Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (14 page)

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 “a bruiser like

Avery”? A 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

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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.

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“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 cheek-

bones. 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 laid 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

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the sickbed. “You’ve no wish to be near when she swal-

lows 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 medi-

cine, 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

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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 unex-

pected. She wasn’t a religious person, not really. She had

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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 under-

stand, 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.

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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

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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 got 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