Before Helena knew it, they were in the carriage, shivering against the cold despite the cloak. The windows were covered against the wind, but Helena could not resist peeking behind the curtain to see the ice glittering on the streets under moonlight so bright it might have been day. The horses cast long shadows, white clouds issuing from noses and mouths as they trotted through the streets, their hooves loud on the cobblestones.

Magic. The entire world was filled with magic. They passed houses with lit windows, families moving within, other lives that she had somehow forgotten existed, like she forgot the rest of the world, living so long within the confines of four walls.

When she sat back, she saw him looking again, the Duke’s eyes soft upon her, though his questions were directed at Phoebe, asking what music she had heard before and whether she preferred the Russian composers over the rest.

Phoebe could hardly answer such a question, though Helena longed to. She had many decided opinions on a long list of composers. It was all she could do to bite her tongue while Phoebe answered that she had never thought of comparing composers at all and found all their music to be to her taste, which was diplomatic enough even if it were a lie. Phoebe avoided music entirely whenever she could. It was a wonder she’d agreed to attend tonight.

But Phoebe seemed delighted to be on this excursion for never had Helena seen her aunt smile quite so much.

My aunt has sacrificed so much because of me. I think perhaps she would have enjoyed more outings as well. Perhaps I have been overly vain in allowing myself to stay at home. She has been kindness itself in not pushing me to go places, but all of this must change, for the good of both of us.

Vowing that she would be more attentive to those around her henceforth, Helena drew her hood a little closer around her face, enjoying the warmth with certain contentment, allowing the conversation to flow around her though little was being said.

That too was natural she supposed, for they were all still strangers, were they not? And what little Helena knew about etiquette seemed to demand her own silence more often than not. Not that she minded. It was enough to be here, to listen to the clatter of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones, knowing they were bringing her closer to the theatre with each step.

More than once she saw the Duke glance at her. “Are you cold, my Lady?” he asked finally, his eyes full of sweet concern.

Helena froze. Talking about her health seemed decidedly improper, but not answering would be worse. Finally, she shook her head, implying a negative, and so, he nodded finally and turned to make a comment to her aunt that she did not hear.

Within the cloak, Helena flushed miserably feeling that she had failed some important test. Thankfully, no one could see the brightness of her cheeks that felt impossibly hot within the stifling fabric that had felt so snug and cozy only moments before. It was with relief that she noted the carriage slowing and finally the shouts and creaks as they came to a halt.

Helena resisted the urge to peek out the window. She wanted so much to see the theatre by night, for she had heard it was lit entirely by gas lamps.

“We have arrived it seems,” the Duke said with a smile in her direction, and Helena nodded happily, too excited to speak.

She descended clumsily, tripping on her cloak and righting herself belatedly, seeing the quick frown on her aunt’s face. But even the unspoken scolding failed to take away the magic of the moment as she stood on the wide marble steps that led into a world, she had never seen but only heard about.

Already the Duke of Durham and her aunt were ascending. The Duke paused, holding out a hand to her, as he had to help her descend the stairs at home. With a gasp of delight, she stepped forward to take his hand and allow him to tuck hers within the safety of the crook of his elbow.

Her feet never touched the stairs, or if they did, she was unaware of it. The chill of the night air never so much as caressed her heated flesh. At that moment she lived the lie that she’d worked so hard to create.

Let me pretend. Please, just let me pretend that he well and truly cares, that this courtship is real, that he means something by this touch of his hand upon my arm.

They reached the top of the stairs, and so great was Helena’s happiness that she could even ignore the narrowed eyes, the look of censure from Phoebe that told Helena she had committed one more transgression on the list of many. Perhaps she should not have taken his arm in such a familiar way. Helena’s smile faltered. The hand fell away to her side.

“I thank you for your assistance,” she said prettily with a slight bobbed curtsy, her eyes carefully downcast. “I would not have wanted to fall upon the stairs again.”

Surely that would satisfy the needs of society. The blissful moment of feeling the warmth and power of him at her side would be hers to hold within the confines of her heart, where propriety held no sway. That would be hers alone.

The Duke put his arm to stop her as she headed automatically toward the door. She turned to look at him puzzled, surprised when he leaned down to say quietly for her ears alone, “I have timed our arrival so that if we wait here but a moment or two the lobby will be near empty, and you need not face a crowd. The evening is somewhat pleasant, and it would not be amiss to linger here.”

Helena’s eyes went wide, and for a moment she could not breathe. He would do this for her? She bit her lip as she considered the proposition and remembered her aunt’s displeasure at the original suggestion along these lines. To be tardy would also be a faux pas.

“I think,” she said, lifting her chin that she might meet his eyes from within the depths of her hood, “That it would be best to go in with the rest, do you not think, Your Grace? I should not like to miss a moment if that is all right with you.”

It was perhaps a brave speech for inside she was quailing at the very idea of walking into a crowded room. The last time she had tried such had been a handful of years ago, at her coming out, which had ended so disastrously.

But those were girls, little more than children. They were not used to seeing a face like mine, so it was normal for them to react fearfully. Surely this is different, for only the finer members of society would attend such a performance. The Duke himself seems unmoved by my appearance, so too will the rest of the ton.

He looked at her for a long moment, though in his eyes she saw an appreciation for her statement. Then he agreed that it was better not to be late and was relieved that she felt the same. She was glad now that she had discussed the matter with Phoebe previously, so she knew how to answer. So, it was when the door opened for her, and she stepped into the opulence of the theatre lobby that she was unprepared for what she saw.

The gaslights lent a bright, even gay air to the entire gathering. Exquisitely dressed women in gowns of silk and lace milled in the open room, some heading toward the double doors that opened into what she guessed was the theatre beyond. Others ascended the grand staircase, leading no doubt to other seating in a balcony perhaps. The men were grand in evening dress.

This was the elegant world of the ton, small as it was here in Hull. Most of society was in London, at far grander theatres than this, she knew. But even so, the few dozen people assembled here gave her a taste of what she had been missing, and now as she stood just inside the door, she could not get enough of it.

Almost without realizing it, she let the cloak fall away, taken by skillful hands that would remove it somewhere to be retrieved later. As she shook out her own skirts with shaking hands, she reminded herself that her dress was every bit as fine, that the silver and gold that sparkled at her neck and wrists spoke of jewels every bit as fine as what the ladies here wore.

Hardly aware of her aunt, or even of the Duke who still stood at her side, she took a step, her foot sinking into the plush carpet, and then another until she stood in their midst, eyes shining, as she tilted her head back to study the chandelier above, still lit by candles proving that not everything was gas light after all.

The flames flickered casting a thousand reflections on the pieces of mirror cleverly spaced around the ceiling of the room, tucked within the mural painted above depicting Greek Gods and Goddesses in all their radiant glory.

“The mural was done only a year or two ago. The artist was quite clever, do you not think?” the Duke asked, his hand at her elbow.

Helena turned to look at him with shining eyes. “I think it simply marvelous,” she said softly, wondering what song she would compose that would describe this place, this feeling of excited happiness that welled up within her.

“Helena!”

Her name, uttered in such a way by her aunt, broke the spell completely. Helena turned to look to see what Phoebe wanted and realized then how utterly quiet the lobby had grown. Around them, the bright and glittering crowd had fallen still. Pale faces staring. One woman turning away with a cry as Helena gazed upon her face.

It was everything the coming out ball had been, but more. The looks were more brazen and just as unfriendly. The confusion with which many gazes turned upon the Duke bespoke of what this outing must cost him, he could afford too little censure at such a time when it was crucial that he rebuild his fortune.

Helena wavered on her feet, wondering if she would faint. What have I done? Have I been so selfish as to ruin this man for my own pleasure?