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 irritation.

“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.”

The duke stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out into the darkening night. His silvery hair seemed to glint like the moon he studied so thoroughly. Being careful not to let the expensive china clatter, Leah set the tray down on the table. With the duke’s back turned, she allowed herself a long look at him.

His fingers were long, pale, perfectly manicured. Leah smiled to herself. Pawpaw had always said you could tell a lot about a man from his hands. Of course, he’d never met anyone like the duke.

“Ramsey, your timing is impeccable.”

Leah jumped at the sudden statement.

“I’m sorry?”

“You have impeccable timing,” the duke repeated, turning toward the room without really looking at her. “If you’d been a moment earlier, that idiot Waterson would have stayed another half hour.”

“Glad I could help, Your Grace.” Leah bit her lip and sank into a curtsy, wondering if her cheeks were as nuclear red as they felt.

“Be off with you.”

She lifted her head in time to see that beautiful smile again. This time, it was accompanied by a mischievous wink. Holy shit, the man was stunning. Age difference? What age difference?