Page 53 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
But there again, such actions on her part would mean that she was back to hiding. Had she not just decided that she would be brave and do what was right? Apparently going downstairs and fighting her own battles as it were, meant she would be doomed to fight this same battle again and again. A hundred times over if necessary.
Could she manage one brave act, knowing it would have to lead to several more?
I am stronger than this. I must do what is right.
She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Resolute. In control. She had decided it once, she would decide it again, and as many times as was necessary. From now on she would quit asking her aunt to fight her battles for her.
Calm now, Helena threw open her door only to find Bridget hovering on the other side, her hand upraised as if to knock.
“Bridget?”
The older woman grimaced and gestured for Helena to step back into the room, following and closing the door behind them. “I felt the need to check on you, My Lady. Your aunt is downstairs, and I rather mislike the look in her eyes.”
Helena smiled. Bridget was ever protective of her, a thing she had much taken for granted of late. “It is all right, Bridget. I sent her…”
Bridget grimaced. “Not in the way that you think. She is doing you no favors in taking your place.”
Helena had to laugh at that. “Ever so suspicious. Then it should ease your heart that I am going myself downstairs just now to talk to the Duke myself. I felt I was rather acting the coward, not to go myself. Though if Aunt Phoebe is waiting, then I had best hurry, or she will have told him before I can get there.”
Bridget frowned. “It would not be fitting for you to talk to him alone.”
“Then come with me. You will see my intentions are honorable,” Helena argued, pointing toward the door.
“The back stairs then, it will be faster. We can enter the room from the other side. Carefully, for I think you will hear what you do not expect to,” Bridget said, with a shake of her head, opening the door and looking cautiously before motioning for Helena to follow.
The subterfuge seemed ridiculous, as did creeping down the hallway to the back stairs which were generally used by the servants. Helena could not remember the last time she had snuck down these stairs to the kitchen and regretted that now. The kitchen had always been such a warm and welcoming place.
There was a certain excitement to this expedition though. While her slippered feet were silent on the well-polished stairs, the rustle of her skirts seemed loud. These stairs were somewhat dimly lit, unlike the main staircase, making the entire journey seem mysterious and exciting.
Helena was breathing a little quicker than usual, feeling the warmth steal into her cheeks from the unaccustomed exercise of moving so quickly to reach the drawing room next to the parlor. This room was deserted, as expected, and very cold as no one had planned to use it until much later in the evening. Bridget led the way, holding a long taper in her hand, the flame flickering bravely in the gloom.
Snow, falling in hard pellets, hit the glass of the tall windows, the dry rattling sound startling her. Outside it was nearing dark, though when she looked, the street below seemed almost bright in the glare of the new-fallen snow.
Bridget hovered at the great doors that could be slid back to make the two rooms one. These were not used often and kept closed when not entertaining a large number of people. She set the candle on a table nearby and put her hand on the handle to pull it back, and was arrested by the sound of a voice, sharp and high.
“What areyoudoing here?”
Chapter 37
The room was dark and full of shadows. A cheerful fire upon the hearth lent a certain warmth to the parlor, but the glow did not extend much further than the hearth, and no one had thought to light the candles.
For a moment Phoebe caught her breath. The setting could not have been more perfect. One hand went to her uncovered hair, touching the strands to make sure they were in place as she shut the door, her footsteps light and eager.
Yes, this moment would be hers, and hers alone. The Duke of Durham would be unable to resist her.
In fact, it seemed he was already there. A figure stood in the shadows by the window where he had been standing near the harp, looking out, onto the street below.
For a moment Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat. This…this was her moment. She stepped forward, eager to meet him, her hands outstretched to take his into her own. Were his shoulders always so broad? He seemed shorter than expected though. The minor details mattered later as his strong hands clasped her own, capable and sure.
“Phoebe!”
That he dared to say her name was daring, delicious. She could not look up; her blush was too bright. The fact that he held her hands at all left her legs weak and unsteady beneath her. “Your Grace!” she gasped and wavered on her feet.
“My dear! I did not think you would come! I had not supposed, nor even thought you would…well, you caught me off guard. This is so new, but I am pleased. So very pleased!”
Pleased? Something seemed wrong with his voice — was it ever this deep? So husky? He was overcome by emotion then. Well, it was only right to be so, for she herself was just as overcome. Phoebe stood there trembling, keeping her face averted in a most maidenly gesture, knowing fully well how scandalous her behavior was to meet him like this. How utterly compromising they were, standing so close. She blushed and dropped her gaze, unable to look at his face when so nervous.
“Your Grace, there are things we must need discuss,” she said quietly, hearing the rush of blood in her ears. Would she faint in this moment? She willed herself not to look up at his face. What if she saw the rapt wonder that was surely there, mirroring the wonder she herself felt? No, she could not.
