The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  Helena bit her lip. “Maybe I do not have to be so isolated. The Duke…”

  Phoebe removed the last of the ribbons and hairpins, pausing now with a hairbrush in hand to study Helena through narrowed eyes. “What nonsense are you prattling on about? You said before that he is here because of you? Explain yourself.”

  Helena sighed, her eyes growing distant. “It was my doing that brought him here. I saw him once before and wanted so much to meet him.”

  Phoebe paused in the brushing of Helena’s hair. “Where did you see him? Have you left the house without my knowing?”

  “Hardly!” Helena could not help but laugh at such an idea. It was absurd; she had not left the house at all in at least two years now. “I saw him once in a dream.”

  She thought to tell her about the rose but hesitated. She had thus far kept that entire evening a secret from her aunt and could only imagine her ire now, should she find out that she’d approached a stranger and talked to her in such a familiar way. Especially given that same stranger was nothing more than a servant in the Duke’s household. She’d acted shamefully, and she knew.

  No, it is best I not tell that part.

  “Father invited him here for me,” she said finally, for she suspected that he had had more of an active hand in this dinner invitation than her forged letter would have wrought.

  Phoebe sniffed, attacking Helena’s hair almost savagely with the brush. “Nonsense. You entertain ridiculous fantasies. A guest seated next to you at dinner does not imply a courtship. Your father placed him in that seat to balance the table, nothing more.”

  Helena put her hands up to cover her scalp as Phoebe pulled particularly hard on her hair. Her wrist disliked the sudden movement, and she winced painfully, finally dropping her hands to her lap as Phoebe gave her a stern look in the mirror that let Helena know she would sit still and allow her hair to be brushed.

  “He will come four more times,” she insisted, stung a little at the tone her aunt was taking with her. Why must Aunt Phoebe be so terribly sensible all the time?

  “Four? I highly doubt that you would see him if he came to a dozen. After tonight’s performance…”

  Helena grasped her wrist protectively with her other hand. “But I must…he is to be…”

  Phoebe laughed. “What? Your suitor? My darling girl, this has not been your best night, has it?” She hugged her suddenly. “Pay it no mind. Such as he does not matter.”

  Helena lifted her eyes to the mirror studying the raw patches of skin, the lank lifeless hair that even with vigorous brushing stood around her head in snarls. The bandaged wrist in her lap stood in mute testimony to her lack of self-control.

  “I truly am a monster…” she whispered, feeling something within her crack and break, setting up a dull ache within her breast. “I never should have…”

  Phoebe helped her to her feet, leading her carefully around the rug where the bottles had fallen. “You are a poor afflicted child who has had too big a day. Come, let me tuck you in. Mind the glass. I shall send in that girl to clean the mess that remains, but you must promise me you will stay put, do you hear me? I would not have you injured again through your carelessness.”

  It was not as bad as she made it out to be, for Tess had been busy while Bridget had bandaged her arm and had already cleared away most of the debris. But Phoebe was overly protective at times. Could Helena blame her given the ridiculous nature of her accident?

  But she sighed a little as she climbed into the high bed and allowed the coverlet to be drawn up to her neck. Outside the wind howled, but the room was warm and cozy. Helena’s eyelids felt heavy as she settled against the pillows. “I will stay put.” Impulsively she put her arms around her aunt’s neck, drawing the older woman down for a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Auntie, for not telling anyone…” She raised her injured wrist a little and looked at it. “I think father would have been upset.”

  “Your father would likely not allow you down to dinner again, if you’re going to allow yourself to become so overwrought from the affair that you hurt yourself,” Phoebe snapped, escaping her niece’s embrace with long practice.

  “It was an accident,” Helena reminded her, hating that she felt defensive about this when it was obvious her aunt loved her very much and was genuinely worried about her.

  Phoebe moved toward the door. “It was an accident,” she agreed, though her tone was dubious. “Be a good girl now and get some rest.”

  Helena sighed inwardly. A good girl indeed, when she was well past childhood and should have been married by now. She lay back against the pillow, closing her eyes, and pretending not to hear when Tess slipped back into the room with a broom and a dustpan.

  To my aunt I will never grow up, she thought miserably. But as she lay, ignoring the itch in her hands and face, ignoring the throb in her wrist, she thought about the things her aunt had said about the Duke of Durham. And remembered her conversation with him.

  She doesn’t know, she reminded herself. If I had told her aunt the truth of things, she would have thought otherwise.

  The door closed softly. Tess left, taking the soiled dress and the remains of too many cures that had failed to work to stay the disease that ravaged her skin.

  I will find another. And another. Whatever it takes. I will try them all, the way my aunt has always wanted me too. I must be ready, for when he returns next. He cannot find me like this.

  The vow followed her into sleep. She would not fail again.

  Chapter 15

  The meeting proved to be more interesting and immensely more profitable than James had first supposed. The men wound up talking late, enjoying the Duke of York’s fine brandy. The older men had both smoked a pipe as the evening wore on. James had abstained, too absorbed in the documents that Barrington had drawn up, in more detail than the previous proposals. There had been several additions that looked to profit them both.

  The more that James spent time with Barrington, the more he had come to respect the other man’s kind mind. He was a shrewd businessman and had he not been born to a title, it was not entirely impossible that he would have found a way into a very respectable fortune and name in his own right had he been left to his own devices.

  In fact, it seemed that much of his business acumen had come from the time spent on his father’s ships back when he’d thought the title would go to his brother.

  “It did me good,” Barrington said at one point. “Having no assurance of being the titled heir, I felt I had something to prove. When I set sail the first time, it was as the ship’s cabin boy — completely against my father’s wishes. He would have me made an officer immediately had I been of age.” Barrington laughed heartily at this. “I admit I chose the sea over my studies for a time.”

  Would James had done half so well had he been so educated? He saw clearly now the mistakes he had made in taking a partner who had turned out to be untrustworthy. He’d not followed his instincts enough.

  And now? Should I follow what my instincts tell me in this situation?

  The problem was, he knew the proposition to be sound. In fact, the only thing that lay in the way of taking advantage of this particular contract was the funding for the venture. And that lay in his waistcoat pocket, where he had carried it since it had been given back to him along with the papers. He was to present both if…no…when he signed.

  He touched it now through the fabric, noting the contours of the rose. Dinner had turned out to be pleasant enough, at least until his lady had fled upstairs. But meeting her and talking to her face to face had left him with another quandary: namely that James no longer wished to be part of this particular game.

  But I need the money. Not only to save my own reputation and fortune but for my household who depend on me. For Lucy, who should not work any longer at her age, and for the dozens of others that make up my staff.

  Besides, what kind of man would accept payment for courting a fair maiden?

  Prescott was dozing now by t
he fire, his pipe long since gone out. “‘Tis a good thing,” Barrington said, rising to rescue the object before it could fall. “He nearly burned down my house last he was here. Scorched the carpet when he dozed off, the old fool. We had to move that table over the spot.” He pointed at the small table that held the papers they’d been perusing.

  “If he is asleep then, perhaps it is best if we talk,” James began, reaching into his pocket for the brooch, only to have his sleeve grabbed, Barrington having snagged him and drawn him away from the fire.

  “I know what you would say,” Barrington murmured with a wary look at his friend across the room, “and would rather we not discussed this here, lest we be overheard. Prescott never sleeps too deep, and really none of this is any of his business.”

  Barrington poured himself a fresh drink from the decanter on the sideboard and motioned toward the glass cradled in James’s hand. James shook his head, waiting while his host stoppered the bottle. “If you would give me but a moment, I’ll send him home, and we can talk.”

  “There is little enough to say,” James said with a glance at the man sleeping across the room. “I cannot do it.”

  Barrington’s face grew hard and cold. “Cannot or will not? I understand that she is…difficult…”

  “You misunderstand me. I do not find her difficult at all. Quite the opposite. I will not take money to court a lady. To grow a fortune from such a seed seems destined to bring disaster.”

  “Superstitious nonsense! Look here, sir, I would have you know that my daughter has paid for your services fair and square. We have an agreement, and I expect you to follow through with it. Never have I seen Helena so radiant as she was tonight. You will see this through. All that remains on those papers is your signature, and you have all that you need.”

  “And I give you the brooch.” James threw up his hands. “I would give it to you now and be done with the entire matter. No papers, no venture. Give the pin back to the girl and let me depart in peace.”

  “That is not for me to accept. You made this arrangement with her. If you wish to renege on your agreement,” Barrington sneered these words, “then there is little I can do about it. But I will not step in where I have no business stepping.”

  James stared at him. “I had NOTHING to do with it! I neither negotiated the original agreement nor have I signed your papers, committing me to your proposal, Sir!”

  “And yet you came to my table and sat next to my daughter and courted her in full view of witnesses, I might add,” Barrington said, his voice deadly quiet.

  Prescott snored from his chair near the fire, shifting noisily in his chair.

  “This is neither the time nor place,” Barrington reminded him, with a pointed look at the banker, who to all appearances seemed to be waking.

  “Then tell me when,” James said, drawing himself up. “I shall return, and we shall settle this matter once and for all.”

  “Heavens sir, you sound like you’d call me out on a duel!” Barrington raised his glass and drank, watching him curiously over the crystal.

  “You would sell your daughter for five rubies?” James ground out between clenched teeth.

  “No. I would buy her happiness if I could, but this deal was not of my making, remember, but hers.”

  “You would allow it. Why not let her leave the house? Have her season. She seems no less accomplished than any other young woman of the ton. Let her be courted properly by them as would have her.”

  “Are you mad?” Barrington flung the glass across the room, where it splintered against the hearth, causing Prescott to snort and sit up blearily before falling back against the cushion and seeming to fall back asleep. “And expose her to that…ridicule. Or worse, their pity? Oh, she would marry, many would be willing to endure anything for a chance at the only child of a Duke. Her dowry is certainly sufficient.”

  “Sir, I would surely call you out for speaking such about one so as refined and beautiful as your daughter.”

  Barrington stared at him. “You mean that?”

  “I do!” James snapped, too overwrought to couch his words.

  Barrington burst into laughter, the sound startling Prescott for good this time. “You honestly mean that? You have hidden depths indeed. No, do not interrupt, let me speak. If you wish to be free of this agreement, then return here Tuesday as we’d discussed. Take the papers and look at them. Have your own solicitor or banker go over them with you.”

  “What good will that do?” James asked, furious that the man thought so little of him as to laugh.

  “Hopefully it will give you time enough to see reason. Do not be over hasty in your decision. Prescott!” Barrington turned to the banker who was looking around the room, somewhat bewildered as though wondering just where he’d woken. “Gather your things, ’tis high time you went home, do you not think so? Sleep in your own bed and leave my fire for myself and my dogs.”

  He shot a glance at James, one corner of his mouth turning up in a wry grin. “Take this young upstart with you before he calls us both out for keeping him up too late. My god, the youth and their dueling…”

  James looked from one to the other. “I cannot see myself changing my mind.”

  “Nor will I. It should make for an interesting meeting then, will it not? Good night, Sir. I look forward to your company on Tuesday next.”

  Chapter 16

  “What hell have you placed me in?” James groaned and threw himself into the armchair by the fire. “Tell me this, Lucy, for I truly wish to know. Had you seen the girl beforehand?”

  Lucy flinched but continued in her knitting as she sat stolidly as though she had every right to the chair in her Master’s library though he could not remember inviting her into the room. Somehow in the years since she had dandled James upon her knee, she had become something more than a servant.

  Truth be told, he wasn’t altogether sure she wasn’t running the entire household behind his back. Had she not just been working in the kitchens the other day? Now here she sat, calmly as you please, knitting as though she had not a care in the world.

  “I think I care not for your language. Did I not teach you anything?” she asked, a bastion of calm in the face of his fury. Her knitting needles clicked, yarn forming into a patterned square before his eyes.

  “You also told me it was wrong to take a thing that did not belong to me. A lesson you might have done well to emulate.” He threw the brooch down on the table between them. “I cannot be rid of the thing.”

  She winced, and set her knitting in her lap, eyeing the brooch with a shudder. “I have expressed my regrets already. I would take the brooch back myself if I thought it would do any good.”

  “They would not let you. I am well and truly trapped then.” James covered his eyes with his forearm and groaned.

  “You find her so hard to look upon then?”

  There was something in Lucy’s tone that made him look up. “When you speak like that, it seems you censure me for something though I know not what. Why would it not be hard to look upon a lady who you feel you cannot be honorable around? I have made this agreement, a thing we are both aware of, and I am surely to suffer for it.”

  “Because of her affliction?” Lucy’s voice held the sting of the ice that beat against the window.

  “Because I cannot be honorable when the only reason I court a Lady, ANY Lady, is due to the fact that I am being paid to do so. Especially when I would be glad to keep her company—” He stopped there unable to go on, and all too aware that Lucy was watching him with a certain look he knew only too well.

  “I am not in love with the girl,” he said and got up to stab at the fire with a long poker, before bending to add another chunk of wood onto what was already a healthy blaze.

  “I did not say a word,” Lucy said behind him. He heard the soft clack of her needles as she took up her knitting again.

  “You did not need to!” He twisted to look at her and shook his head. “Why do I allow this? You are a se
rvant in my house. You are given liberties that you should not have. Why do you never say ‘Your Grace’ to me? Or worse, feel you can address me at all when I have not given you leave to?”

  “Perhaps because I have raised you,” she reminded him softly, a gentle smile playing about her lips. “And you told me yourself that I was never to call you ‘Your Grace’ when you were 12.”

  James threw up his hands in frustration. “You would still listen to the order of a boy of twelve?”

  Lucy laughed at this. “I would think that this man has sense enough to let me know when I have overstepped my bounds. I speak because you direct questions to me first, Your Grace. To do so is considered an ‘answer’ and something that most dukes expect from the person being questioned unless I am mistaken.”