Helena ran her hand over the rough stone of the bench. She knew this bench, she recognized the touch of it, the curve from years of use. Both its familiarity and the scratch of it against her sensitive skin helped ground her, force her to calm.
Don’t panic. Think.
Her heart throbbed and every part of her stung. Her breath came in ragged, weak gasps, and the hem of her nightgown had been singed. It was her eyes that hurt the most, though. It felt as though the fire was right there, within her eyes, burning them away to nothing.
And she couldn’t see.
She wanted to scream, to cry out, to beg and weep, but she knew she couldn’t. There was far worse going on behind her, and she had to remain calm. She heard the trickle of water next to her, a rag being rung into a bucket, and then she felt the cool fabric pressed lightly to her forehead. She whimpered. The touch was both too tender and too harsh.
“It’s all right, My Lady,” the woman said, her voice soft and gentle as a song, and she continued to dab at Helena’s face. “You’re out now.”
“Who…” A sob escaped, uncontrollable and unwanted, before she tried to speak again. “Who are you?”
“It’s me, My Lady. It’s Jenny. It’s just me; I’m here with you.”
“Jenny!”
The name of her lady’s maid came out as a sob, and she felt her face crease into tears. She hadn’t recognized her voice, but it was no wonder. Her mind and her soul were in turmoil, and the noise behind them crushed the nuances of her tone.
“What’s happening?”
“There’s been a fire, My Lady. The estate, it’s—”
Helena could sense Jenny looking up at the burning house, trying to find the words. She turned her own face toward it and, although she could feel the heat of the fire on her cheeks, she could not even see the brightness, let alone the shape.
“It’s falling down,” Helena said. “I can hear it.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Jenny resumed cleaning her face, humming a light tune as she did so, a maternal gesture that filled Helena’s heart.
“But Jenny, I can’t see anything. I—”
She inhaled, her breath juddery and catching, a soreness ripping through her throat, the taste of smoke infused. She coughed, feeling the slimy mucus in her hand. Jenny wiped that away, too.
“It’s probably nothing, My Lady,” Jenny said. “I’m sure you’ll be right as rain by the morning. Fire can do funny things to folk.”
But Helena could hear the concern in Jenny’s voice, and that made her heart pound even harder. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her temples, the thudding of it rushing through her ears.
“Help!”
Helena jumped at the scream that cut through all the other sounds. It was the same man, the one who had helped her out, she was sure of it.
“Help!” he screamed again.
“What is it? What’s happening? Jenny?”
“I—” Jenny stood up slowly, mouth agape as she listened what was unfolding.
“I don’t think she’s breathing!” the man called, and many others shouted back, too many for Helena to pick out individual voices, too much of a cacophony to be able to understand.
“Who isn’t breathing, Jenny? Who is it?” Helena’s own breathing shallowed even further, and with each rasp she mewled. Her body began to shake violently, and she let out a loud sob. “Jenny? Who is it?”
“It’s… it’s your Mother, My Lady. Your Mother is not breathing.”
Chapter 1
Ten Years Later
Lady Helena Bryton, the daughter of Earl Sherriden, lounged across the chaise longue, her pastel-pink gown spread over her legs, her petite feet poking out from the bottom. At seven-and-twenty, Helena had grown into a beautiful young woman and she knew it, even though she couldn’t see it.
Her hair, chocolate brown and smooth as silk, hung in waves around her pale face, her skin as white as alabaster. Freckles danced across her button nose, and though she was blind, the milky color of her long-damaged eyes did not disguise the stubbornness that shone out through them.
“And he woke up to find all the world’s people vanished, leaving him quite alone,” Jenny said, closing the book with a thump.
“What?” Helena turned to her, her brow furrowed, but Jenny laughed.
“He lived out his days as the only man left in the whole world.”
“What?” Helena repeated. “That doesn’t—”
“I suspect you haven’t been listening for the last ten pages or so,” Jenny said.
“So… he didn’t wake up to find all the world’s people vanished?”
“No, Silly! That would be a terrible end to the story, and we’re not even halfway through the book yet. Is everything all right? Normally you get so engrossed in the tale, but today—”
Helena laid her head back on chaise longue and sighed deeply. Her lady’s maid was always so astute when it came to her moods. Around the same age, they had grown up together, but they had not really become close until after the fire. Before that night, their relationship had been perfunctory, dutiful. Now, though, they were the best of friends as well as lady and maid. Helena really didn’t know what she would do without Jenny.
“I’m sorry. It must be awful having to read to someone who isn’t paying much attention,” Helena said.
“I read to you every day, Helena, and I cannot remember the last time you weren’t listening.” Jenny paused, then added with a chuckle, “You fall asleep occasionally, but only when the book is dull, and I’m never far behind you!”
Jenny Smith, now eight-and-twenty, had become Helena’s maid at the tender age of four-and-ten, when she herself was barely more than a girl in need of care. She had matured at an early age, though, and she was particularly suited to Helena’s care. Some might even say it was fate that they came together in the first place, for Jenny’s mother, Ruthie, was also blind. Jenny knew how difficult a life like that could be.
“Something is clearly bothering you, Helena. Would you like to talk about it?”
“Nothing is bothering me, as such,” Helena said, although even she could hear the discordance in her tone. “Or rather, everything is bothering me. No, that’s not quite right, either.”
Helena furrowed her brow, not sure how to explain the discontent she felt that day. It was not unhappiness, but there was no happiness, either. There was nothing wrong, but there also seemed to be nothing quite right. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or a boredom with life. Whatever it was, it made her huff loudly.
“It seems as though every day is exactly the same, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, turning in Jenny’s direction.
“That’s because every day is the same,” Jenny scoffed. “But that is no bad thing. It seems to me that those who experience uncertainty from day to day are usually in some sort of peril. That our days are always the same shows just how lucky we are.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Helena muttered.
Of course she was right, but that didn’t mean Helena had to like it. She stuck her bottom lip out in a childish sulk, and Jenny laughed.
“It really could be worse, you know.”
“I know.” Helena sighed. “But it feels as though I am always confined to this blasted house, while I hear tales of adventure and romance.”
“I shall try to avoid those sorts of books for a while,” Jenny said, laughing again.
“It’s not funny,” Helena snapped. “Do I really have to accept that I shall always have a non-existent social life and that I will never find love?”
“Oh, Helena,” Jenny said, her laughter gone, only to be replaced by a voice full of pity and love.
She rose from her chair and joined Helena on the chaise longue, resting a hand on top of hers. The warm physical contact made Helena smile, touch being so vital to her since she lost her sight.
“I’m being morose again, aren’t I?” Helena asked, unable to stop her own chuckle from bubbling up.
�
��A little, yes. And don’t forget, a lot of it is your own doing. Every season, you have enough invitations to line the walls, but you choose not to accept them.”
Helena looked down at her lap—a habit she had never got out of. “You know how cruel people can be,” she said softly.
“But not all people,” Jenny said. “You have to give them a chance and ignore those who are cruel.”
“No, not everyone. Not you.”
“Come now,” Jenny said brightly, as she returned to her chair. “Enough of the doldrums. Shall I read some more?”
“No,” Helena said firmly. “I can’t focus on the words. Talk to me about something instead. Where did you go this morning?”
“Actually, the funniest thing happened to me this morning at the market.”
“Really?” Helena sat up straighter, a smile on her face now that her interest was piqued. She avoided the outside world for fear of what it would do to her, but she loved to hear about it. “What happened?”
“I was browsing a stall with the most fascinating tortoiseshell hair combs,” Jenny began. “They would have looked simply dazzling on you. But then a man interrupted me…or a gentleman, to be more exact. At least, I think he was. He looked like one, anyhow, although he didn’t introduce himself.”
“What did he say?”
“He was a little awkward—you could even say bashful—but then he told me how I was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he just had to get my name!”
Jenny was indeed beautiful. She had raven-black hair and skin a few shades darker than Helena’s, with piercing green eyes that spoke of an old and intelligent soul. What she lacked was the decorum and patience of a lady. Her hair was more often than not shoved roughly into a bonnet, and her skirts were habitually askew.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Helena asked, entirely enraptured by the conversation now. “He could be anyone—a raging madman, even!”
“Goodness no,” Jenny gasped. “Even I am not so careless. I did wonder whether he mistook me for something more than a maid, though. A gentleman like him, they don’t normally have eyes for us commoners.”
“But he’s not wrong. You are beautiful—both inside and out.”
“Don’t you start,” Jenny said with a chuckle. “Regardless, he became far too friendly. He followed me around half the market before I managed to lose him.”
“Oh! That sounds a little ominous. He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”
“On the contrary. All he did was tell me how magnificent I am, and how desperate he was to get to know me. He insisted that fate had caused our meeting and blathered on about love’s true sight. I don’t mind admitting that it rather gave me the shivers.”
Helena snorted with laughter. “He sounds a pudding-headed fellow, certainly, but can you really be put off a man simply because he complimented you?”
“You can when it makes you feel uncomfortable. One compliment would have been sweet, but several was too much.”
“Maybe he just liked you,” Helena said, her matter-of-fact tone belying the true excitement she felt beneath. She dreamed of having such fun interactions with other people, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to even talk to anyone but Jenny or her father.
“It was all too peculiar to be true,” Jenny said firmly. “A true gentleman surely understands the best way to approach someone—and a self-made introduction in the middle of the marketplace is hardly correct!”
“I think he must have been overcome by you,” Helena said wistfully, her fingers running over her pink-pearl necklace. “Was there nothing you liked about him?”
“Well—”
Helena could hear the hesitation in Jenny’s voice. “Well?”
“Well, he was rather handsome. Very much so, in fact!”
The two young women ruptured into giggles.
“Perhaps he was the one you were meant to marry,” Helena said wistfully. “And now you have lost your chance. He could have been quite correct about it being fate.”
Jenny tutted loudly, in lieu of rolling her eyes. “You know I don’t give much credence to fate. And you’re sounding far too like my Mother, now. She is already haranguing me to find a husband and give her grandchildren.”
“Speaking of your Mother, how is Ruthie?”
“She’s doing well,” Jenny enthused. “I got a letter from her this morning, actually. I’m sure she has my poor brother on a leash, so that he can complete her correspondences whenever she desires.”
“And rightly so,” Helena said with a chuckle. “As well you know, I understand the misery of blindness. If she needs the assistance, it’s only right that your Brother help.”
Jenny’s mother had been born blind, so perhaps she didn’t know what it was that she had lost—unlike Helena. But she had made sure it didn’t affect her life. She had become a cook in one of the great houses, with a full kitchen staff under her and a reputation for producing the most wonderful of feasts.
She’d had a husband, too, although he died of consumption at far too young an age, after giving her three wonderful children—Jenny the oldest, then two younger sons. Ever since the fire, Ruthie had adopted Helena in many ways, the two developing a close relationship despite the disparity in their statuses.
Jenny and Ruthie had taught Helena how to live with her affliction, offering simple tips and tricks to help her in her everyday life. And as much as Jenny cared for her, it was Ruthie to whom Helena went to for advice and true understanding.
“She asked after you,” Jenny said, “and asked me to pass on her good wishes.”
Helena smiled warmly. “That’s sweet. She is such a lovely woman, your mother. What else did she say?”
“The usual—the gossip from her household, of course, and how much she misses me. And there was no way she could write without mentioning the fact that I am yet to find a husband!”
“You should tell her about the man in the market,” Helena said. “She might track him down for you.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Jenny said, but then she picked her cushion up from behind her and threw it at Helena.
“What?” Helena protested, unable to stop herself from laughing. “You did say he was handsome!”
“I did,” Jenny conceded. “But I also said he was awkward! Besides, I think she’d be just as happy to see you married as she would me.”
Helena stiffened, her thoughts returning to her earlier gloom.
“I hardly think that is going to happen.” Her hand found her necklace again, the cool pearls beneath her fingertips smooth and comforting.
“And whyever not?” Jenny asked. “Apart from the fact that you refuse to go out into society, of course.”
It was a regular admonishment, but Helena knew it came from a place of love. As always, she let Jenny’s words wash over her.
“No one is going to want a blind girl,” she muttered.
“Goodness me, Helena. You really are melancholy today, aren’t you? What can I do to help?”
“I don’t even know if there is anything you can do.” Helena pursed her lips, lost in thought. “If Mother were here, she would know.”
“She would,” Jenny said softly. “She was a good mother.”
“I miss her terribly, you know?” Helena looked up at Jenny and smiled sadly. “I wish she was still with us. That blasted fire… it took far too much from me.”
“I know. But you mustn’t think like that. Think of what you have, not what you have lost. And I know you have some wonderful memories of your Mother. She would be incredibly proud of you.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course! You’re such a brave and fearless young lady, and both your humor and your wit would impress her. I just know she is still watching you and willing you to enjoy life for what it is.”
“Thank you,” Helena said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
She pulled another pearl through her fingers absent-mindedly. It was a habit she ha
d formed, whenever she was sad or uncertain, the necklace slowly turning around her neck. She never took it off, not even to sleep, for it was the only thing she had left of her mother. It was one of the few things they had managed to salvage from the fire.
Helena leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting her emotions wash over her. Even after so much time, she could still clearly hear that man calling out that her mother was not breathing. His words played on her mind over and over, a ghostly echo that followed her through her dreams and nightmares. It was the background melody to everything she did.
She couldn’t remember much about the fire, and her father was reluctant to talk about it. He would always bat away her questions, repeating often that they should ‘Look to happier times’. How she wished it was that simple. She had long ago given up asking him for information. It hurt him to even think of it, she could sense it.
“Mother had an answer for everything,” Helena said with a gentle, nostalgic chuckle. Her fingers still toyed with her pearls. “Do you remember?”
“Yes! When I first arrived at the house, I was convinced she could read my mind. So very perceptive.”
“She would know what to do, if she were still here,” Helena repeated.
“Perhaps,” Jenny said simply. “But she certainly wouldn’t let you wallow in self-pity!”
“Self-pity!” Helena positively screeched the words, outraged by them.
“Yes. She would insist you stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with your life.” Jenny went to perch next to Helena again, then softened her tone. “I know you are feeling a little dejected, but you will always have me as a friend, and you will find romance, in time.”
Helena reached forward and clasped her maid’s hand in hers. “Thank you, my Dear Friend.”
“So what do you plan to do?” Jenny asked in a matronly tone.
“I… well—” Helena’s mouth worked up and down as she tried to think of a response.
What was there to do? She couldn’t very well pluck romance from the air, and she had absolutely no intention of suddenly becoming some sort of social butterfly—not with all the mean-spirited people in the world. Jenny touched her hand again, stopping her mind from whirling with thoughts and questions.
A Fiery Duchess for the Dashing Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 27
