Helena sat back finally, laying the brooch on the table next to her and stared at her efforts. She realized that in her idle etching, she’d been trying to recreate the dream she’d had, however imperfectly. The man…he’d been blond. Handsome. She closed her eyes, idly scratching at a spot on her wrist and tried to see him in her mind’s eye.
He had been tall and blond, with broad shoulders and an easy smile with a familiarity to him that she’d been unable to place in the light of day. “Where have I see you before?” she asked the silent figure on the glass and hid a laugh at the absurdity of the question.
In her dream, it had been his smile she had loved most. He’d regarded her with a quiet intensity with eyes so blue they might have been pieces of the sky itself. Well, not today when it was storming. But in summer, maybe, when the sun seemed to shine forever.
It had been a silly dream. She sat up, eyes open, staring at the scratched figures on the glass already starting to fade and disappear, much as they had last night, when in her dreams she had only begun to dance.
Angry at herself for getting caught up in silly fantasies, Helena used the edge of her sleeve to wipe away the figures, embarrassed now by her foolishness. Only a child drew upon the glass in a blizzard and at two and twenty, she was long past infancy.
Outside, just on the other side of the glass the storm still waged war with the world. She bent, fascinated by the way the trees bent in the wind, by the snow falling sideways across the window obscuring all from view.
Nearly all.
She leaned closer to the glass to see. Outside in the storm, down by the gate a figure hunched over, staggering against the wind. A man like the one she had seen last night? No…this was no dream. The cloak whipped out, away from the figure revealing it to be a woman, her face strained, as she fought to stay upright against the wind.
Helena’s house stood at the edge of town. Why did this woman not have a carriage? It was impossible to make out through the wavy glass. There were so few residences along this road. Had she missed her way? If she needed to return to the city proper, the walk would be far. Any distance in this storm would be brutal. No one could manage such a thing on foot, at least not in this weather!
Helena rose and looked toward the door. She had not heard any visitors, so she had surely not come to Thornhill. Unless perhaps she was a relative of a servant? Yes, that was more logical. Well, if that were the case, would it not be cruel to send this poor creature out into the snow? Would it not be better to give her shelter until morning? Surely it would be better by then.
But what if it is a stranger? Would you give shelter to someone who perhaps has no business here at all?
Did it matter? Would not a truly compassionate person invite the poor wanderer in, even if she were nothing more than a stranger?
Suddenly unsure, Helena went to the window again, but by now the storm had increased to where she was unsure whether anyone was out there at all, or if she had dreamed the whole thing.
Dreams! Her dream had held danger. Was she being foolish now while spending time dithering over this strange figure? What if the woman became so disoriented in the storm that she fell and perhaps even died? Such things happened, did they not?
It was too dreadful to contemplate. Helena reached for her gloves discarded upon the table next to the harp and flew from the room even as she tugged them into place. It was Antony she found first, her father’s manservant, a kindly man who had always been more than a servant, but also a friend to her. So excited was she that she scarce noticed that she grabbed his sleeve with her bare hand, as she drew him to the window.
“Please tell me I am not seeing things amiss,” she begged, half out of breath from her mad flight down the hall. “But is there, or is there not a poor creature huddling at the gate in this storm?”
Antony, being much taller than her, bent to look through the pane indicated. When he straightened, he was frowning heavily. “Indeed, there is, though I mislike what it might mean. A thief perhaps, thinking the house empty with your father gone.”
Helena stared at him, absolutely aghast. “Antony! Do you mean to say you feel no compulsion of any kind to bid the poor woman come in out of the wind?”
It was Antony’s turn to stare at her in a way that was at best disapproving. Already, before she could even plead for even the remotest chance at understanding, he was shaking his head ‘no’ in her general direction.
It was times like this when Helena most felt the difference between them in age, for Antony had been with her father since before she had been born. His hair was graying now, his eyebrows gone bushy, though they drew together now in a most alarming way. But his gaze was still clear even if he looked down at her through a pair of spectacles that constantly slid down his rather hawk-like nose.
She met that gaze now, arms crossed, one hand still holding the glove that she still hadn’t replaced upon her hand. It spoiled the effect somewhat, especially with her skin so mottled and sore. “Antony, are you my friend or not?” she asked, her voice strident and sure.
“I am your father’s servant,” he reminded her. “Charged with keeping the house safe in his absence.”
“Pish tosh, what nonsense. There is a woman freezing outside from the cold and you are standing there arguing semantics. May I remind you I am the mistress of his house?”
“A moment ago, you were my friend,” he pointed out with a slight lifting of one rather furry eyebrow. “And I daresay your aunt would argue with you.”
“My aunt is not the mistress here,” Helena muttered darkly. “And while I will show her the respect she deserves for raising me, I will humbly disagree with her notions of being in charge. In my Father’s absence, it is I who will make the decisions.”
“Which explains why we have pudding at every meal,” Antony said in dark amusement. “And if I might clarify, you were left in charge of matters of the household. Choosing dinner, as has been pointed out. And whether to give Adele a free weekend that she might visit her mother who is ill.”
“Adele’s mother is ill? Why of course she can—stay a moment! You will not trick me so easily. I have already decided a course of action. We shall find that poor wretch if she has not already frozen through and bring her into this house. I would have her fed and warmed, and given a safe place to sleep for the night.”
“The latter being more than we shall have if I were to follow such orders,” Antony muttered half under his breath, tugging at his cuffs. “Very well, Lady Helena, if this is your order…”
“Do not be such a dreary thing. I love you dearly and you know it,” Helena said, hugging the old man with such violence that he staggered under the assault. “Now, do fetch that poor woman before she falls ill for having been out in such conditions as these. I will find your wife and make sure she has something hot waiting that we can feed her.”
“As if Bridget has ever not had something hot and ready to eat in that kitchen of hers,” Antony murmured but put out a hand to catch at Helena, before she could go. “I will do as you say, only because ’tis our Christian duty to do so. But I wish to also put some conditions on my doing so.”
Helena’s eyes opened wide. “You would order the mistress of the house?”
Antony replied, “I would order the child I set upon her first pony only to have her give it such a kick that she had to be fetched from the next county over, and still had not fallen off despite the distance involved.”
“Nonsense, that happened at the estate. The next county was only a mile or so distant.”
“You were five,” he reminded her and sighed. “Be that as it may, I still would set these conditions. The first being that you will stay out of sight. This is a stranger to us and I would not have you exposed to someone who might be…common.”
Helena sniffed. “As though that were such a bad thing. I have met many an individual that might be thought of as common. I might point out that some would say you might be considered such had I not allowed you such familiari
ty.”
He leveled his gaze upon her. “Have you now? For the life of me, I cannot imagine where you get such ideas.”
She waved that away with her hand. “ ’Tis inconsequential, but I will accede to the demand all the same. I will stay out of sight. And the other?”
“That you shall stay safe in your chambers with your aunt to attend you tonight. I will bring you a tray to take dinner myself.”
Helena stared at him in horror. “You would lock me in?”
“I would ensure your safety for when the master returns,” Antony stated. This time it was he whose arms were crossed, being firm in his demand. He would not be moved when he looked at her like that. She knew this well from experience.
Helena shot an uneasy glance toward the window. How much time had passed while they’d stood there arguing. “Agreed. But do hurry! The poor woman!”
“The ‘poor woman’ indeed,” Antony said, and rolled his eyes. “Go talk to Bridget, then if you would be so kind as to retire to your quarters, I would much appreciate it. In the meantime, I will attend to your strange guest.”
Such was her relief that he had agreed, Helena kissed the wrinkled cheek and darted for the door, her golden skirts rustling as she moved swiftly across the floor.
“And do not forget your gloves!” he called after her. Helena made a show of tugging on the second glove from the doorway, waving as she finished. Antony only shook his head and moved slowly toward the opposite door, heading for the servant’s stairs no doubt.
Helena watched him go before spinning and continuing on her way with a most unladylike shout of glee. For it was not often they got visitors, and while she had promised that their guest would not see her, Antony had said nothing about her not seeing the guest.
Chapter 2
The woman, for indeed it was a woman, was near froze through by the time she was escorted in to the fire.
Helena stayed to the shadows, one hand lifted to her cheek, touching the ravaged flesh there and thinking perhaps it a good thing that she had been thus confined, as her appearance now would only add to the horrors of this poor creature’s misery. For miserable she was, wrapped within a blanket and shivering despite the wood piled high on the fire.
They had stayed arguing too long. This was entirely her fault.
Chagrined, Helena eased shut the door that had afforded a view of her unexpected guest and leaned against it, deep in thought. She wanted very much to talk to their guest but was unsure how to manage it with Bridget fussing over the woman, practically spooning soup into the poor creature’s mouth.
Her fingertips brushed her cheek again. Helena swallowed hard, knowing full well how she must look to the outside world. Even without the mirrors that she’d had removed from every room, she had never lost the image of her affliction from her mind. Her skin, naturally creamy white, beneath the dark mahogany of her hair, carried not the roses of youth within her cheeks, but the stain of her sin.
She knew this as she knew every room of this house. She had been confined here for so long it seemed. The country estate existed only in her memory, since her aunt had arrived and had revealed to Helena the truth of her own existence. The villagers outside of Rose Park feared her, thinking her to be cursed.
They had gone so far as to ask her father to remove her, blaming the child with the strange and mottled skin for everything from crop failure to a well running dry. It was utter nonsense, as Aunt Phoebe had told her when she’d shared the salacious gossip with her niece but had recommended the house in town all the same. In a more populous place, people would be less aware of the afflicted child, so long as she stayed within these four walls.
’Tis a kindness, Helena reminded herself, not for the first time. But truly it was her aunt that seemed to thrive in town, not herself. With only the patch of sky that she saw out the windows or from the courtyard, her life felt very closed in and dull indeed.
Not that there is anyone to blame but myself. I am old enough to amuse myself, and not feel so terribly…well, disquieted, I suppose. Father does his best and is fair enough to manage his business here, and Aunt Phoebe is kindness itself in attending to social duties for the family, managing the small things. I am the one who needs to strive to find contentment.
Which would be much easier to find if there was more to occupy her mind. So was it not best for her in many ways then to do as she did next, in donning her long cloak, and carefully pulling the hood up so that it concealed her face as she slipped into the room next door as soon as Bridget had safely retired.
The woman seemed careworn and weary. She reclined in an armchair near the fire, her feet upon the ottoman and nestled deep within the blankets. Her face was pale, mouth slack with fatigue, her eyes shut as she dozed. For a moment Helena quailed at the thought of waking her, for it seemed too dreadfully selfish to do so.
But the woman answered that concern for her, her eyes opening wide revealing a most startling blue that reminded her dimly of something, though such thoughts were lost to her now. “Who is there?”
The panic in her visitor’s voice was not lost on the girl. Helena stepped back, where the shadows were deepest, near the shelves of books that were her only true companions. Near to hand was her beloved Shakespeare, beyond that Homer and Euripides. “I am no one. No one at all,” she said, her voice breathless and unsure.
“Hardly no one, in a house such as this,” the woman said, gesturing with a frail hand to the opulent room around her. “Even a servant in this house would be very fine indeed, I should think.”
Helena looked around as though seeing the room for the first time. The carpet upon the floor was indeed rather lush from very far away. Small ornaments lay out on shelves, on tables. Tidbits and mementoes from the days when her father had traveled upon the very ships he sent around the world now in various ventures.
Funny how she had never before considered the room all that strange with its various idols from India and pillows from Persia. But then her father had spent his youth in rebellion, not content to play the part of the Duke’s younger son, but eager to take advantage of the many ships his father had set upon the seas to revel in his thirst for adventure.
He had never expected his only brother to die, leaving him the heir to a Dukedom he’d never wanted in the first place.
Helena picked up a small jade box and smiled a little for it had always been a favorite of hers. She wondered, not for the first time, if the walls of this house felt as confining to her father, who had sailed the seven seas. It was a new and rather strange thought.
“You enable me to see my home in a way I have not otherwise. I thank you for that,” she said, replacing the box upon the table, and moving deeper into the shadows. “Tell me where you were going in such a storm if not to see someone here?”
“Who said I was not seeing someone in this house?” the woman challenged her, a spot of color returning to her cheeks as she sat up a little, the blanket falling from her thin shoulders.
“Well, I surely do not know you,” Helena responded, somewhat put out by the reply.
The woman looked rather pointedly at Helena’s cloak. “And you know every visitor to this house?” the woman asked.
Helena put out a hand, trailing it along the bindings of the books, needing their comfort. “You talk rather confidently for someone who has not even been properly introduced,” she said, with a certain ferociousness, not liking the feeling of being cornered. It mattered little that the woman was right; Helena very rarely saw any of the visitors at all.
In fact, she wasn’t even altogether sure that the people of this town knew she existed. But then, she had hidden away from people for so long. She had never dared a conversation like this.
It was exhilarating. And maddening.
Helena little knew how to speak to strangers, though she suspected it required more courtesy than she gave now. She took a shaky breath and tried again. “What is your name, good lady? And where do you come from?”
The woman
regarded her somberly. “Could I not ask you the same, my Lady?”
Helena answered slowly, as she thought each word through, looking for the trap in the conversation, for she was sure there was one. “I hardly think so,” she said finally. “This is my own home after all and I have a right to know who has invaded it, do I not? My own identity should be my own prerogative.”
The stranger bowed her head. “In that case you have a right to know that I am Lucille Davenport…Lucy. I am in the employ of the Duke of Durham.”
“Of Durham?” Helena asked, head tilted to one side as she regarded the woman with new interest. “Then how have you come to be here?”
“I had…business to attend to.” The woman placed a hand over her eyes and sank back against the pillows again. “I owe you an apology. I am being rude when I am a guest in your house. I thank you for sheltering me from the storm. If I could but rest a moment, I will leave and trouble you no longer.”
“You will do no such thing!” Helena exclaimed, drawing in closer though she had not intended to do so. “I saw you from the very window there,” she said pointing, “and I feel responsible for your well-being now. Indeed, you will rest with us for the night, and come morning, when the storm is past, you will be set upon your way.”
Lucy sat up a little, looking toward the window with some interest. “Then that is your harp there, my Lady?” she asked. “It is a beautiful instrument.”
Helena inclined her head a small bit, feeling her attitude softening somewhat. Perhaps they had not gotten off to the best start, but could the woman not be forgiven for being weary and cold? “Thank you. Though I suspect I am wearying you further. Allow me to see that a room is being prepared for your use.”
Lucy rose to her feet, sending the blanket tumbling to the floor. “I am too much trouble already. My Lord will worry…”
“What is he like? Your Lord?” Helena asked, frowning a little, clasping her hands beneath the cloak so not to scratch in front of her strange guest.
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