The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(84)

Diana drifted over, and hovered beside Helena’s seat. Stealing another peek at the closed door, she slid into the spot beside Helena. “You were right,” she said in a faint whisper.

Diana shook her head. “I didn’t see what the world was like. Not truly. I believed my mother would be as happy to have you here, as I and Papa were.” Her lips twisted with a new cynicism that struck sadness in Helena’s breast. Inevitably all innocence was destroyed—even amongst polite Society. But how she hated that Diana should be so transformed. “Then I thought mayhap the longer you were here, she would appreciate that you had a good heart.” The young lady hardened her mouth. “My mother is not a good woman, Helena.”

Helena pressed her lips together. Mayhap if she were one of those masters with words, she’d be able to at least manage a halfhearted protestation to that, more statement than anything else, utterance.

Her sister stretched out her palm, and Helena glanced down at the neat stack tied with black velvet ribbons. Her breath caught, and she swiftly jerked her gaze to Diana’s.

“I found these,” Diana explained, turning them over to Helena’s trembling fingers.

She yanked the ribbon free, and sifted through sealed note after sealed note addressed to Ryker. Oh, God. He’d not ignored her.

“My mother prevented them from being sent.”

Helena shook her head. “Why would she do that?” she whispered. Had Ryker known how miserable Helena had been, and seen her pleadings, there would have at least been the possibility he might have accepted her back. Why would the duchess have interfered when she might have been free of her husband’s bastard?

Diana lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I think she quite hates you,” she said, and then slapped her palm over her mouth, as though she’d uttered a sailor’s curse.

Helena gave the young woman a gentle smile. For everything she’d endured, at the hands of people far crueler, the duchess’s hatred would never weaken her. “Yes, well for her hatred, there has always been you and the duke, kind and loving, and I focus on that good.” Because the alternative was to be destroyed by the darkness.

Her sister made a sound of protest. “And why should I not be kind to you? Would you hate me for sharing the blood of my mother?”

“Never.” Her answer was borne with the automaticity of truth. Diana had been as kind as if Helena had been a daughter gently bred and raised alongside her.

The young woman grunted. “Precisely.”

Helena dropped her gaze to the stack in her hands. No, the duchess’s hatred did not wound, but this betrayal . . . this gutted her. Helena’s throat worked. The woman had singlehandedly cut off all hope of communication with the only family she’d known—out of nothing more than sheer malice.

“My mother saw that not a single one of your letters ever reached our brother.”

Our brother. Helena startled. She’d not truly given thought to the fact that Ryker was as much Diana’s brother as Helena’s. He’d, of course, never recognize that familial connection. His heart was too hardened to ever set foot in this world, let alone see good in Lady Diana.

“Your maid is quite faithless, too, you know,” the woman said with a sudden mature knowing.

Actually, she didn’t. Helena frowned. How much else had escaped her notice that this young lady had seen?

Diana inched over on the seat, and lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “My maid, on the other hand, is not,” she said, stealing another glance about, and then fishing around the front of her apron pocket. She held out a single note.

Helena’s throat closed and she shook her head.

“I took the liberty of writing a letter on your behalf. Here,” she said, pressing the thick ivory vellum into Helena’s hands. “It is from Mr. Black.”

With greedy fingers, Helena grabbed the note, that link to the family she’d missed these past weeks, the people she’d thought abandoned her, not even deigning to answer a note. She tore into the page and worked a hungry gaze over the handful of sentences in Niall’s sloppy, ugly, smudged writing. Of course, Niall had long been the reasonable one of their family.

That familiar, inky mess raised a watery smile as she read.



Helena,

Your home is always here.

If you come, you will not be turned away.

Your brother would see you this afternoon at fifteen minutes past twelve.

~Niall



She slid her eyes closed, and folded the page. A tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye. Even that familiarity of Niall addressing all missives and written matters on behalf of Ryker filled her with that sense of being home.

Mayhap they’d not turn her away for marrying Robert. Mayhap they’d see what she herself had seen, a man who loved her, with all her flaws and imperfections.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Diana had opened the door Helena thought forever closed.

Her sister beamed and patted her on the hand. “Do not thank me, silly. That is what sisters do.”

Helena glanced over at the clock. Ryker was expecting her within the hour. He carved out his time with meticulous care and hers may as well have been a formal business meeting for the time he’d granted. She had but the brief meeting he’d allowed her to convince him of Robert’s worth, and to carve out a permanent connection between her and her family at the club.