Swallowing hard, he slouched into the subordinate posture of a servant. He strolled past Madame’s window and checked the showroom. The Lark women were clustered around an open box of baubles. Camille Lark looked up, catching his gaze.
Declan took a deep breath and circled back. He returned to the alley and checked the seamstress who stood guard. No one had come.
Again in the street, he made another circuit, taking the long way around, returning to the stationer’s shop from the other direction. When at last the door came into view, he faltered. He could not trust his eyes.
Helena emerged from the shop with Lady Genevieve on her arm. The two young womenwalked together, their heads bent in conversation. The smile on Lady Genevieve’s face had the sharp, cold point of a scythe. Her expression was so avaricious it sent a chill up Declan’s spine. Behind the duo, the girl’s forgotten dog whimpered and trotted along.
Declan trailed them half a block, keeping back fifteen yards. When they reversed their course, he kept pace in the alley, out of view. He caught sight of them at each gap between buildings. They walked close together, oblivious to passersby.
When he turned the corner at the modiste’s shop, Lady Genevieve was gone and Helena stood by the edge of the building alone.
“What’s happened?” he asked, darting to her.
Helena turned and beamed up into his face. “She’ll do it,” she said. “She very keen to be a duchess—to put it mildly. She wants to have a go.”
Chapter Twelve
Seven Duchesses (Potential)
Happy ?
The next day dawned cold and gray, with the windy threat of rain. By eight o’clock, the garden outside Helena’s window had been drummed into a wet tangle of gold and red. Undeterred, Helena continued to dress. Shewouldtravel to Wandsworth today, shewouldmeet the next potential duchess, she would—
The note came with breakfast, a fastidiously folded rectangle balanced on her tray. She flipped it open with a sigh.
My lady,
How crestfallen we are over today’s inclement weather. Such an unreliable time of year. Because of this, the duke and I are grappling with a postponement of today’s planned outing.
His Grace does look so very forward to squiring you about his Home Farm, but he would not expose you to what is certain to be slow travel on muddy roads, not to mention a cold drenching the moment you step foot from the carriage. I am thinking also of your family.
Would you wait and tour the farm another, fairer day?
Yours,
Uncle Titus
Helena’s scowled at the note. She’d never understood why the duke sent notes back and forth through his uncle. Why didn’t he write himself if he thought it was too wet to ride?
Because he doesn’t want to go, she thought.In any weather.
If they did not go as planned, the day would be shot; they would not go anywhere at all. There were only nine days until “Uncle Titus’s” blasted birthday. She didn’t have rainy days to spare.
Helena had never heard of Wandsworth nor realized that wealthy London aristocrats enjoyed “home farms” on the outskirts of London, but Shaw had known, and he’d made the connection between their tour of Lusk’s farm and another of their potential duchesses, Lady Moira Ashington. Wandsworth boasted a large market, and Lady Moira was a devoted customer of a so-called “healer” who peddled her drafts and poultices from a market stall.
Taking up pen and parchment, she wrote:
Sir,
I am grateful to Lusk for thinking of my comfort. The onset of winter can be an adjustment. However, I am a country girl at heart and undeterred by wet roads.
Pity, too, because the Home Farm tour was of particular interest to me. I can feel hemmed in if I remain in London overlong, and that says nothing of my relentless curiosity of the natural world. Considering this, I can honestly say that I’d prefer a wet tour of the farm to no tour at all. My family is simply happy to be included.
But please do not let my enthusiasm inconvenience the duke. Of course we can wait for sunshine. Or, if Lusk prefers, I am happy to ride to Wandsworth alone. Thinking back, I cannot remember our ever discussing his Home Farm, which leads me to believe he may be ambivalent about the property. Meanwhile, it will be a rare treat for me.
I remain, as ever, His Grace’s humble and willing guest.
Signed,
