A Duchess a Day

by Charis Michaels

  After a half hour passed in silence, they reached the sprawling acreage of Lusk’s Home Farm. The rain had distilled to a patchy fog that hung in the air like wet smoke. Servants formed a half-moon from the door of the house, fidgety and beaming, clearly unaccustomed to a visit from His Grace.

  Good, Helena thought. Let them leap to do his bidding. Divert everyone so I might ride out in peace.

  She pushed the carriage curtain aside. “Oh, I cannot wait to see it all,” she said for the tenth time. “And look, the rain has stopped.”

  The duke rolled his head from the carriage seat, squinting out the window. “Surely you cannot mean to traipse around in the fog, watching laborers muck about?”

  “In fact, I do, Your Grace, if you are not opposed. I’ve my journals to take notes.” She patted a stack of reference books and blank journals beside her. “But you needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll take a groom to assist me.”

  The duke rubbed his face with long, thin fingers and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “What’s gone and made you so agreeable all of a sudden?”

  Helena paused. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You were less annoying when you were running away,” he grumbled more to himself than anyone else.

  Before she could answer, his leg shot out, kicking the carriage door open with a bang. “Do what you like,” he said. “If memory serves, there is a milkmaid here who I favor.” He laughed. “She’s the only reason I consented to make the trip.”

  The carriage had scarcely stopped before the duke unfolded himself from the seat and slid from the door. His shiny boots hit the mud with a sucking sound, and he let out a curse. The staff hurried to unroll rugs and extend umbrellas while Helena gathered her books.

  “Helena?” said Camille, still motionless beside her.

  “Hurry, Cami,” Helena urged. “He’ll not tolerate the countryside forever. How much time can one milkmaid occupy?”

  “Helena?”

  “Bring your novel, to be sure. Oh, how I wish Mama and Papa and the other girls hadn’t come. They’ll be bored out of their minds.”

  “Helena,” her sister said a third time.

  Helena turned, her arms filled with books.

  “Whatever will you do?” her sister whispered.

  Helena stared. She’d learned never to expect authenticity from her family; real concern was virtually unknown.

  “Do not worry yourself,” she tried.

  “You cannot run away again.”

  “No. I don’t suppose I can. But I will take care of it.”

  “What do you mean? But how?”

  “I’ve . . . I’ve something else plann—”

  “With Shaw? Your groom?”

  Helena paused. Could she confide in Camille? A week ago, she would have said no. But since New Bond Street, a flicker of hope had begun to burn in her chest. Carefully, she said, “Shaw works for me, yes. He’s rather useful and—”

  “Do not trust him, Lena,” Camille said.

  Helena went still. “Trust him for what?”

  “For anything. He’s Girdleston’s pawn. How could he be any other? We all saw ‘Uncle Titus’ attach him to you. I’ve been shocked at how quickly you’ve . . . you’ve accepted him. In fact, I’ve been shocked at your complete change of course. Even the duke is suspicious of you.”

  “The duke cares only for his own amusements.”

  “He’s just said he preferred it when you were running away. And he will care a great deal when you invoke the wrath of Girdleston, which you are bound to do if you’ve made a confidant of his groom.” She took a deep breath. “Unless . . .” A pause. Camille inclined her head.

  “Unless what?” asked Helena.

  “Unless you’ve come ’round to their way of thinking. Unless you can reconcile yourself to some sort of agreement, and marry Lusk, but live separate lives—”

  “No,” said Helena, turning back to the door. The flame of hope began to sputter. Perhaps there was no kinship, no understanding.

  “Helena, wait,” Camille called again.

  Helena’s heart lurched. She hadn’t realized how deeply she longed for someone in her family to care.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing,” her sister said. “I’m merely worried. Lusk is terrible—truly. You’ve said so all along, of course, but I was too young to understand. And Mama and Papa tell us constantly that Good Daughters marry dukes when they are on offer. I thought I wanted to be good, but now I . . . I want to be like you.”

  Helena’s throat constricted. She looked at her sister through hot tears.

  “But not if it means you’re ruined or trapped,” said Camille, “not for me or for you. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly . . . going along? Excited about his stupid farm? The turnaround is alarming.”

  “You are mistaken,” Helena informed her slowly. “Everyone prefers my agreeability. No one wants the union spoiled by my running away.”

  Camille shook her head. “I wanted you to run. And whatever you’re doing instead frightens me. Lusk is a fool, but the dukedom is very powerful.”

  “You worry because, if I don’t marry, your chances for a titled husband will be very low indeed. You and the other girls want—”

  “No,” Camille cut in. “I’m worried for you.”

  Helena studied her sister’s face, searching for some duplicity. She saw only gentleness and concern. “Camille,” she whispered.

  “I trust you, Lena, but I’m worried about a conspiracy with a servant furnished to you by Girdleston. What are you thinking, Lena?”

  Helena clutched the books to her chest and slid toward the door. “You do not know him.”

  “That is for certain. So . . . you do have some understanding?”

  “I cannot say what I have. But I am grateful for your concern. I’ve not relied upon anyone since Gran, and it’s been a lonely road. I . . . I would love to rely on you. And to be relied upon. Please trust me. And if you really want to help, can you keep Mama and Papa occupied while I’m out in the fields?”

  “Yes. Alright,” Camille called softly, watching her disembark. “Take care, Lena.”

  Helena shot her a grateful look and hurried on.

  “My sister thinks I cannot trust you,” Helena told Declan two hours later. They were winding their way through parked wagons and grazing horses on the edge of Wandsworth’s country market.

  Declan had allotted twenty minutes to search the market, locate Lady Moira, and return to their mounts. It was ambitious, but in Declan’s view, it was just as important to return Helena to the group as it was to approach these women.

  “Which sister?” he asked. None of the Lark sisters had shown the slightest interest in Helena’s regard for servants.

  “Camille,” she said.

  Declan nodded. Of all the sisters, Camille Lark was the shrewdest. “You’ve not told her? About our plan?”

  “Oh no, but she knows something’s afoot. She’s not stupid. She’s seen our . . . our rapport, I assume? And she warned me against trusting you.”

  “Because she believes I’ll, what?”

  “I cannot say. Betray me to Girdleston, I suppose.” She glanced at him. Her face was uncertain. She didn’t accuse him so much as examine his reaction.

  His reaction was extreme frustration, but he kept quiet. He counted to ten.

  The Lark sisters had no way of gauging Declan’s loyalty, but Helena should have no doubt. He’d put his family’s future in jeopardy to help her. He’d also done nothing but aid and abet her. Since the beginning. Today alone, he’d trailed her through the many acres of Lusk’s Home Farm in his silent role as biddable groom. He held the umbrella while she spoke of late frosts with the duke’s horticulturist, bee migration with the duke’s beekeeper, and wool with the sheepherder.

  He’d bribed a stable boy to saddle two mounts and interrupted her discussions so they could finally slip away.

  And now here they were. The whole thing
had been beautifully played. Her interest in agriculture, her family’s abject lack of interest, even the rain. They’d manipulated the situation despite the implicit risk, but they’d done it together. There was no call for lack of trust.

  “If I was going to betray you to Girdleston,” Declan said, “I would have already done it. I’ve gone too deep for that now. My fate is tied to yours.”

  “You mean your family’s fate,” she corrected.

  “Right,” he said. He was reminded that he’d not been completely honest. He hadn’t told her about the threat of returning to jail.

  “Forgive me for raising the topic,” she said. “I don’t doubt your loyalty, Declan. Camille believes herself cleverer than she is, perhaps.”

  The muddy crush of the Wandsworth market came into view, and Helena was caught up in distant music and bursts of laughter, the smell of smoke and pasties. She craned to see over horses and carts, her face happy and curious. He stared at her pretty profile, gratified by her open delight. She’d shown disdain for so many things—the garden party, the trousseau, Lusk House in general. But the market captivated her. The broken-off thing in his chest lost another sharp, heavy chunk.

  “Our best chance of finding the herbalist is walking up and down every row,” he said, tugging her between a carriage and a pen of goats.

  The market’s outer perimeter was a large circle of wagons and tents. Once inside, rows and rows of vendors stretched over the muddy field. A dark, smoky forest loomed in the distance and a crude bandstand and musicians dominated the far end. In the center, a bonfire puffed smoke. The booths spilled over with autumn vegetables, chopped wood, candles, loaves of fresh bread.

  Helena pulled free of Declan’s hand and spun in a slow circle, drinking in the swirl of colors and aromas. Children darted around her, chasing a dog.

  Declan cleared his throat. “We’re looking at every booth for an herbalist,” he reminded her, pointing to the first row. “We’re searching every person for signs of wealth and privilege. An heiress will be far easier to spot in a country market than New Bond Street.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, following him at a slow pace.

  “But we must look,” he reminded.

  “I am looking,” she insisted, but she was staring at a table piled high with chunks of soap, each bar pressed with a sprig of lavender.

  He hustled her along and they rounded first one row, then another. When they rounded the third row, Declan heard himself say, “My last client was also a young woman.”

  Helena stopped walking. “I beg your pardon?”

  He didn’t look at her. The words were out before he’d considered them.

  “I was hired by the palace to escort her from England to France,” he said. “I want you to feel fully informed. After what your sister said. You should not fear betrayal from me, Helena.”

  “I’ve not felt betrayed,” she said quietly, walking again. “But I have wanted to know more.”

  They rounded the corner of the next row. He wondered if he’d said enough.

  “By ‘palace,’ do you mean St. James’s Palace?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The girl wasn’t . . . one of the royal princesses?”

  “No. She was the daughter of a viscount from Cornwall. She’d entered into a courtship with one of the king’s sons. William, Duke of Clarence and St. Andrews.”

  “William?” marveled Helena. “It’s said that one day he will be king.”

  “Yes. That is what is said. And his brothers, the other royal dukes, did not feel this girl was the correct consort for the future king. They’ve someone else in mind. When his brothers could not dissuade him of the courtship to this woman, they hired me to . . . deliver her to a holiday in the South of France. She had an aunt with a villa near Nice. The French seaside was meant to be far enough away to allow the royal duke to consider some other girl.”

  “The brothers tore the duke and his lady apart?”

  “I cannot say how everyone felt or what hearts were broken or otherwise. The girl—her name was Knightly Snow—”

  “Nightly Snow?” laughed Helena.

  “With a K, as in Knight. Miss Knightly Snow. She knew full well she was being extracted from the duke so that some other woman could be installed.” Declan thought of Knightly Snow and his stomach curdled.

  He sighed, continuing. “She was a . . . provocative, mercurial sort of woman. She loved parties and society and adventure. From what I could gather during our very short time together, she was excited about the prospect of a holiday in France. She had a volatile bent—I saw her behave with outrageous temper to both staff and strangers on more than one occasion. Not to mention, I believe she and the royal duke quarreled quite a bit, before she took her leave. I also believe they paid her.”

  “Who paid her?”

  “The royal dukes.”

  “Paid her for what?”

  “To go away.”

  “And you were her escort.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “You did not fancy the job?”

  “Worst job I ever had.”

  “Worse than me?”

  He laughed. “You have no idea.”

  “Was she a . . . pretty girl?”

  He glanced at her. She stared straight ahead.

  “She was,” began Declan, “curved and cinched and powdered and rogued. She craved attention and knew how to get it.” He made a face. “No, I did not find her pretty. She was—” A weary sigh. “The journey to France was an exercise in frustration, mostly due to multiple wagons of luxuries related to her comfort. Her list of essential ‘accommodations’ made travel slow and burdensome. Longest journey of my life.” He rolled his neck, remembering the extreme inconvenience of every mile.

  “And now you are my . . . groom,” Helena marveled. “You went from escorting the sweetheart of a royal duke to watching over me. Girdleston hires only the best, I suppose.”

  He made a noncommittal sound and steered her around a cage of chickens. Helena didn’t need to know that he’d been unlocked from prison to do this job; she didn’t need to know he would likely return there if they failed. Her pressure to succeed was already significant. He’d said enough.

  “There are extenuating . . . circumstances with Girdleston and me,” he finally said. “But you’re clearly valuable to the dukedom, of this I have no doubt. Girdleston is determined to shackle you to Lusk. I am guessing that the river on your family’s land must be very highly valued.”

  “Thousands of pounds a year,” she said sadly. “A fortune, or so I’m told. At the moment, the limestone in the duke’s mines must be hauled to Bath by wagon. It is slow and expensive, and they sell it only within the region.

  “But if,” she continued, “the limestone can be moved on my river, they can float it as far as Bristol. From there, it can be shipped around the world. It would be a huge windfall for both of our families but it would destroy the forest and my orchard especially. The apples are on terraced land that borders the river, and the line of wagons would wind through the center of it. They would actually have to chop every tree.”

  Declan speculated, “If they must do it—”

  “They must not do it,” she insisted.

  “Yes, alright, but if they wish to do it, why hinge the thing on the marriage of two unwilling people? Why not simply draw up some agreement between the families?”

  “My grandparents, the previous earl and countess, forbade the disruption of the forest, and my father promised not to make any changes when he became earl. After Grandfather died and my grandmother saw the type of earl her son would become, she installed a second fail-safe to protect the forest by willing it to me.

  “The loophole Gran could not foresee is, if Lusk is my husband, then the land will be his purview. And he may do as he likes. Or as his uncle likes. My father feels he is getting the profits from the mining agreement without breaking the exact language of the promise to his mother. His conscience is c
lear. Such a coward.”

  “But you are not,” Declan said. Her position was as unfair as the false accusations about Knightly Snow.

  Helena’s jaw was set. “No. I am not.” She glanced at him. “Thank you, for siding with me. And telling me about Knightly Snow. I’m . . . I’m sorry I raised Camille’s fears about betraying me. You do not deserve to be doubted, least of all by me.”

  “Well, betrayal is afoot. I betrayed the very letter of my employment within hours of being hired.”

  “Why? I wonder.” She slid him a shy smile.

  “Good question.”

  “Because you were immediately persuaded by me?”

  “Because . . . it’s a bollocks job. Because everyone has a price, but mine is higher than saddling you with Lusk.”

  It was the truth, he thought. Why not admit it?

  Helena considered this, and he added, “And yes. Because of you.”

  She laughed. “Because I am relentless?”

  Now it was his turn to consider. She was relentless and irresistible and, most of all, doing the right thing.

  “Aye,” he finally consented. “Relentless. That’s why.”

  Declan was still smiling when, scanning the crowd, he caught a glimpse of dirty-blonde hair and a dove-gray hat some five yards ahead. The smile froze on his lips. He pulled Helena to the side and looked again.

  Damn! He’d not imagined it.

  “Bloody, bleeding hell,” he gritted out, ducking down. He dropped her hand and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her inside a basket tent.

  Helena yelped, scrambling to stay upright. “What are you d—”

  “Lusk,” Declan whispered. “He’s here. Two stalls down. Quiet, quiet, quiet.” He held a finger to his lips, boring his eyes into hers. “We’ve got to move.”

  Lusk is here? She mouthed the words.

  He nodded. They were at the rear of the tent and he felt around for a gap in the cloth. When he found it, he ducked and stole the two of them through. The alley behind the stalls was webbed with stakes and rope. Declan picked his way to the end, pulling her by the hand.

  He found an opening five yards down and checked the vendor within. A cheesemonger’s stall. He pulled her through and Declan wound them through wheels of cheese and a tethered cow.