by Gina Lamm
Avery’s shoulders, lined with tension before, tightened even further as he turned to face the one who’d addressed him.
“Turpin.” He nodded coolly. “No time to waste, I’m afraid. I’ve an appointment.”
The man stood half a foot taller than Avery, his brownish-white shirt splattered with stains across the front. His jacket was threadbare, the cheap fabric thinning in many places. “Come in for a pint, my lad, and tell us about the fine house you serve in. Fancy a bruiser like you polishing buttons and wiping a lordship’s arse!” He tossed back his head and laughed, and Leah turned her head away quickly from the sight and smell of his open mouth. Ugh, she should have brought a sack of toothbrushes with her through that damn mirror.
“Another time.” Avery turned on his heel and Leah stumbled in shock as he gripped her arm to steer her forward.
“At the Houndstooth tourney? You’ll be there, won’t you, lad?”
Avery didn’t slow, apparently pretending not to hear the question.
Leah moved on her toes, driven by Avery’s strong but gentle grip.
Shut up, she inwardly hissed to her fluttering heart. Anyone would think she’d been kissed passionately at the way her excited heart was thumping. She was apparently so desperate for human companionship that her upper arm had graduated to erogenous zone. At least, she tried to convince herself that it could have been anyone, not just the strong, quiet man beside her that was making her heart turn cartwheels.
Or maybe it was just the fear of the environment. She made use of their proximity to grip his coat in nerveless fingers. What had that Turpin guy meant by “a bruiser like Avery”? And what tourney?
She opened her mouth to ask him, but her train of thought was derailed when they crossed the road. The smell was awful, even worse than it had been before. Mud stood in the streets, fetid pools that made her wonder if they were just dirt and water or something else. The buildings, if she could be so generous, looked about ready to collapse at any moment. But the thing that made her want to close her eyes and not open them until she got back home was the faces.
There were thousands of them. Young, old, decorated with visible dirt or wiped clean, it didn’t matter, they all held the same expression—hopelessness. It saturated their gaunt cheeks, their pointed chins, but most of all, it haunted their empty eyes. It was like walking through a horror movie. She caught herself praying that Avery had never been among their number, although she knew better.
She curled her fingers tighter into his sleeve. “Avery, are you sure we should be here?”
“We’ve arrived.” He pulled free of her grip and opened the door for her. Damn it, how did he sound so calm? And why’d he have to let go of her arm? She ducked through the low doorway into a narrow staircase. The smell wasn’t as bad here, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Even her normally strong stomach had been close to losing it at the conditions outside. How had he come through a life in this place?
The stairs creaked beneath their feet. At the top, Avery produced an ancient key and pushed it into the lock of the narrow door.
“Aunt?”
The only answer in the dim room was a hacking cough from the bed in the corner. The heavy, cloying scent of sickness and unwashed human filled the room. Avery moved inside, and Leah stuck close to his back. She didn’t want to be here. She should have stayed back at the house. She could have figured out how to handle herself on her own, couldn’t she?
No way to fix it now. She was in the middle of England with no way of getting back to Granville House except the man who was bending over a tiny bed by the room’s single window.
“Aunt, I am here.” His gruff voice was as tender as she’d ever heard it. A soft moan was the only answer from the rail-thin form beneath the covers.
Leah leaned to the side to get a better look at the woman.
A lank braid lay on the pillow. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin held the sickly pallor of the nearly dead. Her lashes, long and thick, rested on her sharp cheekbones. Apparently, the moan hadn’t been in response to Avery’s greeting at all.
Leah shifted her weight anxiously. This had once been a beautiful, strong woman. Now she lay here in this tiny room, dying all alone? Worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth, Leah looked at the rough floorboards. It really put her own life into perspective, and Leah didn’t care for the comparison. She’d been selfish and completely narrow-minded. But what could she have done differently?
The question seemed moot.
“How has she been faring, Mrs. Comstock?” Avery said as another woman entered the room behind them and dumped a bucket of water into the ewer.
“Millie is still breathing, Mr. Russell, but as to whether that’s a blessing or a pity I cannot advise ye.”
Leah watched as the thin, angry-looking woman wiped her hands with a rag. At least Avery’s aunt Millie had someone nearby.
Avery straightened. “I have brought more medicine for her.” He produced a small brown bottle from his jacket.
Mrs. Comstock took it from him and thumped the bottle. Leah bit her lip as the woman uncorked the top and poured a dose into a spoon.
“Mind yourselves,” she admonished as she bent over the sickbed. “You’ve no wish to be near when she swallows this draught, mark me.”
Avery turned away as Mrs. Comstock brought the spoon to his aunt. Leah reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him, but he pulled away.
Mrs. Comstock pried open the sick woman’s mouth and inserted the spoonful of medicine. Closing Millie’s jaw with one hand and massaging her throat with the other, Mrs. Comstock forced her to swallow the dose. Millie fought weakly, hands batting at Mrs. Comstock’s, but in her semiconscious state, there was no way for her to be a real deterrent.
The coughs began from deep within her chest, wet hacking sounds that made Leah wince. Once Mrs. Comstock was certain that she’d swallowed the medicine, she released the sick woman.
Then the real fight began.
Clawing at her throat, Millie heaved and hacked, almost seeming to want to vomit the dose back up. Leah took a step toward her, not knowing what to do but unwilling to stand by and watch the woman suffer, but Mrs. Comstock shook her head and held Leah back.
“She must bear it. It will be better soon.”
Now Leah knew why Avery had turned away so determinedly. There was no way to watch and not feel horrible at Millie’s condition. Taking her cue from him, Leah closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the stranger’s suffering would somehow get better. In reality, though, she knew it was probably a lost cause. There was no real medical care here. Millie might have had something as simple as a cold, but it had obviously turned into something that could very well rob her of her life. Leah squeezed her eyes shut harder. She hadn’t wanted this. She’d wanted fun, an adventure, and if she found the love of her life, then great. She hadn’t wanted to stand at a stranger’s bedside as the stranger’s life slowly slipped away. The image of her grandfather popped into her mind’s eye, and she worked hard to keep from getting emotional. He was fine. There was nothing wrong with Pawpaw.
After long, tense moments, the coughing and gagging eased. Leah didn’t open her eyes, her lids glued shut with unease.
“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?” The sound of Mrs. Comstock’s movements drew Leah’s lids open. The woman moved around the small room, fetching a cool cloth and laying it on Millie’s brow.
“You can come closer now. The worst of it is over.”
Avery turned, and Leah followed him to Millie’s bedside. He knelt by the head of the bed, but Leah stood back, wanting to stick close to Avery for moral support but unwilling to interrupt what was obviously an emotional meeting for him.
“Aunt, I am sorry,” he whispered. He started to reach for Millie, but drew back his hand just before he made contact.
Leah looked away, swallowing hard. Her throat had gone curiously dry.
She stood in silence as Avery bowed his head at his aunt
’s bedside. He must be praying again. He seemed to do that fairly frequently. She rubbed her damp palms across her skirt, blinking at the ceiling.
This was hard. This was damned hard—and unexpected. She wasn’t a religious person, not really. She had beliefs, sure, but they seemed inconsequential when she was faced with a situation like this.
What was she doing here, really?
Millie’s heavy breaths seemed to echo in the small room. Mrs. Comstock ducked from the room, saying something about broth for Millie.
Avery didn’t respond, just kept his head bowed with his fingers only inches from his aunt’s.
Leah took advantage of the silence to analyze him.
His shoulders were tensed as he hunched over the bed. His whole body seemed rigid, like he was fighting a large wave of emotion that threatened to suck him under. Following an instinct that she didn’t really understand, she stepped closer to him and rubbed his back gently. As if in response to the strength she sent him, he took Millie’s fingers in his own.
Maybe this was her destiny. Maybe, Leah mused as she blinked hard to shove back the tears, maybe she was being shown Avery’s hell to make her grateful for what she had. For the love of Pawpaw and of Jamie, and of the rest of her family and friends. Or maybe she was being shown this so she could help people like this when she became a duchess.
Of course! When she became a duchess, she’d have money and power in this society. She could enact change. Help people. She could do something for Millie, and for the other poor, hopeless people that lived here. Sanitation would be the first thing to tackle. No wonder people got so sick here; there was no real way to dispose of sewage. Then, she’d—
Avery patted her hand. “Miss Ramsey.”
Startled, she jumped and jerked her hand away. Mrs. Comstock passed them, bearing a tray with a bowl on it.
Leah fought the heat that climbed her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. What is it?”
“If you’re quite ready, we can return to Granville House.” Avery rose to his feet, studiously avoiding her gaze. Had she embarrassed him? She sure as hell hoped not. She’d only wanted to help, but apparently she hadn’t.
Leah nodded and turned to follow Avery to the door, but a sudden thought made her pause. Shoving her hand into her pocket, her fingers closed around a small box she’d placed in there before they’d left.
Maybe she didn’t have to wait to become a duchess to help out a little.
“Mrs. Comstock?” She held the box out to her. “These aren’t much, but they may help her feel better. They’re lozenges. When she’s awake, put one in her mouth and let her suck on it. The medicine inside will help her throat feel better.”
Mrs. Comstock’s face was wary, but she took the box anyway. “Thank ye, miss.”
Avery looked at Leah briefly before turning back to Millie. “Good-bye, Aunt.” His voice was low, rough.
There was no response. Millie lay still as death, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she was still among the living.
With a nod to Mrs. Comstock, and the delivery of a small bag, clinking with what Leah assumed was money, they descended the stairs into the dank and dangerous streets of St. Giles.
The afternoon light was long, and Avery led her briskly through the streets. Leah guessed he didn’t want to be here after dark any more than she did.
She kept her questions to herself for several moments as they crossed busy streets and avoided begging hands. But as the neighborhood got cleaner and less frightening, and the sun sank lower in the sky, she found guts enough to speak.
“So that’s your Aunt Millie,” she said. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
Avery’s eyes were dark, and his strides lengthened. Leah had to hustle to keep up with him. “It is a wasting disease. There is nothing that can be done to cure her. We must make her as comfortable as possible.”
“How long has she been sick?” Leah stopped suddenly to avoid tripping over a young boy who was chasing a dog down the street. The mutt barked, and the boy yelled, and they both disappeared around the next corner.
“Three years.” Avery pointed, and Leah walked in the direction he indicated. “There is a medicine that eases her coughing fits, but it is very dear.”
“That’s the medicine you brought her, right?”
He nodded.
Leah took in a grateful breath as they left the line of shanties behind. The smell wasn’t good here, by any means, but it was certainly cleaner than in the depths of St. Giles. She looked over her shoulder and was unsurprised to see a wealth of emotion in Avery’s tight-set jaw.
“You really love your aunt, don’t you?”
He stopped, eyes flying open as if she’d punched him instead of asking him a simple question.
“We should be discussing the dowager’s expectations for the morrow.” He resumed walking as if she hadn’t asked him anything. “Now, your duties will be to assist in serving. The dowager likes things to be prepared just so, so be sharp, pay attention, and mind how you go. The guests will arrive…”
He kept chattering, and even though Leah wanted to find out more about his past and his poor aunt Millie, she knew she’d have to do well at the rout tomorrow in order to keep things on track. She really did think things happened for a reason. And if her hunch was right, and she became a duchess, the first stop she’d make was the slums of St. Giles.
Avery had done the best he could, but if she could help Aunt Millie too, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Anything to keep him from bearing such a burden alone. That’s what friends do, right?
* * *
The rest of the way to the house, he kept up his long string of to-do’s for the party. She nodded, she asked questions, she kept from tripping on the long skirts of a tall-hatted woman, but Avery’s insistence and seeming nervousness grew the closer they got to Granville House.
On the third time he’d reminded her not to speak unless spoken to, she kind of blew up.
“All right, fine, I get it.” She threw her hands in the air as she stomped after him. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. You can stop treating me like I’m stupid any damn time now.”
He sighed. She nearly crowed in relief at the sight of Granville house in the distance. The lecture would have to stop soon.
“I know that you are not stupid, Miss Ramsey. But the dowager…” He trailed off, lifting his hat to shove stray strands of his honey-colored hair back from his face. Leah tried really hard not to notice how golden it looked in the fiery light of the setting sun. They continued down the street, Avery’s steps heavy and plodding, Leah’s lighter and excited at the prospect of sitting down. And dinner. Her stomach was growling.
“The dowager will murder me if I screw this up.” She finished the sentence for him.
He laughed uncomfortably. “That is closer to the truth than you think.”
She bit her lip in consternation as he descended the stairs to the servants’ entrance.
“Avery?”
He stopped before opening the door. “Yes, Miss Ramsey?”
“Thank you.” Leah bowed her head. “For everything.” The words weren’t enough, but she didn’t have anything else to offer him.
Avery didn’t answer. He just gave a solemn nod and held the door open for her.
She passed him, wondering exactly what to make of the afternoon. There was a crap ton to sift through, that was for damn sure.
Avery disappeared up the stairs after making sure the coast was clear. Apparently, he didn’t want anyone to know he’d spent the afternoon with Leah. She tried really hard to be irritated about that, but she couldn’t. She unbuttoned the cloak she’d been given as part of her uniform and hung it by the door with a sigh. He’d been through a lot today, and despite that, he’d still made sure she knew what to do tomorrow. Her jaw cracked as she yawned. Besides, she was too freaking tired to be upset. Maybe later.
Mrs. Harper came around the corner in a white-haired cloud of irrit
ation.
“Oh, Ramsey. There you are. Please take this tray up to His Grace’s study.”
Screw being tired. She’d just been given a ticket straight to ducal town.
“No problem.” She bobbed her head to Mrs. Harper and took the tea tray.
“Mind your speech, my girl. His Grace and an associate are in the drawing room. Be quick now.”
Leah walked carefully in the direction of the drawing room. Fortunately, she had a pretty good sense of direction. She’d had to develop one, because Jamie’s was totally hopeless. After the third time getting lost in Jamie’s neighborhood, she’d consciously developed the habit of paying attention to her surroundings.
Let’s see, door, hallway table, portrait of the guy who looks like Jabba the Hutt, another door, another door, aaaaand drawing room.
She stared at the door. It was closed. She stared at her hands. They were full of tea tray, pot, cups, scones, cookies—well, biscuits—and all. She looked back at the knob and pursed her lips.
“Well, damn,” she whispered.
Looking longingly at the floor—it’d be so easy to set the tray down just for a second to open the door—she instead turned and walked back the twelve feet to the hallway table. Setting the tray atop it, she trudged back to the doorway and opened the latch. Pushing it open only a couple of inches, so as not to disturb the duke, she crossed back to the tray.
The click of the latch hit her like the bite from a fire ant.
“You freaking son of a bitch,” she fumed. Damn drafty houses.
Stomping back toward the door, she opened it further this time. She’d just returned with the tea tray, ready to push through the still-open portal, when the duke’s guest came through it.
“No need to ring, Granville, I’ll show myself out. Have a pleasant evening.”
With a polite nod to his host, and not so much as a glance at Leah, the short, round gentleman headed toward the front door of the house.
“Your…Your Grace?” Leah poked her head into the drawing room. “I have your tea tray. Do you still want it?”
“Yes, thank you. Set it down, please.”
