A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,4
very well.
How suspicious it was, Helena thought, that their own London home was suddenly undergoing renovations. Now they were forced to live as guests of the duke and his tyrant uncle. Her mother expected her to smile about it.
She finished her apple, the very last of the harvest. This time next year, if she was married to the duke, the apples would be gone—destroyed by heavy limestone wagons trundling down the terraced orchard to the river.
The great irony was that the Duke of Lusk, a man who was as ridiculous as he was inane, couldn’t care less about the wedding. At best, he was wholly indifferent to her; at worst, he was openly bored. He was a thirty-year-old man-child controlled by his uncle.
But Helena would not be controlled, or lose her orchard, or leave the forest. And she would not smile.
But also, she reminded herself, she would not be difficult. The time for evasion had come and gone. The only solution now was to engineer some lasting means of escape—something that did not extract her so much as put an end to the betrothal once and for all.
Luckily, she had a plan.
If she could manage it.
If she could be pleasant enough, and forestall suspicion long enough, and be clever enough to pull together the necessary players.
If she could get the duke to jilt her for some other girl.
That was her plan, plain and simple. Well, perhaps it was not entirely simple. Helena intended to find the most perfect, most provocative replacement fiancée for the duke, dangle this sparkling girl under his nose, and let love or passion or mutual ambition overtake them. When Lusk was entranced by someone else, he would finally stand up to his uncle and demand a wife he really wanted. And Helena would be free to slip away, back to the orchard and the forest that she loved.
The greatest challenge to her plan seemed to be finding the ideal girl to dazzle the duke. For this, Helena relied on Lusk’s open delight in traits like buxomness, shapely calves, and round bottoms. Also, his penchant for all-night parties, drunkenness in the middle of the day, and dancers. Never once had Helena chatted with Lusk when he did not broach these favorite topics. For years, she’d complained about his tedious vulgarity, but her mother dismissed it as boyish prattle. Helena knew better; it was a window to his soul. Now she planned to open that window and crawl out.
The line of carriages had scarcely stopped in front of Lusk House when her parents popped open the door to descend. They’d tried (and failed) to conceal their open delight at the prospect of having a duchess in the family, and they would be crushed when the betrothal fell apart. But if Helena’s plan succeeded, the duke’s change of heart would be his own choice. What could she do if he’d fallen under the voluptuous spell of some other girl?
What indeed?
Move on with a life on her own terms.
The earl and countess convened in the street, smoothing silks and readjusting hats.
Helena’s three younger sisters spilled from the second carriage and descended upon their mother with a barrage of complaints and requests and grasping governesses.
Her father’s dogs thundered from the third carriage, along with aunts and cousins and stewards and her mother’s maid.
Helena allowed the commotion to swallow her up. She’d learned through the years how to disappear in plain sight. It was ironic, really, how little the duchess-to-be mattered in her family’s quest to claim a title. She was like the cart that transported them to the fair and that they deserted in a ditch when the festivities were in view.
But now the fair commenced. The heavy oak doors of Lusk House swung open and Titus Girdleston stepped importantly onto the stoop. Someone remembered to produce Helena, and they thrust her forward like a virginal sacrifice.
“Lusk House welcomes you, my Lord and Lady Pembrook, Lady Helena!” Girdleston boomed from the stoop, extending his arms like an opera singer. He clipped down the steps and greeted her father with a robust handshake and bowed over her mother’s hand.
“Ah, Lady Helena, how delighted we are that you’ve finally come to London to stay,” Girdleston said, turning his thin-lipped smile to her.
“Thank you, Uncle Titus,” Helena said cordially. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
She must not draw undue attention. Her plan depended on it. Belligerence only elicited tighter control. It was essential that she give the illusion that she could be managed.