“Say all of it,” he said.
Speaking quickly, gesturing with their joined hands, Helena recalled what happened after she returned to Girdleston’s party.
“I gathered the potential duchesses together...”
Helena had said to them, “Ladies, I’m so sorry. The duke has gone.”
There was a collective straightening of backs. Expressions hardened. They weren’t disappointed so much as... affronted. Even Lady Genevieve stopping smiling.
Helena told the young women, “We’ve tried. All of you have tried so ardently. I will be forever grateful. He... he...” And here she faltered, casting around for some excuse. She settled on, “He doesn’t seem to be interested in women of his own rank.”
“He was horrible,” stated Miss Lansing. “No title would be worth enduring him. I see now why you were trying to wriggle free.”
“I rather liked him,” said Lady Genevieve. “And I adore this house.” She gazed around the salon with an avaricious eye.
“If not him,” said Miss Marten, staring at a circle of men, “then whom else might I enchant? A duke would have been convenient, but I cannot give up now.”
“So you’re not cross?” Helena asked them. “I was unaware of his proclivity for, er, finding loveoutsidethe aristocracy.”
“He may seek love outside, but he must marry within,” said Miss Lansing. “And he knows it.” She rose and tightened her gloves. “I don’t see any way around your betrothal. But good luck. I respect your creativity. Perhaps the marriage won’t be so bad. Doubtless you will rarely interact.”
Helena was about to tell her that no woman should aspire to a marriage that is “not so bad,”that husbands and wives should interact, but Miss Lansing muttered a good-bye and drifted away to find her mother. Lady Genevieve said a proper farewell and sailed from the room with her smile in place, and Miss Marten asked if there was anyone else to whom Helena could introduce her. Helena signaled Camille, who convinced their sister Joan to introduce the young woman around.
And just like that, Helena was alone at a ducal function, just as she always had been. The duke was nowhere in sight. Girdleston was occupied with the highest-ranking guest. Her family was basking. She was alone, but not really. Somewhere in the stables, her husband—it gave her a burst of delight just to think of Declan as her husband—waited for her. And now, remarkably, unbelievably, she might actually have the opportunity to commence with their marriage. If Lusk and Miss Snow got on. If the duke could muster the courage to stand up to his uncle.
If, if,if. For once in her life, Helena succumbed to hand-trembling anxiety. She excused herself, eager for the privacy of her rooms to pace and worry and pray that Knightly Snow could use her considerable allure and cunning to transform the newly awakened Duke of Lusk.
In theory, Lusk’s metamorphosis had seemed so achievable. Now Helena thought of a hundred ways he could lose heart or lose interest or want Knightly Snow for the night and not a lifetime.
For years, she’d begged him to do the simplest thing, to set her free, and he had refused. Now she was asking him to engage himself in life andlove? How much more a difficult and harrowing request. There was no guarantee.
But oh, the payout, if only he would rise to the occasion.
Helena walked a nervous circle in her room, around and around, aching for Declan, trying to guess Lusk’s progress. She was alone in a boat, rowing for her life, unable to see if the shore was paradise or rocks.
She would know in a matter of hours. The party would disperse and Girdleston’s second birthday gathering, a formal family supper, would commence. Lusk was expected to attend, of course. He was the duke, after all; this was his house and his dining room, and his title supported Girdleston’s fiefdom. Helena could not say the duke harbored any real affection for his uncle, but one was never far from the other. It was unthinkable that the duke might miss his uncle’s birthday meal.
But if Knightly Snow had managed to sweep Lusk away, perhaps he would not bother. Perhaps missed celebrations would become a matter of course. Helena honestly could not say what she hoped for most: Lusk arriving to the dinner to demonstrate new independence, or Lusk giving Girdleston the cut and not showing up at all.
What actually happened was so far superior to both. Better than her wildest dreams.
Lusk arrived to the family dinnerwithMiss Knightly Snow on his arm.
The happy couple turned up late, after the soup but before the quail, strolling into the dining room as if everyone else had arrived early. Inorder to reach his place at the head of the table, Lusk and Miss Snow traversed the long length of the room, quieting conversations and eliciting stares.
The duke did not escort Knightly Snow so much aspromenadeher. Miss Snow, invoking a feat of balance previously unknown to Helena, managed to cling to Lusk while also preening beside him. She was a curved, sauntering, electric-blue-and-yellow-and-red pennant in the wind. She had the look of a woman who had been born for this very moment.
And the duke?
The duke appeared cogent for the first time in his life. His face was lit with satisfied pride. His head was high. His eyes fixed on each face along the table, alert and almost inviting for some challenge. His gloves creased where he held her hand tightly to his arm. He didn’t shamble, he coasted.
As his betrothed, Helena was seated to the left of his chair. When she saw their long, stupefying entrance, she slid from her seat and drifted down the table to evict Camille. Her sister cooperated immediately and slipped from the room.
With Helena’s seat vacant, Lusk easily settled Miss Snow beside him and dropped into his own seat. A footman stepped up to fill their wineglasses, and Lusk leaned forward to touch noses with Knightly Snow.
The captivated room delved more deeply into disbelieving silence. No one breathed. The only sound was Knightly Snow’s giggle. Even the hovering footman was unsettled—he could not reach Miss Snow’s goblet because she’d angledher ample bosom to Lusk. Meanwhile, Helena’s heart exploded with hope.
Finally, when Helena thought the deep curiosity and red-faced shock in the room might actually combust, Titus Girdleston cleared his throat.
