A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,62
far from my mind, and I have enclosed money for firewood and lantern oil and meat. It is more than usual, so please take care not to squander it. It is important that you keep some savings, Da. The next bundle is not guaranteed. Provision for the winter, buy the girls some frivolous treat, but ration. I’m sorry it is not more. I’m sorry for everything that has happened these last nine months.
Your son,
Declan
The mere act of writing the words imbued Declan with a new sense of purpose and a fresh stab of guilt.
Yes, Helena’s family was shackling her to a future she did not want, but what of the future of his family? Where had his loyalties gone?
She’d made him so angry at the medical office. He’d felt like a passenger, watching a reckless coachman steer his team along the crumbling edge of a high cliff. And she expected him to enjoy the ride.
Tomorrow, he would speak with her. He would remind her that decisions about these women were made together. And that, always, they were discreet. With everyone. The intimacy they shared was not on display. In fact, the intimacy that they shared must stop. He was not her London diversion.
He would not touch her again—not tomorrow, not ever.
Chapter Sixteen
Helena was slated to visit the British Museum in Bloomsbury the next day. She would tour the exhibits, sketch the artifacts, and speak to a docent about becoming a patron. It was Thursday, and there were no scheduled family outings; this visit was purely for herself.
And to scout the next potential duchess.
The candidate was Miss Jessica Marten, a young woman who was said to haunt the museum most days, assisting her father with research and transcription.
Despite the coldness of the morning, Helena elected to walk from Lusk House to the museum. She’d known Declan was out of sorts when they’d left Miss Keep the day before, and she’d worried about it all night. She would not ride in anxious solitude inside the carriage while he glowered outside, not when they could walk and talk.
She took care with her appearance, wearing a crimson dress with burgundy trim. She chose mauve gloves and hat, and Meg plaited her hair and pinned the braids in looping coils at the back of her head. She had a faint matador-ish look when she descended the stairs for breakfast. Considering Declan’s mood, this felt appropriate.
She sent for Shaw immediately after breakfast. Girdleston hovered in the grand hall, peppering her with questions about where she intended to go on foot with no proper chaperone. Helena cheerfully informed him that she wished to research fossilized plants at the British Museum. She’d asked Lusk to escort her, she reported regretfully, but alas, the duke declined.
When Declan appeared, she stacked his arms with sketch pads, reference books, drawing materials, and a living specimen of Malus domestica in a clay pot. The final touch was admitting to Girdleston that she had (begrudgingly) begun to rely upon his groom—and they set off.
“You’re angry,” she said, striding in the direction of Cumberland Gate.
“Yes,” he agreed, “I am angry.”
They made the corner at Oxford Street, walking east. The cold air stung her eyes, but she did not feel chilled. She felt only him, his silence and rigid displeasure. A sharp animosity crackled with every clip, clip, clip of his steps. He radiated frustration.
“Should I begin to toss out guesses?” she asked.
“You truly do not know?”
Helena stopped walking and he almost collided with her. She pivoted to face him. “Truly, I do not know.”
“Fine,” he said, guiding her from the bustle of pedestrian traffic. “You were too cavalier and familiar in your ‘flirting lesson’ with Miss Keep yesterday. It put the plan in jeopardy and our collaboration at risk. As your groom, I am powerless to do anything more than say, ‘Yes, my lady,’ and follow your lead. I was forced to comply, and I didn’t like it.”
“Why not? Because the demonstration dissuaded her?”
“Because you sat in my lap and cooed in my ear for the benefit of someone you’d known ten minutes. Lap-sitting and ear-cooing is not the behavior of an heiress and her groom, and certainly not the behavior of an heiress and her ‘minder.’ What if Girdleston learned of the stunt?”
“He won’t. Miss Keep can be trusted.”
“We have no idea about Miss Keep; you’d never met her in your life.”
“I don’t need to meet her to recognize an earnest girl with serious pursuits, desperate to gain some control of her future.”