Page 43 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
“Because I fought the thief who stole my reticule?” she asked, wide-eyed, for never had she seen Bridget so thoroughly put out.
“Because I see you giving up something which has the potential to become very beautiful. True love is a rare thing, my Lady, with the power to transform those it touches in strange and mighty ways.”
“You speak as though I have a choice!” Helena cried. “How could I possibly demand he carry on this false courtship, knowing what it is costing him to spend time with me? The damage to his reputation—”
“Nonsense!” Bridget threw down the hairbrush and came to stand in front of Helena, her brows drawn together in anger. “You seek to take the blame where there is none to take. As though you have fault in what lies upon your skin.”
“I do…” Helena whispered, stretching forth her arms, letting the sleeves of the loose robe she wore fall back that the blemishes might be seen. “I have carried this since my mother died. These marks stain me with the sin of my birth that took her so rudely from this world. They are the marks of the blood of my birthing etched into my very skin.”
Bridget reeled back as if struck. “Surely, you do not believe that!”
“What else is there to believe?” Helena cried. “You have said yourself that I have carried these marks since I was small…”
“Small surely, but not as a suckling babe. Your skin was perfect, as unblemished as any child’s who has ever been born. The marks came later…months later. Why, you could ask your Aunt for she was here then, she knew…”
Helena shook her head. “What is the use of questions? What matters a day or a week from the moment of birth? Surely my mother’s departure from the world has forever stained mine. I shall be cursed forevermore, destined to destroy whatever I might touch.” She caught her breath then, remembering the gentle touch of his hand upon hers.
“What? My Lady, you have thought of something…” Bridget reached to steady the girl who swayed suddenly upon her seat.
“I have touched him! Our hands met…though not our flesh. I wore my gloves. Surely that is enough…” She looked down then, seeing the hands that clasped her forearms and held her that she might not fall. “Oh…Bridget! Must you be taken from me too?”
“My Lady, you are overwrought. I have embraced you many a time, child. Come…see…” Bridget bent to sweep the protesting girl into her arms, holding her in a hug so tight that Helena could barely breathe.
Helena fought a moment then relaxed. Shewasoverwrought. She had been hugged many a time before. No ill would come of this moment. Somehow, she was mixing things up in her mind.
So, it was she was able to return the affection, thankful for the reminder that whatever lay on her skin was a curse to her alone.
This was not a moment of mistress and servant, but of two hearts that had spent long years together and formed a bond that went beyond titles and position. Bridget had been as much mother to her as Aunt Phoebe, if not more so, having in abundance the affection that Phoebe had always lacked.
It was Bridget who drew away first, a look of satisfaction upon her face. “See? I am safe. We are both safe. You must rest. Your mind is filled with nonsense. You have had too much excitement, and here I am fussing at your hair when you should have been in bed an hour ago already.” Bridget wiped tears from her eyes and helped the girl to her feet.
Helena swayed, exhaustion catching up with her. “Yes, I am tired. So very tired…” she murmured, allowing herself to be led to her bed. She turned a weary head that seemed almost too heavy to move toward Bridget as she eased her down amidst the blankets and covered her over with all the care of a mother laying her infant to rest.
“Shh…tomorrow all of this will look very different.” Bridget bent and kissed the pale cheek and stood a moment, staring at the girl with troubled eyes before blowing out the candle next to the bed and turning to go.
Helena watched the door close behind her. Alone for the first time in what seemed forever she finally had her thoughts to herself. She turned on her side, pulling a pillow over to hold, thinking of the letter she must write when she rose.
For regardless of what Bridget had said, Helena knew she had been right in one thing tonight. She had to end this agreement between herself and the Duke of Durham before she did irreparable harm to his reputation.
Chapter 27
“Confound it, Lucy, why is my mail lying OPEN upon my plate where I should instead find my breakfast?” James stood behind his chair at the breakfast table, noting the broken seal, the paper half unfolded lying neatly upon an empty plate as though this were quite the usual thing.
“Perhaps you should read it,” Lucy murmured, her hands so twisted in her apron that the fabric became quite crumpled and very unlike the fastidious servant he had always known. James gave her a sharp look and sat down, reaching for the paper carefully as though it might bite him.
There were few enough words to read. He finished and read it a second time before setting it down next to his plate. “Lucy, I daresay some breakfast would be good about now. If you could be so kind…?”
She stared at him, her face so pale that for a moment he wondered that she might faint. But Lucy was stronger than she looked, for she straightened and smoothed her apron that lay in a somewhat crumpled mass down the front of her dress from all her twisting. “As you say, Your Grace. I shall see what might be causing the delay.”
James glanced toward the tall, multi-paned window nearest him, staring out at leaden sky with a heart that felt every bit as tempestuous. That he had received a summons from Lady Barrington’s father was not unexpected. He had tried to see the man last night to tender his apologies for the situation, but the man had refused to see him.
Of course, this morning he would be expected to make things right. It was only natural.
With that thought in mind, he looked up and even managed a smile as Lucy came in followed by a veritable army who brought breakfast enough to feed a dozen dukes.
Lucy lingered long after the others left until James, realizing he’d not get a moment’s peace otherwise, bid her be seated and share in his repast, lest so much go to waste entirely.
She recoiled as if he’d suggested she sleep in the stables henceforth. Sighing, he set down the bread with marmalade he’d intended to eat and stared at her. “Lucy, you have the strangest notions of propriety of any servant I have met. I sometimes wonder if you do not think that it is I who am working for you.”
