've been watching the two of you, the task of chaperone has been falling on me too much as of late," Raking his hand through his hair, he huffed with annoyance. "Stay here. Once I rescue Fee, we're finding mother and the two of you are not to leave her side."

He rushed forward to aid their sister in a gracious escape, leaving Helena to stand alone.

With her mood now fouled, she wished for nothing more than to withdraw from the festivities yet retiring before dinner wasn't an option. The wind blew once more and her skin puckered in reaction.

Perhaps a quick turn round the garden could set her straight but as always, a sentry was needed to guard her every move. Isaac and Felicity were still engaged with Lord Fowler despite their best efforts and Helena supposed they would be for several minutes. The very rules which her brother wasn't inclined to follow were the very ones that sought to shackle women like Helena to a life of restraint and boredom which is why she decided at this very moment, it was important she rebelled a little where she could. A servant passed by with a tray of drinks so she helped herself to another glass of ratafia and slinked out to the terrace for a few minutes of solitude. Never more thankful for her slight stature, she snuck away unnoticed and without incident.

The night air was intoxicating after the raucous humidity in the ballroom and there was a faint smell of wisteria as their scent bristled over from the wind. Sipping her sweet beverage, she edged closer to the shadows, waiting a few moments before descending the stairs. Once assured that no other party goers had wandered out she crept down the stone steps using the bright light of the full moon as her guide since there were no lanterns. With no clear destination in mind she continued onward, one hand gripping her skirts while the other held her glass. As she reached the landing and turned the corner, her body and her ratafia collided with a solid mass that she first assumed to be a rather ill placed statue.

The statue then growled a curse as it spun around. "Bloody—"

A squeak escaped from Helena when the recognizable face of the Duke of Carrivick glared down at her.

The rest of his profanities came to a halt when he realized it was her but the scathing tone remained. "What," He bit out as his eyes traveled back and forth from her face to the now empty glass she held limply in her hand. "Are you doing outside unchaperoned and what is in that glass?"

"It was ratafia, Your Grace," A good portion had wet the front of her bodice, slowly dribbling between her breasts. "I-I'm terribly sorry."

"Which one are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Which sister?"

"Helena."

"I should've known."

She ignored the remark and watched as he shrugged off his coat, the fabric of his shirt strained against the swells of his upper arms. "I'm more than happy to reimburse you for your coat."

"There is no need for that," He hung the stained garment over his forearm. "Now why are you here?"

"Why am I here? I was invited."

"No, why are you here without a chaperone?" He piqued with impatience. "You shouldn't be allowed out unescorted."

She lifted her chin pertly. "I'm not a dog, I do not need to be kept on a lead."

A dark brow twitched. "That's not the way of this world, Miss Helena."

"I simply needed a moment to myself—" She began.

"Not alone."

"That defeats the purpose, Your Grace," Absentmindedly she began twirling the stem of the glass flute between her thumb and forefinger.

"You're going to break it," Carrivick snatched it from her then set it on the flat newel post. "If you had a chaperone you wouldn't have ruined my coat."

"I wouldn't have ruined your coat if you hadn't been standing here in the dark," She shot back irritably.

"Unlike you, I'm actually allowed to be outside so I suggest you return to whatever person had the misfortune of watching over you."

"Perhaps you ought to stay outside then, away from the rest of the civilized folk," Helena was behaving much, much too boldly. Guided by her immense dislike of him, sharp words left her mouth freely and in an airy manner meant to annoy him.

This time his dark eyes narrowed. "Are you always so disagreeable?"

"No, in fact it's a trait I've only just recently acquired."

"I don't find you at all amusing," He leaned forward slightly making her very aware of their difference in size.

"And I don't find you at all frightening," Helena straightened her back a bit more in a pathetic attempt at height. In truth, she was a little frightened but not of him, rather the repercussions if her mother were ever to find out.

He cocked his head in question. "You think I'm trying to frighten you?"

"Why else would be looming over me as such?"

"You're quite diminutive, I imagine you're accustomed to everyone looking down at you," He said mockingly as his eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering a little too long at her breasts.

"For a duke you're utterly graceless," Helena fumed now. Her face had gone hot and her eyes began to water from frustration.

"Graceless, am I?" He brought up his coat in reminder. "And wasn't it you that had the little mishap during the dance?" That condescending brow raised again. "Not only disagreeable but clumsy as well. Perhaps you should be kept on a tight lead."

"Well, if I had one I would use it to muzzle you," She blurted, almost bringing her hands to cover her mouth as if she could recall the words. A brief shock passed through his features as he stood before her in stunned silence.

Taking advantage of the duke's stupefied pause, Helena deftly sidestepped him and sped past. With her back to him she quickly wiped the moisture that had formed in the corner of her eyes and realized her dance card was missing. The damned ribbon must've come undone but she was not going back to fetch it. There was no chance she'd return to the ball with this horrific stain on her bodice and red-faced. She'd been embarrassed enough for one evening.

Vexed, she tugged off her gloves, too impatient to take her time with the buttons and balled them up in her fist. Somehow she'll have to find a way to return to her quarters without notice but for now she needed solitude. The path she decided to follow was lined by a hedge maze whose center lead to a gazebo. Thankfully, the maze itself wasn't complicated, it had been trimmed down that one could see over and even in the night Helena was sure footed enough to find her destination. All she wanted was to sit alone for a few minutes in misery to mourn the failure of her evening and curse the duke's name into the night sky.

Surely she wasn't entirely at fault, servants had neglected to light the lanterns and Carrivick blocked the stairwell. It could've happened to anyone. If it had been any one else they certainly would've offered her a handkerchief to clean herself up. Helena looked down at her dress, even under the pale moonlight the dark spread of the stain was visible. Like every young unmarried woman at a ball, she wore white and unfortunately there would be no hiding this and it would be deuced hard to launder. Mother will be furious. With a heavy sigh she continued onward, her destination marked by the outlined steeple of the gazebo. If she were not obliged for several more dances, she would like to sit out for the rest of the ball under the gazebo but someone will come looking or perhaps they already had. Whatever could she say once she was found out? What clever excuse could she concoct to explain herself? Her reputation could not take another hit if she was found out and Helena was skeptical the duke would do the honorable thing and wed her. She shuddered at the thought of marrying the Duke of Carrivick. He was so cold, so proper, so humorless. Why was Charlotte so desperate to marry such a man? They may be equals in pedigree but underneath Charlotte's snobbery was a tenderhearted and steadfast young woman. Helena doubted that the duke had such layers beneath his stoney exterior. Why was Helena even still thinking about him? She slapped the ball of her hand to her forehead as if to knock away anymore thoughts of Carrivick and continued her march.

As the gravel beneath her shoes kicked away with each step, its sound was accompanied by a much heavier stride from behind her which began to grow progressively more pronounced as it neared.

Alarmed, Helena spun round to face the intruder.

"Why are you following me?" She hadn't intended to shout but her voice was no match for the cacophony coming from the ballroom.

Carrivick did not react to her question, instead his hand shot out and took hold of her wrist. The movement was so swift Helena could not think to flee until she felt the firm, gloved fingers ensnaring her naked flesh.

She attempted to jerk her hand away. "What—"

"You dropped something," He answered impassively. In his other hand, between his index finger and his thumb, something dangled limply. Helena's dance card. Without a word he released his hold on her to tie it back in its rightful place.

With limited visibility, Carrivick managed to secure the ribbon tightly, pulling at each end to ensure it stayed put. All the while Helena watched the way his gloved fingers expertly worked with the thin ribbon, swift movements of white gracefully hovering over her wrist.

When he finished he did not politely distance himself, instead he looked down at her. "I'm escorting you back inside."

"I think not, Your Grace." She replied, absentmindedly rubbing her skin where his touch still lingered. He was without his tailcoat. Somehow in just his shirt and waistcoat, he felt bigger, more rugged and he was far too close for comfort. Helena could feel his heat and smell his scent. Subtle and curiously floral for a man. Pleasant. She hated that she liked it.

"How is it that you think you're in a position to deny me?"

"Seeing as you're neither my father or husband—I have no cause to listen to you," Since he made no endeavor to move, Helena took a step back but he followed.

"Seeing as I'm your better, you ought to listen. You might even learn something."

"What could I possibly learn from you?" She snapped. "Arrogance?"

"If it would help you conduct yourself in a more becoming manner than certainly."

"There is nothing wrong with the manner in which I conduct myself," Helena took another step back.

And Carrivick another step forward. "I've heard quite the opposite."

Over time Helena had steadily strengthened herself through the pain of rumors. Yet, in this instance with her resolve weakening she felt a familiar sting. Despite the slight, she kept her voice light. "Then are you certain you wish to be seen with me?"

"I can afford the risk. No one would dare think I have an attachment to you," He replied with smooth cruelness. "I merely wished to see you safely back on to the terrace."

Helena was thankful for darkness as her eyes pricked once more with tears and she crossed her arms in front of her. "No, thank you."

"There are worse men here than me. Allow me to escort you just near the entry," Carrivick motioned behind him. "Before any one of them find you here alone and do not grant you this same courtesy."

"Why do you care?"

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do."

A mocking laugh bubbled up from her throat. Though dark, she was almost certain that he narrowed his eyes. "A gentleman would've listened when I said no the first time."

As she whipped around to walk away, her stride was met with resistance. The train of her dress had ensnared itself on a protruding bramble of a bush and Helena was sent sprawling forward. She hit the ground with a force that knocked the air right out of her chest. Dust gathered around her like a mist, going up her nose, in her mouth, stinging her eyes and without gloves the bare flesh of her palms had scraped against the surface of jagged pebbles inlaid in the dirt.

All strength left her now, pain and embarrassment poured over her like a torrential storm. A sob freed itself while she remained on her hands and knees, allowing the tears to drop. With each shuddering breath fat droplets strummed the dirt, some landing on the back of her hands and dribbling off the side. Unexpectedly, large warm hands enclosed around her shoulders, pulling her gently yet firmly upright so she sat on her heels. Carrivick was crouched beside her with an inscrutable expression, made even more obscure by the shadows cast by the moonlight. Helena weakly pushed at him but he held fast.

"Please," He murmured. "You should let me take you back upstairs."

Helena could not bear his nearness or the sudden gentleness but she made no more effort to move; too tired, dirty and thoroughly mortified. Bowing her head so her forehead grazed his chest, she continued crying. This day had been cursed from the start, it had been cursed from the moment she spied him across the lawn earlier today and now she was crying in his arms.