Page 12 of The Rogue’s Countess

“What I saw were lodgings with a fireplace that hasn’t seen a fire in days. A bed that looks as if it will fall apart the moment someone lies in it, a small chifforobe, a table, and a chair,” Constance exclaimed with indignation at the description. “It wasn’t fit for the working class, let alone a noblewoman.”

The woman paled slightly, but her expression didn’t reveal what she was thinking. If anything, the woman exuded a quiet strength as she narrowed her gaze at Constance in silent indignation.

“And once again, my tongue has given offense,” Constance sighed quietly at her inability to guard her tongue. She was fortunate Lucien wasn’t within earshot, or hellfire would be raining down on her head. “Forgive me. It was not my intent to cause you discomfort. It’s simply that my family is familiar with the hardship of others, and we always do our best to help those in need.”

“If your rash nature is indicative of the rest of your family, then I understand why the Set refers to your family as they do.”

A wry smile touched Lady Helstone’s lips as she met Constance’s gaze with a small flash of amusement in her brown eyes. Relieved the woman was willing to excuse her behavior, Constance released the breath she’d been holding.

“You are most gracious in forgiving my insulting manner, not once, but twice.”

“Your comments reflect concern for my welfare, and I appreciate your kindness in doing so. However, as I’ve already said, I have no need of assistance.”

Constance frowned with frustration. It was obvious the woman thought Constance was offering her charity. She needed to tread lightly if she wanted to ensure Lady Helstone understood it wasn’t charity but an opportunity. Whether the noblewoman’s decided to seize upon the chance to improve her living circumstances was her choice.

Based on her observation in the past few minutes, Constance was certain Lady Helstone would work well with the marchioness. The real question now was whether or not the woman possessed the skills the marchioness required. A quick glance at the woman’s hands revealed she lacked the usual calluses on her fingers that most seamstresses had. So that begged the question as to what she did for Madame Sabine.

The question of why sent a dozen more questions thundering through Constance’s head, but she managed to bite her tongue. As she took another drink of her tea, a soft laugh echoed out of Lady Helstone. At the sound, Constance jerked her gaze toward the viscountess to see a small smile on the woman’s face.

“It truly is a struggle for you not to ask questions, isn’t it?”

“I confess it is far more difficult than most people realize,” she sighed with exasperation as the woman’s face lightened with a smile of amusement.

Constance smiled in return. She liked Lady Helstone. In fact, she was certain they would become great friends, especially if she was correct in thinking the viscountess was meant to be with Gideon.

“Then, I shall put you out of your misery and tell you that I do Madame Sabine’s books.”

“Her bookkeeper,” Constance murmured as she remembered Lady Wrotham bemoaning the loss of her secretary and the woman’s skill with figures.

“Such as it is.”

“How long have you been working for her?” Deliberately, Constance turned her head away from Lady Helstone and reached for the teapot to freshen up her cooling tea.

“More than two years.”

The response made Constance swallow a gasp of dismay as she remembered Lady Helstone’s impoverished circumstances. The viscountess’s words triggered several questions in Constance’s head, which immediately triggered more. That meant the viscountess had been employed by Madame Sabine shortly after Lord Helstone had been shot and killed. The timing was not lost on Constance. What had happened to make the viscountess’s finances so dire? Helstone had been a brute, but the viscount’s death should not have changed Lady Helstone’s financial situation. If anything, her husband’s demise should have given the woman a great deal more freedom than most women enjoyed.

Images of the papers she’d seen in her vision popped into her head. As if the mental pictures were a puzzle falling into place, she drew in a quick breath. P. Currer. If she remembered correctly, Lady Helstone’s first name was Phoebe. Given her vision, it was not much of a leap to think the woman was the Chronicles author. Working in Madame Sabine’s shop was the perfect place for gathering the latest gossip that the woman could use in her satire. The question was, why? Without thinking, Constance tipped her head to one side and stared intently at the other woman

“Tell me, Lady Helstone, are you acquainted with the Currer Chronicles?

Chapter 4

Phoebe struggled to control her rising panic as she stared at Lady Lyndham for a long moment. If anyone else had asked the question, Phoebe would have interpreted it as a simple query as to whether she was familiar with the Currer Chronicles. But this was the Countess of Lyndham, a member of the Rockwood family. A woman who could see what others could not.

As their gazes met, Phoebe saw the assessment in the countess’s hazel eyes. Whatever the woman had seen had convinced her that Phoebe was connected to Currer. It changed everything. This was precisely why she’d never mentioned any of the Reckless Rockwoods in her serial.

She’d heeded the rumors, and it had obviously been a wise decision on her part to avoid any mention of them. Not that the Rockwoods had actually done anything in recent memory that deserved being scorned at the hand of her pen. Phoebe folded her hands in her lap and prayed her expression didn’t reveal her anxiety.

“I think everyone in London is well-acquainted with the Currer Chronicles, my lady.”

“I meant, do you know the author personally?”

The question only strengthened Phoebe’s conviction that the countess knew she was the author of the Currer Chronicles. At the time of Alfred’s death, his heir had thrown her out of the house her dowry had bought. Her father’s poor business sense had ensured all her money went to Jasper Wakefield. Although she knew her father had thought the money would pass onto his grandchildren, he’d failed to consider the possibility she might not have children. Perhaps worst of all, her father had failed to negotiate an annual stiped for her in the event of Alfred’s early death. The end result was that she’d lost her home with no annual stipend, which had left her penniless.

It was a harsh reality Phoebe had been forced to face the minute the new Viscount Helstone had ordered her out of the house that was now his. If Lady Lyndham had seen her current lodgings in her vision, then the countess had most likely seen something that suggested Phoebe was connected to the author of the chronicles.

She blew out a small breath of quiet resignation. It was pointless to deny her association with the serial. She could only hope the countess would keep Phoebe’s involvement a secret.