Chapter Seven
Helena pulled the delicately stitched gown tight across Charity’s slender shoulders and went to work on buttoning the long line of pearls along her back. This was something her cousin’s maid could have done, of course, but Charity had asked for her.
And Helena had no way to refuse. So she swallowed her humiliation at the way Charity’s maid had glared at her, and did her best to play the role of servant.
Not that Charity seemed to notice. She had been chattering nonstop since Helena entered the room a quarter of an hour before.
“But Papa is set on a duke,” she continued, and for the first time Helena lifted her gaze and attended to Charity’s words.
“It is the highest title until one gets to the princes,” Helena said, hoping she sounded light and disinterested in the subject. She was anything but. Dukes were of interest to her. Well, one duke. One who would be in attendance tonight.
“Well, he looked into princes, too,” Charity said with a shrug that yanked the buttons from Helena’s fingers. “There are no good prospects available.”
“Hmmm, so a duke it is,” Helena muttered as she went back to her work.
“There will be dukes aplenty tonight. Though many of then are already married, which seems such a waste. Did you know that the group of them have a club of some kind?”
Helena swallowed. “Do they? Where did you hear that?”
“When we went on our calls the other day. I was bored almost to tears—the English are so stuffy. But you must have had it worse, Helena. Having to stay here and read?”
Helena stifled a smile. Not only did her cousin not understand in the slightest that she enjoyed reading, but she had not mentioned the call she had received from The Duchesses, as she now thought of them. None of the servants had done so either, so her afternoon with Emma, Meg, Adelaide and Charlotte had remained her lovely secret.
“I managed,” she said, finishing the buttoning at last and moving to examine her cousin. No one could find fault with her clothing, certainly. Uncle Peter made sure of that, for he had provided her with a ridiculous allowance for gowns.
Helena couldn’t help but glance at her own dress. It was serviceable enough, styled to attend a party like tonight’s. But she would not stand out in a plain dark green gown with no flourishes. Not that she needed to. She was not meant to capture the attention of a duke, after all.
“You look lovely. Shall I call Perdy to do your hair?”
Charity arched a brow. “I want to talk to you. You do it.”
Helena stared at her for a beat. She could not tell if Charity acted this way out of a flare of power or if she were truly so selfish that she was oblivious to the position she put Helena into. Of course, the purpose behind her demands mattered little. Helena had to obey them one way or another.
“Very well, though I doubt I’ll do as well as your maid,” she said, and barely contained her sigh as she slid a few pins between her lips and caught up Charity’s brush and comb.
“Still, it isn’t only dukes,” Charity said, picking up almost at the same point where she’d left off a moment before. “Father isn’t laying off the others, no matter what he says. He made me call on the Earl of Grifford two days ago, did I tell you that?”
Helena shook her head and mumbled around the pins, “No, I don’t think that name came up.”
“Oh, Helena,” Charity said with a sigh. “He is…old.”
Helena swirled a few strands of hair up and slid a pin into place. “How old?”
“Twenty years my senior,” Charity replied. She pulled a face. “I mean, he is titled. And I’ll admit he isn’t entirely awful. He’s rather dashing, actually, for a man of his years. But still.”
For not the first time, Helena actually felt a twinge of pity for her cousin. Charity had almost as few choices about her future as Helena did. And while Charity might be frivolous and occasionally even unkind, she was not, at her core, a terrible person. She had simply been spoiled; Helena had watched it for years. And for a person accustomed to having whatever she wanted, being turned into a bartering chip must have been quite the shock to the system.
“Well, it sounds as though Uncle Peter has dukes on the mind, so perhaps he only sees Lord Grifford as a standby.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Charity’s bottom lip poked out in a pout for a moment before she straightened up. “There will be a few eligible men there. The Dukes of Sheffield and Tyndale, he says. I haven’t met Tyndale yet, though I’ve heard he’s rather handsome. A bit broody, according to gossip. But Sheffield is very handsome.”
Helena nearly choked on the pins between her lips and withdrew them before she spoke again. “I suppose no one could deny that he is.”
“Oh, come, Helena,” Charity snapped. “You obviously think he is or you wouldn’t have arranged to find yourself alone with him.”
Helena gaped. “I did not arrange for anything! As I’ve told you and Uncle Peter at least a dozen times, I merely took a wrong turn and found myself in the man’s study! It was a mistake, that is all.”
Charity didn’t look entirely convinced. “Perhaps. But I would advise you to be careful, Helena. Papa will not be…pushed.”
Helena frowned. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
Except she did. She knew her uncle was not fond of her. He had brought her here because he was cheap and wanted a companion he didn’t have to pay. But if she stepped out of the role he intended for her, she knew there would be consequences.
Charity rose to her feet with a shrug. “If you don’t do anything wrong, there will be nothing to account for, I suppose.” She leaned closer to the mirror, turning to admire herself from each side. “Well, I look very pretty despite your reduced skills with hair. I’ll catch a duke yet. If not Sheffield, then perhaps his friend or one of the others. They’re all the same, at any rate.”
She flounced past Helena and out the door. When she was gone, Helena let out a deep sigh as she stared at herself in the mirror.
“No,” she whispered. “They are most definitely not.”
Then she followed Charity on the way to the next step on her journey. One she hoped for her own sake would not put her too much in the path of a man who was entirely out of her reach.
If Helena had hoped to stay out of the path of the Duke of Sheffield, her dreams were dashed the moment she arrived at Charlotte and Ewan’s home. As their party mounted the steps, with her trailing behind her uncle and cousin, there he was in the foyer with his family to greet them. Her heart, apparently disconnected from all the promises her mind had made to her, skipped a beat like she was the heroine in one of her books.
It was not an unpleasant sensation. She watched as Charlotte and Ewan shook hands with her family. When Helena reached her, the other woman pulled her in for a brief hug.
“We’re so very happy to have you!” Charlotte gushed. “You remember Donburrow, yes?”
Helena turned and looked up and up to meet the eyes of the strapping and extremely handsome duke. He smiled, a warm and welcoming expression, and then signed something, which Charlotte translated as, “You are very welcome, Miss Monroe. My wife has claimed you as a friend and she is never wrong when she judges character.”
Helena blushed, not just at the warm compliment, but at the very act of being present with Charlotte and Ewan. They stood so close to each other, their connection on display not just openly, but proudly. Even their language, the one that bridged Donburrow to the rest of the world, was something very intimate. She found herself briefly jealous of her new friend and the love she had found.
She smiled at him and forced herself to say, “I’m very pleased to be here, Your Grace. Thank you for having us.”
She moved on to the next in line, Baldwin’s mother, the Duchess of Sheffield. Her uncle had just left the lady, and he shot Helena a curious look that made her stomach tighten. Charlotte’s warm welcome had obviously sparked his interest. She might have to confess to her friend that she had not told her uncle about their meeting.
What Charlotte’s response to that would be was certainly bound to be interesting.
“Good evening, Miss Monroe,” the Duchess of Sheffield said, taking her hand gently. “How very happy we are to have you join us.”
Helena swallowed hard as she examined the lovely woman before her. Baldwin had her eyes, warm and dark and brown. But like she had observed in the son, his mother also seemed…troubled. What was it that made both of them so anxious?
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said as she pushed her curiosity aside. It had no place with this stranger who owed her nothing. To the duchess, she was hardly more than a servant and she would do well to recall that, whether Charlotte and her friends were open to her or not.
And that left Baldwin. Donburrow’s butler was already escorting her uncle and cousin away to a parlor for before supper drinks. And the others in the line had started to move behind them, chatting together as they walked.
She was, for a brief moment, alone with Sheffield.
He stared down at her, his serious face searching hers, for what she didn’t know. But heat flooded her cheeks at his intense perusal.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she managed to croak out.
He arched a brow. “Helena. I’m glad you came.”
“How does one refuse an invitation from the Duchess of Donburrow?” she said with a light laugh.
“One doesn’t,” he conceded, and his face finally relaxed into a smile. “A fair point.”
He hesitated and then held out his elbow to her. She caught her breath. A duke escorting a lady’s companion could not be proper, but refusing that same duke seemed even more ill-mannered. So she reached out and slid her hand into the crook of his arm.
The reaction was immediate. Heated. Unexpected. It was the first time they’d touched, and awareness shot through her as his body heat wound through her. He smelled of that same heat, a leathery scent that made her stomach flip and her legs tremble. And his arm—good God, it was strong. She gripped what felt like a slab of steel and never in her life had she felt so…safe.
She blinked as they entered the parlor, and released him immediately. That was not right. Not good. Not proper.
And certainly it had no end that she could look forward to. Baldwin was seeking a bride amongst ladies. She was a servant in the best light. In the worst…well, he’d never know about that. Still, it precluded her from his attentions.
“Thank you,” she stammered, and started across the room away from him without looking back. She walked blindly, trying to find some quiet corner where she could hide until she was called upon by her cousin. A place where she could calm her racing heart and carefully destroy all the inappropriate thoughts that were plaguing her.
Instead, she heard Meg’s voice through the soft sounds of the group. “Helena!”
She turned toward her, unable not to smile when Meg was beaming at her, motioning her to join her and her husband and another handsome man. She stepped to them, working hard to keep a serene expression.
“Good evening, Meg and Your Grace.”
Meg’s husband waved his hand. “Not with that, thank you. If she gets to be Meg, I get to be Simon.”
Helena boggled. “I truly do not understand your group. I was told very strictly by my uncle never to be too informal with those who held title. And yet I have been told to call everyone by their first names. If you are not careful, I shall find myself beheaded when I call your prince regent George.”
Simon laughed. “Oh no, my dear, you must call him Prinny. We all do.”
“I suppose we are more informal than some,” the other man in their small group said. “Probably because the men of our circle have been friends far longer than any of us even thought about title. Simon has always been Simon to me. When he’s Your Graced, it makes my teeth hurt.”
“May I present Miss Helena Monroe to you?” Meg said with a smile. “That is, assuming you have not already met the Duke of Tyndale.”
“Or Matthew, if we are being informal,” the gentleman said as he caught Helena’s hand and raised it for a brief kiss across her gloved knuckles. “And we had not yet met, but I’ve heard a great deal about you, Miss Monroe.”
Helena blinked. They were all so kind. She felt so welcomed. It was lovely and strange all at once.
“Your Grace,” she offered. “Gracious, it is difficult when there are a group of you, isn’t it? I suppose I can see how much easier using first names would be.”
“Quite right,” Matthew said. “Though if calling me by my Christian name is too bothersome, I also accept Tyndale.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Helena said with a blush. “I can only imagine what my uncle would say if he knew Baldwin and all his friends had asked me to call them by their first names.”
She heard the words as they exited her mouth and it took everything in her not to slap her hand over her lips. Especially when Tyndale’s eyebrow arched ever so slightly at her slip.
But before she had to say anything more, the butler appeared at the doorway, ringing a little bell to indicate their supper was served. The rest started to walk out, and she waited to follow, but to her surprise, Tyndale offered her an arm.
“Charlotte tells me you and I will be seated next to each other tonight. May I take you in?”
She nodded, for there was no other answer, and took his arm. But as they moved to depart the room, she couldn’t help but notice that Baldwin was watching them, even as he took her cousin’s arm. And he did not seem overly pleased by what he saw.
Helena caught herself staring down the table at Baldwin for the tenth time since supper had started, and forced herself to focus on her plate. She had no right to look at him. No right to wonder what Charity was talking to him about. In a perfect world, at least for her family, he would marry her cousin.
A thought that turned her stomach.
“You look troubled, Miss Monroe.”
She jerked her head up to look at Tyndale and found him staring at her closely. She shook her head immediately. “Oh no, of course not, I—”
He leaned in. “I know trouble, Miss Monroe there is no use denying it.”
She cleared her throat and shrugged. “I suppose we all have troubles.”
His gaze slipped up the table. “I suppose we all do.”
She followed his gaze and frowned. Baldwin’s expression was perfectly acceptable as he listened to her cousin prattle on incessantly, but there was something to his eyes. Something worried and distant.
She shook her head. “Do you know what troubles him?”
Tyndale leaned back in his chair. “You seem to know my friend very well after such a short acquaintance. To call him by his first name, to see that there is something in his eyes that doesn’t seem…right.”
She caught her breath and looked at Tyndale again. He was observing her with a expression that could not be denied. But it was kind, just as he seemed to be very kind.
“I didn’t know who he was the first night I met him,” she found herself saying and there was relief in saying anything real at all after all the weeks with her uncle and Charity. “I’m sure he thought me very foolish. But he was very…attentive. And I admit I haven’t experienced that in a long time. But now I’m being too forward.”
“I asked the question,” Tyndale said with a shake of his head. “I was interested in the answer, after all.” He seemed to consider her for a moment, then he added, “You asked why he’s troubled. I don’t know. He doesn’t share much. He used to, once upon a time. But since his father’s death…well, it changed him.”
She tried not to look at Baldwin. “I suppose it would have to. He bears a great deal of responsibility.”
“Perhaps more than we know,” he mused. “I wish he had a friend he could turn to, but he denies his troubles to all close to him. If he could just say those troubles out loud, I wonder if it would help.”
Helena pondered the suggestion. She had to believe it was true. Sometimes she wanted to scream her own troubles from the rafters. Sometimes she longed for a confidante that would hear her, just hear her.
The servants cleared the last of the dessert plates away and Helena rose with the others. Matthew smiled at her as he offered his arm a second time. She blushed in response. “I hope I wasn’t out of line.”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
He took her from the dining room and down a long hall to the parlor where the night had begun. Tables had been placed in the room for games, and a fire burned brightly with a screen positioned for shadow puppets later.
As Matthew released her, he squeezed her hand. “Thank you for the company, Miss Monroe. I very much enjoyed our talk during supper.”
Helena nodded, for she had to. Up until the end, it had been very pleasant. Tyndale was a fine companion. She just didn’t…want to be near him like she did with Baldwin. Not that either man was in her sphere.
He walked away, and she drew a deep breath at her first moment alone that night. Her cousin slid over to Tyndale as she did, sidling up to him to talk. Her father was close at hand, so Helena didn’t feel her duties as companion would be required. She walked to the window and stood there, staring out at the inky night.
“Hello.”
She stiffened at the sound of Baldwin’s voice, now just at her elbow. Turning, she gave him the brightest smile she could manage when her heart was throbbing. “Your Grace.”
He smiled back, but once again she saw that flicker of worry in his stare. Along with something darker, more heated. Her stomach fluttered in response, and she sought some topic, any topic, to make this odd attraction ease a little.
“Your sister seems vastly contented,” she burst out.
Baldwin stared at her another beat, then his gaze slid across the room to Charlotte. She was standing beside Ewan, chatting with Emma and James.
“She is,” he said, his tone a little faraway. “And I am glad of it. She has not had an easy time. Her first marriage was arranged and I think rather empty. But Ewan is her first and greatest love.”
“Is he?” she asked, and looked at the couple.
Baldwin’s smile was soft. “She loved him from the time she was seven, I think, and he not much older.”
“What kept them apart?” she asked, then shook her head. “Gracious, I am spending this entire evening being entirely inappropriate in what I say. I apologize, Your Grace.”
He glanced at her. “Well, I don’t know what inappropriate things you said earlier that require absolution. I suppose you’d have to take that up with…I presume Tyndale.” There was something brittle in his tone as he said his friend’s name. “But I am not offended by the question and I doubt Charlotte would be, either. She and Ewan are open about such things. It isn’t as if his mutism is a secret.”
She blinked. “I see.”
“Charlotte didn’t care, of course,” Baldwin said. “But Ewan resisted for a long time and nearly lost her. Twice.”
Helena drew in a long breath. “It is good he didn’t. That they could overcome the walls between them. Some barriers are not so easy to surmount.”
Baldwin’s expression changed a fraction and he nodded, suddenly very solemn. “Indeed, they are not. But they are good for each other. Certainly, I don’t have to—to worry with her so well matched.”
Helena glanced at him. Once again she was struck by how forlorn he sounded. Oh, it was clear he was happy for his sister, but he couldn’t hide that slightly wistful quality to his voice.
She swallowed hard, her empathy for whatever was troubling him stronger than anything else in that moment. “You seem…troubled,” she said. “Would you like to—to walk with me?”
He blinked down at her. “Isn’t that my place, to ask you to walk?”
She caught her breath as the impertinence of her suggestion registered with her. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to—” She moved to step away, but he reached out and caught her elbow.
“Will you walk with me, Miss Monroe?”
His voice was so low, almost hypnotic, and she found herself nodding. “Yes,” she whispered.
He smiled and took her arm. As they moved toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Good,” he said. “They’re all so busy, they do not even notice our departure. That means no awkward looks or explanations.”
She felt her smile fall a fraction. Although she was happy for the same reasons he was, she didn’t like the idea that he felt he had to sneak away with her. But then, why wouldn’t he? She was not, after all, the kind of woman one courted.
And she had to remember that, even if touching him made her heart pound harder and her life seem a little brighter.