Page 16 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
By most standards, Bridget was a plain sort of woman with dull brown hair, somewhat heavy of face, with thick arms that came from working heavy dough day in and day out. But it was her eyes that mesmerized, dark as the currants in her puddings but filled with so much life and mischief, that Helena had long since decided that this was her favorite person in the entire world.
Which made her the perfect choice to talk to when she had a problem.
What made her the best choice, was the fact that she’d been in love, in fact, she still was madly in love with her Antony and so, to Helena’s mind, she knew something of courtship.
Except she didn’t. She could only laugh when Helena asked her.
“There is no planning it, love,” she said, as she rolled out the dough, keeping a wary eye on the girl chopping vegetables to add into the soup. “Just let things happen as they do. If the thing ’tis right, then all will work in a way to make it so.”
“And if it is not right? Say, someone forced someone to take part in a dinner, for example, that has no interest at all in the woman he is seated next to?”
“My, but society folks put such complications on things. I would suppose that you would eat your meal regardless of whether or not you were interested in the man sitting next to you. I would guess that there would be less conversation perhaps with the one not interested.” She shrugged and pounded the dough with her fists, pressing it into submission.
“And if they are interested?” Helena asked, becoming more and more confounded in all of this.
“Then I suppose that there would be even less conversation,” Bridget said in a way that seemed at once wistful and tragic. “True lovers speak without words.”
Helena repeated the words wistfully. “Speak without words…” She felt less sure of herself than ever.
On her way out of the kitchen, she snagged a tiny strawberry and popped it into her mouth. The tart sweetness did nothing to alleviate the anxiety. On the other hand, the treat soothed her as she trudged back to her room to change, feeling perhaps a little breathless and itchier than ever by the time she got there.
’Tis only nerves. I wonder what will he be like?She asked herself. They had only exchanged a few words, him more than her, on the stairs. He had seen her at her absolute worst there but still seemed intent upon having dinner with her. Was that a good sign, or simply the power of the rubies within the pin that lured him to her table?
She decided that even if it were the latter, would it matter? She only had wanted the experience of being courted. It would be too much to ask to expect to be allowed to experience the emotions that went along with courtship, as well. She might never know what put that starry-eyed wistfulness in Bridget’s eyes, but shewouldknow what it was to enjoy a conversation with a strange man and to be allowed to get to know him.
Five visits. She would make the most of them.
She tugged at her dress, too impatient to wait for the girl to help her. So far, this new maid wasn’t working out very well, not around when she was needed most. Still, this particular dress was easy enough, and she was able to tug it over her head without assistance.
Another look in the mirror proved that she had been right about the dress. To her eye it made her look sallow and strange as if she’d been ill. She smoothed the front of the dress and turned to study the effect as best she could in the small mirror over the dressing table, but it was hard to be sure.
Phoebe knows best. She’s out in society, such as it is here in Hull. I need to trust her.
Absently, Helena sat, still looking in the mirror and reached for the latest in an endless procession of creams and lotions she had to put on her blemishes. Except she misjudged the amount of the lotion upon her fingertips and large dollop landed in her lap, leaving a sizable greasy stain upon her skirts.
“No!” Helena sprang to her feet just as the maid came into the room and stared at her. Helena met the girl’s frightened gaze and looked down hopelessly at the stain that seemed to be bigger the more she looked at it. “What can we do?” she asked the girl, who stared in fascination at the sores along Helena’s arm and looked for all the world like she was about to bolt.
“You’ll have to change the dress,” the girl decided going to the wardrobe and opening the door wide. “Which would you like, my Lady?”
Helena was too panicked to spend time coddling a servant who could not make decisions. “I don’t know…”
The girl regarded her thoughtfully. “Begging your pardon, my Lady, but ’tis a miserable color on you with your hair like that. But if you were to take the green instead, I think you might be better pleased with the results.”
“Your name is Tess, is that not so? Tess, can you help me? We have at most an hour before dinner, and I must prepare. If you have any sense for fashion or color and can make me…well…not so much the beastly thing that I am, then I will double your pay.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Double? Do you mean it, My Lady?”
“I mean it with all my heart. Please.”
“Yes, My Lady!”
With considerably more enthusiasm, Tess threw herself into the wardrobe until she had found first one thing, and then another. She called the other maids into the venture, in search of matching ribbons for Helena’s hair. In no time at all it seemed, Helena was not only changed but re-created from the skin out.
“Why do you wear such coarse underthings?” Tess complained, with a shake of her head as she dug through the bureau. “I have seen far finer fabrics than this. Lady Phoebe has much nicer.”
Helena’s face flamed. She had no desire to know about what Aunt Phoebe wore beneath her clothing, but the thought gave her pause. Were there such things as softer fabrics for near the skin? She held a faint memory of some such, of her aunt scolding her for complaining when a small child. How old had she been? Five? Six?
“I think it was to allow air next to my skin, to help the sores heal,” she said uncertainly, recalling Phoebe’s words from so long ago.
