Page 60 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
“I went out in the storm to tell her I could give no more to her, neither trinkets nor pounds. With the actions of your partner followed by what happened with the fleet…” Lucy’s voice trailed away, and when she looked up at him, he saw that she was crying silently. “She offered me a solution. She had seen you many times at several social functions and had come to be infatuated with you. She wanted an introduction. I told her that it was impossible.”
“Yet you took a bargain that put me within that household and within her reach.” It was not a question. James spoke with a barely suppressed fury.
Lucy’s protest was quick to come. “It was not like that!”
James paced around the room, thinking this through. None of this put him in a flattering light — he had been too kind, too trusting. He had allowed his household to run roughshod over him for too long. That so many different individuals would steal from him, would take advantage of him only made him look weak.
But my father ruled the manor with an iron hand, and I had no wish to be him. If I erred, it was in trying too hard to show loving concern for those around me. By not questioning and simply trusting, I have only put myself in the position of the fool.
“It is part of what makes you beautiful, inside and out, Your Grace,” Lucy said softly as though reading his mind, “And not something to be ashamed of. I have always loved the way you approached the world with such kindness and a willingness to think the best of those around you.”
“Yes, it has certainly gotten me far,” he muttered, glancing up to meet her gaze, though he was loathed to look at her at this moment. The betrayal still stung greatly. “And Miss Barlowe…did she truly think that an introduction would put me within her sphere.”
“She is quite beautiful,” Lucy pointed out.
He looked at her in surprise, for he had not noticed this to be true at all. He’d had eyes only for Helena since he had met her. But now…even that had to be an impossibility. The Duke of York knew the truth of his birth. Why then had he not already opposed a match between a bastard duke and his own precious child?
James groaned and passed a hand over his eyes, as the depth of this realization dawned. “You may as well tell me the rest. Why then did you think that Miss Barlowe would harm Lady Barrington?” he asked, careful to use Helena’s title, now that he’d come to see just how out of reach she needed to be. Even if Barrington hadn’t said anything to that effect, how could James not?
Lucy bit her lip as she thought how to answer. “I do not trust her. There is something about Lady Barrington’s condition that reminds me of a thing I saw years ago, that makes me wonder whether Phoebe is perhaps behind it. She has proven herself to be skilled in getting what she desires. And when you said that you had turned Phoebe down, all I could think—”
“…was that in her mind Helena was the one thing standing between her and myself,” James finished for her, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Surely you do not mean that. She would not be so bold!”
Lucy eyed him gravely. “You have no idea what she has taken from you already,” she said and named a sum that would have made him blanch had there been any color left in his cheeks.
“And this thing you think she is doing…?” he asked, looking for his coat which he had flung aside upon entering the room.
“Strawberries,” Lucy said, sitting up in earnest. “When I was young, there was a neighbor’s child who had just such a reaction upon their skin when they came in contact with strawberries.”
“As simple as that?” James asked, remembering the words Miss Barlowe spoke only that afternoon.We grow them ourselves in our own conservatory. Lady Barrington loves them so.
“No…”
Lady Barrington loves them so.
“Am I correct then?” Lucy asked, for she had been watching his reaction.
James came and grasped her hands, his voice urgent. “Tell me what happened to that child. Did the reaction go away when he no longer touched the strawberries?”
“I do not know,” Lucy whispered. Her hands shook in his. “The child died not long after.”
Chapter 41
Aunt Phoebe clung to Helena’s hands, not allowing her to leave once they had arrived at her chambers. “Helena, I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate your assisting me to my room. The embarrassment of being caught in such a position...at myageyet! Can you forgive your aunt for acting so impulsively, so utterly foolishly?”
Helena desired only one thing at this point, and that was to escape to her rooms. She had heard everything between her father and Phoebe and felt quite sickened by the whole affair. To think her father would act so impulsively, or that her aunt would…No, she could not even finish the thought. The whole ordeal was rather horrific.
I only wish to escape. The words she spoke were so vile…I do not understand…
Helena wanted nothing more than to be violently ill, but her aunt drew her into her chambers and closed the door behind them.
Helena glanced wildly around the room, longing for escape, feeling, as usual, stifled and suffocated by all the things that cluttered every surface. Collections of snuffboxes vied for attention on the bureau with jewelry that there never seemed to be room for in the overstuffed jewelry box. Handkerchiefs and lace fell in a cascade from a drawer that wouldn’t quite close.
Her aunt took joy in her possessions — that had been obvious to Helena since she had been a little girl. Bits of art cluttered the walls, and not one, but two bureaus stood against the wall, a testament to the sheer number of dresses, coats, cloaks and other such clothing Aunt Phoebe possessed.
Yet Phoebe never had seemed quite content, despite the home she had or the wealth she enjoyed as part of the Duke’s household. In fact, she had always seemed somewhat restless within these walls. Even now, Phoebe paced the room, clearly unhappy in the way she pouted, and the frown gathered between her eyebrows.
Helena found herself questioning now every bit of bric-a-brac andobjet d'art,realizing for perhaps the first time the veritable fortune on display upon these walls. Was her father so generous as all that in the allowance he gave to her? Or had he in fact been pressing his suit upon her aunt for years in the silence of this multitude of gives, giving her far beyond what she should earn in her position?
