Duke of Thunder (Regency Gods #1)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

“ O h, Miss Fletch—Helen!”

Ariadne’s voice greeted Helen when she finally rose the next morning—not from sleep, but from a fitful night of tossing and turning that had left her nothing short of miserable. The sun was scarcely in the sky by the time she made her way down the breakfast room, the staff only just getting started laying out chafing dishes, plates, and silverware.

And yet here was Helen’s younger sister by marriage, looking as though she’d been awake for ages.

Helen blinked.

“Oh, um, good morning, Lady—ah, Ariadne.”

The younger girl ducked her head, instantly putting Helen in mind of Patricia. A wave of sisterly protectiveness washed over her.

“Just Ariadne, if you please,” she said shyly. “Or Ari. That’s what my family calls me and…well, you are family now, are you not?”

With her fight with Xander still painfully fresh in her mind, Helen wanted to deny it. She wasn’t family ; she was an inconvenient, misplaced prop in the mise en scene that Xander wanted to present of the Lightholder dynasty.

But Ariadne was giving her a sweet, earnest look that seemed to take a lot of courage. Helen didn’t have the heart to dash the girl’s hopes.

“Of course,” she agreed, dropping into a chair at the breakfast table a bit less gracefully than she might have hoped. Lack of sleep had made her clumsy. “You are quite right; we are family now. I’m afraid I haven’t a nickname of my own to offer back, however.”

Ariadne’s smile grew a little braver, a little bigger, a little bolder.

“Oh, I’m sure we shall think of one for you,” she said. “We’re quite prolific givers of nicknames, we Lightholders. Xander, Kitty, Jase, Ari—we’ve all got one, and you shall, too, in due time.”

Helen quite sincerely doubted this, given the tension between herself and her husband, but she smiled back at Ari anyway.

“I look forward to it,” she said kindly. Then, a thought occurred to her. “But—when did you get back? I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were back in residence.”

Ariadne shook her head, dismissing the apology.

“Oh, we returned at a positively dreadful hour,” she said with a small grimace. “Jason insisted we not wait until this morning, though it was rather for Catherine’s benefit. Mother was being rather…” She paused, as if considering her words. “—determined in asking Kitty about when she planned to be married.”

“Ah.” Of all the complaints in the world, my family pestering me to wed was perhaps the one that Helen could understand above all others. “Yes, I can see why that might be…challenging.”

Ariadne gave her a knowing look that suggested that she knew that what Helen really meant was , yes, I would have fled that kind of interrogation, as well.

“It is best, for the sake of familial harmony, that we all live in our own residences,” Ariadne said with such biting primness that it startled a laugh out of Helen. Ariadne ducked her head, blushing at this response, but Helen saw the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile.

“Jason gets protective when Xander isn’t around,” she further explained. “Also, there was reason to worry that Kitty would do herself irreparable harm biting her tongue?—”

“Are you telling tales about me, Ari?”

Though the words were censorious, Lady Catherine’s tone was warm as she entered the room. She, too, looked perfectly put together for the hour, which made Helen feel woefully shabby in her simple morning dress and quick coiffure, which she’d pinned herself, not wanting to wake her maid early.

Perhaps , she thought with a miserable pang, Xander was right. Perhaps I am not suited to be part of this family, after all.

Ariadne’s smile was less shy with her sister than it had been with Helen.

“I was bragging about your self-restraint to our new sister,” she said brightly.

Catherine gave both women a wry look. “A bit more self-restraint and we would not have intruded on our new sister so soon after her marriage,” she commented mildly. “For which I do apologize, Helen.”

“Not at all,” Helen said, hoping her expression didn’t give away the extent to which she and Xander had not been occupied with newly wedded bliss. “It’s your home. You’re welcome; of course you are.”

Catherine gave her a gracious smile, but there was something in it that made Helen wonder, horribly, if the elder Lightholder sister knew more than she was letting on.

Their conversation was briefly interrupted when a flurry of servants bustled in, muttering apologies that breakfast had not already been served, which the three women quickly dismissed. Edwards, the butler who had let Helen in for that first fated meeting with Xander, brought the freshly ironed papers. Helen had been worried that he’d view her with scorn, given that he knew her less than proper behavior before her marriage, but he greeted her as warmly as he always had, which was outstripped only by the evident adoration he held for Catherine.

When they all had proper servings of tea and toast and sausages, their conversation slowly resumed. It was an everyday sort of chatter, and Helen recognized it as a welcoming gesture. They were treating her like a regular member of the family, not a newcomer or interloper.

It should have been reassuring, but instead, Helen found herself in agony over the argument she’d had with her husband. If she’d alienated Xander as much as she’d feared, would her new family by marriage still accept her? Still welcome her?

Somehow, she doubted it. They seemed very close-knit.

“Did you sleep at all, Ari?” Catherine asked, a sympathetic half-smile on her face.

Ariadne shrugged. “A bit. I’ll likely need a nap later, though.”

“Don’t be fooled by Ariadne’s good humor this morning, Helen,” Catherine advised with a fond look toward her younger sister. “She is typically absolutely dreadful at breakfast. You’ll only see this side of her after she is awake for two or three hours, at the very least.”

Ariadne did not seem to mind this teasing.

“And Kitty is like the cock that crows at dawn. Wide awake, thrilled about it, and determined to make everyone else join her,” she returned. “Speaking of, Helen, did you ever consider using your power as lady of the house to make Catherine take whichever bedchamber is furthest from mine?”

Catherine pressed a hand to her chest in mock affront. “If she does that, Ari, where will she put you so that you don’t disrupt us by wandering about at all hours? There’s a creaking floorboard near my bedchamber, you know.”

“It sounds as though you’ll be very happy in your new quarters,” Ariadne returned. “I was thinking the stables?”

Helen watched this banter, torn between pleasure and dismay. She and Patricia had enjoyed a home like this one, once upon a time. And then George had arrived, and his presence had made their house a tomb.

But they would have a happy home again, Helen reminded herself sternly. Today.

Unless, of course, she’d ruined things by snapping at Xander.

Don’t borrow trouble , she reminded herself. She didn’t think that her husband was the kind of man who would go back on his word, not even if he was furious with her. Not to mention that he was unlikely to let George see him waver, no matter how much Helen irritated him.

Patricia would come live here. She would be safe.

She might even become friends with Ariadne, Helen thought, trying to force some optimism. They were of an age and seemed to share a temperament.

Maybe this would be good. Maybe it could all be good.

A little while later, Jason stumbled into the breakfast room, still half-asleep, as though he’d thrown on the first clothes he’d laid hands upon that morning. His mussed hair and mismatched buttons made Helen feel a bit better about her own appearance until she recalled that Jason was a man, and men could do whatever they wanted.

“G’morning,” he mumbled vaguely. Then he dropped into a seat, poured himself a cup of coffee, and stared at it for a while, as if it contained all the secrets of the divine.

“That,” Catherine said mildly, “is what you can usually expect from Ariadne in the morning.”

Ariadne stuck her tongue out at her sister.

They continued to eat for a while longer, the women chatting amiably and Jason even rousing himself enough to contribute a few words once he made his way through to his second cup of strong, black coffee.

Xander was nowhere to be found.

Helen tried not to look at the empty seat at the head of the table that proclaimed his absence. When that failed, she tried not to look at it in an obvious way.

That, too, was unsuccessful.

“Don’t judge Xander too harshly.” Catherine’s voice was gentle, low enough that she did not interrupt Jason and Ariadne’s cheerful argument about the relative merits of marmalade versus cherry preserves, which was apparently a specialty of their cook.

Helen tried very hard to look like someone who had never judged anyone for anything in her life.

Catherine gave Helen a knowing elder sister sort of look. Helen understood, for the first time in her life, why Patricia sometimes found that look so annoying.

Helen sighed. "I... I'll try."

Catherine’s look grew even more knowing. Helen resisted the urge to squirm.

“That’s all I ask,” she said sagely, something about it making her seem much older than Helen, even if there were only a handful of years between them.

And, like a scolded child who felt she turned invisible if she could not see her nurse, Helen groped for the newspaper and opened it in front of her face, like it was a shield, not foolscap and newsprint.

Catherine chuckled quietly.

Goodness, having an elder sister was infuriating . Helen vowed to apologize to Patricia just as soon as she arrived at Oldhill House.

And then, as if Helen had willed it into being, she saw Patricia’s name in the paper in front of her.

It took her a few attempts to understand what she was seeing.

Except there it was, in black and white, under the column of Banns of Matrimony:

June 18—Lord George Fletcher, Viscount Northton and Patricia Fletcher.

No. No, no, no, no. No.

“What’s wrong?”

Helen didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until she heard Jason’s sharp, concerned question. She looked up.

Any traces of Jason’s previous sleepiness were gone. Alert and keen-eyed like this, he strongly resembled his elder brother, for all that his youth lent him a slender figure that Xander had left behind.

But both brothers had the same ice-blue eyes, and the steely determination in them was just the same.

He was waiting for an answer—they were all waiting. Catherine and Ariadne were also looking on with twin expressions of concern.

Helen felt both as though her mind was racing and as if it were moving impossibly slow, like the feeling of slogging through mud. How could she explain it all? It seemed impossible. There wasn’t time. She had to act.

Patricia. Patricia .

“I—I have to go,” she stammered, knowing it was inadequate. “I—My sister.”

Jason was on his feet, and Helen realized that she was, too.

“You need to wait,” Jason said, all Lightholder imperiousness. “We need to get Xander?—”

“I need to go,” Helen said. Now that she’d seized on the idea, it was obvious. She had to be where Patricia was. Why was she here, where she was useless? Where she couldn’t protect her sister? Why hadn’t she seen this coming?

The paper had fluttered from Helen’s useless fingers. Ariadne snatched it up and searched the lines of print. Helen stumbled back from the table, nearly tripping over her chair in her haste.

Jason, too, was crossing toward her, hands outstretched. Catherine stopped him before he could grab Helen, though neither of them looked pleased by this choice.

“I need to go,” Helen said again.

“I think Jason’s right,” Catherine said, voice placating. “Whatever is happening, it’s best to wait for Xander. He’ll know what to do.”

Helen didn’t understand why they couldn’t see that waiting was impossible. If George had already posted the banns, who knew what he could do with a few more hours, with a few more minutes? Patricia would be scared. She’d be scared, and Helen wasn’t there to comfort her.

And a tiny part of Helen worried that Xander wouldn’t recognize that this was a problem, worried that he would look at the banns in the paper and decide that the risk of scandal was too great. What if he saw a solution where Helen saw a disaster?

Even as she thought it, she knew that this was…wrong. Your enemies are my enemies, he’d said. Your family is my family . And his family was certainly acting as though they felt the same. Deep down, she didn’t really believe that he would abandon her.

But her fear wasn’t rational.

“Wait,” Ariadne said. “Patricia Fletcher—that’s your sister. She’s getting married?”

A sob hiccupped out of Helen.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I can’t—I just—I have to go.”

And then, before any of them could say any more—or worse, before she could dissolve into sobs—she fled the room and made her way straight to the front door.

The early morning mist clung to Xander like an unpleasant second skin. A petty, small part of him wanted to blame his wife for this, for getting her hooks in him and making him wander the streets of Mayfair like some sort of gothic hero at this dreary, miserable hour.

But if he did that, then he’d have two reasons to apologize to her.

It had taken him too many hours to cool his temper the day prior, but once he’d done so, he’d had to admit that Helen had been right. He’d insulted her sister, and then, when she’d pushed back, he’d insulted her, as well.

Honestly, the rudeness she’d thrown back at him was more than well deserved. He could only imagine how furious he would have been if someone had insulted his siblings.

And the truth of the matter was that Helen was doing quite well, given her recent arrival in London. Any real missteps she'd made had been, frankly, his fault.

She had tried to pull away from him, but he’d drawn her back in. He had asked her to dance with him, and then he’d asked her to meet him in that room.

Because he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Damn it, Helen,” he muttered under his breath.

Except, again, that wasn’t Helen’s fault.

It was his fault because he couldn’t stop feeling as though he was being torn in two.

And that hardly made any sense because he’d been two men for more than a decade. He’d had his duty, and he’d had his pleasures.

So why did keeping the two separate suddenly seem so impossible?

Except that wasn’t a real question, either. Because he knew the answer.

Helen. Helen made it impossible.

She was his wife now, his duchess. Separating her from his name, his family, his legacy—that was an impossibility. Not only that, but he didn’t want to keep her from that part of his life. He had liked dancing with her. He’d liked being seated at her side at dinner. He wanted to have her on his arm, wanted to show her off.

And God only knew he’d enjoyed the pleasure they’d shared. He’d only bedded her properly once, and yet his mind already spun with a thousand other possibilities, a million other desires. He wanted to wring every ounce of satisfaction from her, wanted to hear her scream his name in ecstasy. He wanted her in his bed, in his arms. He wanted to see her swell with his children.

He wanted to give her all of it. He wanted to have all of her.

But how?

This was not like the other questions; it was not met with a swift answer. He’d spent years treating the two halves of himself like black powder and a spark. What detonation might occur if he let the two come into contact with one another?

But Helen. Maybe, just maybe, he could risk it. For Helen.

He ran a hand over his face and slicked his damp hair back from his brow, tucking it back up under his hat. His feet had taken him back to Oldhill House, almost without his conscious effort. It was as though his body was determined to propel him into action.

He had to apologize to his wife. That was the first step. And then…

Well, he didn’t know. He hated not knowing. He was the goddamned Duke of Godwin. He always knew.

But maybe he could handle a little uncertainty, too.

For Helen.

“Oh, Xander! Thank the Lord!”

When he entered the front door of his townhouse, he was not greeted by his wife but by his younger sister, who looked simply beside herself. She threw herself into his arms.

Instantly, Xander pushed his own feelings aside, protectiveness surging to the fore.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he demanded, holding Ariadne at arm’s length to look her over. She was not visibly injured, though she did look frazzled, her hair escaping its pins and her eyes wide and alarmed.

“What? No,” she said, and his panic dropped an iota. “Jason! Catherine! He’s here,” she shouted, craning her neck toward the interior of the house.

At once, Xander heard footsteps rushing toward him. Jason arrived first, skidding into the front hallway with a grim, determined expression. But the thing that made Xander truly frightened was Catherine, who came running.

The last time he’d seen Catherine run, the house had been aflame in the night, their father dying somewhere deep in its bowels.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “Is it Mother? Are you all right?”

Catherine looked at him and he knew, in the instant before she spoke, what she was going to say.

“We’re fine,” she told him. “It’s Helen.”