“Let her serve this wifely purpose, Girdleston,” scolded her father. “With Helena, we’ve found the key to her heart is some manner of diligent caregiving. You should see what she’s done to the bog in the forest surrounding Castlereagh. She will look after him and the result will be better for us all.”
From the corner of her eye, Helena saw Girdleston reclaim his seat, but not before he gave a subtle nod to the large groom in the corner. The groom fell into close step behind them, and Helena gritted her teeth, hurrying the duke along.
“Which way, Your Grace?” she whispered. The great hall was marked with doors in every direction.
“Bedchamber?” the duke drawled, and Helena bit her lip against the gale of wine and goose on his breath.
“No,” she said patiently, “your study. We’ll want somewhere close, don’t you think? Just a quick nap. They will not allow us to stay away for long.”
“I’m going out,” he protested, but he allowed her to drag him. “Plans...”
“Of course, your lovely plans,” she assured. “More reason to rest now.”
“You’re an eager little cabbage,” he mumbled.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said absently, looking from door to door, “so very eager.” The duke snorted,misting her with another cloud of alcohol and goose.
Helena held her breath. “The study, Your Grace? Can you not remember? Which way is it?”
He made a vague gesture that could indicate any direction and dropped his chin to his chest.
Helena swore and pivoted slowly, trying to remember the layout of the house from previous visits. She was just about to choose the first available corridor when a voice behind her said, “I’ll take him.”
Helena spun and came up short against a muscled, yellow-clad wall of male. Her newly appointed personal groom. Shill? Sham? She couldn’t remember his name.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, stooping to redistribute the duke across her shoulders.
“I’ll take him,” the groom repeated.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Shill. And, if you ple—”
“Shaw,” he said, reaching out. “Declan Shaw.”
Helena’s eyes widened. She couldn’t remember ever having a male servant introduce himself by his given name. Or follow her from room to room. Or try to take something—well, in this case someone—out of her own hands.
She rarely scolded servants, but she cleared her throat and raised her chin. “That won’t be—”
The groom wasn’t listening. He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head, watching the duke’s limp form slowly slip from her grasp.
Helena held more tightly and changed tact. “How lucky you’ve happened along,” she saidbrightly. “Could I trouble you to point me in the direction of the duke’s private study?”
“Don’t know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You do not know?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The duke slipped another four inches, and his boot began to slide. Shaw extended his own foot to stop it.
Helena broadened her stance and took tighter hold of Lusk. “Are you not—”
“I work in the mews,” he said. “Typically.”
“Typically?”
“I’m going to take him,” he told her. Before she could refuse, he reached out and rolled the duke from her shoulder, draping the smaller man’s arm behind his neck. The duke hung against him like a limp scarf.
A burst of laughter rose from the direction of the dining room, and Helena was reminded that she had so little time.
