Page 37 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
What if I have been wrong my entire life to hide? What if I could have gone places and done things like the other young ladies of the ton. Could I have been courted properly?
Everything she’d ever believed about herself seemed wrong now, had, in fact, felt wrong since the Duke had spoken so openly to her.
She wished now that she’d told her aunt about that conversation, that she might gain her aunt’s impression upon the matter. But then her aunt had been so fiercely protective of her niece since she was small. She would not have appreciated the conversation, perhaps, and thought that Helena had been improper to discuss something so crass as physical appearance with him.
Helena watched as Tess’s skilled hands braided her hair, giving her two long plaits, one that she wound around the base of the chignon, anchoring it with several pins, the other that crossed over the top of her head, much like a bandeau. With the short soft curls framing her face, she looked at once complicated and sweet, a look that matched the dress well.
But Tess was not finished, for now, she took other accessories, pearls, and ribbons that matched those within the dress and wove them carefully through the hairstyle until Helena’s breath was caught by how elegant she had become. She touched a hand to one of the pearls and felt a very unladylike grin spreading over her face. Maybe the unsightly blotches would not matter when she was so terribly beautiful in all other respects.
Beautiful. I am beautiful.
It was a new thought, fragile and precious. She had never once in her life had that thought, and she held it now the way one would a baby bird, careful not to crush it.
Her hand dropped to her cheek, to the blemish there. “If only…”
“You are every bit as wonderful as any lady there will be, My Lady,” Tess said all in a rush.
Could curses be escaped so easily? A dress, a hairstyle, a soft smile…was that truly all it took?
“Thank you, Tess.” Helena stood as Tess draped the soft cloak over her, much finer than the one she usually wore. This, with the dress, was a gift from her father. He had been so pleased over this night. Funny how a single evening outing could be of such import…
She was warm within the cloak, but her aunt had insisted that she come down dressed in such a way as to be ready to go immediately. Her feet fairly flew down the stairs, only to trip her at the end when she realized that the Duke of Durham was standing within the entry, having only just entered.
He came forward, his hand outstretched, ready to catch her, but Helena only laughed, for she’d caught herself on the bannister at the last moment. “I have kept my feet this time, Your Grace. See? I do not need your assistance after all.”
“Perhaps I shall offer it all the same,” he said offering her a hand down the last few stairs.
Helena felt a blush steal into her cheeks as she took his hand for those briefest of moments. The warm pressure of his fingers upon hers gave her a quiet thrill that she felt all the way down to her toes. He let go all too soon, as was proper, and she felt the loss immediately, drawing her hand back within the folds of her cloak that she might savor the sensation and re-imagine it all over again.
Antony was watching them both from the door, his expression never once wavering, ever the watchful servant, though his chin moved in a slight nod of approval as he surveyed them both together.
Helena bit her lip to keep from laughing. He must have somehow inveigled a trade with Wilson, the man who would usually tend to the door at this hour. She wondered what her father would say if he saw him standing there.
The Duke, of course, had no such idea that he was being scrutinized so carefully. Helena studied his countenance, trying to see if there was some added meaning within his smile, but was too unskilled at reading his face to determine any deeper meaning to it. He seemed for all the world to be a man calling upon a lady, to escort her to a concert.
Either he is playing his part terribly well, or he honestly does not mind taking me tonight. Oh, I wish that were so! That terrible, wonderful brooch to have given me this night! Even if none of this is real, I am thankful. I shall ever be thankful.
With such thoughts whirling in her head, Helena could barely murmur an invitation to step into the parlor while they waited upon her aunt, only to find her already seated therein, along with her father who sat reading a book, looking for all the world like such occurrences as his only daughter going out to the theatre were the commonest thing in the world.
Harcourt Barrington rose with delight upon seeing the young man at her side and came forward to clasp his hand and to speak heartily to him. Her aunt on the other hand, only had eyes for her niece, a tightening to her mouth the only evidence of her displeasure, before she too turned toward the Duke of Durham with a nod and word of welcome.
Helena drew back as if struck. Once again, she had displeased her aunt. Meeting the Duke in the entry had evidently been some kind of faux pas, especially given she had been without a chaperone, though Antony had been there. Once again, Helena had tripped on a series of social rules she did not understand and thereby embarrassed her aunt.
Poor Aunt Phoebe, to be saddled such a niece!
But the Duke of Durham didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care, for his eyes rested upon her once again, warm and welcoming, with laughter in their depths like he was actually overjoyed to be here. It was a lie, of course, but a sweet one, to be tugged in close under the cloak and put with the feeling of his fingers that she still savored to enjoy later.
Chapter 23
Before Helena knew it, they were in the carriage, shivering against the cold despite the cloak. The windows were covered against the wind, but Helena could not resist peeking behind the curtain to see the ice glittering on the streets under moonlight so bright it might have been day. The horses cast long shadows, white clouds issuing from noses and mouths as they trotted through the streets, their hooves loud on the cobblestones.
Magic. The entire world was filled with magic. They passed houses with lit windows, families moving within, other lives that she had somehow forgotten existed, like she forgot the rest of the world, living so long within the confines of four walls.
When she sat back, she saw him looking again, the Duke’s eyes soft upon her, though his questions were directed at Phoebe, asking what music she had heard before and whether she preferred the Russian composers over the rest.
Phoebe could hardly answer such a question, though Helena longed to. She had many decided opinions on a long list of composers. It was all she could do to bite her tongue while Phoebe answered that she had never thought of comparing composers at all and found all their music to be to her taste, which was diplomatic enough even if it were a lie. Phoebe avoided music entirely whenever she could. It was a wonder she’d agreed to attend tonight.
But Phoebe seemed delighted to be on this excursion for never had Helena seen her aunt smile quite so much.
