Baldwin jumped to his feet and came around the desk. “Charlotte, I had no idea you’d come to call. My apologies for my bad behavior.”
She shook her head as she bussed his cheek. “I insisted on coming to you myself and not being announced. Is there something I can do?”
She nodded to his desk and he glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. “No, no. Just annoyed with some…” He searched for a lie. “Some information from the tenants out in Sheffield. Nothing that needs your worries.”
She wrinkled her brow as if she didn’t quite believe him, so he caught her arm and guided her to the fireplace where he motioned for her to sit. “Join me. Will you have sherry?”
“At eleven in the morning?” she asked.
He blinked. He hadn’t been thinking about the time. “Ah, my apologies. Of course not. But there must be a reason you called.”
“There is,” she said, her expression brightening. He was glad to see it. Charlotte was so very happy since her marriage, he didn’t want to darken her mood with his troubles. Or have her find out what he’d done to increase them.
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Ewan and I are having a gathering tomorrow. Supper and perhaps some parlor games. We wanted you to join us.”
Baldwin leaned back. “Ewan wanted to have a gathering?”
“He’s always been reclusive, of course, but Baldwin, he is truly trying to come out of his shell since our marriage.” She smiled broadly. “All his talk of coming into what he perceives as ‘my’ world and no longer hiding because of his mutism is…well, it’s true.”
Baldwin watched her as she spoke, saw her joy at Ewan’s behavior. And his smile was very real as he said, “You give him the strength, I think.”
“I hope so,” she sighed. “He certainly gives me mountains of the same in return. So while I wouldn’t say he is excited about a gathering, he did suggest it.”
He lifted his brows. “That’s wonderful.”
She nodded. “I must encourage it. Honestly, it will mostly be friends.”
There wasn’t something about the way she said the last sentence that made Baldwin examine her more closely. He knew his sister very well and he could tell when she was plotting. Right now Plotting Charlotte sat across from him, trying to look sweet as sugar and innocent as a newborn lamb.
“Mostly?” he repeated in a warning tone.
She shrugged. “Yes. Mama will be there. James and Emma, Simon and Meg, Graham and Adelaide. Matthew will be there. I’m trying to coax Hugh, as well. Have you spoken to him of late? I saw him at Mattigan’s Bookshop and he—”
“Charlotte!” Baldwin interrupted. “What does mostly mean?”
She pursed her lips. “You needn’t be so cross about it. Aside from our friends, we have invited…the…Americans.”
Baldwin froze. “The Americans,” he repeated slowly. “You mean Mr. Shephard and his daughter. What is her name? Cora? Cassandra?”
“Charity. And they are bringing along Charity’s cousin, Helena Monroe,” Charlotte added, and there was no hiding how she watched him as she said Helena’s name.
It was almost impossible for him not to react to the same. Helena. He’d been thinking of her for days, since his garden party. Since she’d found him in his study and made him want to do incredibly scandalous things to her.
“In truth,” his sister continued. “We only wanted Helena, but Charity and her father come along with her, so sacrifices must be made, it seems.”
Baldwin glared at her. “You only wanted Helena.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” she said with a light laugh. “She is a delight, Baldwin—have you had a chance to talk to her?”
“Very little,” he said as he pushed to his feet and paced away. “When have you had the chance?”
“We sat together at your party a few days ago, of course. Then all the duchesses were on an outing and we stopped by to say hello. Had the most marvelous tea and a lovely chat with her.”
Baldwin shook his head slowly. Of course he was not opposed to the idea of Helena becoming friends with his sister and the wives of his friends. Only he was aware of the ulterior motives his sister was capable of concocting. Especially when she had no idea of the circumstances he was in. “Charlotte, why are you so invested in this?”
She leaned back with a falsely insulted expression. “Invested? Whatever do you mean, Baldwin?”
“‘Whatever do you mean?’” he repeated in a singsong voice. “You are meddling. You’ve thrown this girl in my path more than once.”
Now Charlotte actually did look offended. “Thrown her? It seems to me you’ve done a fine job of stepping into her path.”
He folded his arms, trying not to think of his offer to close the study door when he and Helena were together. That was certainly putting himself in her path, there was no denying it. At least to himself.
“That is an argument of semantics,” he snapped.
“No, it isn’t,” she said with a laugh that ignored his ill humor. “Do you like her?”
Baldwin hesitated, long enough that he would wager she had her answer. She’d always been able to read him so well. “I have hardly talked to her,” he repeated, exhaustion in his voice and in his body. “Once at the Rockford Ball, twice at the garden party. I don’t like or dislike her. I don’t know her.”
But he wanted to. Fiercely.
Charlotte’s expression grew worried and she moved toward him. She reached for his hands and held them gently in her own as she stared up into his face. “You are so troubled, Baldwin. Please, please talk to me.”
He shook his head and glanced away from her. “It is…complicated.”
“Father died years ago,” she said softly. “It’s been complicated ever since. I’ve seen you change, Baldwin. I’ve watched you grow more and more serious, more and more concerned. I’m not so stupid that I don’t make the connection between his death and your slow descent into worry and regret.”
He drew a deep breath. “I would never say you were stupid, my dear. Your sharp tongue and quick wit are too undeniable when turned on me. But you don’t…know.”
Her face twisted a little. “Because you won’t tell me. Nor anyone else.”
He sensed the frustration she was trying to rein in, trying to soften in an effort to empathize with his situation. In an effort to uncover the whole of it.
He hated himself for causing that emotion, but the other option was to crush her down to her very soul. To make her doubt what she’d known about her father, about him.
“I love you,” he said instead, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
She was clearly fighting to stay on topic, but at last she sighed. “I know that. And I hope you know that my interference, such as it is, is also born from love.”
“I do,” he said, and meant it. “I will come tomorrow, though I think you should let go of any notions you have in your head about me and Miss Monroe. She is charming, as you say, but there is no future there. I have other obligations that I must fulfill.”
There was a flash of disappointment over her face, but she wiped it away. “Whatever you say, Baldwin. You are certainly well capable of making your own decisions. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Now I must go—I have to make a stop to call on Mama and then Ewan is expecting me.”
Baldwin barely stifled a sigh of relief that she would go. He loved seeing her, but she laid bare the problems in his life, without even meaning to. He followed her into the foyer where he kissed her cheek. But as she turned to go, he said, “And why don’t you let me talk to Brighthollow?”
“If you think Hugh will listen to you and accept our invitation, I shall do just that. Send word of his response, though, so I may plan accordingly.”
He nodded and she squeezed his hand one more time before she hurried to her carriage and left him in a cloud of sweet perfume and bitter worries. About the future. About the past. And about a woman he really couldn’t have.
Hugh Marg
olis, Duke of Brighthollow, looked up from the letter on his desk and smiled as Baldwin stepped around his butler and into the room. Baldwin returned the expression even as he studied his old friend’s face.
Brighthollow had always been stern. There was a hardness to him, an edge that none of their other friends had. Of course, it was bound to be there. He’d been duke the longest, taking on the title when he was just seventeen, after his father and mother died in a terrible accident. He’d been left with a sister in his charge, twelve years his junior.
Brighthollow had grown up very quickly.
“You look like hell,” Hugh said with a chuckle.
Baldwin glared at him. “Thank you. I appreciate the kind concern, you lout.”
“Come in, sit down, have a drink. I was happy to receive your letter and happier still to receive you.” Hugh moved to the sideboard as he spoke and splashed scotch into a glass that he handed over.
“The same from my side,” Baldwin said as they lifted their glasses. “There are fewer and fewer in our ranks who are bachelors—we must stick together.”
He had meant the quip as a joke, but Hugh’s expression darkened and he took a deep sip of his drink before he said, “Ah yes, our friends who are deep in the throes of true love.” He rolled his eyes.
The harsh words made Baldwin examine his face more closely. There was more than Hugh’s usual seriousness in his eyes. There was…anger there. Darkness.
“Are you so opposed to true love?” Baldwin asked, choosing each word carefully.
Hugh shrugged. “I’m certain some find it and one cannot find fault with our friends’ choices of wives thus far, but…”
He trailed off, and Baldwin leaned forward. “But?”
“Not everyone is what they seem,” Hugh finished. “I have doubts that something so flippant as true love can last.”
Baldwin flinched. “I cannot argue the idea that some people are not what they seem.” He shifted. “Charlotte said she saw you at Mattigan’s.”
Hugh lifted his gaze from his drink. “Yes, I saw her yesterday, I think it was. She mentioned it to you?”
“Yes, and that she was attempting to coax you to supper tomorrow with the group and some outside friends.”
“I’m not in much of a humor to be around people, I’m afraid.”
Baldwin chuckled. “She mentioned that, too.”
Hugh pushed to his feet. “If I offended her—”
“You didn’t,” Baldwin said. “Worried her, I think is more accurate, and sitting here with you, I must admit you are worrying me a bit, too.”
Hugh speared him with a glance. “So this isn’t a social call, but a fishing expedition.”
“It won’t be a fishing expedition if you don’t make me fish,” Baldwin said, getting up, too. “Do you want to talk about what is troubling you?”
Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face and the anger there turned to worry, even fear. “Just some…some trouble with Lizzie.”
Baldwin drew back. Lizzie was only sixteen, not even out yet. She and Hugh had always gotten along, the girl looked on him as a father rather than a brother. For all intents and purposes, he had been. She was so young when she lost her parents.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Hugh said, his tone growing dark again. “I have—I’ve managed it as best I can. She’s safely back in Brighthollow now.”
Baldwin tilted his head. “Safely?”
“What about you?” Hugh said, ignoring the question. “You have been moping around for quite some time. Would you like me to pry into the details of your troubles?”
Baldwin frowned. “No,” he said at last.
“I’m sure the others are pressing you on it. That’s what they do, after all, and they mean well. But I know better than others that some secrets should not be discussed or exposed. I wouldn’t dare to bother you about them. If you see fit to talk about what’s troubling you, you will. I only ask the same courtesy from you. At least with each other, we can be untroubled.”
Baldwin shifted. The idea of not having to hide or pretend to avoid prying questions was certainly attractive on some level. But Hugh’s coldness bothered him.
Still, he held up both hands in surrender. “If you don’t wish to speak, we won’t speak. But what shall I tell Charlotte about her party?”
Hugh dipped his head. “I’ve always admired your sister, of course. And I adore Ewan, for he is impossible not to adore. But I…I can’t be with people right now. Look at me—you see what I am at present. Give me a few weeks of peace and I promise I’ll be of a better mind to see friends.”
Baldwin nodded. “Very well. I will make an excuse that she will not press about.”
Relief flowed over Hugh’s expression and he smiled once more. “Good. Very good. Now what say we play a game of billiards?”
Baldwin grinned and followed his friend from the room. But even as their talk shifted to more benign and less troublesome topics, he couldn’t help but feel troubled. For Hugh, yes, for it was clear something terrible weighed on his mind.
But also for himself. Because in Hugh’s darkness, he feared he saw his own future. A future where his secrets ate away at his heart and eventually turned him into someone he did not wish to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Helena pulled the delicately stitched gown tight across Charity’s slender shoulders and went to work on buttoning the long line of pearls along her back. This was something her cousin’s maid could have done, of course, but Charity had asked for her.
And Helena had no way to refuse. So she swallowed her humiliation at the way Charity’s maid had glared at her, and did her best to play the role of servant.
Not that Charity seemed to notice. She had been chattering nonstop since Helena entered the room a quarter of an hour before.
“But Papa is set on a duke,” she continued, and for the first time Helena lifted her gaze and attended to Charity’s words.
“It is the highest title until one gets to the princes,” Helena said, hoping she sounded light and disinterested in the subject. She was anything but. Dukes were of interest to her. Well, one duke. One who would be in attendance tonight.
“Well, he looked into princes, too,” Charity said with a shrug that yanked the buttons from Helena’s fingers. “There are no good prospects available.”
“Hmmm, so a duke it is,” Helena muttered as she went back to her work.
“There will be dukes aplenty tonight. Though many of then are already married, which seems such a waste. Did you know that the group of them have a club of some kind?”
Helena swallowed. “Do they? Where did you hear that?”
“When we went on our calls the other day. I was bored almost to tears—the English are so stuffy. But you must have had it worse, Helena. Having to stay here and read?”
Helena stifled a smile. Not only did her cousin not understand in the slightest that she enjoyed reading, but she had not mentioned the call she had received from The Duchesses, as she now thought of them. None of the servants had done so either, so her afternoon with Emma, Meg, Adelaide and Charlotte had remained her lovely secret.
“I managed,” she said, finishing the buttoning at last and moving to examine her cousin. No one could find fault with her clothing, certainly. Uncle Peter made sure of that, for he had provided her with a ridiculous allowance for gowns.
Helena couldn’t help but glance at her own dress. It was serviceable enough, styled to attend a party like tonight’s. But she would not stand out in a plain dark green gown with no flourishes. Not that she needed to. She was not meant to capture the attention of a duke, after all.
“You look lovely. Shall I call Perdy to do your hair?”
Charity arched a brow. “I want to talk to you. You do it.”
Helena stared at her for a beat. She could not tell if Charity acted this way out of a flare of power or if she were truly so selfish that she was oblivious to the position she put Helena into. Of course, the p
urpose behind her demands mattered little. Helena had to obey them one way or another.
“Very well, though I doubt I’ll do as well as your maid,” she said, and barely contained her sigh as she slid a few pins between her lips and caught up Charity’s brush and comb.
“Still, it isn’t only dukes,” Charity said, picking up almost at the same point where she’d left off a moment before. “Father isn’t laying off the others, no matter what he says. He made me call on the Earl of Grifford two days ago, did I tell you that?”
Helena shook her head and mumbled around the pins, “No, I don’t think that name came up.”
“Oh, Helena,” Charity said with a sigh. “He is…old.”
Helena swirled a few strands of hair up and slid a pin into place. “How old?”
“Twenty years my senior,” Charity replied. She pulled a face. “I mean, he is titled. And I’ll admit he isn’t entirely awful. He’s rather dashing, actually, for a man of his years. But still.”
For not the first time, Helena actually felt a twinge of pity for her cousin. Charity had almost as few choices about her future as Helena did. And while Charity might be frivolous and occasionally even unkind, she was not, at her core, a terrible person. She had simply been spoiled; Helena had watched it for years. And for a person accustomed to having whatever she wanted, being turned into a bartering chip must have been quite the shock to the system.
“Well, it sounds as though Uncle Peter has dukes on the mind, so perhaps he only sees Lord Grifford as a standby.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Charity’s bottom lip poked out in a pout for a moment before she straightened up. “There will be a few eligible men there. The Dukes of Sheffield and Tyndale, he says. I haven’t met Tyndale yet, though I’ve heard he’s rather handsome. A bit broody, according to gossip. But Sheffield is very handsome.”
Helena nearly choked on the pins between her lips and withdrew them before she spoke again. “I suppose no one could deny that he is.”
“Oh, come, Helena,” Charity snapped. “You obviously think he is or you wouldn’t have arranged to find yourself alone with him.”
The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5) Page 6