Here are the items we discussed for taking inventory of the gifts. The weather has held, so the party will commence outside in Lady Canning’s garden. When we arrive, please report to the gift table and stand ready.
Many thanks,
Lady Helena Lark
Chapter Seven
An hour later, Helena wound her way through Lady Canning’s crowded garden, repeating the names of three potential duchesses in her head.
Miss Tasmin Lansing...
Lady Moira Ashington...
Miss Lisbette Twining...
She waved to her mother’s maliciously chatty friend now drifting to a footman with a tray. The woman looked almost sated in the aftermath of whispering these incredibly specific and useful details. Of course she’d gushed a host of extraneous bits, but Helena had worked to remember only what she could use. She repeated the notes in her head as she checked the gift table. Shaw lurked, a golden-liveried pillar of disgust, towering above Lady Canning’s rhododendrons and a lichen-covered statue of a satyr.
She’d set the odds of his cooperation at less than half. And by cooperation, she meant making the list and then also relinquishing it to her when it was finished. She knew well the tactic of playing along until the crucial moment and thenrefusing to follow through. It was precisely her current plan with Lusk.
But first things first: Shaw had turned up. He alternately frowned and stared, his expression conveying barely concealed resentment. But he had come.
It was wrong, she knew, to feel an all-over sort of tingled rush at the sight of him. The sensations surely showed crimson or perhaps iridescent (was this possible?) on her face. She would later describe the feeling as “eruptive”—for all the good it would do her.
What would Gran say about the fizzing, sparking regard for a man who seemed only capable, at least at the moment, of glowering?
Miss Tasmin Lansing, Helena repeated, trying not to forget.Lady Moira Ashington, Miss Lisbette Twining...
She wondered if Shaw felt iridescent or tingling. He did not look like someone who remembered their time in the stable fondly... nor did he look like someone who experienced eruptive thinking.
But he’d come. She’d asked him for help, and he’d come.
Bracing herself for any myriad reactions, Helena repeated the names in her head and strode to the gift table.
“Chin up, Shaw,” she said, careful to maintain an expression of businesslike aplomb. “I’ve a trove of information for you.”
He stared at her as if she’d arrived in a damp toga. Slowly, he began to shake his head.
She chose to ignore this and eyed the many packages and parcels on the gift table. She affected an expression ofOh, I cannot wait to open these,and gingerly fingered a floppy bow.
“Pretend I am instructing you about the gifts,” she said, “but take down, if you please: Miss Tasmin Lansing, daughter of the Baron Whitney. When in London, they are in Bruton’s Place, but she rides in Hyde Park on Wednesdays. She is determined to land a husband who outpaces the earl that her sister married. Brown hair, rather tall.”
She sucked in a deep breath, ready for the next set of details, but he’d not moved. She whispered harshly, “Write it down.Miss Tasmin Lans—”
Shaw swore under his breath and snatched up the quill and paper. Without looking up, he began to scribble. She was swamped with relief.
She cleared her throat, searching her memory for the next piece. “Lady Moira Ashington, who is the daughter of Viscount Groveton. Apparently, she devotes much of her time to traveling back and forth from Bath to take the waters. But she’s in London at the moment, and she makes a habit of calling on a certain country herbalist in Wandsworth. Sometimes as often as three times a week.” Helena squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. “She is blonde and... and willowy. Rather thin. The family lives in Piccadilly. Despite her interest in, er, health treatments, she apparently covets wealth, prestige, and power as much as the next girl.” Helena took a deep breath, swallowing hard.
“Just not you,” Shaw said, still scribbling.
“Right,” she said absently, searching her memory. “Are you getting this? There is one more. Miss Lisbette Twining, who is the daughter ofa wealthy merchant in . . . in textiles. They are in Cork Street. She is very beautiful, with brown hair and blue eyes. And apparently she has some history with Lusk. He may know her from his own circle of friends.”
Shaw nodded and reinked his pen, writing it all down. Helena let out a relieved sigh, grateful she’d remembered the details long enough to repeat them. Even more relieved that Shaw was recording it. She’d been correct all along. Well, she’d been wildly reckless, foolhardy, and self-indulgent, but she had also been correct. That is, she would be correct, if he recorded the list and then relinquished it to her.
She repeated the names and footnotes again, speaking to the gifts. She scooped up a festooned bundle and stared at the card, trying to appear wistful and bridely.
“You cannot hover here,” Shaw said lowly, still writing. “If you mean to lurk in the shadows, you might as well take your own dictation.”
She replaced the bundle and tried to peek at his notes. He shot her an expression ofWhat are you doing?
