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.

Lucy smiled then, her face taking on a beatific radiance. “He is tall and mighty, with broad shoulders, strong enough to lift…why even me I suppose! He has comely features, with hair like the sun, and eyes so blue that they seemed to be formed of sapphires. But more than that, he is kind to all he meets. And generous to a fault.”

She laughed a little. “I suppose you think I go on overmuch, but he is considered beautiful by all who meet him, both in bearing and manner. It is not only I who think so.”

Helena felt a chill run through her. “He is then, a good head taller than me? With a voice that is low and deep, but who speaks with great intelligence?”

Lucy looked at her in surprise. “That is indeed so. I suspect you have seen him somewhere before?”

“I met him once in a dream I think,” Helena answered softly, trying to ignore the tremble that ran through her body.

Lucy nodded, with a somewhat wistful smile. “Many balls must seem as such to a Lady such as yourself, though he eschews society of late. He was much in demand this Season but stayed back from London this year due to certain…circumstances.”

The shadows were back in her eyes, and her hands fluttered nervously before her. “Please, I must go. I would hate to see my Lord suffer with worry over me.”

“He would worry over a servant?” Helena asked, drawing still closer though she knew the danger. One gloved hand raised to tug at her hood, to keep her face in shadows, though she angled her body away from the other all the same.

“He would worry over anyone in his household. He is that kind,” Lucy answered softly from behind him.

“We will send him a message then…”

The woman darted forward and caught at her arm. “Please no! I should not have said so much. If he knew I was here…”

“Here? You mean at this house?” Helena only just stopped herself from turning to face the woman fully. She shook her off her arm and retreated to the nook by the books. “Explain yourself.”

Lucy shrank back toward the window. “I cannot.” She glanced past the harp through the frosted panes of glass. “Look, the storm is perhaps waning. I am warm now and well fed. Truly you have been a godsend, but I need not trouble you any longer.”

“At the very least I will arrange for a carriage to take you.” Helena moved toward the door. “Give me but a moment.”

She needed that moment. As she shut the door behind her, she took a moment to drop the hood of the cloak. Her hair clung in wet tendrils to her sweaty face, making the itching worse. She clawed at the worst of it, not caring anymore that she wasn’t supposed to scratch. The urge was just that maddening.

Thankfully the hall was empty, so no one saw her transgression, though her forehead now burned from the rough treatment, it was better than that insidious itch. She went thoughtfully to the entry, trying to peer through the window next to the door, to see the storm for herself, if anything blowing wilder than ever before.

No, there was no way she could send anyone into this storm.

A short search found a maid who moved with alacrity to prepare their guest a chamber. In less time than she had supposed, she had returned to the doorway to the parlor where she paused, one hand on the knob while she considered things.

If she stayed much longer with their guest, then her aunt would grow suspicious. She had invented a task in the kitchen regarding discussion of next week’s menus that should not have taken even this long. She fully expected that soon, her deception would be found out.

But at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to find out more about this Duke, who was so noble and kind, and who apparently invaded the dreams of sleeping maidens.

I will ask but one more question. Maybe two. Then I absolutely MUST be satisfied, or I will be found out and not allowed out of my room again. I just know Aunt Phoebe would imprison me forever if she but thought I was talking to strangers in this way. Or Antony will, though it is quite clear the woman is no danger. Why she must be nigh on fifty! As if someone of such an age could be so suspicious as he thinks!

Half laughing at herself for even listening to such crazy fantasies, she pulled the hood of her cloak up and opened the door.

Her visitor was still standing by the window, not looking out, but instead her attention was on something else entirely, some small object cupped in her palm.

Even as Helena watched, she saw the cunning look come over Lucy’s face, though she seemed to waver, debating something within herself before carefully closing her fingers around the object and slipping it into her reticule.

Helena frowned, her gaze going to the table next to the window, seeing only the book there she had been reading earlier in the day.

My brooch!

Helena started forward, forgetting to clasp the cloak shut at her throat, not caring as it fell away behind her in a heap. The words that tore from her throat were nearly incoherent with rage. “What are you doing? Is this how you repay us? Where is my mother’s rose?”