Chapter Four
Baldwin’s mother was chatting with Mr. Shephard and his daughter, but he hardly heard whatever pleasantries were being exchanged. He was too busy looking at Helena Monroe.
She was even lovelier in sunlight than she had been by starlight. She had a slender, expressive face. Right now the expression was of discomfort, though. When she’d first come onto the veranda, she had met his stare, he had felt the connection he’d felt the first time they met.
But now she was looking at her feet instead of his face. And he didn’t like it.
“Baldwin,” his mother said, rather sharply.
He jerked his attention back to her and to their guests. “Terribly sorry. Welcome, welcome. I hear you are in shipping, Mr. Shephard?”
Shephard’s lips thinned slightly. “Yes, as I just told your mother, my holdings in Boston are vast, indeed. And my father fought on the right side of the war forty years ago: yours.”
Baldwin wrinkled his brow, uncertain if that was supposed to impress him. He happened to agree that the English side had been correct, but the idea that an American would turn his back on his own burgeoning country still sat badly.
“Very good,” he said with an arched brow. “Well, please come and enjoy yourselves. I’m sure we’ll find much to talk about today.”
His mother shot him a look, then said, “Yes, let me take you to your places.”
Mr. Shephard and his daughter followed her away, and Helena moved to go with them, but Baldwin stepped into her path. He hadn’t planned to do it, it just happened.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his and he forced a smile. “We meet again, Miss Monroe.”
“Indeed we do, Your Grace,” she said.
“Did you manage to count all your stars?” he asked.
Color flooded her cheeks, but she smiled regardless. That smile. God, but it was fetching. Filled with light and effortless pleasure and kindness.
“Not quite. I’ve a few more for the next time I’m on a terrace. You are welcome to join me if you’d like.”
The moment her words escaped her lips, his mind spun an image of doing just that. Standing on a terrace, his terrace, with this young woman. Counting stars with her like he had no care in the world. And then doing more than counting. More than kissing those soft-looking lips. More than a gentleman should do.
He caught his breath as his thoughts went wild and drew back a step. “Well, I should see to the rest of my guests. Your uncle and cousin are just there.”
He motioned his hand and then bowed slightly before he strode away. But not before he saw a flicker of hurt and embarrassment cross that lovely face. How he wanted to repair the damage he’d done, but he couldn’t.
Just as he couldn’t like Helena Monroe or allow this strange, immediate and very physical draw to her to develop further. That was an impossibility that he had to put away.
Helena kept a tight smile on her face and nodded along with the conversation at her table. Normally that would not have been a chore. She was seated with her uncle and cousin, yes, but somehow they had also been placed with the lovely Duchess of Donburrow—Baldwin’s sister—and her husband, the silent but devastatingly handsome duke. Alongside them were the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood, who were charming companions, as well.
And yet, despite the good conversation and smooth handling of her lout of an uncle, Helena could not be at ease. She kept reliving her encounter with Baldwin…damn it, Sheffield…just after she’d arrived.
It was humiliating to think of how he’d approached her and then dismissed her when she’d been so forward. How his face had fallen and he’d all but run away from her. She’d been imagining the man had liked her, just a little, when they talked about stars a few nights before.
Now she wasn’t certain he even tolerated her.
“Miss Monroe, you are Miss Shephard’s cousin, are you not?” the Duchess of Donburrow asked as she refreshed her tea.
Helena swallowed hard and ignored the pointed look of her uncle. If he had his way she would not be asked anything. He didn’t want her seen at all and kept reminding everyone she was serving at her cousin’s pleasure.
Another humiliation.
“Yes,” she said. “My mother is Mr. Shephard’s sister.”
“It must have been hard for your family to part with you,” the Duchess of Crestwood said. “It’s such a long journey, and I hear you will stay with us at least the Season.”
Helena hesitated. The subject of her family was not an easy one, and she was searching for a smooth explanation when Uncle Peter snorted out a laugh.
“Her family can do well enough without her,” he said, his mouth full of biscuit. “They were happy enough to see her be put to a valuable vocation rather than—”
“I needed a companion and Helena had nothing better to do, so here we are,” Charity interrupted, and Helena had never been so happy about anything in her life. Had he truly been about to imply or even outright say what had separated her from her family’s good graces?
Suddenly the terrace, with all its lovely spring breezes and beautiful flowers, felt confined. She couldn’t help but note how the others at the table stared at her, filling in their own opinion of whatever her uncle was going to say, no doubt. Her mind spun and her hands shook.
“We are very happy you are all here,” Baldwin’s sister said with a warm smile. “And now I see my mother rising from her table. She has some lawn games planned for the remainder of our time together.”
Helena moved in a fog, only half-listening as the Duchess of Sheffield made her announcements about lawn games. Then everyone started to rise, shuffling toward the large set of stone steps that led into the garden below. Helena hung back as they did so, staring back over her shoulder at the house. She needed a moment to gather herself. To try to put on that friendly, happy face that was required to survive the endless indignities serving her uncle and cousin required.
So she backed away, happy that her uncle seemed more interesting in prattling on at the Dukes of Donburrow and Crestwood than he was at noticing she’d disappeared. She turned and entered the house, sucking in deep breaths of air as she did so. Blindly, she walked through the parlor and down the hall, turning toward another of the rooms so she might have a better chance of escaping the discovery of whatever servants came to tidy up the veranda from the tea.
As she turned the corner into the room, she came to a sudden stop. This was no parlor where she could have a moment alone. This was the Duke of Sheffield’s study, and the man, himself, was seated at a large, mahogany desk across the room, his gaze focused on a letter in his hand. She hadn’t even realized he’d left the party, but here he was.
She ought to have turned and run right then and there. Then he’d never know she was there. But she couldn’t. She found herself staring at him, at his stern expression, at the way he lifted a hand and ran it through his hair as his lips pressed together.
And her heart fluttered wildly.
He glanced up, and the moment she’d been granted to escape undetected disappeared. His lips parted and he set the letter down as he stood.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, staggering away and shaking her head as reality returned. “I shouldn’t have intruded.”
He lifted a hand. “You have not, Miss Monroe. Please, don’t run away.”
She swallowed and stopped backing from the room. Less than an hour ago she had felt pushed aside by this man. Now he came around the desk and there was no one in the world other than him.
“I-I didn’t know you were a duke that night on the terrace at the Rockford ball,” she burst out.
His brow knitted and he stared at her in confusion. “I realized later that neither of us made our introductions. I suppose our conversation was too interesting to think of it. Would it have made a difference if you’d known?”
She shifted. “I prattled on rather foolishly, didn’t I? And treated you without the deference that the title requires.”
He snorted out a laugh. “I have quite enough deference, both false and real, Helena, I assure you.”
She blinked. Had he just called her by her given name? He had, for the word hung between them like a caress. She did not correct him. “Still, I shouldn’t have been so informal.”
“You were charming.” He took another step closer, and she couldn’t help but catch her breath. He was quite tall, quite confident. It felt like he filled the space, but not in an intimidating way. It was actually almost comforting. “I enjoyed our conversation.”
“As did I,” she admitted because she could think of no proper lies that would create the distance she so obviously needed.
He tilted his head as he eased to a stop at less than an arm’s length from her. He made no move to touch her. Probably best considering the tension that now coursed in the room between them.
“Why did you leave the garden party?” His voice was suddenly rough, low, not accusatory, but undeniable.
She worried her lip a moment. There was no earthly reason for her to tell this man, this stranger, this duke who was utterly out of her sphere, the truth. But she felt that very thing on her tongue. A thousand words that explained her reduced position and the discomfort and shame heaped upon her because of it.
“I needed a moment,” she said. Not a lie. Not the whole truth. His face lit up with interest as she said it, and she could hardly think or breathe as she continued, “And I took a wrong turn, thinking this was a parlor where I might have a bit of peace.”
“Lucky for me,” he murmured, his dark brown gaze holding hers firmly.
She swallowed hard. “What about you, Your Grace—”
He flinched. “Baldwin.”
“You wish for me to call you Baldwin?” she repeated, her voice little more than a squeak that hardly breached even the limited distance between them. “Your—your given name?”
“If we are alone, yes. I prefer it. The title is not…comfortable. It never has been.” He blinked as if he hadn’t meant to say that. “I suppose you’re asking why I am not at my own party?”
She nodded, though in truth she’d all but forgotten that question had once been on her tongue.
He ran that same hand through his hair again and she wished she could repeat the action. Feel the short locks against her fingertips. Ascertain if his hair was soft, if it tickled her palm.
“I had a piece of business that came up,” he explained. “Something I thought could not wait. Turns out it was…” He trailed off and looked behind him at his desk. “It wasn’t what I was hoping for.”
She saw the tension on his face. Not the heated kind that so unexpectedly flowed between them, but something less comfortable. Something unpleasant. It drew his lips down in a deeper frown.
“I’m sorry,” she said slowly, and wished she were in a position where she could say more. After all, she knew disappointment, she knew regret. She recognized them both. She recognized when a man could use a sympathetic ear.
“You needn’t be,” he began with a shrug that pushed aside all those emotions he likely hadn’t meant to reveal. “It is not your problem, after all.”
“That does not mean I’m not sorry that it is yours,” she responded.
He tilted his head and the silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but also not without tension or heat. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something to her, but before he could there came a sound from the hallway.
“Blast it all, Helena, where are you?”
Helena squeezed her eyes shut for a beat. “My cousin,” she murmured.
“We could shut the door,” Baldwin suggested.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. He seemed serious. Too serious. And the idea of him reaching behind her and shutting them in alone in his office was tempting beyond measure.
And inappropriate beyond words.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
More disappointment flowed over his features before he shrugged. “Of course.”
She drew a ragged breath, then called out, “I’m here, Charity.”
There were footsteps and then Charity appeared in the doorway. “Honestly, Papa is going to have a—oh, Your Grace.”
Her tone changed from strict to sweet in nothing more than a word. Charity smoothed her gown and pushed past Helena into Baldwin’s office, her hips shimmying with every step. Helena watched his reaction, watched as his gaze slid over her pretty cousin, from her perfect blonde hair to her expensive slippers. Whatever he thought, Helena could not tell. He had shut off the sharing of any emotion.
“Miss Shephard,” he said, his tone just as unreadable as his expression. “Good afternoon once again.”
“I hope my cousin hasn’t been bothering you,” Charity said with a glare at Helena that made the heat of a blush flood her cheeks. “She obviously doesn’t know her place if she is roaming through your home unattended.”
“On the contrary, I was happy to bump into her,” Baldwin said. “And just as happy that you have come to save me from the distraction that took me from the party. Shall we return together, ladies?”
He looked toward Helena, but before she could respond, Charity sidled up beside him and glided her hand right into the crook of his elbow. “Lead the way, Your Grace,” she cooed, batting her pretty blue eyes at him.
He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
The pair walked to the door, and Helena stepped aside as they exited the room. She trailed after them, heart throbbing as Baldwin led them back out onto the terrace and down to the garden where the games had already began.
But he looked back as they reached the grass. Right back at her. Their gazes met, held, and she forced a small smile at him. He returned something much the same, and then he released her cousin and returned to the lord of the manor act that he had to play.
But she’d seen something real in him. Something she ought not to have seen. And she would not forget it soon, nor forget the feelings this unattainable man inspired in her.
Baldwin watched from his front step as the last of the carriages pulled away, taking his guests back to where they’d come from. Leaving him in peace, at last. Only he didn’t feel peaceful.
“That went well.”
He jumped, for his sister Charlotte’s voice was right beside him. He didn’t even know she had moved so close.
He pivoted toward her with a shrug. “As well as any of these things do.”
Charlotte stared at him a moment and then turned. “Ewan, didn’t you and Mama want to talk about improvements to the garden back in Donburrow? You even brought a diagram, I think.”
Ewan had been standing back, but now he arched a brow at his wife. Then he nodded and held out an elbow to the Duchess of Sheffield. She took it with a warm smile for her much-beloved son-in-law and said, “Oh, excellent, I’ve been so looking forward to the time I’ll spend with you later this summer. If we have all our plans made before then, it will make the visit all the more pleasant. Will you and Charlotte join us, Baldwin?”
“No, for I think I’d like to take a walk with Baldwin,” Charlotte answered for him. Her dark green eyes continued to hold his, even and unwilling to accept refusal.
Baldwin knew when he was beaten and held out an elbow. “To the garden, then,” he said.
Ewan and the duchess entered the house together, and Baldwin took his sister down the steps and around a pretty path that took them into his garden. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “And does Ewan really wish to talk to Mama about azaleas?”
Charlotte laughed softly. “Yes, he truly did. He really does plan to redesign the garden and Mama has such a talent in that arena. But he also knows when I want an excuse to be alone with my brother.”
“And he always gives you what you want,” Baldwin mused.
She glanced up at him, and her smile was soft and filled with pleasure. “He does,” she said. “The past five months of our marriage have been the happiest of my life. I love him, Baldwin. It makes all the difference in the world.”
Baldwin nodded slowly. “I’m very happy for you, then, Charlotte. I was hard on him during your…well, I suppose we’ll call it a courtship, despite how close we’ve always been. But it’s only because I wanted to keep you from grief.”
“Is that the same reason you lie to me now?” she asked, releasing his arm as they at last entered the garden. “To keep me from grief?”
He hesitated. Charlotte had been pressing him to reveal his troubles for a long time. Years, probably. He always dodged it. Now he felt even more of a drive to do so. If she told Ewan then everyone in their group of friends would know.
Humiliations galore would follow, even if intentions were the best.
“Lie to you?” he said, keeping his tone light. “You wound me.”
He paced away but felt her watching him. Her concern was palpable.
“I’m no fool,” she said softly. “Is it so very bad that you can’t trust me?”
He pivoted. “You assume there is some heavy secret on my shoulders. Can you not just believe that I am merely a more serious person than my friends and leave it at that?”
She tilted her head. “Dearest brother, I have been a keen observer of your behavior for twenty-five years. You’ve changed in the last five of them. Since Father died.”
He flinched. “Well, how could I not be changed? I became a duke, did I not? There are responsibilities—”
“It’s more than that,” she interrupted, coming to take his hands. He allowed it, even as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She stared into his face for a moment, then sighed. “Very well, I can see I’m making things worse with my prying rather than better. You know that I love you and that I am here for you if you change your mind.”
He nodded before he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I do know both those things. I appreciate them, I assure you.”
Her concern had not left her face, but she smiled regardless. “Let me change the subject then.”
“Do!” he encouraged with a laugh as he motioned for her to walk with him.
“Mama seems determined to parade a cadre of ladies before you this Season. So many ‘prospects’ today that it made my head spin. Have any of them caught your eye?”
Baldwin swallowed as he pictured the one and only lady in attendance who did capture his interest: Helena. When she’d intruded upon him in his office, he had wanted such things. Things his normally very proper brain didn’t let him think about. He was a gentleman, raised by a gentleman. One did not think about grabbing ladies and kissing them. Nor of shutting the office door and…well, doing more than merely kiss.
That those impulses reared up in him around Helena was shocking, frankly. It set him on his heels.
“I shall turn the question on you,” he said. “You met all my prospects today. Are there any that you could call sister without pulling a face?”
Her expression softened. “I would accept anyone you married, assuming she made you happy.”
Baldwin bent his head. Happiness was not in the equation at present. “That doesn’t count as a response. You always have an opinion.”
“I’ve known most of your prospects for years,” she said slowly. “They’re all decent enough people. None have the...the spark that I thought you’d seek. The only stranger in our midst was that American girl, Charity Shephard.”
Baldwin swallowed. Here was Charlotte, dancing ever closer to the truth. “She’s interesting, I’d say.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted. “That would be one way of putting it. She’s different, but I suppose that comes from being raised in a very different environment than ours.”
“You don’t like her,” Baldwin said flatly, and by his sister’s expression he could see he’d struck on the truth.
“Perhaps she’ll grow on me,” she said with a shrug. “You know who I did like today?”
“Who?” he encouraged.
“Her cousin, Helena.”
Baldwin let out his breath softly. Of course. Of course Charlotte would like Helena. Because the universe was patently unfair. “Yes, she’s very likeable,” he said. “You were seated with her and her family, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Charlotte’s smile widened. “There’s this little spark to her that I cannot help but be attracted to. She comes across as someone who’d be a good friend. Who would fit in with Emma, Meg and Adelaide, too.”
These were the wives of his married friends, and Baldwin found himself nodding. He could easily see Helena amongst their ranks. Emma and Adelaide would be attracted to her sweetness, and Meg would love that she was the kind of woman who counted stars without apology.
“Well, she’s serving as her cousin’s companion,” he said, reminding himself as much as informing his sister. “I doubt she could be considered a—a prospect.”
Charlotte wrinkled her brow. “I’ve never known you to be such a snob, Baldwin. Her family back in Boston sounds to be as good as her cousin’s. And we’ve never stood on ceremony in our circles.”
Baldwin shook his head. Once again, they were back to a subject he couldn’t…wouldn’t discuss. “Well, I’m sure she’ll find a match if she wishes to do. Why don’t we join Mama and Ewan?”
His sister stared at him a moment, but then shrugged. “Certainly, if you’d like to. I suppose we’ve all had more than enough air today.”
She turned toward the terrace and Baldwin fell into step beside her. But even as he tried to refocus, to push aside the topics his sister had broached, he found he kept returning to images of fiery red hair, bright green eyes and a smile that lightened his load.
Images of a woman he could not pursue, no matter how pleasant a thought that was.