That dowry wasn’t something Baldwin could ignore. And so the idea sat in Helena’s stomach like a rock.
“I think it would be…” She cleared her throat around the lump there. “I’m certain it would be a beneficial match for you both.”
“I agree.” Charity sent a dark look at her maid. “Gracious, Perdy, you are tugging!”
Helena squeezed her eyes shut as Charity snapped at the poor maid. Her heart had never hurt more in her entire life. Thinking about Charity pursuing Baldwin and him being forced to consider it...
After what they’d just shared, she could barely stand the idea.
“Get my necklace, won’t you, Helena?” Charity said, motioning to the jewelry box on the table across the room.
Helena shook off her thoughts and went to do as she’d been told. Because that’s what she did. There was no other choice.
Baldwin drew a long breath, closed his eyes and tilted his head up toward the sun. For just a moment, a sense of peace came over him. It was the first time he’d been alone since his mother’s suggestion that they arrange this country party, and now he relished the moment. Soon enough he would have to go back inside. Soon enough he’d have to return his mind to debts and prospects, and he’d have to be near Helena and want her so much that it actually hurt.
But for now he was—
“Your Grace?”
He let out a small sigh before he opened his eyes and watched as one of his mother’s prospects came down the lane in the garden toward him. Lady Winifred, daughter of the Earl of Snodgrass. Fifteen thousand pounds and that damned racehorse. The facts rolled through his head, and he flinched at how mercenary he’d become. He looked a little closer. She was not an unattractive young lady. Dark hair, brown eyes, pretty face. She just wasn’t the person he wanted.
He rose from his seat on the bench and forced a smile. “Lady Winifred,” he said. “Come down for a walk, have you?”
She nodded and said, “Your mother and I were talking about my love for roses, so she sent me down to look at yours.”
“My mother,” he repeated slowly. He turned his gaze up toward the terrace above and saw the duchess standing there. He frowned at her heavy hand and at the way she waved at him before she had the decency to turn away and leave her machinations to play out.
“Yes,” Lady Winifred said. “She was quite insistent and I think she planned to go with me, but then she was distracted by a household matter.
“Of course she was. Well, I would be remiss if I did not offer to show you around the grounds myself, then.” He offered her an arm and she took it without hesitation. He tensed as she did so, hating how he felt…nothing for her. No spark, no interest. Just nothing.
Because she wasn’t Helena. Once again that thought pressed into his mind. He had to force it out again as they began to walk through the garden, his companion talking on and on about roses. Types. Colors. Scents. Origins.
Great God, this would be his life. Endless talk of roses as he desperately tried to make fifteen thousand pounds and a racehorse stretch to fill his empty coffers.
“Your Grace?” she said.
He blinked and glanced down at her. “My most sincere apologies, my lady. I was distracted and it was very rude of me. I think you were discussing the moss rose.”
“I was,” she admitted. “But I was about to say that your roses have all bloomed quite early this year.”
He looked around at the budding beauties his mother and grandmother had both loved so well. “I suppose it is a bit early, yes.”
Lady Winifred tilted her head. “It’s bad luck, you know. For them to bloom early.”
Baldwin stifled a laugh that held no humor. “Well, sometimes the only luck a man has is bad luck.”
Lady Winifred looked at him with a confused expression. Not curious, just uncertain. But before they could continue their talk, the Countess of Snodgrass came down the path and smiled at the pair. “There you are, Winifred. And hello, Your Grace.”
Baldwin nodded. “My lady.”
“Winifred, you’ve been roaming through the duke’s gardens for almost half an hour now. You do not want to get too tan. A gentleman doesn’t like a lady who is too sun-kissed—isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
Baldwin released Winifred, who returned to her mother’s side. He felt a great sense of relief when she did so. “I would not be able to speak for all gentlemen,” he offered.
Lady Snodgrass giggled and Winifred blushed. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. We’ll see you at supper tonight.”
The pair turned and walked away, leaving Baldwin to sag against the nearest tree in exhaustion.
“Good afternoon.”
He froze, his heart leaping as it had not when he was standing with the other young lady. He knew that voice. And he turned to find Helena standing a few feet away, watching him carefully.
“Helena,” he whispered, her name a prayer, a plea, a balm. “I’m so glad it’s you and not some other woman my mother is marching down from the main house for me.”
Helena shifted slightly. “Yes, I saw you with Lady Winifred. She is one of the…options then?”
Baldwin stared up at the house where the young woman and her mother had gone. “Yes,” he said softly. “She is, I suppose.”
“Well, she’s pretty,” Helena offered, her tone very careful.
He turned on her with a grin. “Are you now playing my matchmaker?”
She did not return the smile. “I think that would be too difficult.”
He nodded. “Yes. All of this is…difficult.”
“For both of us, I would imagine. You didn’t like her at all?”
Baldwin shrugged. “It isn’t about liking or not liking. She’s a nice enough young woman. I just don’t feel…anything when I’m with her.”
Helena swallowed hard. “I see.”
“Not like when I’m with you,” he murmured, and moved toward her a step.
She caught her breath and he saw her pupils dilate with desire. He loved to see that blossom in her, rather like the flowers Lady Winifred had been going on and on about.
“We’re so close to the house,” Helena whispered. “Anyone could see.”
“A valid point,” he said, and offered her an arm. “Walk with me? I’d much prefer your company.”
She looked like she would argue. Probably make a point that what they were doing was dangerous and wrong and not conducive to acceptance of the future either of them would soon face.
Instead, she sighed and said, “Of course. You know I couldn’t say no.”
She took his arm, and this time there was plenty for him to feel. Warmth and pleasure, desire and desperation. He was aware of every part of her that pressed to him, of the feel of each finger that curled into the crook of his elbow. He felt it all and he reveled in it.
“So what did you talk about?” she asked.
He glanced down at her as they began to walk farther into the garden, farther away from the house and whatever prying eyes there might see. “You really want to know?”