A Duchess a Day by Charis Michaels

Author:Charis Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2020-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

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.

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