Page 19 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
“Listen…” he said, this time he being the one to drop the napkin so he could speak directly into her ear. “Enjoy your dinner. I will let you be — for now. But be warned, I will honor my agreement, and will expect to perhaps take you for a turn about the garden when we are done here.”
“You wish to walk with me?” she asked, eyes going wide with shock.
“If you can find the appropriate chaperone, I would be delighted to,” he said and found to his surprise that he actually meant it.
Chapter 12
It took Helena a few minutes to figure it out. When she did, she turned on him most charmingly, eyes flashing fire as she set down her spoon with a clatter. “You are having fun at my expense!” she accused him, in an absolute fury.
It really was far too delightful to twit her. “Whatever do you mean?” James asked, leaning a little toward her as the servant removed his empty soup bowl and brought out the next course.
“I mean, that you asked me to walk with you in the garden, through several feet of snow perhaps?”
He laughed. “I was perhaps enjoying tweaking your sensibilities just a tad,” he said, with a wicked smile. “But you are so in earnest to be courted in thepropermanner, I could not help myself. Truly, I was a cad, and I apologize, for I would be delighted to walk in the garden with you under more auspicious circumstances. How shall I make it up to you?”
Her jaw was set, her hands twisting the napkin in her lap, to where it was a wonder the fabric held. It took her a moment, a gentle heave of her shoulders as she took a deep breath before looking up at him again. This time it was not anger he read in her eyes but a challenge. “You shall join us in the parlor, I should think. And I will play for you.”
James just kept himself from wincing. While he had a great appreciation for fine music, too many young ladies felt they were accomplished in these arts, only to be far too optimistic regarding their skills. All the same, he had promised to court the young lady, and an evening spent over cards or music was considered the proper entertainment after an intimate dinner of this nature.
“You are an accomplished musician then?” he asked, in truth a little disappointed that this girl’s accomplishments, after all, mirrored that of every other young woman he had heretofore met.
Helena blushed, ducking her head with a modesty that at least seemed genuine. “I know not, as I have had little to compare it to, outside the skills of those who taught me.”
“You are not fond of the musicales put on in our fair city, Lady Barrington?” he asked, knowing many who would eschew the performances given in such a small town compared to the wonders of the London season.
Helena shook her head, and when she answered her voice took on a wistful tone. “I have never been able to judge them for myself, though my aunt has been several times. She talks little of the music though.”
James frowned then, realizing just how little Lady Barrington ever left the house. He studied her downcast eyes and remembered the exuberance when she’d tumbled down the stairs into his arms, the fire with which she fought to attain his courtship. This shy reclusiveness seemed at odds with the woman he knew shecouldbe and made him sad to think she had had so few experiences.
“Then perhaps one of these visits might be best enjoyed at such a performance,” he said softly, hoping to pull the smile back out again, not liking the sadness in her eyes.
Helena’s hand came up to touch her cheek, trying to cover the blemish there, he realized, seeing in the protective gesture what he should have before. Not that he’d been entirely blind to the blemishes upon her skin, but he had been looking past them to the woman beneath.
Now he wondered how much she worried about what lay on the surface. James felt his lips tighten, the stiffness come into his shoulders. Was she as vain as all that? Or simply that wounded within?
The dress and hair had been calculated for this dinner, this he knew. She had appeared in far more plain things on the occasion of their meeting, not that it had concealed her beauty from him. Tonight though, she had been breathtaking and had appeared at table with a refinement that showed him just how majestic she could be.
This transformation left him unsure, wondering just which version of her was the truest one.
“Will you attend with me?” James asked again when she seemed not inclined to answer, realizing that they were perhaps drawing attention with the intensity of their conversation.
She bit her lip and stared at her plate, as though every bit of attention needed to be on the next course, though she made no move to pick up her fork. “I do not know if I have that kind of courage,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the clink of silverware. Besides he was aware of Miss Barlowe’s quick intake of breath, as though she were listening and finding her niece’s responses not very satisfying.
James ignored this and smiled instead, remembering the girl who had danced upon the stairs. “I think you do. Perhaps you can prove that to me by playing for me after dinner, as you suggested before.”
Helena glanced sharply over to him, the corner of her mouth lifting in the beginnings of a smile. “I would enjoy such an honor,” she said, then straightened, proving that indeed she had every bit of courage he’d accused her of. “Yes, I shall play for you tonight. I have crafted—”
“Oh, Helena, surely you will be too tired for such a strenuous evening,” Miss Barlowe put in from his other side, leaning rather impolitely into their conversation, proving that she had been listening after all. She shot a smile in James’s direction. “I do so worry about her, Your Grace. She is not used to so much excitement. The exertion might prove deleterious to her health.”
There was something about Miss Barlowe’s comment that put his back up, though he could not say just what. “I should think that one musical piece would not be too taxing. It would be a shame to cut the evening short.”
He glanced over at Helena, half expecting to see some grateful look for salvaging her evening, but she was staring at her plate without eating, one hand to her cheek again in a look that he was coming to know was defensive, as a way to hide.
She looked for all the world that she was about to cry.
“I think I had best perhaps call it a night. Aunt Phoebe sometimes knows me better than I know myself. If you will excuse me, Your Grace.” With that, Lady Barrington rose, and after making the proper excuses to the guests who seemed unsurprised by this turn of events, she left the room.
Miss Barlowe sniffed. “I daresay it would have been better for her not to come down, but she has always been a headstrong child,” she said, and then with uncommon courtesy, leaned in to murmur, “If you would be so kind as to excuse me, I would like to check that my niece is all right. I shall return posthaste.”
