How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(28)
“We’ve had no more visits from her unwanted suitor, if that’s what you’re asking.” Helen wouldn’t even speak the man’s name around the girls. She’d also gone straight to H Division police station and informed them of his antics.
“Good.” Clary clenched her fingers and stretched them out, noting that nearly every nail was stained with black ink. It made an interesting contrast to the pink still coloring much of her hand. Clenching a fist again, she recalled the moment she’d placed her hand on Gabriel’s. How he’d tensed in response. Perhaps he’d simply been wishing she’d take her paint-splattered self and leave him alone.
“Would you mind ticking off the ones you’ve finished?” Helen laid a handwritten list in front of Clary.
“You’ve invited so many people.” The list covered both sides of the paper, written in Helen’s tight, neat script, and the numbered names included thirty-five invitees.
“Your sister said her ballroom could accommodate forty easily. A few on the list were invited to bring guests.”
After Clary’s mention of the charity ball, Sophia had sent a note offering the use of her Mayfair townhouse’s ballroom. At the prospect of spending an evening with her sister and Grey, Clary was almost looking forward to the event. Almost. She still wasn’t thrilled about the notion of a ball, but the money raised would be put to good use. Even if Kit never agreed to her ladies’ magazine project, they could pour every penny into Fisk Academy. Perhaps even rent a larger space and admit more girls.
Helen pasted penny stamps at the corner of each envelope before passing them back to Clary to tick off the list. As she skimmed names looking for a Lord and Lady Avery, her finger stalled on another. Adamson.
“You sent Mr. Adamson an invitation?”
“It seemed the least I could do.” Helen gazed at Clary over the rim of her spectacles. “He did help you fend off an attack.”
“My croquet mallet would have done quite nicely.” Clary could still see him striding up. A perfectly attired Galahad coming to her rescue. After years at Rothley, she’d almost forgotten how much his excessive masculine beauty irked her. Now another emotion sparked when he was near. A reaction that had little to do with his looks and everything to do with what she felt when he touched her. “I doubt he’ll donate any funds.”
“I didn’t realize you disliked him so.” Helen settled back in her chair and cast Clary one of her bloodhound expressions. “I invited him as a kindness. Do you loathe him so much that you can’t bear to spend an evening in a crowded ballroom with him?”
“I spend every day with him.” And still found herself thinking about him at night. “Maybe he won’t come.” She swept her finger over his name before proceeding down to the lord and lady she sought.
“Well, I hope he does. He seemed dubious about the value of the school. Maybe hearing more about our programs will change his mind.” Helen planned to present information about the school’s successes. She’d even invited the oldest girls to attend and speak of their experiences at Fisk. So far, only Sally had accepted, and she’d been giddily working on sewing herself a ball gown ever since.
“He doesn’t seem to care for charity.” Clary recalled how he’d snapped at her during their cramped carriage ride.
“Well, he should, if he’s pulled himself up from the East End.”
Clary chuckled. “What makes you think that?”
“His accent.” Helen reached for the last few envelopes and carefully applied stamps to each.
“His accent is perfect.”
“Isn’t it though? Too perfect. A bit like mine, wouldn’t you say?” Helen grinned wryly. “I spent years shedding my Cockney dialect. I’m sure he has too, but I could hear it underneath all the polish, yearning to get out.”
Clary took the stamped envelopes and ticked off the final names from the list. “But he speaks of this place as if it’s loathsome, a kind of hell from which no one escapes unscathed.”
“Many of the girls upstairs would agree.” Helen shrugged her slim shoulders. “This corner of London contains some of the worst elements of the city and some of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s why my father insisted on remaining, even after he’d earned his wealth.” She cast her gaze toward the window, but her eyes glazed as if she was staring into the past. “Unfortunately, staying in the East End meant all his vices were near at hand too. Gambling, opium, and all the rest. The poverty of his last days are so vivid in my mind that I can hardly remember the years of plenty.”
Helen’s father had risen up from meager beginnings to become one of the most successful businessmen in the East End. He’d bought up, renovated, and resold numerous properties for a sizable profit. But by the time of his death, he’d lost all his wealth, forcing Helen to seek a scholarship to fund her education.
All at once, Helen burst up from the table, reached across, and clasped Clary’s arm. She pulled her toward the wall and twisted the knob of the single gaslight sconce to cut off the light, casting the front schoolroom into darkness.
“What is it?” Clary clutched Helen’s hand and found her skin clammy and cool.
“Is that him?” Helen whispered. “Is it Keene?”
As her eyes adjusted to the light, Clary could see the shape of a man in the shadows of a shop awning across the lane. He seemed to be watching them, but she couldn’t tell if it was Keene. As pedestrians passed on the pavement in front of their window, Clary blinked, and he was gone.