Page 43 of The Duchess Trap
She glanced around them nervously, but the crowd pressed and swirled with its own chatter. None seemed to notice two young women by the gilt-edged wall exchanging silly nothings like schoolgirls.
Helen relented, squeezing Catherine’s hand. “I tease only because I am glad to see you. You clearly feared this ball, yet you shine like a jewel, even if you don’t believe it.”
Catherine exhaled, touched. “You are kind, Helen. I feel as though I might be accosted at any moment.”
“Then let me stand guard,” her friend declared, lifting her chin proudly. “No one shall challenge you without going through me first.”
A laugh escaped Catherine, light and grateful. She opened her mouth to answer?—
“Pardon me.”
The male voice startled her. She turned, prepared to summon a polite smile for yet another stranger, but the words stilled on her lips.
He was not a stranger at all.
“Benjamin?” The name rushed out unbidden. Catherine knew that addressing him in such an informal manner was taboo, but even in this company, she could not control her impulses.
The man before her bowed with old-fashioned grace, his eyes warm with recognition. His hair, once unruly straw, was now a darker blond touched with sun. His shoulders looked broad, broader than she remembered, beneath the fine cut of his coat. But the smile, that wide, boyish grin, was exactly as she recounted from Brightwater’s long summers.
“Miss Terrell,” he said, his voice deeper, steadier, but laced with unmistakable fondness. “Or should I say Your Grace, now?”
Her heart leapt, her hands flying to her lips before she caught herself. “Good heavens, it has been, what, years? How did you…When—” She shook her head, laughing in disbelief. “Benjamin Selkirk! I cannot believe it is truly you.”
Helen blinked, curiosity flaring. “You know one another?”
“Know one another?” Catherine turned to her, eyes shining. “Benjamin was…” She turned to Benjamin. “You do not mind, of course?”
Benjamin gave her a reassuring look. “It is all right, Your Grace. I believe everyone in this room is whispering about my origins.”
“Origins?” Helen echoed.
“Benjamin grew up at Brightwater. Well, we grew up alongside each other,” Catherine explained. “We often played together when my mother brought me with her to the orphanage. This is Mr. Benjamin Selkirk. Benjamin, this is my friend, Lady Helen Watton.”
Benjamin bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
Helen curtsied in return. “Likewise, Mr. Selkirk.”
Benjamin inclined his head. “At your service, my lady. Though I must insist upon plain Selkirk, or Benjamin, these days. Business leaves little time for titles.”
“Business?” Catherine chimed in. “But how can you make your living running a business? I remember he could never sit still for a lesson. Always climbing the orchard trees higher than the rest, dropping apples into my lap while I tried to read.”
Benjamin chuckled, eyes soft on her. “And you always scolded me for bruising them.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling up as though no time at all had passed. “Because you bruised half the harvest!”
“I was eight,” he said with mock indignation. “Surely, I’m forgiven by now?”
“Perhaps,” she laughed, though her cheeks ached with smiling. “Tell me about your business, then. I heard rumors that you had gone into shipping.”
“Indeed,” he said, a glint of pride in his eye. “And by some stroke of fortune, it seems I have a head for it. Ships sail to the Indies now with my mark upon them. Tea, silk, spices, things I never dreamed I’d see as a lad running through Brightwater’s corridors.” He smiled ruefully. “I feared I’d not be recognized among such company, but the Dowager is well acquainted with the Earl of Pembroke. The Earl has dealings with me. It seems commerce opens doors even if the right blood does not.”
Her chest swelled with genuine admiration. “I am so glad,” she said fervently. “You always had such determination. Do you remember the year the river froze? You swore you would skate the whole length, though the ice cracked beneath you every few yards.”
Benjamin laughed, shoulders shaking. “And you scolded me then too, standing on the bank with your arms crossed like some small governess.”
Catherine flushed, memories flooding—days of laughter, of grass-stained hems and wind-blown hair. A simpler time, when duty had not yet weighed upon her shoulders, when her father’s debts were not her burden, when her heart had not been bound to a man who kissed like fire one moment and stood like stone the next.
She glanced around instinctively, searching for Duncan. But he was still across the room, tall and proud even among the lords, listening with that cool attention that gave nothing away.
