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.