A Duchess a Day Page 15

  She was wrong. Entirely. This couldn’t be the correct girl.

  Helena was just about to step up and ask some innocuous question when a footman said, “Very good, Lady Moira,” and retreated inside the herbalist’s tent. The young woman embarked on a sneezing fit, clutching her kerchief like a holy shroud.

  Helena blinked. It was her. She was exactly the girl they’d come to find, but she was all wrong. Helena started to shake. She was chilled to the bone. The warm buzz of her encounter with Declan was a distant memory. Fatigue and disappointment pressed in. Her wet garments weighed a stone.

  “She’s all wrong,” she said hollowly.

  “Probably.” Declan stepped beside her.

  “Too thin,” she said. “Too hesitant. Is her complexion . . . gray?”

  She glanced at Declan. “Lusk has a clear preference for milkmaids. He wants robust and supple. This girl needs a doctor, not a husband. We . . . we should go.”

  “Yes,” Declan said. He was looking right and left, scanning the crowd.

  But Helena couldn’t move. Lady Genevieve, the young heiress in New Bond Street, had been so perfect. Pert and flashy and ambitious. When Helena had given her a candid review of Lusk’s many perceived shortcomings, the girl had been unfazed.

  This young woman’s wheezing could be heard across the row and over the thrum of shoppers.

  “I cannot remember which gossip thought Lady Moira was on the hunt for a wealthy duke,” Helena said. “They were wrong. I would never subject her to Lusk.”

  “If you’re certain . . .” Declan said, but he’d already moved on. He took her by the hand and pulled her down the row, walking quickly, head down, eyes everywhere.

  A figure in a dark velvet cloak nearly collided with them and Declan paused, studying the person.

  “I think I saw that same black cloak in Lady Canning’s street,” he said. He turned to watch the figure scuttle away. “Did you see them?”

  “I don’t know,” sighed Helena, barely noticing. “I don’t care. I’m so disappointed. Please, can we go?”

  “Aye,” Declan said, watching the cloaked figure disappear into the crowd. “Let’s get you home.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Seven Duchesses (Potential)

  Happy ✓

  Sneezy

  A day later, Declan stalked the length of Wimpole Street, waiting for Helena to finish her mother’s morning call. He had but one thought. I need a day off.

  Actually, that was inaccurate. What he really needed was to banish the damnable Knightly Snow situation from his life.

  He wanted to see his father. He wanted to look in on his horse and impress upon the hostler that he would, one day, buy the stallion back. He needed to see his lawyers.

  He wanted freedom from Girdleston’s frequent summons to the green salon, where he made vague threats about money and Newgate as he piddled with his toy village.

  Mostly, he wanted distance from her.

  The level of . . . intimacy they shared (there was no better word) had gone from inappropriate and reckless to something like all-consuming. What had begun like a drizzle now felt like a torrent.

  And Helena Lark was completely unavailable to him.

  Even if, by some extreme miracle, they thwarted the wedding.

  Even if Girdleston did not send him back to jail.

  Even if she housed his father and sisters in her idyllic forest.

  Declan Shaw was the son of a tailor, a soldier-for-hire by trade, and Helena was the daughter of an earl. She saw him as diverting and exciting but hardly a man she might someday marry.

  And he hadn’t even revealed to her that he was also an ex-convict.

  They had no future beyond the scheme.

  Their intimacy must stop.

  He didn’t need a day away, he needed a lifetime.

  Today was devoted to a woman called Miss Joanna Keep, who, according to Helena’s notes, passed her time working, improbably, as an apprentice in a medical practice. The doctor was her uncle, Dr. Curtis Keep, a surgeon of some merit in Wimpole Street.

  Declan had seen Cavendish Square on Helena’s schedule and made the connection. Wimpole Street, with its flourishing array of doctors, surgeons, osteopaths, chemists, and therapeutic specialists, was just around the corner. They’d devised a plan on the sprint back to Lusk’s Home Farm. At the very least, this potential duchess existed in a fixed spot on the map. No prowling about markets or shops. Whether she was suitable for Lusk? They’d learned yesterday that simply finding the girl was no guarantee.

  After two laps to observe Miss Keep’s alleged office, Declan returned to the duke’s carriage. It was parked in front of the townhome that contained Helena, her mother, the sisters, and another Lusk cousin. Nettle and the coachman idled in the street, waiting attendance. The call itself was meant to be brief. Lady Linney, the host, was an acquaintance of Helena’s mother but not a bosom friend.

  Declan nodded to Nettle. “Any sign?”

  The older man shook his head.

  He was just about to take another circuit when Lady Linney’s door opened and Helena’s mother and sisters spilled onto the stoop. Declan came to attention, watching them bustle down the steps in a spectrum of autumnal silk and spirited chatter. Helena was last as always—the most beautiful one. Today she wore a rust-colored dress with turquoise trim, ivory lace, and a caramel-colored hat. A small peacock feather extended from the brim, winging the side of her head. The effect was distinctive and arresting, far more stylish than the gauzy, modish pinks and creams of the others. Declan forced an expression of neutral indifference and waited for her to pretend to break her distinctive, arresting ankle. That had been the plan.

  She caught his gaze. He quirked an eyebrow. She gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. No.

  No? No—what?

  No, she would not fake an ailment? No, they should not broach the medical office?

  “The baroness puts on such a show,” Helena’s mother was saying, shrugging into her pelisse. “Overly solicitous in my view. La, just look at her, waving at us from the door. Her butler must wonder why he makes any effort.” The countess smiled and waved to the house.

  “It’s all a bit much,” she said. “ ‘Show deference to the dukedom’—which is appropriate, I suppose. But where is the subtlety?” She tsked at the Lusk cousin, a dour woman named Burris.

  “We shall have to grow accustomed to it,” the countess went on, “when we have a duchess in the family. So much posturing.”

  “Really, Mother,” sighed Helena, stomping into the carriage, “the baroness and her daughters were simply being nice. Every person you encounter is not vying to impress you.”

  “Least of all you,” said the countess, climbing in behind her. “Would it have killed you to answer a single question about the wedding?”

  Declan tried again to catch Helena’s eye, but she had disappeared into the vehicle and squabbled with her sisters about seating. He was given little choice but to take up position on the runner and hold on.

  The first corner was Weymouth and Wimpole. Dr. Keep’s surgical office was halfway down the street. They were there in a matter of seconds. Declan wondered what injuries could be sustained inside a moving carriage. They’d discussed a turned ankle or a fainting spell, something from which Helena could easily recover. But she was meant to succumb before they were speeding away. He leaned, trying to catch Helena’s eye through the window. To his left, the clinic grew smaller and smaller. Their opportunity was slipping away. They’d not be back this—

  Suddenly, the glass pane to the carriage window slapped open. Helena stuck out her head and called, “Stop the carriage!”

  Declan swung away, barely managing to hang on. “Hold!” he shouted.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” Helena sputtered, sticking her head almost entirely out. She clutched the pane with tight, gloved fingers.

  “I am . . . not well,” she gasped, pinching her lips together.

  Declan didn’t fake
his alarm. Bloody hell. This girl—

  “Stop the carriage,” she called again, her voice winded and gaspy.

  The carriage stopped, horses dancing a clatter on the street. Nettle rushed to open the door.

  Inside the carriage, pandemonium reigned. Her sisters pressed back, their outraged protests a tangle of Don’ts—! and Get-backs—! The countess clutched a kerchief over her nose and mouth. The cousin appeared stunned.

  “Really, Helena,” her mother hissed, “can you not wait until we reach Lusk House?”

  “I cannot help when I am struck by intestinal distress,” Helena exclaimed, laying her head against the cool glass of the window.

  “Mother, get her out!” said her sister Joan. “If she is sick in this small space, we’ll all be . . . be—”

  “Mama!” chimed the other sisters, kerchiefs now flying to faces and skirts pulled back. “The silks!”

  “I’ll go,” called Helena, crawling drunkenly to the door. “I’m going.” She lurched down the steps. “I need air. I need air.”

  A large planter of chrysanthemums stood nearby, and she staggered to it, gripping the sides, bowing over the orange blooms.

  Lady Pembrook gasped. “For God’s sake, Helena, comport yourself. You cannot mean to be sick in the street?”

  “I cannot help when I fall ill, Mama,” she said breathily.

  Declan would not have believed this performance if he’d not seen it with his own eyes. “My lady,” he said to the countess, “I see the office of a doctor just there.” He pointed to Dr. Keep’s door. “With your permission, I will take Lady Helena inside and seek care.”

  “What?” Lady Pembrook squinted at the shiny placard beside the smart green door. “Oh, so it is.”

  She glanced to Helena again, now hanging off the planter, still clinging to the rim. She looked like a strong wind had blown her sideways.

  “I’m afraid there is no other help for it,” said the countess, withdrawing into the vehicle. “I cannot allow her to carry on in the street. We must think of the duke’s dear cousin. Yes, yes, Shaw—take her inside. If she must be so . . . overcome, what choice do we have?”

  She looked again at the planter, and Helena drooped in the direction of the flowers, her face nearly touching the petals. The peacock feather fell forward and hung limply in the chrysanthemums, a bird downed in flight.

  “Take her, take her,” hissed the countess. “I’m sorry I cannot accompany her, but I am highly susceptible to infection and would, doubtless, succumb. And I’ll not leave one of her sisters and have them stricken too.”

  “I’ll stay with her, Mama,” said her sister Camille from inside the carriage.

  “You will not,” said the countess. “She’s too ill to risk our good health. I’ll send Meg, her maid, as soon as we reach Lusk House. Helena will prefer the care of a trained servant.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” said Declan, carefully detaching Helena from the planter. “I know this practice, and they will take excellent care. Perhaps it is merely something she ate.”

  “Carry on, coachman!” the countess said wearily, tapping the carriage wall. “Watch for Meg within the hour!”

  The carriage door slammed shut.

  “Go,” Helena said, slumping against him. “Go, go, go.”

  It seemed unnecessary to carry on the charade inside the clean, modern clinic, and Helena straightened up and smoothed her hair. In the clipped cordial tones of a future duchess, she asked if she might speak to an employee, Miss Joanna Keep. Winking at Declan, she straightened her peacock feather.

  “If I’d feigned calamity so near to the baroness’s house,” she said, “Lady Linney would have insisted I return. And the ankle would have been wholly insufficient. I had to portray some condition that would make my mother flee.”

  “That was accomplished, I’d say.”

  “I’m not the only one in the family with the proclivity to bolt.”

  “I cased this building while you were with the baroness. There was no sign of a young woman ‘apprentice.’ If this girl is all wrong, I hope you can feign an exit as quickly as you feigned an entrance.”

  “She won’t be wrong. I can feel it. And if she is, I’ll ask for a sleeping draft and we’ll go.”

  Five minutes later, Helena was taking tea behind the last door in a long corridor of examination rooms. Miss Joanna Keep, an attentive young woman with sunny blonde hair and intelligent eyes, sat across from her, munching a biscuit. Declan leaned against the wall outside the door.

  “I apologize for dropping in on you with no appointment,” Helena told Miss Joanna Keep. “Thank you for receiving me. I’ve wanted to call on you for some time, but I couldn’t be certain when I would manage it. I . . . I had to feign illness to break away from my family, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh yes, well,” began Miss Keep, “you are in good company. We see numerous cases of feigned illness in this clinic. Mostly elderly patients who simply need attention, but also young women who actually need medical care, but for some condition more confidential than their little act.”

  “Is that something you accommodate here, Miss Keep? Confidential conditions?”

  “We do. Anything you say to me will be kept in strict confidence. I’m so very gratified that you asked for me by name, because confidentiality is a priority to me. I . . . I had rather hoped that word of my discretion would get ’round. And now . . . here you are.”

  “Yes,” said Helena, “here I am. But I’m afraid my business does not pertain to a condition, real or imagined . . .”

  Helena paused, looking around the room. A tidy desk was tucked into the corner and bookshelves lined one wall. An easel held diagrams of the human body.

  “You’re employed here at the medical office, Miss Keep?” Helena asked.

  “Yes—in a manner. I’ve not been given a salary, if that is what you mean. But I’m in the office every day, and I see to the tasks that my uncle, Dr. Keep, sets out for me. It’s some combination of clerical work and nursing and housekeeping. On occasion, he permits me to observe his work. And, very rarely, I see patients alone. Like you.”

  “You are interested in medicine?”

  “It is my only interest,” said Miss Keep, smiling.

  Helena returned her smile, studying the natural, unembellished beauty of her face, her slender frame, her blonde curls. She was pretty enough for any man certainly, but she spoke with a steady, reserved softness. She was thoughtful and serious. Her movements were economic, with no flourish or flutter. Her dress was plain slate blue, the color of a frozen pond. Her hair was practical, and her eyes were . . . her eyes were engaged and curious and settled. She did not appear to search her brain for the next exciting topic. She simply . . . sipped her tea and waited.

  Helena liked her immensely, which was annoying, because it made no difference if she liked Joanna Keep or any of them. She was meant to be ruthless about enlisting the correct girls. She was meant to be earning her freedom, not making friends.

  But no friend or even potential friend of Helena’s would be the key to her freedom. Anyone who was a friend to Helena should flee the Lusk dukedom, not endeavor to wheedle her way into it.

  Joanna Keep would have to transform into a different sort of girl in order to ensnare the Duke of Lusk. It was wrong. It was all very wrong. Helena let out a disappointed sigh.

  Miss Keep asked, “But if you are not ill, are you interested in science? Or medicine, Lady Helena?”

  Helena shook her head. “Please call me Helena. Actually—no. Well, my passion is horticulture, so science—yes. Humans—not really. But it just so happens, I am betrothed to a duke. His fortune and standing lend itself to . . . to philanthropy. Duchesses have money and influence to spare, and they can, that is—if they choose—they may use that money for things like the advancement of the medical arts.”

  She stared into her teacup. Even staying close to the truth, it was difficult for Helena to misrepresent any part of herself or her motives.


  That said, she must see the visit to its proper end. She must be certain. She’d pretended to be sick in a plant, for God’s sake.

  “Philanthropy?” whispered Miss Keep. “Oh, please, please do consider me. I am grateful for my place in this clinic, truly I am, but I can only learn so much from my uncle. He does not teach me so much as demonstrate, anything more I must look up on my own. If I had a benefactress, I could hire proper instructors. Perhaps I could buy my way into a teaching hospital. If I had the sponsorship of a duke, I could realize my dream of making a place for female doctors at hospitals.”

  She sounded breathless. Her cheeks were flushed. She set down her cup with a clatter and used her hands for emphasis. Helena’s heart began to beat faster. Perhaps she would suit.

  “Does this sound like the type of work,” Miss Keep asked, palms up, fingers wide, “that your future husband would be interested in supporting?”

  “Ah . . .” hedged Helena. “Actually, I am wondering if you would not have more access to the money and influence if you were a duchess yourself?” A nervous laugh.

  “I beg your pardon?” Miss Keep’s face twisted with confusion. “How would I become a duchess? My father is a gentleman but our family does not keep company with any dukes. I refused my own Season because I’m a failure at socializing. I’ve never even made the acquaintance of a duke.”

  Helena replaced her cup. “Well, Miss Keep, that is the heart of the reason I’ve come.”

  And then she told her. It took five minutes. She rattled it all off, barely drawing breath. Miss Keep watched her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  When she was finished, both Helena and Miss Keep slumped in their chairs, staring at a diagram of the human ear. Helena’s mind spun— What if?

  Miss Keep looked as if she’d experienced Helena’s fake intestinal distress.

  “You’re certain you understand?” Helena asked. “Lusk is terrible. Harmless but terrible. His uncle is also terrible, but less harmless. Even so, as the Duchess of Lusk, you could appeal to the duke and his uncle for tens of thousands of pounds to buy whatever instruction you wished. You could use your standing to pursue privileges for women doctors at hospitals. If you could tolerate Lusk—and that is a very considerable ‘if.’