To His Grace, the Duke of Durham
Greetings.
I was somewhat dismayed by the ease with which you have seemingly dispatched your duties toward me. I had been under the impression that you were a man of honor. Now I see that you have left my home in haste, without even bothering to perform the simplest of social functions. Is this how you court a lady?
I am wondering at your fondness toward your servant. Perhaps you are less worried about her continued employment in your service than you previously appeared. Is your reputation likewise worth so little?
I am in hope that we can resolve these matters between us this afternoon at one o’clock, for I will be expecting you. If you choose not to attend upon me at the designated hour, then I will assume that you wish me to take further action.
I look forward to the first of your five (5) visits as agreed upon.
Cordially yours,
Lady Helena Barrington
James set the letter down very carefully next to his empty plate. “Perhaps it would be best if the table were to be cleared,” he said softly, laying his napkin upon the table as well and rising without looking at her.
“Your Grace?” There was a quaver to Lucy’s voice, but she held her distance, she held her peace. For that, he was thankful.
“If you would have Hammond handle the rest of this, tell him to arrange for the concert later this week. There will be likely three in attendance.” Three. He would rather two, but the Lady would require a chaperone. He sighed, remembering the dour Miss Barlowe, hoping that she perhaps was having an off night as well on the eve that he’d met her.
There came a sudden exhalation of breath as Lucy bent to pick up the plate. He put out a hand, stopping the movement. “As I said, have someone clear the place setting. If I recall correctly this is not within the realm of your duties.”
Her face went pale. “May I ask a question, Your Grace?”
“You may.”
She swallowed hard. “Do I still have a place here, Your Grace?”
He glanced back at the paper lying on the table, the looping signature still visible. “That, Miss Davenport, remains to be seen.”
Chapter 20
The door burst opened, slamming into the opposite wall as Phoebe swept into the room, her skirts rustling as she came to a halt before Helena who was sitting at her dressing table, having Tess do something more interesting with her hair.
“Helena, I demand that you tell me what you have done!” Her aunt stood, out of breath, shoulders heaving, with a fine line of moisture dampening the tendrils of hair against her forehead. In fact, Aunt Phoebe looked quite flustered — even put out — as she waited on Helena’s answer.
Helena turned back so that she faced the mirror, signally Tess to continue with what she was doing. The girl had looked ready to bolt at the opening of the door. Could Helena blame her? The child had already suffered terribly for the negligence of the dress. It had taken much arguing on Helena’s part to allow the child to keep her position within the household.
“Whatever do you mean?” Helena asked, turning her head a little as bid, so Tess could arrange the rich mahogany curls so that they would cascade prettily from the combs that held them.
“I have it on good authority that you have ordered refreshment for this afternoon. Promise me you have done nothing rash.” Phoebe paced behind her, a whirlwind in the mirror, there one moment, gone the next.
“Whatever would give you the idea that I have done something rash? Is it so terribly unexpected that I might receive a caller?” Helena smiled at Tess, thanking her for her help and rose carefully, tugging at her gloves and twitching her skirt so that it lay properly.
She eyed the dress critically. The blue fabric was maybe not as fine as some of her other dresses, but the patterned flowers were sweet and becoming according to Tess and would give the desired effect. Today, it was crucial that she look composed. At her best for the coming confrontation.
Phoebe caught at her arm, catching her before Helena could leave the room. “It is indeed uncommon. Is the banker’s wife coming to visit?”
Helena could not help but laugh. “Would I go to so much trouble for the banker’s wife?” She turned and caught her aunt’s hands. “Please forgive me, for I know I’m being childish in my excitement, but let us say that I am assured that today there will a be a gentleman caller. For me!”
Phoebe sat down heavily in the chair so recently abandoned by her niece. “But how can this be? And surely you were not thinking of receiving him alone!”
“Oh, do not be angry at me, but I knew you were planning an outing to shop for some hat trimmings with your friends this afternoon, so I arranged for Bridget to keep me company in the parlor for the duration of this call. She quite assured me she had some mending she could attend to and did not mind in the least being called from her duties for the afternoon.”
Phoebe’s lips thinned. “But you do not seem to mind the upset it would cause for the rest of the household to do so. Bridget’s position is within the kitchen. How then will our dinner be prepared if you have absconded with the head cook to the parlor?” She shook her head violently. “Indeed, you can be thoughtless.”
Helena laughed, not stung in the least by the condemnation for she knew well enough that her aunt’s words were entirely true. “Please do not be mad at me. If you understood the trouble I went to…” Helena caught herself. This was perhaps not what she should have said.
“Trouble? What trouble?” Phoebe caught at Helena and pulled her down to sit in the chair opposite. “What have you done, child?”
Helena flushed. This was not how she had intended for this conversation to go. “Only that I have…oh, why should it matter? It is the end result that counts, does it not? Think on it, a gentleman of fine standing, come to see me! What girl would not be excited by such a thing?”
“I think it matters a great deal what you have done to assure such a thing happening. Especially as your actions tend to reflect rather badly on the rest of this family whether you realize it or not. Have you forgotten the incident last summer out at the estate?”
Helena bit her lip. This was a thing she would rather not have been reminded of. A child had been born badly formed, and somehow Helena had been brought to blame for it, for she had visited the expectant mother only a day before, bringing a basket of fresh-picked vegetables to the family.
“There is nothing I could have had to do with that,” she reminded her aunt angrily, drawing herself up with certain defiance that she had come rather to adopt regarding the incident. She had been as horrified as anyone else out at the estate. “I only brought vegetables, the same that graced our own table, that our own servants ate. There was not another child born that summer that suffered in that way.”
“Is one not enough?” Phoebe reached to clasp Helena’s hands. “My love, we know little enough about the true nature of your affliction. Can we honestly be certain that you had nothing to do with the incident? It was a mercy the child died and did not have to live with the deformity. Imagine what a trial that would have been to the parents.”
Helena drew away with a sob. “What are you saying? That because of my condition that I somehow placed that blemish on the child’s face? Such marks are not uncommon. Why I have heard of others who were born marked in such a way who have lived long and happy lives. I fail to even see why that child died, as he seemed healthy and hale when I saw him.”
The look Phoebe gave her was one of pity. “Child, do you truly not understand?”
Helena leapt to her feet, pulling back away from her aunt in horror. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that there are those who understand what a burden that child would have been as he had grown older.”
“As I am a burden.” Helena could barely breathe. “Tell me you are not saying what I think you are saying.”
Phoebe drew to her feet, reaching for the girl and enfolding her in a long embrace. “Shh…child. Hush. I am not sa
ying anything. You continually bless us with your music. What would you father do if you were not here to brighten his day?”
“Then you don’t think I am a…a monster?” She whispered this last word, thinking again of the letter she had written, the one that would assure that her suitor came.
“And what would make you a monster?” Phoebe answered her, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “You are a dear sweet child who bears an unfortunate skin condition. Whether or not you had anything to do with the child, it matters not. You are here now, and you will not come into contact with such a situation again.”
Helena stiffened. “What are you saying?” she asked, trying to step back, away from her aunt but finding she had no room with the chair behind her.
“Well, you no longer make visits to those within the parish, nor are you in contact with those who are in the family way. I think the incident is safely not repeated.”
“But what about my own children…are you saying that I would be a danger to a child that I carried?” Helena whispered this question fearfully, barely able to choke out the words.
Phoebe stared at her for a long moment and finally laughed. “Why, whatever would make you think that?”
Helena felt a rush of relief. “Then you think that this is perhaps then a fluke since my mother had no such blemish nor my father.”
Phoebe’s eyes softened. “Oh, my dear girl…child…I thought you realized…”
Her hand came out as though to pull her into a second embrace. Helena evaded her fingers, dodging behind the chair. “Realized what? What are you saying, Auntie?”
Phoebe let her go. There was something more terrifying in the pitying look she gave her. “That you will not marry. You must not. Imagine the risk…”
Helena wavered on her feet. “Surely you do not mean that…”
“I have never been more serious in my life.” Phoebe shook her head and stepped toward Helena one hand still out, as though trying to calm a wild thing. “In truth, I regret having to tell you in such a way.”
Helena backed away another step, nearly tumbling into the fire. At the last minute, she managed to pull her skirts away from the blaze, her heart pounding in her chest at the close encounter, but she sent the poker tumbling, clattering against the hearth. “I do not wish to hear this,” she cried out, knocking over a small table and sending a vase crashing to the floor in her haste to escape.
“You need to hear it. Would you do such a thing as to someone you have linked your life to? To the children you might have?”
Helena shook her head wildly. “You lie! I WILL have a caller today. I know I will. The Duke of Durham…”
“The Duke?” Phoebe reeled back as though struck. “What makes you think he is coming here today to see you? I am under the impression that he has business with your father…”
“He does. But he shall see me beforehand. I asked Father about it last night, and he agreed it would be prudent to arrange it thus.” Helena tried to get past her aunt, but she was effectively blocked. A chair tumbled over as she tried to get around. She left it and retreated back behind the second chair.
“Arranged!” Phoebe reeled back in surprise. “My dear girl, what have you done?”
“Nothing!” Helena eyed the doorway. The bed lay between her and her freedom. To go around would put her within reach of her aunt. She could not bear to be held, could not bear to be coddled and soothed right now. “I have done nothing!”
“You have! I know you have! The Duke of Durham never darkened this doorstep since…since we had that visitor. That woman found in the snow!” Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”
“Only what I needed to!” Helena screamed, scrambling over the bed, trying to get to the door, needing only to get to the door. He would be there soon. She must not be prevented from seeing him.
Phoebe stood still, a bastion of calm in the middle of the room. She put her hands out pleadingly to the girl. “Please calm yourself! You are hysterical, child, look what you have done to this room!”
Helena looked, seeing for the first time the scatter of her belongings, furniture overturned, the broken vase. Her coverlet lay half on the floor, the bedclothes tumbled in all directions.
“I do not care! I cannot!” Helena said, her hand on the door. “He will come, as I have said he would. I will be there to greet him. I have given too much to make sure of this.”
“I wonder,” Phoebe said softly, making no move to stop Helena as she opened the door and fled into the hall. “I wonder that you have.”
Chapter 21
The Duke of Durham was ushered into the parlor with certain ceremony. The contrast was noticeable, for while he had been bid to wait an uncommonly long time in his previous visit, in this instance, he was brought directly to the sitting room.
Lady Barrington sat at her harp, playing softly as he entered. An older woman sat sewing in the corner. Her chaperone, he guessed and wondered where the indomitable Miss Barlowe was, for he had been expecting the woman to be the one keeping an eagle eye upon her niece.
He bowed as he entered and sat in the chair which apparently seemed set aside for this purpose, as she finished her piece. Her face seemed flushed, her movements a little unsteady upon the strings. He knew the piece she played well, and noted the small hesitations, the flaws. Not many, to be sure, but a wrong note here, a chord that felt somewhat discordant there.
My hostess seems nervous.
It was a startling thought. Her letter had intimated that she was a force to be reckoned with, a lady in control of her own destiny. This though, was the playing of a maiden uncertain, who avoided his eyes by playing with her own eyes shut, a feat that was in itself noticeable. What had happened to leave her so utterly lost?
The chaperone seemed unaware of the tension. Or if she were, she gave no sign as she sewed at whatever she had bundled in her lap. She tapped her foot in time to the music, a peaceful smile upon her face, that left him with the feeling that he had been judged and so approved, especially when he sat down without interrupting this impromptu concert.
When Helena’s hands finally stilled on the strings, he found disappointment in the cessation of the music. He sensed she could do better if she were not nervous and wondered what it would take to coax a smile from her, to enable her to play as she had when she’d been alone, and he’d overheard her playing from the hall only the day before.
“I am unsure how this is supposed to work,” she said softly into the silence, without looking at him. “I have never had a gentleman caller, and I am not sure of the proper etiquette. I have never been taught, Your Grace.”
The chaperone made a noise which might have been a protest of some kind. Helena shot her a glance, but stayed where she was, her hands still on the harp, holding it against her. An entire conversation seemed to take place without anyone making a sound at all. A lifted eyebrow from the chaperone, a swift shake of the head from the girl.
He might have laughed had he not been summoned so peremptorily. James rose and crossed the room, easing the harp from her hands, so that it stood in its place in the window. “You begin by not hiding behind the furniture.”
Helena’s swift intake of breath brought his attention to her mouth. She would have a pretty smile, he decided, should she ever quit scowling at him. “A harp is hardly a piece of furniture,” she said, fists bunching in her skirts.
“Some would call it such. Come, let me assist you to a more comfortable seat. That chair looks positively excruciating,” he said and offered her a hand.
She looked at it a long moment, as though trying to decide whether or not it was proper to take his offer. Finally, she acquiesced, rising gracefully, and shaking out her skirts before allowing him to walk her over to the settee which appeared far more comfortable.
“Is this right, then?” she asked, smoothing her skirts. He noticed the long gloves upon her hands and wondered if they were the fault for the ill-playing. She had been bare handed when she’d
played alone.
“It is,” he said, with a short bow and returned to his seat which was directly across from her and in clear view of the chaperone.
“What happens next?” she asked, leaning forward, inquisitive as a child. So earnest was her expression that he found himself smiling.
“We talk politely about such topics as are easy to talk about, such as the weather or mutual acquaintances until the servants enter with the refreshments. Have you never made a social call?” James asked curiously, finding it harder and harder to remember that he was angry for having been summoned here.
She plucked restlessly at her skirt. “I have not,” she said quietly. “Sometimes the banker’s wife, Mrs. Prescott shows up for tea or the rector’s wife. I have not…” she gestured from her to him and back again. “This is new.”
The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 12