Page 36 of A Pure Lady for the Broken Duke

The conversation had become unnecessarily complicated. Thomas stopped and explained exactly what was going on.

“Oh, I see now. How droll. Then neither you nor Helena are to marry anyone at the present moment.”

“Helena wants to marry George, and he her.”

“Yes, that was my understanding, as well. I am so glad that is all straightened out,” she said with a laugh.

But with the confusion clarified, Thomas was back to not knowing what he wanted to say to her? Whatdidhe want to say, he asked himself? And he found he was nervous, and his hands were sweating. He was behaving like a schoolboy, and he did not know why.

Oh, yes, he did. It was because he was so very much attracted to this charming young lady with flour in her hair, jelly on her apron, and the most wonderful smile in her eyes.

But what was he thinking? She was totally wrong for him. He needed a duchess and here he was walking with a lowly baker. Impossible. It would never work. But at the same time, he could not take his eyes off of her.

Finally, she said, “I think I must be getting back to the shop, Your Grace. I not only need to take my pies out of the ovens, but I need to get my cakes put in or I shall have a slew of angry customers wanting their evening sweets.”

Thomas escorted her back to the shop. She went behind the counter, looked up at him and asked, “Now then, exactly how many of the little teacakes did you want to take with you? And do you like the vanilla, the chocolate, or the strawberry?”

Chapter 13

“There is a… person… to see you, sir.” Wilcox’s manservant announced.

Wilcox looked up from the newspaper he was reading in his study.

“What sort of person?” he asked, shaking out the newspaper and folding it in half.

“I would hardly call him a gentleman, milord,” Munson, the manservant, said with the unmistakable tone of a snob. “I would suggest he might be a tradesman or… worse. What would you like me to do with him?”

Wilcox could not help but be slightly amused. “Did this person give you his name?”

“It was something like Brooker or Barker or some other indistinguishable moniker beginning with a ‘B’. He may have been speaking the King’s English, but I was hard put to recognize it as such.”

Wilcox knew exactly who that was, and he was not a person to be slighted.

“Show him in, please, Munson,” Wilcox said blanching slightly and standing, in case he needed to rush to the fireplace to grab the poker to defend himself.

Shortly, Munson returned with the man.

“Ah, Your Lordship,” the man greeted in a heavy cockney accent. “It be a rather long time, ‘as it not?” the man said, coming into the study. Munson lingered in the doorway, uncertain if he should leave his master alone with this man.

“Mr. Barker, what brings you tomyhome without an invitation?”

Mr. Barker was a scruffily dressed man to be certain. His age was indistinguishable. But age or injury had deformed his back and his rough, red, scarred skin made him look like he might have barely survived some catastrophe or other.

Wilcox indicated to Munson that he might leave them alone.

“I have been patient, Your Lordship, I most certainly have. And I come today because of the promise you made me… how long ago was it now? The balance of my monies has not been paid as promised on the date due.”

“I… I can explain that…” Wilcox stammered.

“I am certain you can. But an explanation is not a payment… if you see what I means.”

“And what exactly are you due?”

“Three hundred plus interest. And that makes a total of four hundred fifty.”

“That cannot be,” Wilcox protested. “You mean to say the interest is a hundred and fifty on three hundred? That is outrageous.”

“Outrageous it may be, but you agreed to it when you was in dire straits. Had to have it, you said. Matter of life or death, you insisted. So, I give it to ye. But do I get repaid when I was promised? Seems not to be the case.”