Page 17 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Tess gave her a somewhat dubious look but set to work lacing her into fresh clothing, settling the green print dress over Helena’s head with a smile of extreme satisfaction. A dark green fichu was pinned in place, and with matching gloves, she gave quite the striking appearance.
Even her slippers matched. Helena stretched out one leg, to see the effect herself and was positively delighted. What a difference it made to coordinate everything carefully like this.
But it was when Tess settled in to do her hair that Helena found where the girl’s real talent lay. Her nimble fingers flew through Helena’s thick heavy hair. She frowned a little as she began and finally stepped back, to study the effect.
“Please do not be angry at me for asking, My Lady, but why does she want your hair to be dressed so?” she asked, frowning over the way Helena’s hair half hid her face.
“Is it not better so…?” Helena asked, wishing not for the first time that she could just let the hair fall where it may, with no pins to hold it up. Would it not be more considerate of others if it were a curtain to hide behind?
“My Lady, we have time. If you were to trust me…”
Helena bit her lip and considered this. If this did not work out, would there be time for the old style? Helena wasn’t altogether sure, but at the same time, Tess’s judgment regarding her clothing had been accurate enough. At least she felt more confident of herself than she ever had up until this moment.
Helena took a breath. “Do it,” she said, speaking in a rush as terror filled her at her audacity. “Just…do it. As quickly as you can. I cannot be late. Not tonight.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Tess was worth every penny of whatever she was going to be paid henceforth. Helena’s hair was pinned and curled and pinned again. For the first time in her life, the long column of her neck was exposed, as was the elegant forehead, and the delicate collarbone that was just visible through the lace at her neck.
Oddly enough the rash, which left her skin red and burning, did not seem to matter quite so much. In fact, the radiant visage far outshone the raw patches and bloody welts.
“My lady, you are beautiful,” Tess said as she stepped back to survey her handiwork.
For the first time in her life, Helena wondered if such a thing might actually true.
It fails to matter if it is or not. I feel beautiful, and in feeling beautiful, I can walk into that dinner with my head high regardless of who is at the table.
To her, that would have to be enough. Helena Barrington had girded her loins that she might go to battle. The question was, would the Duke of Durham appreciate the effort…or go home?
Chapter 11
She arrived late to table, much to the consternation of her family and to the delight of the other guests. Though in truth their delight seemed to stem from seeing her at all. Thus far, James had gathered that she very seldom made appearances in public.
Her arrival, though, made the wait entirely worthwhile.
Lady Helena Barrington entered the room with the bearing of a queen. Beside him on the left, James heard the sudden intake of breath from the lady introduced to him as Miss Phoebe Barlowe.
Apparently, Miss Barlowe had been the sister of Helena’s mother, though the two could not have been more different. Where Helena was radiant, as though carrying with her into every room she entered, the sun itself in her eyes, Miss Barlowe’s coloring was so far different with her midnight hair and dark eyes, as to be the opposite entirely, though he supposed some would call Miss Barlowe ‘striking’ if pressed to describe her at all.
Whatever the case, this Helena who stood before them was not the Helena Miss Barlowe was expecting. She remained seated, her wine halfway to her lips as the men rose and bowed, welcoming the newcomer to the table. It was James though that lingered the longest, moving to hand her into her seat, sliding the chair forward and making sure she was content before sitting himself.
It had been the right thing to do. Barrington watched him from the head of the table, smiling beneath his mustache. Helena was seated on his left, so it was an easy matter for him to reach over and squeeze her hand. Helena seemed surprised by this gesture, taking an undeniable pleasure in it, that brought bright color into her cheeks and an added sparkle to her eye.
She was beautiful. She was also his dinner companion, and he could not think of a single thing to say.
“Daughter, I would have you meet James Campbell, the Duke of Durham. James, if I might present to you, my only child Helena.”
The rest of the table had already been introduced. James nodded politely at her and cast about for a safe topic of conversation as those around them slowly picked up the threads of their own discourse.
“Your Grace, I was wondering if perhaps you were planning on attending the Musicale this coming weekend?” Phoebe asked from his other side. This was not the conversation he was hoping for, but there was little he could do without appearing rude. So, he murmured his regrets, trying to remember if this was part of a conversation that had stopped when Helena had come into the room, as he couldn’t be sure.
Manners be damned.
Before she could think of something else to ask, James turned away. Perhaps it was rude to turn his back to her, but was this not part of the deal? Five courtship rituals in exchange for one rose. One rose in exchange for a ship.
I can do this.
What was most puzzling was how much he found he actually wanted to talk to this fascinating creature next to him. He realized he wanted to make her laugh again. He wanted to see her smile.
