Page 52 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Harcourt Barrington had been a necessary evil from the start. Why he had married her sister, she never knew. The story was that he had seen her from across a ballroom and could not bear to be without her from that moment. But Phoebe had overheard her sister complaining to her mother that she had turned down the man several times to no avail.
Of course, her mother had tried to reason with the girl. This was the problem with Anne, she had never realized what advantages she’d had. A Duke had wanted her hand in marriage. Even to a child as young as Phoebe had been at the time, the benefit to Anne was obvious. With the position would come riches and specific power.
But Anne had not been interested in either. She would have married a man who was penniless, with no title at all if she could have thought she would love him. Harcourt was not an easy man to love. He had intimidated her by the wholehearted way in which he’d attacked life.
The problem was Harcourt had engineered his courtship in much the same way he handled his ships and his business. He gave orders and then expected the world to comply.
What Anne had never seen was that in his own way Harcourt had loved her. He had for years after she was gone, which had only encouraged him in spoiling the girl child that his wife had left him. The brooch was a fine example of that. Who gifted a child with a piece of jewelry so fine? The very fact that Helena had given it away only further proved her point that the child was in no way able to manage her own affairs. It was a good thing she was there to handle them for her.
The Duke of York need never be the wiser.
She saw Bridget coming toward the sitting room, her steps hurried. No doubt they were both late to this tryst. Phoebe met her at the door with a firm shake of her head. “I will handle the matter,” she said, quite matter-of-factly. “You will not be needed.”
Bridget drew herself up. The two women had never gotten along, Helena being a point of contention between them. Bridget had forever coddled the girl when what Helena had needed was to be made to realize the harsh reality of her situation.
In fact, it was surely Bridget’s influence that had led to this entire disastrous mess, for Bridget and Antony shared an uncommon bond that made Phoebe distinctly uncomfortable to witness. It was unnatural for a couple to be so in love. What ideas did Helena have from their influence? A wish to be courted indeed!
“Where is the young Lady?” Bridget asked, not budging an inch, though she could be charged for insolence by so doing.
“Where she belongs, in her own room. Just as you would do better to be where you belonged, would you not?” The threat was implicit, and Bridget’s eyes narrowed though she did nothing more than to bob her head in a mockery of a curtsey before she turned to go.
Phoebe considered asking her if she’d known of the situation from the start but knew better than to expect a truthful reply. No, it was better to hold her tongue and do as she needed.
After all, it was rare for such an opportunity to come her way.
So, it was Phoebe, raised a hand to her hair, patting it to make sure the strands were in place. For the moment the hallway was empty. What if she dared…for she was not so terribly old as all that…so with more courage than she could ever imagine she had, she removed her cap that marked her forever as a spinster and stood bare-headed as any young girl.
She knew her hair was something to be proud of, still every bit as bright and lustrous as that of her niece’s though perhaps a shade darker.
The Duke is nearer to my age than hers. Would it perhaps hurt anything to have him see me as a woman who is more than capable of leading his household? Why must he be so infatuated with a blemished imperfect example of womanhood when he has the ideal right here before him?
The daring thought surprised her. Until this moment she had never given it voice, but now with her cap in her hand, feeling younger than she had perhaps felt in years she glanced down at herself, noting that she still cut a fine figure for her age and that one could not argue with her experience at running a household. Surely these things held some value.
Would not the Duke be happier then with someone such as herself? She was doing him a favor by taking the place of the girl who played such childish games with jewelry. Though given the brooch was in her possession did that not make her the winner in this particular sport?
Besides, the Duke had proven he would court one lady for the sake of a piece of jewelry. Would he not do the same for her? In fact, she had many such pieces, things she had collected over the years. Could she not finance many such ships that would make him more successful and wealthy than any man within the realm, for she had no doubt that his current straits were merely a setback.
He will see me for who I am, she decided and straightened her back. Phoebe’s hand shook not at all as she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it.
Chapter 36
Helena did not take a great deal of time in despair. She simply could not spend her life weeping because things were not going her way. She had learned that lesson the hard way, many years ago.
Wiping at her wet cheeks with her hands, she went to the washbowl to splash water on her face and to consider her options. She had been childish and silly to return to her room. In fact, did she not owe James an explanation face to face? The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was indeed the proper thing to do.
With that in mind, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face looked as ill as it usually did, adding to the blemishes with the blotchiness of crying. She sighed. Her face would likely do the job for her. He would only be too grateful to take the brooch and go.
Helena shook her head. Regardless, she would do the right thing.
She smoothed her dress and checked her hair. She would make the best of herself as much as she was able. This was a small vanity perhaps, but one to be allowed. Especially if this were to be the last time that she ever talked to him.
Her fingers hesitated, staying too long at the hairpin she’d been fussing at. She stared wide-eyed at her reflection as this thought sank in. What if this really were the last time she ever talked to James…the Duke of Durham…apart from whatever pleasantries would be required of her, should her father continue to do business with him?
Helena’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She had been fighting this realization for a while now, and the thought that she might be forced to see him, to interact with him when quite clearly, he would have to belong to another was horrifying in the extreme. What if she not only had to act as hostess to the Duke again but to whatever wife he someday chose, as well?
The thought seemed absurd at first until she took the time to think about it. Her father had many business associates to dinner, men of commerce and title who came for a pleasant evening in the company of their wives. Some such dinners she’d managed to eschew, using the excuse that she was unwell. But on occasion, her father had insisted upon her attendance.
Surely, he would not do that to me. Surely Father would understand.
