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, itisdifficult 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?”
