Helena swallowed nervously, twisting the folds of her pale silk cloak in her hands as the carriage swayed and jerked beneath her. Opposite sat Sir Edmund, looking just as pensive and out-of-sorts as herself – but Helena noticed nothing. Every ounce of energy was focused determinedly on the evening ahead, and how best she would manage herself as she ventured out into society for the first time since the disastrous Christmas ball.

One might hope that, given they were meeting with different acquaintances this evening, the news might not have reached as far as their ears – but Helena was wise enough to know that gossip as substantial and scandalous as Mary's mishap always succeeded in making its way to the furthest corners of the county. It was naïve to hope that she could pretend the whole thing never happened; Helena was fully prepared to have the incident with Lady Merton raised several times over the course of tonight's theatre performance.

Though Helena had been most anxious to arrive on time, Sir Edmund had seemed determined to dally about so that they were now in danger of missing the start of the performance. What Helena had not considered, however, was the blessing in disguise arriving a little later could be. By the time she and Sir Edmund had taken their seats in the Earl of Alverton's private box, the other patrons sat expectantly waiting for the performance to begin, thus relieving Helena of any need to speak with anyone until the interval.

Unable to relax, Helena perched on the very edge of her red velvet seat, subtly assessing which members of society were in attendance this evening. Much to her relief, the Earl of Merton's box remained vacant – however, several others were occupied by an assortment of well-to-do families who had been guests at the Christmas ball, some of whom were clearly gossiping gleefully about Helena. Feeling an uncomfortable flush creeping up her neck, Helena returned her gaze to the floor of the Alverton box until the curtain eventually rose.

The annual Christmas Spectacular put on by the local King's School was a particular festive favourite of Helena's. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than to listen to fine music, singing and reading, and the talented pupils once again offered a variety of amusements for their distinguished guests. As her father often contributed funds towards the running of the school, Helena felt a particular affiliation towards it, and more than willingly supported these yearly concerts, the proceeds of which would be donated to the poor.

Losing herself completely in the performances, Helena had almost forgotten why there was such a sizeable knot of tension in her stomach by the time the interval came around. Within seconds, however, it all came flooding back, and her heart sank as she anticipated the painful conversations which would inevitably now take place.

Turning to Sir Edmund in hope of some support, she found him to be still completely lost in thought.

"Sir Edmund, would you accompany me as I speak with some of our fellow guests?" she appealed.

It appeared to take a moment or two for Helena's words to register.

"Yes," he replied eventually, blinking blearily as if emerging from a trance. "Yes, of course."

Rising slowly to his feet, Sir Edmund made to follow Helena out of the box – but just then, they found it occupied with two faces Helena knew very well indeed.

"Simon! And Sally!" cried Helena with relief.

Standing before her were Simon and Sally Godwin – Joseph's brother and sister-in-law. Having been visiting the Godwin family since she could remember, Helena by now regarded Joseph's brother as almost extended family – and she had never been so happy to see him. He had not attended the Christmas ball, but Helena had no doubt he would have heard about the mishap with Lady Merton. Unlike the other members of society, however, Helena knew Simon would not shun her; he would remain by her side as she suffered the gossip of Chester's upper class.

"Lady Helena, and Sir Edmund – how lovely to see you both!" greeted Sally, as the customary bows and curtseys were made.

"I trust you had a pleasant Christmas?" inquired Helena politely.

"Perfectly lovely, thank you," replied Sally, "although rather quiet, naturally."

It was incredible, the instantaneous effect those words had on Helena's spirits. Grasping Sally's meaning immediately, Helena's heart plummeted as her worst fears were confirmed at last: Joseph had not returned.

"We must offer our sincerest apologies for missing the annual Alverton ball," said Simon now, but Helena barely heard him through the ringing in her ears. "There was a definite feel of snow in the air, and we did not dare chance it."

"Oh, not at all," replied Helena briskly. "You did not miss out on a particularly festive occasion, as I trust you will already have heard."

The couple exchanged a brief look, confirming that indeed they had.

Simon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"There have been – rumours," hissed Sally, in what Helena thought was rather a louder voice than necessary. "About a guest at Alverton Hall, and Lady Merton."

Helena's eyelids fluttered shut, as she found herself completely unable to speak. She had thought herself prepared to face questions on the most unfortunate event with Miss Thorpe and the Countess; yet at the first mention of the mortifying scene, Helena began to feel quite nauseous with shame.

Thankfully Sir Edmund chose that moment to come to her aid.

"There was a slight accident, yes," he admitted, keeping his voice light and neutral. "It was no more than that."

Simon and Sally exchanged another look, this time eyebrows raised in obvious disbelief. Helena felt her face growing hot, as panic rose inside her. She had been counting on Joseph's family to come to her aid and put in a good word for her with the gossipers of society; if even they had no interest in being of assistance, what hope had she of ever reclaiming the good opinion of the other neighbours?

"Fear not, Helena – you need only wait for the next inevitable scandal to take place, and the story shall soon be forgotten," said Simon eventually, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Such is the way with gossip."

"I dearly hope you are correct," sighed Helena, "though you have put my mind a little at rest, so I thank you."

"You always did concern yourself excessively over your appearance in the eyes of others," Simon told her, not unkindly.

Sally scoffed in a rather unbecoming way.

"You might very well say that, Mr G., for you are a man! We ladies are not offered the luxury of neglecting to concern ourselves with the way we are perceived by the outside world! Why, I cannot think of anything of greater importance to a lady than her reputation!"

Sally Godwin often came out with speeches of this nature – the sort which always left Helena wondering whether Sally had intended to defend or insult her. Deciding to give Sally the benefit of the doubt, Helena assumed it was the former.

"Very well," replied Simon tiredly, conceding to his wife as he always did. Turning now to address Sir Edmund, he made it clear that he had lost interest in the conversation.

"Men are so terribly infuriating, are they not?" cried Sally, as Simon and Sir Edmund launched into a conversation on what appeared to involve political matters. "Advising us not to worry about our reputations, when it is they who exert such pressure on us to be as chaste and pure as the day we were born!"

Helena remained silent, as she always did when conversations with Sally threatened to veer in a vulgar direction. She desperately cast her mind around for a change of subject – and that was how she found herself suddenly blurting out:

"Has there been any word from Joseph?"

Helena regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. Quite apart from demonstrating just how desperately she wished to hear of Joseph, her query was also a pointless one. There clearly had been no news from Joseph; Sally had, after all, promised to let Helena know the moment he wrote. Simon and Sally were likely just as worried as Helena by this stage, after so many months without hearing from him, and surely the last thing they wished was for people to draw attention to the issue.

With all this racing through her mind, Helena was very surprised to hear Sally's response.

"Why, yes!" she cried incredulously, after a brief moment's pause. "He is perfectly well, of course! We heard from him months ago, Lady Helena!"

"Months?" squeaked Helena incoherently.

She wondered if perhaps she had better sit down. With the sudden flurry of emotions within her, she hardly knew what to think.

Months! Sally and Simon had known that Joseph was well for months! Helena's chest sagged with relief, as suddenly all the horrible images of Joseph in trouble her mind had conjured up vanished into thin air. He had not come home for Christmas – she had given up hope entirely – but he truly was alive and well!

Months...

Relief gave way to anger, as Helena recalled once again Sally's promise to write to her should she receive any news.

"You gave me your word that I would be the first person to know if Joseph wrote!" cried Helena, hardly caring that she sounded far ruder than appropriate in polite company; far ruder than a lady should ever sound, in fact. No, Helena was consumed completely by rage towards Joseph's family, for daring to conceal this vital knowledge from her while she spent months torturing herself with various agonising scenarios.

A politely puzzled expression arranged itself on Sally's beautiful face, which only enraged Helena further.

"And I did, Lady Helena," Sally replied, pursing her lips. "I wrote you the very moment we received Joseph's letter."

Helena shook her head firmly.

"You did not, Sally," insisted Helena, "for no such letter arrived at Alverton Hall."

"Well, that is most peculiar indeed," murmured Sally. "It was delivered by my maid, I can assure you of that."

A brief pause.

"Are you certain that it was received correctly by your staff, Lady Helena?"

The insufferable woman!

Helena's cheeks burned with fury, instantly recognising Sally's clear jibe at Helena's skill at managing a household. There was simply no way that any of Helena's staff would neglect to deliver a letter; either it was Sally's own staff at fault, or she had never sent a letter at all. And though Helena always attempted to think the best of people, evidence was sadly pointing towards the latter.

Amidst the rage, another thought suddenly crossed Helena's mind.

"If you have heard from Joseph," she said slowly, attempting to calm herself, "then you must know when he intends to return home."

Sally let out a tinkling laugh, which sounded rather false to Helena's ears.

"Return home?" she echoed. "Oh, dear me, no!"

Helena's heart sank, as she searched Sally's face desperately for some sign of meaning.

"What – what do you mean?" she stammered.

Sally regarded Helena with a sympathetic expression.

"I should not expect Joseph to be returning home, Lady Helena."

"Then – he has chosen to remain on the continent?"

Sally sighed.

"He has returned to England," she explained, "but from the details of his last letter, it appears he has found himself rather occupied in another part of the country."

Helena's heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

She knew. Even without the meaningful flash of Sally's eyes, she understood the woman's meaning perfectly. Joseph might be alive and well, and back on English soil – but his heart was no longer Helena's to claim. All those months of hoping, and wishing, and willing Joseph to return to her – all for nothing. The man she loved was lost to her forever.

"I am sorry, Lady Helena," murmured Sally, placing her gloved hand gently upon Helena's. "I know how, ah, closely you were acquainted with my brother-in-law."

With no energy to combat the yawning pit of despair expanding within her, Helena succumbed to the agonising sorrow as she realised that her fate was now well and truly sealed. There was now no reason at all to prevent her from marrying Lord Carningsby; she could no longer pretend to herself that she was awaiting news of Joseph before accepting his advances.

Almost more painful than discovering that Joseph had found love with another was the realisation of just how desperately Helena did not want to marry Lord Carningsby. Imagining the years stretching ahead alongside such a pompous dandy brought on a fresh wave of despair, as Helena truly realised just how much she despised her life as the Earl of Alverton's perfect daughter. Never before had she felt so suffocated; so completely helpless to control her own life. There was nothing for it but to send Miss Thorpe away, as Lord Carningsby had requested, then await the moment when she would be expected to commit the entirety of her life to him...

"Lady Helena?"

Sir Edmund's conversation with Simon had come to an end, and the former was now eyeing Helena with concern. She supposed she did not look her best at this moment – quite understandable, as her heart had just been broken – and so, when Sir Edmund enquired if she was well, Helena seized the offer of an escape route.

"No," she replied, determinedly avoiding Sally's gaze. "I am not at all well – I fear it is the same illness which ails Miss Thorpe."

Sir Edmund, ever the gentleman, instantly offered to accompany Helena home, and she gladly accepted. Though it would surely look as though she were fleeing the gossip about Miss Thorpe and Lady Merton, Helena simply had not the will or energy to refrain from falling apart in public for the remainder of the performance. The news about Joseph had not sunk in yet, but it would in due course – and when it did, Helena wished to be well away from prying eyes as she sobbed relentlessly.

No sooner had the carriage conveyed them back to Alverton Hall than Helena wrenched open the door and leapt out, without waiting for assistance from a coachman or Sir Edmund.

"Lady Helena?" cried the bewildered Sir Edmund as she hurried directly up the front steps.

Without looking back, Helena clattered blindly into the entrance hall and began ascending the grand staircase, partially blinded now by the tears which could be contained no more. Blundering along the corridor towards her bedchamber, Helena hardly took any notice of her surroundings, expecting the household to have long retired to bed – and so it was with a great yelp of surprise that she found herself hurtling headlong into a petite figure swamped by a thick travelling cloak who was hurrying down the corridor in the opposite way.

"Oh!" cried Helena, winded, "I am sorry!"

Panting a little, Helena wiped her eyes so that she might see who she had so rudely barged into. 

There were few people she would have expected to come face-to-face with out in the corridor at this time of night – but as Helena's eyes travelled upwards from the grubby grey cloak to the mostly-concealed mass of red hair, she realised there was nobody she would have expected to see less.

"Miss Thorpe?" she uttered, completely perplexed. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"

----------

A/N: So, looks like it's finally time for the truth about the mysterious Miss Thorpe to be revealed! Please vote or comment if you enjoyed this chapter - and I'll see you next week for the big revelation!