Helena had long since given up the idea of having a luncheon with her aunt. Phoebe usually enjoyed morning callers without her and so ate with them if at all. To understand that the Duke of Durham would be in attendance at this meal seemed outrageous and strange. Men did not take part in luncheon — it was strictly a ladies’ meal.

She glanced out the windows as she passed them, noting the way the snow blew against the panes. Undoubtedly, they were trapped here for the afternoon. Her father usually ate something at his club, she knew.

Shivering somewhat, Helena hastened her steps to the dining room, wishing that Tess had been the one to assist her in making herself ready. The flowered dress she wore felt out of place, being far too summery for such a dismal day. The fabric was thin, and her limbs nearly frozen by the time she found her seat at the table.

Thankfully the fire was high in the room, taking the edge off the chill. Helena slid into her seat, noting that Phoebe was already there. The gentlemen were not.

She wanted to ask if they were in fact coming, but the number of place settings suggested they were.

Phoebe smiled as she sat, so Helena felt she was at least doing something right in arriving early. Her timing was impeccable, in fact, for a moment later the door opened to admit her father followed by the Duke of Durham.

Helena’s face flamed, and she ducked her head to stare at the table in front of her as he sat, unsure what to say, outside of a murmured greeting as he took his place.

He was too close. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. How do I do this? I must tell him somehow, he is not to come here again, that I will not hold him to this agreement. He can even keep the brooch. I said as much in that letter. That letter! How I wish Aunt Phoebe had not burned it!

The Duke of Durham was the very picture of good manners and fine breeding. He truly was a beautiful thing to behold, in his looks and bearing to be sure. But his beauty went deeper than that, in the kind smile he bestowed upon the girl serving the meal when she stumbled and nearly dropped the platter of sandwiches she carried.

He was just as kind to her, turning to ask her how she fared, his eyes filled with a sweet concern that only went to prove how fine his soul was.

“I am well, thank you, Your Grace,” she said in response, looking with dismay at the soup her father had ordered ‘to warm them up’ for her fingers were especially bad today with the sores making them stiff. Soup would be very difficult to manage under such circumstances.

Phoebe made a sort of strangled coughing sound from the Duke’s other side, and Helena flushed. She suspected her silence was being seen as rude, though it seemed so very difficult to wrap her tongue around the words. “I wish to thank you for the outing last night. It was highly…educational.”

At that, her father exploded into laughter. “Especially for the thief, I should say. From what I understand, he was begging the constable to lock him away by the time he got there.”

Helena flushed. Why must he bring up the matter as though it were little more than a terrible joke?

“I thought you very brave,” the Duke replied, proving again, how kind a nature he possessed to make such a statement.

This was the problem with him. The Duke was entirely too considerate. And to keep him here was cruel and even unkind. She must, at some point in this visit, express to him everything she had written in the letter before this went any further.

Her father spoke into the silence that followed that statement. “I am well-pleased that our young friend here will be staying the night. I would much appreciate it if both you ladies took it upon yourselves to make him feel at his most welcome this evening, as I am sure this storm has inconvenienced him greatly.”

It was a gentle chiding, and Helena flushed, fumbling with her spoon desperately only to have it clatter into the bowl as it slipped through her fingers. Soup splashed in every direction, staining the linen tablecloth and her gloves both with a fine spatter of chestnut soup.

Helena stared aghast at the mess. Why, oh, why must I always be so clumsy?

“Allow me.” James offered her his own napkin to blot at the stains upon her fingertips. The touch was too intimate as their hands brushed, and she glanced at him, startled, taking the cloth with her breath somehow becoming so trapped within her chest that she could not remember how to expel it again.

“Helena perhaps it would be best if you went upstairs to change…” Phoebe said, glancing over in dismay, even as the servants moved forward as one to whisk away the bowl and to place a fresh setting before her.

“Nonsense. Let the girl have her meal. She looks as though a strong wind would blow her away,” her father said, bending to his own soup as though the world had not just come crashing to an end at the two places down from his left.

“I…” Helena disliked these moments, where she became caught between father and aunt. Go or stay? She twisted the napkin in her hand, suddenly unsure.

“I would like very much for you to stay. It is only a little soup,” James said from beside her.

She stared at him, wondering when he had become ‘James’ in her mind, and not the Duke or Durham. Oh, was her heart already so imperiled?

“I…I am most sorry, Father,” she said finally, rising quickly from the table before she could change her mind. “If you would all excuse me.”

She curtseyed prettily, noting that her aunt seemed well satisfied with her response, which meant she had to be doing something right. Her father didn’t understand the niceties of high society perhaps. But then he had spent many long years at sea. He could perhaps be forgiven. But James…no, the Duke of Durham would know, and it was his opinion that mattered.

It should not matter. She was going to set this entire affair straight as quickly as she could.

But not now.

Helena drew herself up, and with a somewhat strained smile, she somehow managed to find the ability to move her feet toward the door, and from there into the hall, and up the stairs to her room.

To her credit, she didn’t cry until she got there. Nor did she allow herself the luxury of the tears for very long. It was with grim determination that she stripped the soiled gloves from her hands and went again to her desk where she pulled out a sheet of foolscap and began to write.

Much as she hadn’t realized it at the time, Tess had given her an idea. While it seemed ridiculous to send a letter to someone within her own house, a note would not be amiss, especially one asking him to speak with her privately before dinner.

Helena frowned. She would need Bridget to act as chaperone for it would not be proper to be caught alone with the James. The Duke, she told herself firmly.

With firm resolve, she dipped her pen into the inkwell and began.

My Lord Duke,

Please do me the honor of a moment of your time. I will expect you in the sitting room a half hour before dinner. I feel there is a matter that we must resolve between us regarding our relationship so long as we remain under the same roof.’