Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (17 page)

Leah dusted furiously. Whoops. She’d almost forgotten

her charade. She’d have to be more careful when the

dowager appeared. Speaking of which, where was the

esteemed old dragon?

As if her thoughts had conjured the lady up from the

underworld, the woman herself descended the staircase.

“Wymond, my dear sweet boy,” she crooned in

a deep voice that made Leah jump. Holy shit, it was

an eighty- year- old Bea Arthur with a British accent.

Leah smothered her surprised laugh with a half- choked

cough. The dowager was tall, with a long face, pursed

lips, and jowls, just like the Golden Girl— down to the

mostly- salt- and- barely- pepper hair and everything. But who was Wymond?

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“Mother,” a soft male voice responded.

When Leah turned to see who had spoken, she

dropped the Dresden shepherdess she’d been pretending

to dust. The resulting clatter brought everyone’s eyes to

her, but she was still staring at the man who stood at the

bottom of the staircase.

Holy shit, it was the duke. The duke’s name was

Wymond. How could such a beautiful man have such a

dorky name? It was hard to tell which had shocked her

more: the fact that his name was so unfortunate, or the fact

that she’d called him a boy. He had to be pushing sixty.

She forgot about her supposed love’s unfortunate

name when the dowager rounded the bottom stair and

glared at her.

“You stupid, thoughtless chit,” the lady snarled, her

formerly regal face something that looked more like

Emperor Palpatine about to shoot lightning bolts into

Leah’s body. “You shall regret that.”

Oh holy crap.

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Thirteen

The clatter of porcelain on wood slammed a hush

over the entry hall, servants and masters alike. Miss

Ramsey winced and righted the figurine she’d dropped,

but the damage was already done. Avery’s anxious fingers

crushed the fabric of the greatcoat in his arms as if he

could crush the mounting tension in the room. If only

it were that easy.

How could she be so careless? He’d thought she

understood the importance of staying unnoticed in front

of the dowager.

Stealing a glimpse of Her Grace’s face, Avery stopped

breathing. The dowager’s papery cheeks were flushed,

her brows lowered, and her knuckles white on the

banister. This did not bode well.

She descended the last stairs and rounded the corner

toward Miss Ramsey with pure murder in her bearing.

Avery didn’t know what she’d do, but he knew it would

not be pleasant. He had to act— and swiftly if Miss

Ramsey were to outlast the encounter.

With only a small amount of regret, he extended his

leg toward a passing Tunstall footman. With his burden

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of gentlemen’s coats and hats, the poor soul never had a

chance to avoid the obstacle. With a surprised squawk,

he went flying and launched his burden directly at the

duke and the dowager.

Chaos reigned.

A dark blue greatcoat settled over the dowager’s

head like a net, trapping her beneath it. Frantic cries

came from beneath the billowing fabric as she fought

to free herself.

A cane struck His Grace’s nose before clattering to

the floor. The nobleman clapped a hand to his face and

screwed his eyes shut in discomfort. Maids and footmen,

Avery included, rushed to assist the beleaguered pair.

Miss Ramsey, Avery was relieved to note, disappeared

into the sitting room during the confusion. At least the

chit had the good sense to run.

“Who is responsible for this?” The dowager’s voice

echoed in the hallway once her maids had freed her from

the predicament. “I demand that you speak up at once!”

“Your Grace, my apologies,” the poor footman

stuttered. He was pale as fine bone china. “’Twas an

accident, I stumbled…”

The dowager’s rage was thankfully curtailed by the

duke’s interruption.

“Mother, your guests are waiting.” He sniffed,

pinching the bridge of his injured nose. “Come, let us

go in.” He dropped his hand and offered his arm to her.

With a scornful look at the hapless assembly of

servants, and an especially dark glare toward the unfortu-

nate footman, the dowager allowed her son to escort her

into the sitting room.

Avery sagged with undisguised relief. What a near

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thing that had been. Despite his careful tutelage, Miss

Ramsey seemed determined to worry him senseless.

A quick glimpse at the sitting room reminded him

that the evening had only just begun, and that his self-

appointed charge would have many more opportunities

to offend tonnish society. With a long- suffering sigh, he

ducked inside the sitting room door. If he were lucky,

perhaps another rescue would be unnecessary.

He tried not to imagine the next scrape she’d find

herself in.

Taking up a position opposite another footman, he

stood like a soldier at his post, hands clasped behind his

back, waiting to be called on. Scanning the room, he

exhaled a calming breath when he caught sight of Miss

Ramsey, who was, for once, exactly where she should be.

She, along with four other maids, was attending to

the spread of scones, biscuits, jams, and assorted other

refreshments on a long side table. Appearing to take her

cue from the well- trained Tunstall maids, Miss Ramsey’s

movements were slow and methodical as she set a new

pot of tea on the end of the table. She nodded to Harold,

another footman, as he fetched a sherry for a guest.

Avery took heart at the sight, stiffening his spine

against the sitting room wall. She’d avoided certain

disaster already today. Surely she could manage to stay

out of trouble now?

Gales of feminine laughter from her corner of the

refreshment table drew his attention. He gripped his hands

tighter behind his back. Damn and blast. Whatever was

she doing, speaking so animatedly to Lady Chesterfield?

He must prevent her from another catastrophe. Making a

quick decision, he lifted a discarded teacup as a pretense

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and crossed the crowded room toward them. The

Baroness of Chesterfield was known throughout the ton

for her mischievous, capricious nature. Best for him to

stand at the ready, in case of unforeseen circumstances.

If he survived this hellish afternoon without the chit

causing herself irreparable damage, it would be a miracle

sent straight from God himself. No one else could have a

hope of accomplishing such an impossible task.

i

Oh, she’d really fricking done it now. Leah clutched the

teapot as if she could yank the steaming brown liquid

back by sheer force of will. No such luck. It soaked into

the shiny green satin of the woman’s skirt, a large stain

that would probably never come out. Ever.

She didn’t know what had happened. She knew it

wasn’t really the maid’s job to serve, only to see to the

table, but when the woman had asked her for a cup,

she’d agreed without thought. One minute she’d been

pouring a cup of tea that the lady held out to her, and

then suddenly the cup was three inches further to the

left than it had been. The steady stream of tea had gone

straight down, splattering against the woman’s skirt like

rain pouring from a rooftop.

“Oh my God,” Leah moaned. “I am so, so sorry.”

Her hands shook as she put the pot back on the table and

searched wildly for a towel, a cloth, something she could

use to try to make this better.

The duke would kill her. His mother would kill her.

And if there were anything left after those two were

done, Avery would kill her twice. He’d tried so hard to

keep her from fucking this up.

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The woman laughed aloud, a sound that shocked Leah

to the core. What the heck?

“Oh, look at what I’ve done! I’ve spilled tea all over

my gown, what a clumsy fool I am. Dear, would you

mind accompanying me so I can put myself to rights?”

She held her hand out toward Leah.

Stupidity gummed up the thought gears in Leah’s

head.
What?

“Dear, can you assist me?” The woman smiled at

Leah, the ostrich and peacock feathers atop her hat

quivering sympathetically.

“Oh, oh! Yeah, I mean yes, of course.”

The conversation around them resumed as Leah

followed the lady through the room, past a shocked-

looking Avery, and into an unoccupied parlor across the

hallway. The woman shut the door behind them with a

click, then turned a serious look on Leah.

Sweat broke out along Leah’s forehead, and she stumbled

backward a step.
Better
get
talking
quick, girl, or you’re screwed.

“Ma’am, I am very sorry. I only looked away for a

second, and the cup was— ”

“Hush, dearie. We must speak before anyone follows

us in here.” The lady sat on the chair in the corner,

completely ignoring her damp and stained skirt. “I am

Amelia Florin, Baroness of Chesterfield. I noticed that

you have an odd accent. Where were you born?”

“Um.” Leah fought the urge to shove her hands into

the pockets of her apron.
Show
no
fear, Ramsey. Play your
role.
“I’m from the colonies.”

“Stuff and nonsense. The truth, dear, we’ve no time

for prevarication.” A fan suddenly appeared in the

woman’s hand, and she opened it with a snap.

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Leah gulped. “I’m from North Carolina.”

“And when, precisely, are you from?” She started

fanning herself, never letting her steely gaze wander from

Leah’s eyes. “I shall know if you lie to me, dear.”

The sweat spread from Leah’s forehead to her cheeks

and chest. She wanted to pull the tight neck of her gown

aside to get some air, but Lady Chesterfield’s gaze kept

her frozen like a tonnish Medusa.

“Twenty thirteen,” Leah mumbled.

The woman rose, a self- satisfied smile on her face. “As

I suspected.” She made a circle around Leah, who stood

ramrod straight, confusion locking her muscles in place.

“How…how do you…”

“My lady’s maid is a most unusual girl. She used to

serve in an earl’s household as a parlor maid, if you can

believe it. A certain Micah Axelby, Earl of Dunnington.

When he supposedly ran off to the colonies, she came

to be in my employ.” Lady Chesterfield patted Leah’s

cheek. “Muriel has told me the most fantastic stories

about a woman named Jamie Marten, and you know, I

am inclined to believe her. A young woman who trav-

eled through a bureau’s mirror in order to find her true

love. A bureau that has recently been purchased by the

Duke of Granville. Now quickly, before they know we

are missing. Are you also here to search for your true

love, as Jamie was?”

Hope and relief slammed into Leah’s forehead, and she

swayed unsteadily. Her yes came out half gasp, half laugh.

Lady Chesterfield grabbed Leah’s hands and held her

steady. “And do you need assistance in that quest?”

“Holy crap, yes. It’s tough to land a duke without

any help. But why would you want to help me?”

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Even though Leah desperately wanted to grab Lady

Chesterfield’s help with both hands and take off running,

possibly do some parkour down St. James’s Place, she

couldn’t help but be worried that this might be too damn

good to believe.

But the woman’s smile was as sincere and kind as any

she’d seen. “Because I’ve had my own dear husband,

and he was everything to me. Now that he’s gone, I

can amuse myself as I damn well please. And I like you,

dear. You remind me of a very young Amelia Florin,

and that’s the truth.” She pressed a delighted kiss to

Leah’s forehead. “Now, we must plan. Presenting you

into society will not be easy, but we can do it if we are

careful. Here’s what you must do to avoid suspicion.”

As Lady Chesterfield outlined her plan for the next

twenty- four hours, Leah’s excitement grew. Firstly, no

more chamber pot emptying. Lady Chesterfield laughed

when Leah offered to be a parlor maid in her house too.

Leah didn’t hide her relief at that. Everyone knew she