“Then who is the redhead by the terrace doors?” he asked.
His mother lifted on her tiptoes and examined the lady. “I’m not sure, but if she was American, I would wager a guess that she is Miss Helena Monroe. That is, Miss Shepherd’s cousin, who is acting as her lady’s companion during her Season.” She clasped her hands together. “Her situation is…not good, I hear. There is some hint of scandal and no dowry to be had.”
All the good feelings Baldwin had been experiencing since he found the woman—Helena, he now knew—on the terrace faded away to nothing. Not to nothing. They faded away and were replaced by something different. A horrible, pulsing disappointment. One he ought not feel after meeting the young woman all but once.
“I see,” he said.
His mother bit her lip. “You liked the companion?”
He shrugged, dismissing what he felt with less ease than he should have. “I talked to her for only a few moments.”
The duchess bent her head. “I’m sorry, Baldwin.”
He patted her hand once more. “There is no need to be. This was never a heart endeavor anyway, was it? It is what it is.”
His mother seemed to accept that, although he still felt the trouble in her voice as she changed the subject to other ladies on his list of potential duchesses. He tried to attend to her chatter, but found his gaze returning, again and again, to Miss Monroe.
And the disappointment that had gripped him didn’t fade, even though he wanted it to. Even though it had to, and soon.
Chapter Three
Helena carefully unfastened the ivory buttons that lined the back of Charity’s very expensive gown and then pushed it forward. Her cousin all but tore it away, tossing it aside on the floor. With a sigh, Helena gathered it up, folding it carefully so Charity’s maid, Perdy, could retrieve it for the laundry.
“…everyone watching me,” Charity chattered. “I mean, the jealous looks from all the other women, Helena. You wouldn’t understand, of course, but it’s quite trying to know that all the men want you and all the women hate you for it.”
Helena smiled tightly at her cousin and said, “Quite trying, I’m sure. You certainly danced a lot. Were there any men you particularly liked?”
Charity shrugged. “They’re all alike, aren’t they? Rich, boring as plain toast.”
Helena held her tongue. She had no intention of talking to her cousin about the man she’d met on the terrace, not boring as toast at all. Quite the opposite.
“There were no dukes who filled my card, at any rate,” Charity continued. “And Papa is really set on that. He says I must try to land one of those before anyone else does this Season. But you were the only one close to a duke.”
Helena blinked. “A duke? Who?”
“The Duke of Sheffield, of course. You were on the terrace with the man—did you not see him? He’s tall, handsome, brown hair, brown eyes. Stern expression. He came back in to the party just as Papa went out to fetch you. You must have seen him.”
Helena’s lips parted. Charity was describing a man who sounded much like her charming stranger. “I may have seen someone like that, yes.”
Charity nodded. “Well, he is looking for a bride, it seems. An heiress, if Papa’s sources are right. He’s on my list of men to pursue. Did you talk to him? What did you think of him?”
Helena bent her head. So, he was a duke. An heiress-hunting one. That left her out of the equation. She was no heiress. She was a lady with a questionable past who was hardly better than a servant.
“I was outside taking air,” she said with a shrug. “I’m afraid your duke…well, he didn’t catch my eye.”
Charity pursed her lips. “Just like you to miss the most important man in the room. Lordy, Helena, you’re meant to be here to help me. If you aren’t going to do that, I don’t even know why we brought you.” She flounced away and took a seat at her dressing table.
“I’m sorry, Charity,” Helena said. She wasn’t really sorry, but she’d learned quickly that saying it was the best way to soothe her cousin’s spoiled side and avoid an argument.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose,” Charity said, and the edge was gone from her voice. “Now come and brush my hair.”
Helena stood in her place for a moment. “Charity, could you not call Perdy for that? She’s going to help you into your night rail anyway, and I’m very tired, myself.”
Charity turned in her seat and speared her with a pointed glare. “Perdy isn’t any fun to talk to and you were there tonight, so you know what I’m referring to. Anyway, you are my companion, Helena. You’re supposed to do as I say, aren’t you?”
Helena took a deep breath. Despite her upbringing, or perhaps because of it, she had always tried to find the light in every situation. This one had so little, and her cheeks burned with humiliation as she crossed the room, took the brush from Charity’s table and began to stroke it through her cousin’s hair.
As she did so, Charity went back to prattling on about the ball. Helena blocked it out as best she could, losing herself in the rhythmic stroke of the brush in her hand. And trying to forget the twinge of disappointment that the handsome man who had brightened her night was one who was clearly out of her reach.
For a woman like her would never catch the eye of a duke. And that was a fact she simply had to accept.
“Are you ready for the tea, dear?”
Baldwin looked up from the latest troubling letter from his solicitor and found his mother standing in the doorway to his study. He blinked and recalled, at last, what she was talking about.
“Er, yes,” he said, folding the paper and returning it to its envelope. He glanced at his pocket watch. “When do we begin again?”
She pursed her lips. “In twenty minutes. And some of the more eager mamas may arrive even earlier. I just checked and Walker has the terrace done up beautifully. The weather is perfect and everything is in place.”
Baldwin stood and stretched his back as he searched for a smile he could force. “Thank you, Mama, for coming today and making sure all the arrangements have gone smoothly.”
She nodded. “Well, I have hopes that soon you will have a duchess of your own who will help you with these things,” she mused. “And I will happily retire into role of dowager.”
Baldwin stifled a sigh. “Certainly, I will do my best.”
She stepped in closer. “I-I know you will, dear. But I hope you’ll try to find some enthusiasm for the endeavor. I haven’t picked such ogres for you to consider, have I? Some of them are quite pretty. The American, for example.”
Baldwin froze. His mother meant the heiress, Charity. No one could deny she was, indeed, beautiful, but when the duchess said the American, he could only think of her flame-haired cousin. The witty one, the lovely one, the one who effortlessly made him smile in a genuine way that felt foreign. Helena.
“Yes,” he choked out. “The young lady is very fair.”