A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,55
more curtness than he’d anticipated.
“What?” Helena paused, looking confused. “What do you mean?”
“The kiss?” He looked away.
“Was that ‘a kiss’?” she laughed.
“Kisses,” he corrected.
“Of course I liked it. But, Declan, how could you not know this? Have I displeased you?”
Declan considered this, putting on his hat. She pleased him in every way. This situation was not her fault. She’d been very clear from the beginning. She wanted his help. He’d not conceived of helping her exactly this way, but he had no right to complain. So what if she found him exciting and desirable? If it was adventure she craved, he could give her that.
“I am the opposite of displeased,” he said, peeking out of the tent. “I live to serve.”
“But that was not serving,” she insisted. “That was—”
He stopped her by raising a flat palm. He turned back. “You would not believe this,” he said. “I think we may have stumbled upon Lady Moira.”
Helena raced to the tent door, her heart in her throat. Peering out, she saw two liveried footmen in royal blue standing sentry outside of a deep stall. Their smart uniforms stood out like toy soldiers in the crowd of tan wool. Beside the tent was a sign that read “Herbal Remedies and Cure-Alls.”
Helena snatched Declan’s hand, strumming with excitement. Oh, to leave the market with the connection they’d come for. Squeezing his hand, she examined the tent, waiting for some sign of a lady to match the liveried servants.
He was just about to engage one of the footmen when a sallow young woman emerged from the tent with a full basket over her arm. She spoke briefly to one of the footmen, handed off the basket, and pulled a heavy linen kerchief from her pocket. She glanced at the sky, holding the kerchief to her face.
“Oh,” said Helena. The excitement draining away.
Declan said, “That’s her?”
Helena stepped outside the textile booth, staring at the girl. Her thin hair was pulled tightly from her face. A hat designed for warmth (not fashion) obscured her profile. Thick gloves turned her hands into woolly mitts. A heavy wrap swallowed her shoulders, and she shrugged deeply, burrowing within heavy folds.
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