Page 5 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
“What is he like? Your Lord?” Helena asked, frowning a little, clasping her hands beneath the cloak so not to scratch in front of her strange guest.
Lucy smiled then, her face taking on a beatific radiance. “He is tall and mighty, with broad shoulders, strong enough to lift…why even me I suppose! He has comely features, with hair like the sun, and eyes so blue that they seemed to be formed of sapphires. But more than that, he is kind to all he meets. And generous to a fault.”
She laughed a little. “I suppose you think I go on overmuch, but he is considered beautiful by all who meet him, both in bearing and manner. It is not only I who think so.”
Helena felt a chill run through her. “He is then, a good head taller than me? With a voice that is low and deep, but who speaks with great intelligence?”
Lucy looked at her in surprise. “That is indeed so. I suspect you have seen him somewhere before?”
“I met him once in a dream I think,” Helena answered softly, trying to ignore the tremble that ran through her body.
Lucy nodded, with a somewhat wistful smile. “Many balls must seem as such to a Lady such as yourself, though he eschews society of late. He was much in demand this Season but stayed back from London this year due to certain…circumstances.”
The shadows were back in her eyes, and her hands fluttered nervously before her. “Please, I must go. I would hate to see my Lord suffer with worry over me.”
“He would worry over a servant?” Helena asked, drawing still closer though she knew the danger. One gloved hand raised to tug at her hood, to keep her face in shadows, though she angled her body away from the other all the same.
“He would worry over anyone in his household. He isthatkind,” Lucy answered softly from behind him.
“We will send him a message then…”
The woman darted forward and caught at her arm. “Please no! I should not have said so much. If he knew I was here…”
“Here? You mean at this house?” Helena only just stopped herself from turning to face the woman fully. She shook her off her arm and retreated to the nook by the books. “Explain yourself.”
Lucy shrank back toward the window. “I cannot.” She glanced past the harp through the frosted panes of glass. “Look, the storm is perhaps waning. I am warm now and well fed. Truly you have been a godsend, but I need not trouble you any longer.”
“At the very least I will arrange for a carriage to take you.” Helena moved toward the door. “Give me but a moment.”
She needed that moment. As she shut the door behind her, she took a moment to drop the hood of the cloak. Her hair clung in wet tendrils to her sweaty face, making the itching worse. She clawed at the worst of it, not caring anymore that she wasn’t supposed to scratch. The urge was just that maddening.
Thankfully the hall was empty, so no one saw her transgression, though her forehead now burned from the rough treatment, it was better than that insidious itch. She went thoughtfully to the entry, trying to peer through the window next to the door, to see the storm for herself, if anything blowing wilder than ever before.
No, there was no way she could send anyone into this storm.
A short search found a maid who moved with alacrity to prepare their guest a chamber. In less time than she had supposed, she had returned to the doorway to the parlor where she paused, one hand on the knob while she considered things.
If she stayed much longer with their guest, then her aunt would grow suspicious. She had invented a task in the kitchen regarding discussion of next week’s menus that should not have taken even this long. She fully expected that soon, her deception would be found out.
But at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to find out more about this Duke, who was so noble and kind, and who apparently invaded the dreams of sleeping maidens.
I will ask but one more question. Maybe two. Then I absolutely MUST be satisfied, or I will be found out and not allowed out of my room again. I just know Aunt Phoebe would imprison me forever if she but thought I was talking to strangers in this way. Or Antony will, though it is quite clear the woman is no danger. Why she must be nigh on fifty! As if someone of such an age could be so suspicious as he thinks!
Half laughing at herself for even listening to such crazy fantasies, she pulled the hood of her cloak up and opened the door.
Her visitor was still standing by the window, not looking out, but instead her attention was on something else entirely, some small object cupped in her palm.
Even as Helena watched, she saw the cunning look come over Lucy’s face, though she seemed to waver, debating something within herself before carefully closing her fingers around the object and slipping it into her reticule.
Helena frowned, her gaze going to the table next to the window, seeing only the book there she had been reading earlier in the day.
My brooch!
Helena started forward, forgetting to clasp the cloak shut at her throat, not caring as it fell away behind her in a heap. The words that tore from her throat were nearly incoherent with rage. “What are you doing? Is this how you repay us? Where is my mother’s rose?”
Chapter 3
Lucille Davenport, late of the employ of the Duke of Durham, cowered away from Helena as the girl descended feeling like a wild thing, crazed with fury, upon the woman. She tore the reticule from the old woman’s hands, ignoring her protests, ignoring everything except the violent rage that sent sobs shuddering through her body.
