Page 18 of The Duke of her Dreams

“I never-” Her aunt did not wait to hear the explanation that she wanted to give. Instead, she stared at Helen with contemptuous disdain before storming out. The slam of the door made Helen shake with fear.

She hated herself and everything now. The books, the dresses, everything. Helen stormed to the closet in rage and tears, pulling the clothes out and scattering them to the floor. She hated Miss Harrington and Lady Carstairs for not even bothering to listen to her explanation. But above all, she hated the person that caused everything — the man in the darkness.

Helen could still hear his laugh in the night, keeping her awake and taunting her. Sometimes she would cover her head with the blankets despite the heat just to keep the voices away. The torment was getting harder to live with by the day, and no one was making it any easier.

Resting against the wall to catch her breath, Helen cried till her body was sore. With her aunt, there was no hope for an explanation. Her heart squeezed painfully as the thought of her predicament hit her. She slid to the ground, taking the dust with her. The silence came back, demeaning and melancholic.

She heard whispers behind the door, barely audible enough for her to make sense of, but Helen got to her feet almost immediately, curiosity propelling her forward. She wanted to hear what they were saying, to know if her fate was being decided.

“—keep her in there,” Aunt Gertrude said, and Helen noticed the subtle hint of anger in her voice. “We can’t have the neighbors spreading rumors of her ruined reputation here as well.”

Heavy footfalls rang through the hallway as her aunt talked with someone, keeping their voices even lower so that Helen could not hear what they were saying, but her aunt’s words ate at her mind.“Keep her inside?”She did not even know what her aunt meant by that.

Soon, Helen heard a click, and she rushed to the door. She pulled the knob and slammed the door with clenched fists, but no one answered. She now knew what her aunt meant. They were going to lock her inside to prevent her from shaming them further.

* * *

Helen awoke to the musty scent of the room and suddenly wished that Sonya was there to put roses in a vase and let the perfume permeate everywhere. Still groggy, the sound of the door slamming cleared all the sleep from her eyes. Helen turned around to the source of the noise to find her aunt standing in the doorway.

“You are asleep? When the morning is full and bright?” Helen shook her head, not wanting to cause any trouble for herself.

“Get up,” her aunt scolded. “The parlor needs to be cleaned, and the floors need some scrubbing. Guests might arrive, and I need the house to be shining before they come. Is that clear?”

Helen’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “I beg your pardon, aunt?”

“You heard me right, shameless girl,” her aunt sneered. “Now, get to work.”

“Work? But I never —”

“You are not in London anymore. In this house, you will do what I say if you want warm bread to fill your belly and blankets to keep out the cold. Is that clear?”

Helen swallowed hard. She did not want to give her aunt the pleasure of seeing her cry. Weakness was not an option if she wanted to return to London. At the moment, her aunt was in total control of everything. Helen now understood why the house was silent and dirty. Aunt Gertrude wanted her to suffer.

“Yes,” she whispered softly, cursing the day she went to the ball.

With a broom in hand, Helen swept the drawing-room. It was hard work, but she thought of everything she had left behind in London. That was the only consolation she had for the torment she was going through. She sneezed horribly as she worked, clearing the cobwebs from the vaulted ceilings. After a few hours, her body was weak with exhaustion. Helen rested on the broom tightly, like it was her lifeline. Breathing hard and red-faced from all the sneezing, she dared to sit on the gilt chairs in the drawing-room to catch her breath.

Helen closed her eyes, escaping to her mind. She held the broom gingerly, her imagination coming to life. It was beautiful and surreal, but the Duke was before her once again. The drawing-room became filled with hedges, flowers blooming in a dazzling potpourri of colors. And he was there, with tousled brown hair and broad shoulders.

He leaned toward her, a smile on his face. His eyes were the brightest blue, like the skies on a sunny day. The Duke angled his head toward her, drawing his face to hers. Helen smiled back, suddenly aware of the lack of space between them. She stuck her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to her, and their lips met in one powerful kiss.

“Those are the floors you should be scrubbing?” Aunt Gertrude’s menacing voice tore through Helen’s thoughts like sharpened steel.

She scampered back, falling off the chair. The broom dug into her side painfully, and she choked back a sob. Sadness washed over her powerfully, just like the happiness she felt moments ago. Helen struggled to her feet, holding up the broom.

Having finished sweeping, Helen wanted some food to quell the pangs of hunger in her stomach. She was uncomfortably hot, tired, and hungry. Beads of perspiration formed on her face, streaming down to her lip.

“I just finished sweeping,” Helen said, staring at her shoes. “I wanted to rest a bit before scrubbing.”

Aunt Gertrude trailed a finger over the leather chair. Dust covered her finger and her face twisted with anger. “The chairs are in dire need of dusting. Did you not do that before sweeping?”

Helen shook her head, already confused. She did not know the order in which the chores were supposed to be done. So, she started with the easiest.

“Foolish girl!” her aunt lamented. “Were you never taught to do chores?”

“I am sorry,” Helen pleaded, not wanting to meet her aunt’s eyes. Most times, she did not even bathe herself. The maids did everything: cooking, scrubbing, cleaning. Not once had Helen entered the kitchens.

“You are sorry? Get back to cleaning immediately. Refuse and your dinner will be fed to the carp.”

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