A Duchess a Day

by Charis Michaels

  “If nothing else, they are consistent. Their ability to completely ignore their golden goose is unprecedented. Albeit useful.” He reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face. “I will never ignore you.”

  “It was one of the chief reasons I attached myself to you.” She turned her head to kiss his hand.

  “Hmm. And I thought you found me strong and thrilling. I thought I was an ‘adventure.’ ”

  “Well, that goes without saying,” she said.

  “Or you could say it.”

  She laughed and dropped her head on his shoulder. Even though he’d just 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. It was unthinkable that the duke might miss his uncle’s birthday meal.

  But if Knightly Snow had managed to sweep Lusk away, perhaps he would not bother. Perhaps missed celebrations would become a matter of course. Helena honestly could not say what she hoped for most: Lusk arriving to the dinner to demonstrate new independence, or Lusk giving Girdleston the cut and not showing up at all.

  What actually happened was so far superior to both. Better than her wildest dreams.

  Lusk arrived to the family dinner with Miss Knightly Snow on his arm.

  The happy couple turned up late, after the soup but before the quail, strolling into the dining room as if everyone else had arrived early. In order to reach his place at the head of the table, Lusk and Miss Snow traversed the long length of the room, quieting conversations and eliciting stares.

  The duke did not escort Knightly Snow so much as promenade her. Miss Snow, invoking a feat of balance previously unknown to Helena, managed to cling to Lusk while also preening beside him. She was a curved, sauntering, electric-blue-and-yellow-and-red pennant in the wind. She had the look of a woman who had been born for this very moment.

  And the duke?

  The duke appeared cogent for the first time in his life. His face was lit with satisfied pride. His head was high. His eyes fixed on each face along the table, alert and almost inviting for some challenge. His gloves creased where he held her hand tightly to his arm. He didn’t shamble, he coasted.

  As his betrothed, Helena was seated to the left of his chair. When she saw their long, stupefying entrance, she slid from her seat and drifted down the table to evict Camille. Her sister cooperated immediately and slipped from the room.

  With Helena’s seat vacant, Lusk easily settled Miss Snow beside him and dropped into his own seat. A footman stepped up to fill their wineglasses, and Lusk leaned forward to touch noses with Knightly Snow.

  The captivated room delved more deeply into disbelieving silence. No one breathed. The only sound was Knightly Snow’s giggle. Even the hovering footman was unsettled—he could not reach Miss Snow’s goblet because she’d angled her ample bosom to Lusk. Meanwhile, Helena’s heart exploded with hope.

  Finally, when Helena thought the deep curiosity and red-faced shock in the room might actually combust, Titus Girdleston cleared his throat.

  In a warning tone he reserved only for his nephew, he cautioned, “Your Grace?”

  The duke snapped his head up so fast his uncle flinched. Lusk stared at Girdleston as if a peasant had crept into the room and called him by his given name.

  Titus paused, considered, and foolishly continued in a wheedling tone, “I was not aware that Your Grace had invited a guest. This is my birthday dinner.”

  “I am not obligated to make you aware of my dinner guests,” Lusk shot back, his voice casual but with the bite of authority. “I am the duke. You celebrate your birthday in this house at my pleasure. At the moment, it is my pleasure to have a guest. Happy birthday, Uncle.”

  Without appearing to think, Girdleston stood up. In the firm
tone of a schoolmaster, he said, “Your Grace!”

  The dinner guests swiveled their heads to the duke. Lusk had turned away to nuzzle Miss Snow, and now he went very, very still. Helena held her breath, watching his profile. For the first time ever, Lusk appeared to be formed of muscle and bone rather than flesh and air. She watched anger tighten every limb.

  After a beat, the duke slowly turned back to his uncle. His eyes pinioned Girdleston’s, clear and focused and waiting.

  Girdleston, seemingly unaware of his loss of control, said, “Surely you do not mean to insult your betrothed, Lady Helena?” He extended a hand to the table.

  Helena sat still and upright, trying to look innocent and contrite and not beam with glee. Underlying it all was the thudding fear that the duke would falter, or lose heart, or bend to the pressure of his uncle. Girdleston patronized, working to remain civil. Red-hot anger veritably radiated from his face. Helena had never been afraid of Titus Girdleston, but she’d never seen him like this.

  When the duke spoke, his voice was not afraid. He sounded relaxed but final. Authority rang in his lazy words.

  “The betrothal is off, Titus,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He took up his wineglass and swirled the burgundy liquid. “Lady Helena and I do not suit. We have tortured her long enough, don’t you think?”

  Grateful tears shot to Helena’s eyes. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. She worked very hard not to dissolve into a tearful, breathless heap in her chair.

  Titus said, “But, Your Grace, you’ve been betrothed to Lady Helena for these many years. We’ve an agreement with the earl and countess. Lady Helena has—”

  “Lady Helena,” Lusk cut in, “does not interest me. I’ve thrown her over. Pray, someone attend her, lest she swoon.”

  Helena blinked away tears in time to see Lusk shoot her a sardonic look over the brim of his glass. He raised an ironic eyebrow. Knightly Snow let out a giggle.

  Every head swiveled to Helena. She felt their collective gaze like the gust of a voracious wind. For how long had she dreamed of this moment? And yet, she wasn’t certain how to react. Should she feign heartbreak? Toss the contents of her water goblet in Lusk’s face? Slink from the room? Her mind spun. An unwitting footman had leaned in with the salt cellar when Helena remembered Declan’s advice: Keep as close to the truth as possible.

  The truth was, she really wanted to speak to Lusk.

  Unsteadily, she shoved from her seat. “Would His Grace grant me a moment alone to . . . discuss his change of heart?”

  She would not rest easy until she had his assurance that this was not a one-evening stunt.

  Girdleston leapt at this request. “Yes, yes,” the old man enthused, “you and the duke have a word and perhaps your differences can be smoothed over. We shall set a place for the duke’s new friend. Here. Beside me.”

  Without looking at the man seated to his left, Girdleston slid his plate away and signaled to a footman. He continued, “By the time you return—”

  “Miss Snow will not move from her current chair,” commanded the duke, tossing his napkin on his plate. He pushed back from the table with undue force. Before he strode from the room, he kissed Knightly Snow full on the mouth.

  While stunned guests watched in motionless shock, Helena struggled to dislodge herself from the crowded table and hurried after the duke.

  “She is a marvel,” enthused Lusk when Helena joined him in the corridor.

  “Oh yes, quite,” Helena said. “I believe being marvelous is a priority to Miss Snow.”

  Helena had vowed to follow his lead. If he wished to profess his appreciation of Knightly Snow, she would not contradict him. She owed her future to the marvelous Knightly Snow.

  “Do you think the two of you will, er, suit?” Helena asked.

  “We suit,” Lusk assured her, straightening his cravat.

  “I am grateful that you are releasing me from the betrothal. I . . . I hope—”

  “Convenient, isn’t it?” he said. “Considering you’re married to someone else.” He shot her a look of challenge.

  Helena felt her face go hot. And now she wasn’t sure what to say.

  The duke continued, “Knightly told me about the stable boy. Aren’t you a little minx?”

  “I—” began Helena. She was wholly unprepared to defend herself and Declan.

  She began again. “Mr. Shaw and I sort of . . . fell into one another. He was hired to guard me, we were thrown together, and . . . we found love. Please believe me, Bradley, I hope the same will happen for you. Truly. I’m thrilled that you get on so well with Miss Snow.”

  The duke snorted. “I’d not double down, if I were you.” He was looking over her shoulder into the dining room.

  “I’m not doubling down.” She stepped right, forcing him to look her in the eye. “You should have a wife who shares your interests and has your heart. And you should challenge your uncle. Girdleston takes every advantage. He serves only his own ambition, and I believe he takes a strange sort of pleasure in telling you what to do. You can throw him over and be the duke you were born to be.”

  Lusk laughed bitterly. “What do I know of being duke?”

  “You’ve had the best tutors and studied at Oxford, for God’s sake. Surely you learned something. Your friends have titles and somehow manage. You can hire a trustworthy steward. Or you may invoke the advice of Miss Snow. I have it on good authority that she is very clever.”

  Lusk snapped his attention back to Helena. “Do you think she would fancy managing the dukedom? Alongside me?”

  “Ah,” Helena scrambled. “I believe she is very ambitious. And she prefers to keep busy. With an estate and holdings as vast as yours, surely there will be some stimulating task to keep her occupied. Ask her. But do you . . .” Helena swallowed hard, “. . . intend to marry Miss Snow?”

  “If she will have me,” said Lusk.

  “And I am truly free?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I was an arse to allow them to bind you to me for so long.” He stepped around her for a better view of the dining room.

  “And will you tell Girdleston to drop his agreement with my father about the barges on the River Brue? If he doesn’t, your limestone shipments will destroy Castle Wood. Can you tell them to leave it as it is?”

  “What?” He snapped his head back, his expression impatient.

  Helena took a deep breath. As quickly and succinctly as possible, she told him about her tiny corner of their shared wood and her orchard. She implored him not to destroy it.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “What care have I for Somerset?”

  Helena closed her eyes, terrified she could not trust his word. Without thinking, she reached to take the duke’s face in both hands, holding his cheeks in her palms.

  Staring him in the eye, she said, “Promise me, Bradley. No matter what happens. I have given you Knightly Snow. Life as a sentient man is within your reach. After five years of terrorizing me, will you promise not to intrude on my river or forest or orchard?”

  Lusk scrunched up his face, clearly unaccustomed to being confined or pleaded with or both. Finally, he jerked away and said, “You have my word. Enjoy your strapping stable groom and your wretched forest and apricots.”

  “Apples,” she breathed.

  “Right. Apples.”

  “This is all I ask,” said Helena. Her voice broke. She took a step back.

  “What do we do now?” she asked in a whisper.

  “I don’t care what you do. I’m going back to Knightly.”

  “You’ll have to deal with my father, I’m afraid. There . . . there may be some necessary payment—for jilting me.”

  The duke smoothed his coat and tugged at his cuffs, flashing a dismissive expression. “I don’t care about the money. I only care about Knightly.” He paused and looked up. “But should I tell your parents about the stable groom?”

  Helena’s heart stopped. “I’d rather you not? I had hoped to tell them some weeks after our
betrothal had dissolved.”

  The duke snorted and turned toward the dining room. “I’m only joking. I won’t reveal what a naughty little blossom you’ve been . . . enjoying moonlit assignations with servants—”

  “One servant,” she corrected.

  “Traipsing through country markets . . .”

  “You saw us?”

  “. . . and your very secret business inside that Catholic church . . .”

  “Er,” began Helena, but the duke was chuckling to himself, walking away. He raised a hand in farewell, not looking back.

  Helena watched him disappear into the dining room. She’d wished on a star and the wish had come true. She could finally look forward to the dawn.

  From inside the dining room, she heard commotion. Girdleston’s muffled voice, choked and outraged. Her father, braying about contracts. Her mother’s tears. Above it all, as clear as shattered glass, she heard the Duke of Lusk proclaim, “The wedding to Lady Helena is off. I’ll say no more on the matter and sign whatever is required, my lord. I’ve fallen in love with Miss Knightly Snow.”

  Raised voices ensued, but Helena did not wait. She fled to her room. When her family called, she feigned shock and deep contemplation. It was not difficult.

  When the clock struck midnight, she waited fifteen minutes and then slipped down the stairs and out the cellar door, running to Declan in the stables.

  Declan sat beside Helena on the bench in the carriage room, shaking his head at the story.

  “Did Knightly behave as if marriage to Lusk was a consideration?” he asked.

  Helena shrugged. “I cannot say what happened after I left. Before, my impression was enthusiastic hope from Lusk and an indulgent sort of preening from Miss Snow. By no means is she a certainty for Lusk.”

  “She did have a prince eating out of her hand,” said Declan. “Lusk will be child’s play.”

  “She strikes me as a very clever girl,” said Helena. “Whatever her plans for him, she will keep him at the tantalizing length of an arm for some calculated amount of time. It’s only what he deserves—perhaps he needs it. He is finally paying attention.”