A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,48

paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were less annoying when you were running away,” he grumbled more to himself than anyone else.

Before she could answer, his leg shot out, kicking the carriage door open with a bang. “Do what you like,” he said. “If memory serves, there is a milkmaid here who I favor.” He laughed. “She’s the only reason I consented to make the trip.”

The carriage had scarcely stopped before the duke unfolded himself from the seat and slid from the door. His shiny boots hit the mud with a sucking sound, and he let out a curse. The staff hurried to unroll rugs and extend umbrellas while Helena gathered her books.

“Helena?” said Camille, still motionless beside her.

“Hurry, Cami,” Helena urged. “He’ll not tolerate the countryside forever. How much time can one milkmaid occupy?”

“Helena?”

“Bring your novel, to be sure. Oh, how I wish Mama and Papa and the other girls hadn’t come. They’ll be bored out of their minds.”

“Helena,” her sister said a third time.

Helena turned, her arms filled with books.

“Whatever will you do?” her sister whispered.

Helena stared. She’d learned never to expect authenticity from her family; real concern was virtually unknown.

“Do not worry yourself,” she tried.

“You cannot run away again.”

“No. I don’t suppose I can. But I will take care of it.”

“What do you mean? But how?”

“I’ve . . . I’ve something else plann—”

“With Shaw? Your groom?”

Helena paused. Could she confide in Camille? A week ago, she would have said no. But since New Bond Street, a flicker of hope had begun to burn in her chest. Carefully, she said, “Shaw works for me, yes. He’s rather useful and—”

“Do not trust him, Lena,” Camille said.

Helena went still. “Trust him for what?”

“For anything. He’s Girdleston’s pawn. How could he be any other? We all saw ‘Uncle Titus’ attach him to you. I’ve been shocked at how quickly you’ve . . . you’ve accepted him. In fact, I’ve been shocked at your complete change of course. Even the duke is suspicious of you.”

“The duke cares only for his own amusements.”

“He’s just said he preferred it when you were running away. And he will care a great deal when you invoke the wrath of Girdleston, which you are bound to do if you’ve made a confidant of his groom.” She took a deep breath. “Unless . . .” A pause. Camille inclined her head.

“Unless what?” asked Helena.

“Unless you’ve come ’round to their way of thinking. Unless you can reconcile yourself to some sort of agreement, and marry Lusk, but live separate lives—”

“No,” said Helena, turning back to the door. The flame of hope began to sputter. Perhaps there was no kinship, no understanding.

“Helena, wait,” Camille called again.

Helena’s heart lurched. She hadn’t realized how deeply she longed for someone in her family to care.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing,” her sister said. “I’m merely worried. Lusk is terrible—truly. You’ve said so all along, of course, but I was too young to understand. And Mama and Papa tell us constantly that Good Daughters marry dukes when they are on offer. I thought I wanted to be good, but now I . . . I want to be like you.”

Helena’s throat constricted. She looked at her sister through hot tears.

“But not if it means you’re ruined or trapped,” said Camille, “not for me or for you. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly . . . going along? Excited about his stupid farm? The turnaround is alarming.”

“You are mistaken,” Helena informed her slowly. “Everyone prefers my agreeability. No one wants the union spoiled by my running away.”

Camille shook her head. “I wanted you to run. And whatever you’re doing instead frightens me. Lusk is a fool, but the dukedom is very powerful.”

“You worry because, if I don’t marry, your chances for a titled husband will be very low indeed. You and the other girls want—”

“No,” Camille cut in. “I’m worried for you.”

Helena studied her sister’s face, searching for some duplicity. She saw only gentleness and concern. “Camille,” she whispered.

“I trust you, Lena, but I’m worried about a conspiracy with a servant furnished to you by Girdleston. What are you thinking, Lena?”

Helena clutched the books to her chest and slid toward the door. “You do not know him.”

“That is for certain. So . . . you do have some understanding?”

“I cannot say what I have. But I am grateful for your concern. I’ve not relied upon anyone since Gran, and it’s been a lonely road. I . . . I would