“I trust you.”
“They’ve been singled out partly because of their very great desire for a title. And the title of duchess is the very best of all, save princess. Every girl wants a duke.”
“Every girl except you,” he sighed.
“For example,” Helena pressed on, “I will introduce myself, along with the added detail that I am engaged to the Duke of Lusk. After this revelation, I will watch very closely for a reaction. It forces either a congratulations or question aboutthe wedding. If I detect even the slightest bit of hesitation or judgment or envy, that will be my cue to say something like, ‘Oh, thank you. What a pity I cannot sleep nights for being worried about how I will manage as duchess . . .’
“And ifthissparks a look of shrewd interest, along with the not-so-innocent question of, ‘Why ever not?’ I will follow with, ‘Oh, the very great responsibility of it all. There are so many properties and a great number of social commitments. The shopping alone...’ My expression will show something like ‘winsome dread.’ ” She affected an expression of winsome dread.
“Thank God I’ve no part of this bit,” Declan mumbled.
She continued, stepping around an old woman with a bird in a cage. “And if she shows concern—not authentic concern but kind ofmercenaryconcern—I will say, ‘Honestly, I’m worried that I might not be up to the task...’
“And on and on it will go,” she finished. “I will benimbleandopportunistic. Just as you have said. Sage words, from a groom.”
“God help us.”
“In the end, if my cues and leading questions take us down the path to a place of their bald-faced interest, I will simply tell them: I’m trying to pawn him off. And then I will invite them to Girdleston’s birthday party. Next week. There they may get a look at the duke and... and give it a go. They willdazzlehim.”
“Again,” said Declan, “God help us.”
“Do not worry. You underestimate the irresistible prospect of a duke simply . . . theirs forthe taking. I chose these girls because they are primed to pounce. And if ever they appear less thantransfixedwith the idea of having someone like Lusk for themselves... then I will abandon the conversation.”
A line of schoolboys snaked their way down the walk, and Helena stepped to the side. “It’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ I know. But this is why I meant to approach so many young women.”
They reached the end of New Bond with no sign of anyone remotely fitting the description of Lady Genevieve. Helena cursed their limited timing and crossed to the other side of the street.
“I’ve seen four blonde women,” Shaw reported. “But the age is wrong. Or the dress.”
Helena stared at the row of shingles hanging beneath the awnings of shop after shop after shop. “She could appear at any time.”
“Look in windows,” he instructed. “And inside passing carriages. There’s no guarantee she’ll march down the street.”
Helena nodded, stepping up to a window. The display beyond the glass dripped with ribbons and lace, a blizzard of accoutrements styled in white-and-pink drifts. Her sisters had been mistaken when they said she didn’t enjoy shopping. In fact, fashion was a hobby, and she rather enjoyed dresses and hats and ribbons—not the latest styles, not the ostentation of London, but playing with color and texture and looking distinctive in pretty things. Her grandmother had patronized a dressmaker in Winscombe, and the two of them had worked together on dresses that suited Helena’s skin and figure, that drew inspirationfrom summer greens and winter whites. Helena’s mother had insisted upon a few London-made pieces, her trousseau among them, but when Helena and her lady’s maid pulled together her wardrobe, they reached for her gowns from the village dressmaker.
Now she squinted through the glass, trying to make out the customers inside. In a suddenwhoosh, the door of another shop flew open, emitting an upright gentleman with stomping boots and swinging cane. Helena gasped and bumped into him.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, jumping back.
The man whirled around. “Mind yourself!” His snarl bared a wet glob of tobacco and a gold tooth.
Helena shrank back, and Shaw was there suddenly, inserting his large body between them.
“Careful, my lady,” he sang in a low, almost playful sort of whistle.
Helena hopped back just as Shaw affected a half pivot, half stumble. The unsteadiness caused him to appear clumsy, although his control and balance was obvious to her. Moreover, she saw the look in his eyes: cool, shrewd, intentional.
“I’ve never seen the likes of this,” the man bellowed. “Drunken revelers in New Bond Street.” He raised his cane as if to strike, but Shaw’s hand shot out and clasped the polished wood, stopping it midarc.
“Careful, governor,” Shaw said, spinning neatly away. He gave the cane a little twist, and the man yelped in pain. In one fluid movement, the cane flicked from the man’s grasp and pitched into the air.
“Let me get that for you, gov,” Shaw said, snatching it from above his head as if the man himself had tossed it. He caught it with one hand, spun it like a baton, and pressed it to the man’s chest.
It happened so quickly his deft movements were barely perceptible, even to Helena. It looked almost like a dance, and he’d done it one-handed, with her cloak flapping gently across his left arm.
Who is he?she marveled.
Stepping back, she nearly collided again, this time with a small figure in a dark cloak.
