at once.” She tugged Helena by the arm.
Casting a final glance over her shoulder, Helena mouthed the words, I want that list.
Chapter Eight
Declan had the overwhelming desire to take up the nearest wedding gift and lob it into Lady Canning’s fountain. He took up a box and tested its weight. A vase? Candlesticks? It would hit the lily-strewn water with a satisfying splat.
He flipped it, hauling back, and—
“Ah, there you are,” said Titus Girdleston, coming around the pillar of the garden gate. Declan snatched the package from the air.
Girdleston stepped to the table like a pirate surveying his trove. “We’ll want the gifts loaded into the carriages before the rain. But take care that the presentation remains intact. Ribbons and trim and, of course, each card must be carefully preserved. We’ve brought trunks with straw to pack any loose ends. Most things will doubtless be fragile.”
Declan stared at him.
Did the man have no desire to learn how the future duchess managed the party? Was he curious about why Declan now stood in the garden instead of in the mews? Would there be no accounting? No briefing?
Perhaps Helena was correct. Perhaps they only noticed her when she was running away.
Declan had told himself he’d do her bidding because it allowed him to keep watch on her. The closer he was, the better he could understand her plan. In theory, this was true. He’d gained her trust, and learned her game, and the evidence was tucked securely in his vest pocket. He’d done his bloody job.
The next obvious step was to hand the list to the old man.
Give him the list, Declan ordered in his head.
He did nothing.
He felt the heat of the parchment burning a hole in his pocket, and he wondered if he would allow it to simply burn him alive.
“You heard me, man,” harrumphed Girdleston. “The weather will not hold. Carry on with the loading of these gifts.”
Staring at him a moment more, Declan scooped up an armful of boxes and turned toward the gate.
“Not in a jumble,” scolded Girdleston. “One at a time.” The old man plucked each package from Declan’s arms, relieving him of all but one box.
“Now it shall be protected,” cooed Girdleston, dispatching him again. Declan said nothing and trudged away.
Two other grooms joined the procession, working quickly to outpace the rain. Girdleston watched from beneath a tightly clenched umbrella, stepping out to inspect this or that parcel and to hurry them along. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Declan thought, did not monitor Britain’s coffers more closely than Titus Girdleston pouring over his nephew’s gifts.
With each circuit, Declan said to himself, Give him the list.
The threatening rain, at last, began to pound the garden, and another groom scrambled to distribute overcoats. The coat was warm and dry, and Declan thought of the list in his pocket. What if it got wet? What if it disintegrated? It couldn’t be helped.
But that felt like a coward’s way out.
Perhaps he could give the list to Girdleston in private. Or Declan could use it himself to watch Lady Helena more closely. He’d only need to restrict her movements if the information on the list became actionable.
Not for the first time, he estimated the odds of her locating these women. After that, of approaching them.
She will absolutely locate them and approach them, he thought, delivering the final gift to the carriage.
“Tom has the last of it, I think,” said Nettle, an older groom who had been friendly since Declan’s first day. “We could’ve managed with two carriages if the ladies could balance one or two packages in their laps.”
Declan nodded and circled the third vehicle, checking the contents. He was just about to slam the door when he saw Girdleston stomping up the alley, his giant umbrella pumping.
Tell him, Declan ordered himself. His hand went to the list in his pocket.
Tell him.
“Just in time!” called Girdleston. “We’ve missed the worst of the rain. I shall ride in the second carriage, and the third will be empty except for the balance of the gifts. The women will ride lead, as before. Let us pull ’round to the front of the house. They should depart presently.”
Declan hesitated. He could tell him without even explaining. He could thrust the parchment in Girdleston’s direction and claim he didn’t know what it meant. The old man would be confused and Helena could make up a lie.
If he did it now, it would be finished. He’d be doing his bloody job.
He opened his mouth to say