A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,104

kissed her, even though they’d made love last night, she felt jittery and . . . not nervous, that wasn’t the correct word . . . she felt eager but untried at the same time, like she’d learned to fly but wasn’t certain of landing.

“But what of the potential duchesses?” he prompted. “And Knightly Snow?”

Helena let out a long, satisfied breath, remembering the triumphant afternoon. “Will you sit?” she asked, patting the workbench. Declan hopped beside her and took her hand.

“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 love outside the 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 and love? 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.