The Duke of Roxburghe brushed his lips across the top of her forehead, then glanced over. “Lennox, please inform my fiancée?—”
“And her sister,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, materializing behind them.
The Duke of Roxburghe nodded to her as though accepting her correction. “Why I cannot attend tonight’s festivities.”
Annoyance flickered through the Duke of Lennox’s chocolate eyes. “It is a women’s function.”
“I’m the exception.” The Duke of Roxburghe grinned, puffing out his chest. “But I could get you an invitation.” Cupping his hand around his mouth, the Duke of Roxburghe leaned closer to his friend. “I know the hosts.”
“As delightful as an evening with three of the town’s most beautiful ladies would be,”—the Duke of Lennox removed his hat and bowed to each woman—“I must decline the offer, as must you. We have a prior obligation.”
“And if I refuse?”
The corner of the Duke of Lennox’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’m to use any means in my imagination.”
The Duke of Roxburghe lifted his hands in mock defense. “I would loathe trouncing you in front of witnesses. However, if you insist I shirk my duties?—”
“What duties?” The smile on the Duke of Lennox’s lips faltered. “I know of no other commitment.”
“I promised my fiancée,”—the Duke of Roxburghe lifted Miss Webb’s hand and kissed it—“that I would assist with the preparations for tonight’s function as Miss Rowe doesn’t employ any males on her staff.”
A sigh escaped the Duke of Lennox, and he shifted his gaze to Helena as though seeking support for his argument.
She took pity on him. “If you also helped, Your Grace, the task would be completed without too much loss of time. Could you spare an hour?”
“For Roxburghe?”
“For me.”
“Certainly, Miss Rowe.” The Duke of Lennox favored her with a dazzling smile.
“Thank you,” she replied, unable to hear her words over the erratic thrumming of her heart.
Turning away, she floated over the snow toward the house, struggling to keep the silly grin—which seemed to appear every time the Duke of Lennox was near—from appearing on her face.
A light flickered in Miss Webb’s honey-colored eyes, and she glanced at her sister, a silent conversation passing between them.
Helena swallowed.
She’d known the Webb sisters only a few weeks, but her experience with them showed that both ladies were intelligent, observant, and partial to the unconventional, which was a dangerous combination since they were staring at Helena as though she was a newly discovered, diverting distraction.
“No,” Helena mouthed as she passed between the sisters.
Miss Fernsby-Webb grinned. “Miss Rowe, whatever are you referring to?”
“The plan I see formulating in your minds,” Helena said, striding through the foyer toward the dining room.
“I’m thinking of nothing but this evening’s festivities.” Miss Fernsby-Webb followed Helena down the hallway. “There are a fair number of guests coming this evening.”
Helena gulped and twisted around. “How many ladies did you invite?”
“Sixteen. However, that number includes us,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, grunting as she dragged a chair across the dining room floor toward the exit. “Four tables shouldn’t be too overwhelming.”
The Duke of Roxburghe appeared in the doorway with Miss Webb, one arm draped over her shoulder in a possessive manner that caused a sharp pang of jealousy to slice through Helena’s heart.
“Will there be cake?” he asked, a glint of amusement hovering in his blue eyes. “My fiancée must have cake at every possible occasion.”
“Your Grace!” Miss Webb flushed and spun around, taking a playful swipe at him. “There doesn’t need to be cake at every event I attend.”
