And it was true. She wasn’t cross. She was something else entirely. Nervous was probably the best description. She was going to the home of the Duke of Sheffield. The man she knew with almost complete certainty was the same one who had talked with her on the terrace.
The idea of seeing him again, well, it was both exciting and disappointing. She was so far beneath him. It would be obvious the moment he saw that she served her cousin. And yet, she would get to gaze upon that handsome face again. Maybe see one of those smiles that lit up the world.
“Are you woolgathering?” her uncle snapped.
She blinked and forced herself back to reality. “Yes. No. No.”
He glared. “Your duty is to remain close to your cousin, Helena. If there is any chance for her to get near this man or anyone else who is important, she’ll need a chaperone so she doesn’t look like a wanton. So you go with her.”
Helena swallowed hard before she nodded. “Of course.”
“Otherwise, stay out of the way as much as possible,” he continued. “And Charity, this man could be very important to your future. You could be a duchess or, as you said, even a queen. Wouldn’t that be a feather in the family cap?”
“What do you know of the man’s circumstances?” Charity asked.
He smiled. “Aside from his lofty title, he has four estates under his protection. Hundreds of workers. He must be worth a fortune.”
The carriage turned, and Charity pulled the curtain back to see where they were arriving. Helena peeked over her shoulder, and both women caught their breath at once.
“Oh, he must to have a house like this one!” Charity said with a laugh of delight.
Helena tended to agree. The estate was large and beautiful, with an exquisite view of the park across the way. There was no doubt this was the home of a very important and wealthy man. And once again, she was very aware of the disparity of their positions.
The carriage stopped, and her uncle and cousin stepped out. They left her behind to hustle after them up the stairs of the fine house. She flinched at the sharpness with which her uncle spoke to the duke’s butler, and then trailed through the hallways toward the veranda, where tea was being held.
Helena couldn’t help but look around her as they walked. The house was just as fine inside as out. The furniture was understated and beautiful, the walls done in muted colors. A few portraits graced those walls, and she gasped when she passed by one of the duke standing by a mantel, two large dogs at his side.
It was most definitely the man she had encountered on the terrace. Baldwin Undercross, 15th Duke of Sheffield, the little plaque read.
“Catch up, girl!” her uncle called as they entered a parlor.
She scurried to do so, even as her mind spun. Baldwin. The name fit him. It wasn’t at all common. Nor was he. Of course, she would never call him by that given name. Heavens, she likely wouldn’t talk to him at all. The moment on the terrace was one that never should have happened in the first place. Certainly he wasn’t thinking about it. She should forget it, too.
The butler opened the veranda door and stepped out. He announced her uncle’s and cousin’s names to the gathered crowd. “Mr. Peter Shephard and Miss Charity Shephard.”
Helena pressed her lips together as they stepped out, Charity looking over the crowd like she was already the queen she imagined she could be by marrying the poor man in that portrait.
The very idea made Helena’s stomach turn. She ignored it, shoved it aside and followed them onto the terrace—where she came face-to-face, once again, with the Duke of Sheffield.
To her surprise, he was not looking at Charity or her uncle as he crossed the veranda toward them, an older lady at his side.
He was looking at her.
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.