The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  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.

  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 t
o 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 are you doing 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.

  “We must marry — that is all there is to it. I compromise you now, in sitting here with you, but we are of an age when few will concern themselves with such things. The banns can be posted quickly, I think, and much of the falderal associated with society weddings can be dispensed, with, do you not think? Oh, Helena will be so pleased, I am sure. She loves you like a mother already.” His voice was husky with emotion.

  Helena? Mother?

  That voice. No. ‘Twas impossible. It was not what she was thinking. Ice flowed through her veins, dousing the flames of passion in an instant. Phoebe launched away from him, stumbling, nearly falling. The hand that reached out to steady hers was large, the fingers blunt and square. The ring upon the hand was one she knew, all too well.

  Phoebe’s mouth open and closed. She could not speak. The words simply would not come.

  Harcourt Barrington, the Duke of York stood, strong and sure, drawing his hand back as he regarded her with some concern. “Phoebe? Are you well? Dash it all, I suppose I have taken this too quickly. Women like weddings to be sure, so if you want one, I have little objection. Helena would enjoy helping in the planning. It would do her good to have a project, something to occupy her time.”

  “What are you doing here?” The words came out quickly, a shrill scream, as she stepped back, away from the Duke, feeling sure she might faint. No…No, this cannot be. I have not…This was not…

  “Phoebe! Please, allow me to help you sit. I will ring for a servant. Some water perhaps. You are overcome. My darling, I am just as overcome. I had no idea…I had not even thought about it, but when I see you now, like this, I can only be sure. More sure than I have been of anything in my life that this is meant to be. My love, please stay for a moment…”

  He meant to grasp the bell pull. Any moment there would be someone there at the door who would see him, would see them, and draw such hideous conclusions. James! Where was James?

  Unable to endure the idea of anyone finding her like this, Phoebe lunged after him, her intent upon keeping him from that bell pull. She would indeed be ruined if so much as a servant came and saw them together. And then there would be no getting out of the actions that would follow — likely a forced marriage to this man, this ridiculous duke nearly twice her age, who looked upon her now with such fond concern that she would surely scream.

  Phoebe’s hands scrabbled at Harcourt’s sleeve, and she was now near to begging for him to stop. Only she was not the one to beg. The very idea of being Helena’s mother was enough to give her the strength to push him away. “Stop, you old fool, before you ruin us all!” she cried.

  The Duke turned to her in surprise, eyes widening as he put his arms around her. “Nay, my dear, be not afraid. There will be no ruination for us if that is what worries you. You have declared yourself to me already. I will pay the priest to post the banns after the nuptials. We would not be the first.”

  It was all too much. Phoebe drew away, laughing harshly. “Marry you? You want me to marry you?”

  At that moment the door behind them opened abruptly. The footman entered first, apologetic, urgent in his manner, followed by the Duke of Durham, who looked from one figure to the other. The Duke of York held Phoebe who clawed at him and struggled to get away.

  “I say! Am I interrupting something?” James asked, her James, whose eyebrow raised halfway up his forehead as he came fully into the room.

  Chapter 38

  Had he not been so worried about Lucy, James would have left that very moment. Clearly, he had interrupted something intimate, a meeting that was no busines
s of his. Not that he wasn’t aware of the scandal, but he also recognized that this was not just his host, but his patron as it were, and quite honestly, he was of no mind to get involved in the gossip of the ton.

  Besides, the match was a logical one, and given that he had just overheard plans for the couple’s happy marriage, James could be forgiving of such things. “I am to wish you congratulations then,” James said with a bow to the couple, wishing that he had not been so urgent in his mission to return to Lucy and could so bow out and leave them to their celebration.

  How exciting for Helena, to have two parents again…

  But Miss Barlowe was throwing herself at him now, and he had no idea how to handle the imminent hysteria as she clawed at his cravat, near choking him in her desperation. “Please, my Lord Duke, Your Grace, you have to understand...”