Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes gg-2

by Gina Lamm

  Longingly eyeing the door Henrietta had disappeared into, Leah trudged down the ashy stairs. Her morning had started out so promising, with that delicious ducal smile. How had it plummeted into drudgery so damn fast?

  Watching her heroes in movies was proving to be much easier than trying to win one in real life.

  Grabbing a broom from the kitchen cupboard, Leah returned and started sweeping up Henrietta’s mess. The repetitive motions gave her more than enough time to think about home.

  Pawpaw had been so insistent that she find her guy and get married. What was his game? Rounding up a largish pile of ash, she bit her lip and recounted all the doctor visits he’d had in the past year. There weren’t many, certainly not enough to cause her to be concerned.

  So why was he so adamant that she not be alone? What did he know that Leah didn’t?

  With the ashes returned to the bucket, and Leah sweaty, tired, and confused, she dumped them into the bin and headed back upstairs to finish the duke’s dressing room. She’d have plenty of time to try to analyze Pawpaw when she got back. And if things kept going as well as they had been, she might just give up and dive through the mirror tomorrow. God, that made her sound like a damn weenie. She stiffened her spine. She’d never met a challenge she intended to back down from, and this wouldn’t be the one to take her down.

  “Ramsey?”

  Damn it, she was really getting fucking tired of that Q-tip’s haughty way of saying her name. Leah stopped on the third stair and turned. “Yes, Mrs. Harper?”

  “The dowager duchess is hosting a rout tomorrow evening. You will help serve.” The old bat didn’t look happy about it, but she delivered the order with aplomb anyway.

  Leah nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A thread of interest wound through Leah as she continued mounting the stairs. Serve at a real duchess’s party? See the glittering lords and ladies of the ton?

  When the realization slammed through her, she missed a step. Clutching at the banister to prevent a fall, she gasped.

  The dowager. The duke’s mother. Holy crap, the woman must have danced with Methuselah. How was she still alive?

  Leah righted herself and rounded the landing. Maybe she’d been wrong about the duke’s age. If his mother was alive, then he had to be fairly young, right? Maybe he had one of those aging diseases that made you look a lot older than you were.

  She entered the dressing room and started sweeping. She had to be careful, but this could be a very good opportunity to impress the duke and learn more about him. This could work.

  Maybe her fairy tale would have a happy ending after all.

  Ten

  Breakfast was a long and tiring three hours later.

  Cook set a bowl in front of Leah without a word. Apparently breakfast was lukewarm oatmeal-like gruel. Leah poked at the gelatinous mass with her spoon. It jiggled alarmingly, reminding Leah of that old B horror movie about the blob. The Oatmeal that Ate London! Run for your lives!

  “Oh boy,” she said beneath her breath. Clearly she hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

  “Ramsey, is the food not to your liking?” The housekeeper’s brows had climbed to her hairline. The other maids had filled in the empty seats around Leah, and Henrietta especially looked pleased at Mrs. Harper’s attitude. The little viper was really getting under Leah’s skin. She’d have to think about how to get back at her for the ash bucket. That had been a prank worthy of Leah’s best retaliation.

  “No, no.” Leah laughed uncomfortably. “It looks delicious.” She took a big bite and nearly gagged at the too-thick texture. Blinking back tears, she swallowed the muddy-tasting gruel as quickly as she could.

  “See that you finish it all.” Mrs. Harper watched her like a skinny, cotton-headed hawk.

  Leah nodded weakly. It was a good thing she could stand to lose a few pounds. On this diet, she’d be lucky to keep anything down.

  The scraping of a chair near the end of the table brought her watery gaze upward. Avery nodded politely as he sat and began eating with refined gusto. Hmph. Must be an acquired taste.

  A swig of lukewarm tea helped clear the gluey taste from her mouth, and the chatter at the table picked up shortly thereafter.

  “Her Grace’s routs are always such fun,” Sarah was giggling to Teresa across the table. “All those posh lords and ladies.”

  “And their dresses, blimey,” Teresa said, her pale face long with dreamy reverie. “I’d love to be puffed off like that.”

  “You?” Henrietta snorted. “A bony figure like yours would ruin those fancy clothes.”

  Teresa looked down into her lap dejectedly.

  Leah resisted the urge to kick Henrietta’s shin under the table. Instead, she opted for a more polite approach.

  “I think you have a great complexion, Teresa. What do you use on your skin?” Leah swallowed another bite of gruel in the ensuing silence. Apparently they hadn’t expected her to speak.

  “Me mum would mix rosewater and cream, and apply it to her face. She let me do it too, when I was older and we could afford it.” Teresa smiled down at her bowl. “It makes me skin softer. I do it whenever I can, even now.”

  “Vanity is a sin,” Mrs. Harper admonished. “You’ll cease this immediately.”

  Teresa’s face went bone-white. “Oh no, Mrs. Harper, I didn’t mean…”

  “You’ll do as you’re told in this household.” Mrs. Harper’s chair scraped back. “The very thought of a maid taking such pains with her appearance is disgraceful. You are to be neat, pressed, and present yourself as a servant of His Grace, but to give yourself such a treatment is well above your station.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Harper,” Teresa whispered.

  “You’d all do well to remember that.”

  With a glare at Leah, the housekeeper left the table. The three footmen followed at her direction, leaving Leah with the maids and Avery. All the females at the table turned distrustful eyes on Leah, with the exception of Teresa, who had tears tracking down her pale cheeks.

  “Teresa, I’m so sorry,” Leah said. God, she felt like shit. “I just wanted to give you a compli—”

  “You’re poison, you are.” Henrietta stood, her lips pursed in disapproval, much like Mrs. Harper’s had been. “You intended to cause that trouble for poor Teresa, hoping that you can replace her as the upper housemaid. We’ll none of us have aught to do with you.” At her beckoning gesture, the other girls followed, including the still-sniffling Teresa.

  Leah leaned forward with a groan, plastering her forehead against the rough top of the dining table. This was so not going well.

  * * *

  Avery stared down into his bowl, unwilling—no, unable, if he were to be honest with himself—to look at Leah.

  He should have spoken. He should have defended her against the false accusations that Henrietta had hurled on her. But how could he, when he knew that casting himself as her savior would harm her even further?

  A movement drew his gaze as she sat up and glared at him. “Thanks for saving me there, cowboy.”

  Leah shoved her chair back to stand. He shoved another bite into his mouth to prevent having to reply.

  She left the dining room without another word, and Avery stared at her departing back as if his regretful gaze alone could atone for his lack of action.

  He was no gentleman. Never had been, by birth or by breeding. Did that excuse him? His mother’s voice, echoing in his head from beyond her too-early grave, said not.

  No matter what it cost him, he could have borne it to protect her. But how could he subject her to the jibes and taunts that would surely follow his public declaration of loyalty to the girl? She could have no way of knowing how much worse things could be if he were to cast his lot with her. His presence caused more problems than it corrected, and poor Miss Ramsey had more than enough trouble of her own.

  Avery sighed regretfully as he left the now-empty table. He should know by now that nothing ever came of wishing things different. He ha
d his lot, and now Miss Ramsey had hers. They would both manage as they could and leave the rest to the whims of Fate.

  No matter how his heart ached with every pain she was forced to endure.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of normal duties and preparation for the dowager’s rout at Tunstall Place across the square. With the large crowd that was expected, Avery would serve as footman with the others from His Grace’s employ, and even Miss Ramsey was expected to assist. Cornering her to ensure her proper service was becoming more troublesome than he’d expected, but he persevered through the afternoon.

  Until he was summoned by Cook.

  “Mr. Russell,” the old woman hissed as he made his way through the kitchens with a pile of freshly pressed cravats. “Meet me in the larder.”

  He nodded subtly and went on his way. He knew without her speaking what the summons meant. It was a play that they’d enacted many, many times before.

  Once the cravats were put into their proper place, Avery descended the stairs again, winding around the corner of the kitchen to duck into the larder, unseen. Cook waited for him there, her sausage-curls wispy and haphazard from the heat of the kitchens, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

  “The apothecary’s boy came this morning.” A small brown bottle was produced from Cook’s apron pocket. “He said to thank you for your custom. I gave him your coin for it.”

  Avery took the bottle with a grateful nod. “I thank you, Mrs. Dearborn. My aunt sorely needs this. Her illness is getting worse.”

  Cook sniffed and dashed away a tear with the corner of her apron. “Millie was always a sweet girl. It’s one of my greatest regrets that she took ill so sudden. She could have made a cook in some great house, for an earl or even a duke after my own time.” She looked into Avery’s face, sincerity thick in her words. “She was the best kitchen maid I ever had, and that’s the honest truth. You tell her Mrs. Dearborn sends her love, and you take care of her, boy.”

  Avery gripped the bottle tightly, bowing deeply. “You may be assured of that. My mother would have wished for me to care for her youngest sister, and I’ve no intention of shirking that duty.”

  Cook straightened her apron and patted her curls. “Now, I’ve a goose to see to. I take it that you’ll be off to St. Giles this afternoon?”

  Hesitation sprang to his mind. He’d not yet spoken to Miss Ramsey, and it might be impossible to do so before the dowager’s rout if he spent the evening away. But what choice did he have? His aunt could not do without this medicine. He nodded.

  “I’ll inform Smythe that you were called away.” Cook shooed him. “Now, be off with you. I’ve a basket made up for Millie. It’s by the door.”

  “You have my thanks, Mrs. Dearborn.”

  She left him in the larder with the bottle of medicine in his hand. Lifting the bottle to catch the beam of sunlight streaming through the crack in the larder door, he watched as the milky medicine bent the light, diffusing it through clouds of liquid. Strange that such a small amount of medicine could cost so much. And strange that such an odd woman as Miss Leah Ramsey had upset his normal balance.

  Making up his mind, he shoved the bottle into his waistcoat pocket and headed up the back stairs to find Miss Ramsey. He couldn’t leave her to face the dowager without warning.

  But he must be quiet about it. If anyone were to see him…

  No. He’d not dwell on that.

  Rounding the corner of the landing, he waited for Henrietta and Sarah to pass by.

  “She won’t last out the week,” Henrietta’s snide remark caught his ear. “Mrs. Harper should never have hired her on. I could have taken Fannie’s position, and that’s the truth. This girl cannot possibly do the job.”

  “What can Mrs. Harper be thinking, allowing her to serve at the dowager’s rout?” Sarah followed Henrietta, the coal scuttle banging softly against the older maid’s skirts. Avery stood aside and allowed them to pass. They did not acknowledge his presence at all. It was as if he was simply a stick of furniture. Don’t trip on it, mind you, but certainly don’t bother making conversation with it.

  The cut had long ago ceased to bother him.

  Continuing on his way, Avery mounted the stairs slowly so as to hear Henrietta’s reply.

  “I am glad that she shall serve. The stupid girl will anger the dowager, we’ll make sure of that. This afternoon I am to instruct her how to go on. What a job I shall make of it!” Henrietta’s giggles echoed in the stairwell.

  Avery’s stomach dropped. Damn and blast. Redoubling his speed, he mounted the stairs two at a time. He must keep Henrietta from ruining Miss Ramsey’s chances of succeeding on the morrow. It really was too bad that he could think of but one way to keep her from her sabotaged lessons.

  * * *

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to come with you?”

  Miss Ramsey’s voice floated over his shoulder as he led her through the streets. They’d left the fine parts of the West End many minutes ago and were now nearing St. Giles.

  “There was no choice,” he said patiently, holding an arm out to stop her from crossing in front of a hack. “The dowager’s rout is tomorrow evening, and if you’re to know how to go on, I must instruct you. Do not worry. Mrs. Harper has been told you’ve been sent on an errand for Cook.”

  They continued across the street, and Avery tried not to notice the growing concern on Miss Ramsey’s face as she took in their surroundings. The fine homes had given way to crowded hovels, filth and garbage littering the streets. The warmth of Miss Ramsey’s body soaked into him as she pressed close to his side. He repressed his desire due to her proximity, though it was a damned difficult thing to do.

  “Mrs. Harper said she’d have somebody tell me what to do. God, what a stink. Where did you say we were going again?” Miss Ramsey’s gloved hand pressed over her mouth and nose, and her forehead wrinkled in distaste. How strange that such a repugnant expression could look so lovely.

  “We are going to my aunt. She is ill.” He stopped to allow a tradesman’s cart to pass before continuing. “But as for the rout, Mrs. Harper intended for Henrietta to show you how to go on. Henrietta wanted Fannie’s position for herself. She made it quite well known that she’d be most happy if the dowager found you unsatisfactory.” He bit back the part about prison. No reason to frighten the girl.

  Their footsteps squished through the muddy streets as they entered St. Giles. To distract her from the worsening conditions in the streets, he began reciting a litany of advice for the morrow.

  “The dowager is His Grace’s mother. You will need to be most careful while in her presence. Mind how you go there.” He steered her away from a pile of filth in the street. “She does not tolerate mistakes from her servants. You’ve one chance to impress her, and once lost, you shall never have another.”

  “So, no pressure,” Miss Ramsey said dryly, tucking an errant blond lock behind her ear. “Not only is my future mother-in-law a former duchess, she’s also a terrifying dragon lady. Good thing I brushed up on my dragon-slaying etiquette.”

  She fell silent, and Avery let her take in the scene of the square.

  It was familiar to him. After all, once his mother had passed on, he and his father had come to live here, in one of the shanties by the church. The foul odors, the calling curses loud in the air, the crowded conditions were all as native to him as breathing. He turned, and his throat closed at the shock on Miss Ramsey’s face.

  “Your sick aunt doesn’t live here, does she?” Her words were thick with horror.

  An odd mixture of shame and offended pride filled him. “It’s not such a bad place. There’s a roof over her head and enough food to fill her belly. If I had the means, she would make her home in a more comfortable situation.”

  She turned to him, biting her lip before speaking. “Avery, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He dismissed her apology with a wave. “No matter.”

  “You used to live here, didn’t
you?”

  Her insight nearly felled him. He drew himself up taller. “Yes, I did.”

  Her small hand curled around his arm. “No wonder you’re so tough. You had to be, growing up here.”

  He cast a glance over to her. She was looking into his face, without pity, without any sign of condescension. She simply stated a fact, but there was a light behind her eyes, one that made him wonder if she esteemed him for overcoming his former hardships.

  Though he longed to reach out, bathe himself in that light, he cleared his throat and continued. “Follow me, if you please.”

  Despite his longing at having her so near, he made sure to remain as close as her shadow as they wound their way through St. Giles toward his aunt’s one-room hovel. Guiding her toward the next corner, he pulled down his hat and prayed as he passed the Wolf and Dove public house that no one would notice him. The first time he’d gone to a mill, which had been against his will, was at the insistence of the proprietor, Benedict Turpin. He’d won half a crown, as promised, but had made the acquaintance of Thomas Prachett in the bargain.

  “Quickly now,” he said in a low voice to Miss Ramsey, hustling her past the door.

  “Russell, as I live and breathe,” a cackle came from the door of the pub. The man leaning against the door spat into the street, then smiled with a mouthful of rotten teeth at Avery. It was Turpin, of course. One of Prachett’s men. The one who’d introduced them.

  Avery’s stomach, having changed into a sack of lead, plummeted.

  Then again, luck never had been much on his side.

  Eleven

  “Fancy meeting you here, you old devil.” The man’s accent was thick, making it hard to understand him.

  Leah turned toward the voice, curiosity momentarily overtaking the nerves that had been ruling her brain. She’d been to some scary places in her day. Hell, once she’d had an overnight layover in Detroit. But even that hadn’t prepared her for the harsh reality of the London slums.