Page 28 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
“What foolishness is this?” Phoebe caught her arm and drew her away. “You are half besides yourself!”
“Why are we standing here arguing? Let me go! I must be away. Aunt Phoebe, I beg you!” Helena pulled free and threw herself at the door, wrenching it open and stumbling into the cold before anyone could stop her.
The street before the house lay empty, but for a delivery driver huddled against the cold in a dray pulled by a miserable creature that seemed glad at least to be in motion. A light snow fell, from a sky iron grey. The Duke of Durham had disappeared. She might have thought he’d never been there at all, had she not seen him herself.
She stood, not noticing the cold until she realized she was shivering. Blinking back tears she took another step toward the street, and another, as though she could bring him back if she only knew where to go.
“Helena.” Phoebe stood behind her on the doorstep, her voice as sharp as the wind that cut through Helena’s clothing. “You are being ridiculous. Now come inside before you make yourself sick. As it is, I shall have to tell your father about this.”
“He is gone.” Helena half-turned to stare at her aunt. “He is not here.”
“You, yourself, saw him leave, what did you expect? That he would be waiting for you to throw yourself into his arms in an unseemly display? Your manners, my dear, are absolutely beastly, and now you shall be growling at me from your bed for a fortnight I am sure, for you have assuredly made yourself sick.”
“I am not sick,” she said, walking back toward the house, her feet dragging through the snow that danced around her feet. The wind tugged at her dress and hair, her cheeks stung with the cold.
“One who is well does not stand exposed in the snow. Now come inside and cease this nonsense.”
Helena allowed herself to be led back into the warmth of the house. She paid little mind to where she was going until she found herself in her own chamber, being tucked into bed. It occurred to her then, that Phoebe had been carrying something through all of this, her arms full of fabric as she’d drawn her into the house. “Aunt Phoebe, why were you carrying my dress?” she asked as she was bundled into a clean nightdress and tucked beneath the blankets.
“Such nonsense you prattle on about,” Phoebe said, watching with a critical eye as one servant built up the fire, and another slid a warm brick beneath the blankets to heat the bed.
“But you had it in your arms.” Helena sank against the pillows, suddenly very tired.
“Then obviously I was taking it to be cleaned. The lazy servant of yours had not dealt with it. I daresay we’ll have to replace her next.” Phoebe tugged at the coverlet, straightening it. “Now you stay put, and I will see that someone brings you some warm broth. Then I think perhaps a nap is in order.”
“I am no longer a child,” Helena muttered, plucking restlessly at the blanket. “And I thought you said the dress was ruined. Fit for rags.”
“And you need to quit acting in such a childish manner. Running out like that! What if someone had seen you?” Phoebe shook her head and started for the door. “If you think you can obey me, then perhaps your father need never know about this incident at all.”
He would know. The footman had been horrified. It was likely he had already given his report to her father. Helena suspected her father knew far more than he let on. But she kept silent as Phoebe left the room, knowing full well there was little that could be said at this point. All of this was her fault and no one else’s.
She had been playing the harp without her gloves on, allowing all and sundry to see the bandaged wrist and draw their own conclusions. Any number of servants had probably already seen it, so it was likely that the gossip already made its rounds throughout the household, and from there out into the world.
Helena burrowed under the covers, blinking back tears. Her aunt was right to be harsh with her. Furious even. The fact that the injury had been an accident mattered little to the outside world. It was appearances that mattered, and Helena always would be seen as a monster, a thing to be feared. A thing to be pitied.
Even the Duke of Durham had come to discover that truth. Why else would he have left in such haste when it was clear he’d come to call. To imagine that he had been greeted with a bloodstained dress and saw with his own eyes the evidence of her transgressions…he would never return, and it would be all her fault.
She would never be free of this curse.
Helena had thought that if a gentleman had come to call, that she could enjoy the semblance of the life she might have had, had she not been so disfigured. She had thought that she could benormal. The very thought caused her to laugh now. Brooch or not, there was no way she could expect anyone to keep such a twisted and evil bargain.
Frustrated and angry with herself, she threw back the covers and got out of bed, padding barefoot to her writing desk and withdrawing a sheet of foolscap.
But here she hesitated. He had taken the brooch, had he not? Then to all intents and purposes, that meant he had agreed to her conditions. Today’s visit obviously wouldn’t count, for he hadn’t stayed.
Helena stared at the paper. She had already acted like the worst kind of monster in his eyes. Did it honestly matter what he thought of her any longer?
A small part of her told her that it did. Fake courtship or not, this had become more than an opportunity to talk to someone new and experience the fine dance that was the flirtation between a man and a woman. In just one true visit she had come to enjoy the quickness of mind and the way in which he had teased her.
In truth, she wanted another such encounter. Longer perhaps. A true conversation. An opportunity to look into those eyes, and to see that smile.
He has taken the brooch. I have paid for this, then, have I not? I have a certain right to receive that which I paid for.
Helena shivered. What she was proposing was wrong. She knew it to be so. She was taking unfair advantage of the Duke’s situation. She was being unreasonable. He had already made himself clear that he was repulsed by her and by her actions.
But the true beast demands satisfaction, she reminded herself.He must come back because I say he must.
Lips set, she dipped her pen in the inkwell and thought what to say.
