Page 75 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

“What is wrong?” she asked, grabbing onto the sides of the sleigh as the horse surged forward, encouraged by Duke of the Lennox’s whip.

“Did you witness the burst of snow?” the Duke of Lennox asked, indicating a faint cloud of white hovering in front of them.

“Yes, but I’m not certain what caused it.” She peeked over her shoulder at him.

“I am.” His gaze dropped to her. “One of the sleighs overturned.”

“Oh!” Helena’s hands flew to her mouth. “Do you think someone may be injured?”

He didn’t reply. Lifting his eyes to the rear of the Duke of Mansfield’s sled, the Duke of Lennox swung the whip again. His horse sped up, closing the distance.

“I’m not racing,” the Duke of Mansfield yelled as their horse pulled even with his runners.

“I am!” The Duke of Warwick twisted around and jerked the whip free of its holder.

A struggle for the lash ensued between the two men, causing their sled to lose speed and fall behind Helena and the Duke of Lennox.

“They may hit something.” Helena peered around the Duke of Lennox, praying she wouldn’t witness an accident.

The Duke of Mansfield expelled a curse word, jerked the whip out of the Duke of Warwick’s reach, and swung the thick leather on the back of his horse.

“They won’t catch us,” the Duke of Lennox said, his eyes on the path before them. “Only Warwick is better at racing than I, and his injury prevents him from driving a sled.”

“How frustrating it must be,” Helena said, turning in her seat and facing forward, “to have great talent but a physical limitation that prevents that ability from flourishing.”

“A temporary limitation,” the Duke of Lennox bit off, “that would heal if he’d stop dismissing the nurses trying to heal him.”

They rounded the bend and encountered the Duke of Roxburghe and Miss Webb standing in the snow, their shoulders dug into the side of an overturned sleigh, attempting to rock the vehicle over.

“Where’s Beaufort?” Stopping their sled, the Duke of Lennox stepped from the runners.

“Underneath,” the Duke of Roxburghe grunted.

“With my sister,” Miss Webb added, a hysterical sob escaping from her throat.

Helena scrambled from the sleigh, and she and the Duke of Lennox claimed an empty spot on the side of the toppled sled, adding their strength to the herculean task of freeing the people trapped beneath.

“How did this happen?” she asked, repositioning her shoes, which slipped on the slick ice.

A muffled response crawled from the one-inch space between the sleigh and the ground. “I took the curve too quickly.”

“Mansfield!” Relief ebbed into the Duke of Roxburghe’s voice when the horse trotted around the bend. “I’m not even going to ask why the two of you decided to join us this afternoon.”

“You should,” the Duke of Lennox murmured, glancing at Helena.

Delight sparkled in his eyes, warming them to the color of melted chocolate. She couldn’t help returning his grin.

With the added strength of the Duke of Mansfield, the five of them flipped the sleigh over—the deafening crash echoing across the frozen lake—and revealed the Duke of Beaufort’s back. Beneath his rounded body, Miss Fernsby-Webb’s disheveled head peered out from beneath his great coat.

“Winifred!” Miss Webb flung herself at her sister, knocking her and the Duke of Beaufort backward and coating all of them in snowy powder.

“Are you injured?” The Duke of Lennox extended his arm to the Duke of Beaufort and hauled him to his feet.

“Solely my pride.” He grinned, brushed the ice from his coat, and shifted his gaze to the Duke of Warwick. “Am I staring at an apparition?”

“Not unless you return to Lennox’s home.” The Duke of Warwick stood and bowed to the Duke of Roxburghe. “Which is the reason Lennox’s servants have relocated to your lodgings.”

The Duke of Roxburghe’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to need further explanation.”