Had he not been so worried about Lucy, James would have left that very moment. Clearly, he had interrupted something intimate, a meeting that was no business of his. Not that he wasn’t aware of the scandal, but he also recognized that this was not just his host, but his patron as it were, and quite honestly, he was of no mind to get involved in the gossip of the ton.

Besides, the match was a logical one, and given that he had just overheard plans for the couple’s happy marriage, James could be forgiving of such things. “I am to wish you congratulations then,” James said with a bow to the couple, wishing that he had not been so urgent in his mission to return to Lucy and could so bow out and leave them to their celebration.

How exciting for Helena, to have two parents again…

But Miss Barlowe was throwing herself at him now, and he had no idea how to handle the imminent hysteria as she clawed at his cravat, near choking him in her desperation. “Please, my Lord Duke, Your Grace, you have to understand...”

Phoebe’s hands finally came to rest upon his lapel. James could only smile as he pushed her away, thinking how modest and retiring a maiden she was. Clearly, she had been a good influence upon Helena, a thing which spoke well of his own true love’s breeding and character. He was indulgent as he spoke, steering her back into the hands of her betrothed.

“Please, have no fear, Miss Barlowe, I will keep quiet upon the matter until the banns are posted, and nuptials are held. I am indeed happy for you and only regret that I must leave in so much haste before we can celebrate the matter properly.”

“You do not understand!” Miss Barlowe wailed, her face suffused with color as to be near purple, her fists balled at her sides.

“Hush, Phoebe, let the man speak.” Barrington steered her toward the settee, pressing upon her shoulder until she sat down hard. She glared up at him, clearly unhappy with the manhandling.

Barrington ignored the look only chuckling indulgently as he patted her shoulder. “You must leave? In this storm?” Barrington glanced uneasily at the window, though it was near frosted over, and impossible for one to be able to see outside.

James nodded, feeling the urgency stealing over him again, that had led him to burst into the room in the first place. “I must. My…my old governess. She is dying, and I must hurry to her side. Lucy is very dear to me, and I must not lose time…”

“Lucy?” Barrington drew himself up, giving James a keen look. “Indeed. I understand though it is a shameful night to be out. How might I be of assistance?”

“The boy they sent barely made it on the back of our best horse. Now, both boy and beast must rest. I would that I might borrow an animal capable of taking me through the storm. I am sorry to be in such haste—” James drew to a flustered halt, unsure as to how he could make the man see precisely how important this was.

Thankfully, Barrington was a man of discernment for he seemed to understand. “Nonsense, good Duke. Clearly, you must go. A…governess…is to be respected.”

“Governess!” Miss Barlowe threw herself back upon the settee, sending cushions flying, and began to laugh, the sound high and hysterical. “By all means, go see to your precious Lucy. May she rot in every hell.”

“Phoebe!” Barrington stared at her, absolutely aghast.

“Well, what do I care, Your Grace.” She sneered the phrase. “If I am to be saddled with yon pathetic Duke for the rest of my days when it should have been him that I should have married….”

She thrust a thumb in the general direction of James who stared at her with a mixture of horror and revulsion. “But I thought…”

“You thought wrong. The note was meant for you, the Honorable Duke of Durham. Not York. How such a mix-up might have occurred…”

Barrington was also staring at her by now. His face grew hard and determined. “Go…have my man saddle my stallion. He should get you through, though it will be hard going. Campbell…” He paused here and looked at him sympathetically. “Do not let the prattling of a woman keep you from your path. She is clearly overwrought.”

Campbell. And just like that, they were equals. It likely had to do with the difficulty in courting the ladies of this family, who seemed to change their minds as often as the wind changed direction regarding whether or not they wished to be courted. Or by whom, apparently. James would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation had he not been so urgent to be on his way.

“I thank you, Barrington. If I might take my leave…” James bowed. Behind him the doors between the two rooms slammed open, sending a violent gust of cold air into the room, and revealing to him one rather frantic young lady, whose pale face belied her concern.

“You would leave, Your Grace, into a storm like this, for your servant?” Helena said, though there was no censure in her voice nor sneer, as there had been in Miss Barlowe’s. Only honest concern lay in the eyes that met his.

“I would, my Lady, for she is much more than a servant to me. Though, I think you understand that,” he said softly, looking beyond her to where Bridget stood in the shadows.

“I understand…just…the storm is severe.”

James stared into her eyes, pleading with her to understand. There were things he could not say, not out loud, and certainly not in this company, where Miss Barlowe had just declared her love for him and now was sitting sulking on the settee.

Helena met his gaze unflinchingly, strong and certain, as though she understood. He loved that about her — that she was not one to back down when a challenge arose, and that she had a quick empathy for those around her.

“Not unlike the storm that brought Lucy to your own door, I suspect,” James said softly, reminding her that, were it not for Lucy, they would not be standing there, trying to have an entire conversation with their eyes.

“Oh please,” Miss Barlowe muttered from the settee, covering her eyes with one hand as her head lolled back against the edge of the sofa. “Surely I cannot watch this. Both of you together are as tedious as trying to watch that play by Shakespeare. What is it? Romeo and Juliet? Though I might remind you that their story ends entirely in disaster. Are you so sure you would go out into the storm, Your Grace?”

“You have an odd sentiment for a lady who just expressed a desire to marry this particular Duke,” Barrington said, with a wry glance at the very person to whom he had apparently proposed to only a few minutes hence.

“May we all die here tonight. To perdition with the lot of us. The play has become a farce, and I no longer wish to have a part within it.” Miss Barlowe shook her head. “Helena, child, see me to my room. I seem to have come down with one of my sick headaches.”

Bridget made a noise behind them as if to protest, but Helena bent obediently to the task of lending an arm to her aunt, who leaned heavily upon her as she made her way to the door. She paused there though, despite her burden, and looked back at James with such a pained look in her eyes that he caught his breath.

“There were things I would have said to you,” Helena said softly. “Things I should have said to you all along. It was my note that caused all of this. I had intended for it to bring you here to speak to me.”

James blinked in surprise, aware that Barrington had likewise straightened suddenly, and shot a different sort of look altogether in Miss Barlowe’s general direction. “We will speak when I return then,” James said, with all the solemnity of this being a sacred vow.

“You are returning then?” There was a hint of shy wonder in Helena’s voice, and for a moment, James hoped that things were not so ruined between them after all, for she had fled the table so quickly. Here he had been attempting to court her for weeks now, and they were yet to finish a meal, or even a tea, together.

“I shall return.”

It would have to be enough. Miss Barlowe chose that moment to make a noise that might have been termed rude, signaling the conversation was clearly over.

Which left him to wonder what it was that Helena had wanted so badly to say that she would want to meet him in this drawing room by herself. It was a shame things had gotten so badly muddled.