“Andthis,” said Joan, “is why we are not allowed to call on you.”
“Girls,” Helena said, looking each of them in the eye, “mind yourselves. Be thoughtful about the men they propose under the guise of ‘your own good.’ Perhaps you’ve not been committed to arranged marriages like me—in this, perhaps, they’ve learned their lesson—but that doesn’t mean you will have say over your lives.
“This is the strong-headedness they do not want,” said Camille, still watching her closely.
“You are a bad influence,” recited Theresa, clearly a commonly heard refrain.
“I am aninfluence,” Helena corrected, “this I’ll not deny. But you are old enough to decide for yourselves if I am a bad one. The truth is, I miss you very much. Perhaps I’ve indulged in my private sanctuary of the forest for too long. If I manage to return, I shall contrive to get you there more often. But you mustn’t believe what Mama and Papa say about exploring the world around you. You’ll beladiesin the forest. Certainly, you may enjoy lemon ices in a busy café for ten minutes.Iam a lady. I’m... er, marrying a duke, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” asked Camille.
Helena narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Joan crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression said their parents were correct; for Joan, the indoctrination had already begun. Theresa barely listened, looking at the activity of the street. But Camille stared back with a level gaze, studying Helena like a door she wanted to unlock. Helena bit her lip, wishing she had more time. Later, she told herself. Soon but not now. If she could escape Lusk and gain a real relationship with her sisters in the process, she would have success beyond her wildest dreams.
“Can you stay together?” Helena said now. She shot Camille a heartfelt look. “And follow Miss Tuttle’s lead on how to place your order and settle the bill. And keep in sight of the groom.”
“The groom calledShaw?” This from Joan, a note of challenge in her voice.
Helena paused.
“Careful,” Theresa said, giggling.
“No,” said Helena, leading them down the street, “not Shaw. He is my private groom and he will remain with me. Mr. Nettle will attend you.”
They reached the café and Helena paused, digging for coins in her reticule. The sisters gatheredcautiously, straightening hats and tightening gloves. Miss Tuttle returned with the girls’ forgotten parasols, and she spoke briefly to the governess and bade Nettle to watch over them. The girls muttered vague gratitude and farewells and hurried inside, already bickering about who would sit closest to the window.
When she was finally, blessedly, alone, Helena turned back to the street.
Her plan had been to make one quick but thorough circuit, and then retire to the modiste’s for her fitting while Shaw kept watch. After the fitting, she would make some excuse and circuit the street again.
Lady Genevieve. Blonde. Beautiful. Dresses to be noticed, she repeated in her head, raising a gloved hand to shade her face.
“It’s ambitious, I think,” said a male voice behind her, “to stand in one spot and hope she happens along.”
Shaw.Helena’s lungs were a sieve.
“Ah,” she said, not looking back. “There you are.” Her voice was steady and controlled, but her heartbeat ran away.
“My sisters are occupied for twenty minutes, thirty if we are lucky. My mother is with the modiste. Shall we walk?”
She glanced at him, forcing herself to look imperious and demanding. She would not stare at his mouth.
“You’ll have to keep behind me,” she said. “And carry this.” She shrugged from a plum-colored velvet cloak and draped it across his arms.
“Yes, my lady,” he said. Three simple words,words she’d heard from servants all her life. Did she imagine the note of . . . suggestion when he said them?
A charged sort of energy buzzed from along the back of her neck.
“I assume you have made considerations if this girl isn’t alone,” Shaw said lowly.
“You assume correctly.”
“I reckon she’ll be in the company of a relative,” he guessed, “or companion.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve thought of this.”
They came to the intersection of Conduit Street, and Shaw stepped into the road to block the intersection so she could pass. Helena checked every female face. Nothing. Wrong age, wrong class, wrong coloring. There were blonde women, but they pushed prams or walked arm in arm with friends—almost correct but not exactly.
Helena went on. “Let me tell you what I intend to say to her, if we see her. I stayed up half the night, making a sort of conversational map of each irresistible detail of the exclusive invitation I’m offering. I’ll lure them in, bit by bit.”
