by Darcie Wilde
“Yes, I did,” she said. “Although I would ask you to keep the fact to yourself. The magazine thinks it was written by a male cousin of mine.” And I might need to do it again.
“I understand fully.”
Yes, thought Helene. You would, wouldn’t you? “May I assume that you did write The Matchless?”
Miss Sewell inclined her head. “Yes, you may, although I tell you in strictest confidence. The mystery has done wonders for the book’s sales.”
“Of course.” If there was one thing Helene could appreciate, it was the practical application of anonymity, especially for a woman.
“But I am disturbing your quiet,” Miss Sewell said. “Accept my apologies.”
“No,” Helene said. “I was leaving anyway. I. . . .” she paused and made a decision. “Miss Sewell, may I ask you a question? As a disinterested person?”
Miss Sewell cocked her head, and despite the dim room, Helene had a feeling she was being carefully scrutinized. “You may ask anything you like, Lady Helene. I am entirely at your disposal.”
“I am. . . I find . . . that is . . .” Oh this was ridiculous. “I do not wish to sound dramatic, but I have been presented with a possibility that might, quite literally, change my life. I assure you I am not in any way overstating the case.”
“I believe you,” Miss Sewell replied calmly.
“The risk is high,” Helene went on. “It would require nothing less than the transformation of not one but three persons on the social scene.”
She had seen the possibility in Adele’s notebooks, in all those beautifully, meticulously designed and notated dresses. Everyone knew how society valued appearance over every other virtue. Almost anything was possible, as long as one looked the part. Of course, that was not the only key to success. Connections were required as well, but appearance was the beginning. If that could be managed, then everything else could be made to follow.
She might be able to make the world forget the jilt and the hysteric, and make them see the dignified and competent woman, the lady, one of their own. And that might be leveraged into a way to save her siblings from the ruin into which they had been driven. Of course there would be a price for that too, but she would pay it willingly.
Or, almost willingly. Lord Windford’s blue eyes looked out from her memory and Helene shivered, just a little.
“You want to change your reputation?” Miss Sewell asked quietly.
“Not just mine,” Helene said. “There are some others. I think I see the way. I think . . . but it involves several serious sorts of risk. If a girl goes forth into society with a too obvious intent to triumph and she falls, she may never rise again.”
Miss Sewell nodded. “We are not a forgiving world are we?”
“No,” agreed Helene. Miss Sewell was silent for some time and Helene became very conscious of the room’s cold seeping through her skin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a ridiculous question and you are a stranger to me. I should not have asked . . .”
“No, no,” Miss Sewell cut her off. “I am just deciding how to frame my answer. And I want to be sure I understand you correctly. You do not just want greater acceptance for yourself and your friends, you want a triumph?”
“Yes,” Helene said. “That is it exactly.”
Miss Sewell blew out a long sigh. “I admit I have been observing you and your friends with interest over the course of the evening.”
“I had noticed it.” In fact, Madelene had nearly fainted at the thought of being watched by a lady novelist.
“If it were anyone else who asked this question, I would suggest to them that they be content with a modest success, or reformation. But my instinct tells me, Lady Helene, that you might just be able to run the entire race.”
“Your instinct and the natural history of the London starling?”
“Just so.” Miss Sewell laughed, but she quickly fell silent again. When she spoke again, her voice was very soft, and entirely serious. “Some time ago, Lady Helene, I was offered the opportunity to transform my own life. I refused the chance, because I was afraid.”
Helene knew she was staring. This was a woman who defied the world’s opinion by simply existing. What could possibly frighten her?
And why was Helene suddenly thinking of Lord Windford again?
“Therefore,” Miss Sewell went on, “you may believe me when I say to you that if you do not try, it will be much worse than if you try and fail, because you will always be wondering, and yearning, after what might have been.”
“Thank you,” said Helene.
Miss Sewell inclined her head. “I do hope, Lady Helene, whatever you decide, you will let me know how the game plays out, and,” she paused. “And although I am a stranger, I hope that if there is anything I can do to help, you will remember me.”
“I believe I can safely promise to do so, Miss Sewell.”
“Then I will leave you to your planning, and wish you and your friends the very best of luck.”
She curtsied again and left the library, closing the door softly behind herself. Helene turned back toward the window and stared out at the starlit snow for a very long time.
Darcie Wilde is the author of the Regency Makeover Trilogy of e-novellas as well as An Unforgettable Woman, a Regency-set historical mystery series inspired by the novels of Jane Austen. Her book, Lord of the Rakes, was a 2014 RT nominee for best First Historical Romance.
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