A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,68
of mine would knowingly send someone to this or any museum,” said Miss Marten tiredly. “Forgive me, Lady—”
“Helena.”
“Right, Lady Helena. It’s been a very long week and it’s only Thursday. You’ll forgive me, I’m in a foul mood.”
“Oh . . .” said Helena. “Have you been met with some . . . frustration? In your work?”
“Well, the work that I do is entirely my father’s,” she said, stifling a yawn, “and it is the very soul of frustration. This week and every week.”
“You don’t enjoy the research that you do on behalf of your father? I can only imagine the reward of collaborating with a historian of such merit.”
“I can see how one might make that assumption,” said Miss Marten tiredly. “But if they’d spent years of their life—as I have been forced to do—in a dim, smoky museum among mummified bodies and ancient texts, they might not feel the same way.”
“But it is not your choice to assist your father?”
“Ah, no.”
“But he . . . forces you to assist him?”
“What can I say? He began my training very young; now I’m the only one who knows the languages, knows his filing system, knows the ghouls who run the research library. Who else is there to do it? Until I have something better to do—such as a proper husband and family of my own—I am expected to be here, transcribing hieroglyphics, until my mind is numb and my eyes are shot.” Another yawn.
“You are unmarried?” asked Helena.
“It’s difficult to locate a husband in the bowels of the British Museum. Most of the men here have been mummified. Figuratively or literally.”
“You enjoyed no debut Season, I take it?” asked Helena.
There was a pause. Miss Marten said, “No. I did not enjoy a debut. My father did not find a London Season to be a useful allocation of time or money. When we are in London, we must be here. Rapidly expiring of boredom.” She slammed the book shut. “I’m sorry, what friend did you say sent you? How can I help you?”
“Oh, right. Well, honestly, I cannot remember the friend. A woman I met at a party. And the reason I am here is to offer you a proposition . . .”
The conversation went from there and Declan shook his head, impressed by her cool mastery of the art of saying just enough. She carefully drew out a kind of exhausted honesty from Miss Marten—her desire to crawl from beneath the thumb of her father and the boredom of her current life—and her willingness to do anything to become a duchess.
Helena was so good at it Declan marveled that she devoted so much of her life to apples and forests. He was just about to step away for a closer look at the fox-like face of a stone carving when he caught sight of a smudged figure across the room. His eyes followed the movement. It was a hurried person in a dark velvet cloak, cutting a fast line to the far door.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It was the cloaked figure from the market. He took a step closer, looking again. Yes, he was certain.
The hood was up, which was wholly unnecessary in the dim museum, and the figure shuffled along with a fast but not necessarily stealthy pace.
Declan began to follow, not chasing but also not allowing this person to duck into a dark corner or dissolve into the gloom.
It was impossible to distinguish gender or age. The figure had no apparent purpose in the museum—he or she wasn’t hunched over an exhibit or gazing at statuary. It was as if the person was using the halls of the museum to get from one point to another.
Or as if they were following him. Or Helena.
Declan’s stomach pitched in outrage at the thought. He glanced back at Helena through the open door. Miss Marten had her head facedown on the desk, slowly shaking it back and forth, the universal symbol for I can’t take it, and Helena stood over her, gently speaking to her, a hand on her shoulder.
Fine, good, they were in the midst of their discussion. He could be spared. Declan left Helena to it.
The cloaked person ducked from the Egyptian Hall before Declan could reach the door. He sped up, walking just shy of a jog. His yellow livery made him appear phosphorescent in the murky museum and he wished for the officer’s coat.