Page 90 of The Duke's Dream
Thornley's footman darted off. Helene hoped he wouldn’t tell Maggy’s mother of her outlandish methods.
“It’s a game.” Helene lowered her voice. “There are no naked gentlemen loitering about. It’s a trick. To conquer your shyness. I want you to look at all the strangers in the eye—”
“But you know I can’t.” Maggy wrung her hands.
Helene beamed. “Yes, you can because we will imagine the person is naked.”
Maggy blushed, her blue eyes so round they would fall out of their sockets. “Rotational therapy sounds excellent right now. All you have to do is sit in a chair while they spin you—“
“Nonsense. You trust me, remember?” Helene said, clasping the girl to her side.
As they wandered the garden paths, footmen scurried about, peering into bushes and behind statues.
“Seems we’re not the only ones enjoying the sun today,” Louise said, her gaze following a flustered butler. “Maybe they’re searching for your imaginary naked man, Helene. That or they grew a backbone and are planning a revolution.”
Ignoring Louise, Helene prepared Maggy for the first stranger. The tall fellow with rusty sideburns wobbled near, swinging his cane.
Helene gripped the girl’s arm to give her confidence.
Lady Margaret pressed her eyes closed, exhaled all the air in her lungs, and fired a stare toward Mr. Rusty Sideburns. She held his gaze for a full two seconds!
When the stranger was safely out of hearing, Helene hugged her.
“I knew you could do it. All you have to do is allow others to see the amazing lady you are.”
How wonderful to brush a bit of her confidence on the girl, even if they were all ruses.
Maggy warmed up to their game, her giggles mingling with the birdsong. They were on the third challenge when Lord Thornley’s butler approached them.
“Ladies, pardon the intrusion, but have you, by any chance, noticed anything... out of the ordinary this morning?”
“Everything is splendid.”
“Are you certain you didn’t see perchance a—” He cleared his throat, and his face turned florid. “A nude gentleman?”
Louise burst out laughing, and Maggy giggled behind her lace gloves.
“There is nothing amiss. We were merely playing a game.”
The butler tugged at his cravat. “The staff was frantically searching for a naked man in the garden.”
“Naked man! Naked man!” A shrill, nasal voice echoed in the private garden.
Maggy glanced at Helene, who glanced at Louise, who glanced at the butler. After a startled pause, they trotted towards the sound.
Behind a hedge sat an ornate cage, its gilded bars curving into intricate patterns. A turban-wearing servant polished the brass. Inside, an exotic bird perched, stirring his plumage.
“The naked man!” the bird croaked.
“Who are you, you dear, dear thing?” Helene crooned.
Maggy held the cage’s bar. “This is Echo, Sir Frederick Babcock’s Indian Ringneck’s parakeet. The aloof gentleman from number twelve. He can speak words but cannot understand them.”
“That’s no surprise,” Louise said. “Few lords can.”
Maggy giggled. “I mean Echo. He was a gift from a maharajah. My father thinks he is a prime example of the British Empire expansion, while my mother is miffed that Sir Babcock installed him here. She believes he should have consulted her since the garden belongs to all the square’s residents.”
Helene caressed the bird’s breast. Why lock this beautiful being? A bird’s natural state was to fly. She would feel the same if someone tied her feet. She touched the trapdoor. One flick of her wrist and Echo would be free. The turbaned servant stepped forward as if aware of her intentions.
