Wordlessly, the housekeeper placed one tray at each end of the refreshment table, curtsied to Helena, then vanished from the room, tucking a loose piece of black hair into her bun.
“I’d like your assistance with that decision as well,” Miss Webb said once they were alone again.
Helena wrestled open a drawer at the base of the cupboard and knelt, extracting several decks of cards. “Which men agreed to the bet?”
“The Duke of Beaufort, the Duke of Mansfield, the Duke of Warwick, and the Duke of Lennox.”
At the mention of the Duke of Lennox, Helena’s heart sped up, beating so fast that she feared the sisters would hear it. She ducked her head, hiding the blush that crawled into her cheeks.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about any of them,” Helena replied, pretending to search for another deck.
Miss Webb appeared on her right and grasped two stacks of cards. “You’ve been introduced to the Duke of Lennox; he’s quite an agreeable man.”
The fading blush exploded on Helena’s face. She nodded, twisted away from Miss Webb’s observant gaze, and dug into the back of the drawer.
“Your plan is flawed,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, taking the decks from her sister. “No amount of prodding will convince a man to take a wife. He must love her.”
“There are plenty of eligible ladies in this town,” Miss Webb said, extending her arm and helping Helena rise. “We merely need to find one to capture their singular attention.”
Setting a deck upon the nearest table, Miss Fernsby-Webb lifted her gaze, finding her sister. “Have you anyone in mind?”
“For the Duke of Lennox?” Miss Webb paused and tapped her finger on her lips as she considered the question.
Helena’s chest squeezed.
Despite her claim against desiring marriage, a part of her hoped that Miss Webb would name her a suitable companion for the Duke of Lennox. Because no matter how many times she tried to rid him from her mind, he returned, hovering just out of reach and just outside of reality.
“I haven’t,” Miss Webb said, jarring Helena from her thoughts.
“Perhaps,” Helena said as she handed Miss Fernsby-Webb the third stack of cards, “we should focus on a different duke. More time will be required for a less appealing man.”
“Who are you considering?” Miss Fernsby-Webb paused, her inquisitive eyes sliding over Helena. “Certainly not the Duke of Beaufort.”
The corner of Miss Webb’s mouth crooked, and she patted her sister’s shoulder. “We will focus our efforts on the Duke of Warwick.”
“Which one is he?” Helena asked as she strode over to the only table without a deck of cards and set down her stack.
“The one with the cane,” Miss Webb replied, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from a tablecloth. “I’ve had very few interactions with him; however, several ladies described his manner as cantankerous.”
“What caused his injury?”
“A riding accident last year.” Miss Webb sighed and sank into a chair. “Apparently, he may never fully regain the use of his leg.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb plopped into the chair beside Miss Webb. “There are many ladies who don’t like horses.”
“That won’t bode well.” Miss Webb drew the stack of cards toward her and shuffled them. “The Duke of Warwick loves them; he kept the horse that threw him.”
“Despite the injury?” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s eyebrows shot upward.
“He said the accident wasn’t the horse’s fault, and the horse shouldn’t be punished for reacting as it naturally would when frightened by a snake.”
A soft knock reverberated in the foyer.
Knowing the housekeeper was occupied preparing for the evening’s festivities, Helena excused herself and hastened into the hallway. She waved off Mrs. Hawkins, who, peeking into the corridor, flashed a grateful smile for Helena’s assistance and disappeared into the kitchen.
Helena opened the door, but there was no one on the doorstep.
Wrapping her arms around her torso, she stepped out of the house, greeting the cold late afternoon sun with a shiver. Her gaze slid over the icy grounds. Leading from the street to her door and back again, only one set of footprints appeared in the newly fallen snow.
