He squeezed her hand at the concern in her voice. Whether she pushed him or not, he knew she wanted what was best for him, as much as for the title. If he found love with someone who could also raise their fortunes, she would be over the moon. Which was why he smiled when he said, “You know, I met your American.”
Her eyes went wide. “Did you?”
“I liked her,” he admitted with an arch of his brow.
His mother’s face lit up briefly before a shadow of doubt crossed it. “I am…I am happy to hear it.”
“Then why do you look confused?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Well, I only wonder how you managed to meet her.”
He blinked at the unexpected question. “How? What do you mean how? How does anyone meet at these crushes? I went out on the terrace to get some air and bumped into her there. We were not formally introduced, but she was…charming.”
He had expected his mother’s expression to brighten further, but she remained puzzled. “That isn’t possible, dear.”
“I assure you, it is,” he said, and felt the beginnings of irritation. Why in the world did she continue to insist that what he said was not true?
“But Miss Shephard has been dancing for the last thirty minutes, Baldwin,” she said, inclining her head toward the dancefloor. “Since before you exited for the terrace.”
He followed her gaze to find a blonde woman bobbing around the dancefloor. She was in what looked to be a very expensive gown that matched her blue eyes exactly and was talking—by the looks of it, rather loudly—with her partner.
Baldwin wrinkled his brow. “Who?” he asked.
His mother motioned her head more forcefully. “The one in blue, Baldwin. That is Charity Shephard. Her father is Peter Shephard.Sheis the American heiress.”
As Baldwin stared in disbelief at the lady in question, he noticed the terrace door far in the back of the room opened. The woman he had spoken to on the terrace slipped inside, took a deep breath and looked around the room.
“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.
