She’d never thought he’d actually show up.

When Helena’s father had informed her that she needed to dress for dinner, she suspected that something quite out of the ordinary had happened. For years now, she never ate with the family at all. Of course, having a skin condition such as hers was enough to make anyone lose their appetite. She had decided long ago that it would be cruel to put anyone through such an ordeal.

Now it was she who was taxed with the task of appearing at table.

“Perhaps if we add a fichu of lace?” Aunt Phoebe asked, holding up one dress critically. “With the long gloves and shawl, it might perhaps work.”

“There is still my face,” Helena said wearily, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“Who did your father say he was inviting?” Phoebe asked, reaching into the wardrobe to withdraw yet another dress to eye it dubiously before returning it to the depths from which it came.

“I do not know. He has not consulted me on his plans,” Helena said, though she’d guessed it. How could she not have guessed it when the same carriage was in the drive that had been there the week before? How Phoebe had not noticed before now was beyond her.

“It seems at the very least he should have consulted me. It is I who run this household after all.” Phoebe withdrew the last dress from the closet, one a sickly yellow that Helena had always heartily disliked.

But Phoebe was nodding with a definite air of satisfaction, pulling out a green shawl to go with it though to Helena’s eye the one the color of autumn leaves would have gone much better. She opened her mouth to suggest just that and stopped. What did she know about fashion? She never went anywhere at all, while Phoebe quite simply did.

“Besides, it seems nonsense to include you. I daresay he’s including that old banker and his wife again. They always were partial to you.” Phoebe’s tone quite clearly gave her opinion of them for liking her. “All right, I have set out your things. Now be sure to have the new maid dress your hair. I gave her strict instructions.”

“I wish that Betty had stayed,” Helena sighed. “I rather liked her.”

“Well, the same could not be said of her, I suppose. But then not everyone is prepared for the unique challenges of the position.” Phoebe bent and hugged her swiftly. “Try not to worry about it. Change and make yourself pretty for the night. It will be nice for you to get out into society even if it is that fat old banker. I know you long for conversation.”

I do, but I have never told you that.

Helena’s eyes narrowed. Not for the first time she felt a vague stirring of unease.

It is because he is here. I shall see him tonight.

She did not know how to be courted. Surely there was more to it than sitting through dinner with a stranger. She had no idea.

The moment Phoebe left, Helena fled down the back stairs to the kitchen, looking for the only person who could actually help.

Bridget was up to her elbows in pastry dough when Helena arrived.

By most standards, Bridget was a plain sort of woman with dull brown hair, somewhat heavy of face, with thick arms that came from working heavy dough day in and day out. But it was her eyes that mesmerized, dark as the currants in her puddings but filled with so much life and mischief, that Helena had long since decided that this was her favorite person in the entire world.

Which made her the perfect choice to talk to when she had a problem.

What made her the best choice, was the fact that she’d been in love, in fact, she still was madly in love with her Antony and so, to Helena’s mind, she knew something of courtship.

Except she didn’t. She could only laugh when Helena asked her.

“There is no planning it, love,” she said, as she rolled out the dough, keeping a wary eye on the girl chopping vegetables to add into the soup. “Just let things happen as they do. If the thing ’tis right, then all will work in a way to make it so.”

“And if it is not right? Say, someone forced someone to take part in a dinner, for example, that has no interest at all in the woman he is seated next to?”

“My, but society folks put such complications on things. I would suppose that you would eat your meal regardless of whether or not you were interested in the man sitting next to you. I would guess that there would be less conversation perhaps with the one not interested.” She shrugged and pounded the dough with her fists, pressing it into submission.

“And if they are interested?” Helena asked, becoming more and more confounded in all of this.

“Then I suppose that there would be even less conversation,” Bridget said in a way that seemed at once wistful and tragic. “True lovers speak without words.”

Helena repeated the words wistfully. “Speak without words…” She felt less sure of herself than ever.

On her way out of the kitchen, she snagged a tiny strawberry and popped it into her mouth. The tart sweetness did nothing to alleviate the anxiety. On the other hand, the treat soothed her as she trudged back to her room to change, feeling perhaps a little breathless and itchier than ever by the time she got there.

’Tis only nerves. I wonder what will he be like? She asked herself. They had only exchanged a few words, him more than her, on the stairs. He had seen her at her absolute worst there but still seemed intent upon having dinner with her. Was that a good sign, or simply the power of the rubies within the pin that lured him to her table?

She decided that even if it were the latter, would it matter? She only had wanted the experience of being courted. It would be too much to ask to expect to be allowed to experience the emotions that went along with courtship, as well. She might never know what put that starry-eyed wistfulness in Bridget’s eyes, but she would know what it was to enjoy a conversation with a strange man and to be allowed to get to know him.

Five visits. She would make the most of them.

She tugged at her dress, too impatient to wait for the girl to help her. So far, this new maid wasn’t working out very well, not around when she was needed most. Still, this particular dress was easy enough, and she was able to tug it over her head without assistance.

Another look in the mirror proved that she had been right about the dress. To her eye it made her look sallow and strange as if she’d been ill. She smoothed the front of the dress and turned to study the effect as best she could in the small mirror over the dressing table, but it was hard to be sure.

Phoebe knows best. She’s out in society, such as it is here in Hull. I need to trust her.

Absently, Helena sat, still looking in the mirror and reached for the latest in an endless procession of creams and lotions she had to put on her blemishes. Except she misjudged the amount of the lotion upon her fingertips and large dollop landed in her lap, leaving a sizable greasy stain upon her skirts.

“No!” Helena sprang to her feet just as the maid came into the room and stared at her. Helena met the girl’s frightened gaze and looked down hopelessly at the stain that seemed to be bigger the more she looked at it. “What can we do?” she asked the girl, who stared in fascination at the sores along Helena’s arm and looked for all the world like she was about to bolt.

“You’ll have to change the dress,” the girl decided going to the wardrobe and opening the door wide. “Which would you like, my Lady?”

Helena was too panicked to spend time coddling a servant who could not make decisions. “I don’t know…”

The girl regarded her thoughtfully. “Begging your pardon, my Lady, but ’tis a miserable color on you with your hair like that. But if you were to take the green instead, I think you might be better pleased with the results.”

“Your name is Tess, is that not so? Tess, can you help me? We have at most an hour before dinner, and I must prepare. If you have any sense for fashion or color and can make me…well…not so much the beastly thing that I am, then I will double your pay.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Double? Do you mean it, My Lady?”

“I mean it with all my heart. Please.”

“Yes, My Lady!”

With considerably more enthusiasm, Tess threw herself into the wardrobe until she had found first one thing, and then another. She called the other maids into the venture, in search of matching ribbons for Helena’s hair. In no time at all it seemed, Helena was not only changed but re-created from the skin out.

“Why do you wear such coarse underthings?” Tess complained, with a shake of her head as she dug through the bureau. “I have seen far finer fabrics than this. Lady Phoebe has much nicer.”

Helena’s face flamed. She had no desire to know about what Aunt Phoebe wore beneath her clothing, but the thought gave her pause. Were there such things as softer fabrics for near the skin? She held a faint memory of some such, of her aunt scolding her for complaining when a small child. How old had she been? Five? Six?

“I think it was to allow air next to my skin, to help the sores heal,” she said uncertainly, recalling Phoebe’s words from so long ago.

Tess gave her a somewhat dubious look but set to work lacing her into fresh clothing, settling the green print dress over Helena’s head with a smile of extreme satisfaction. A dark green fichu was pinned in place, and with matching gloves, she gave quite the striking appearance.

Even her slippers matched. Helena stretched out one leg, to see the effect herself and was positively delighted. What a difference it made to coordinate everything carefully like this.

But it was when Tess settled in to do her hair that Helena found where the girl’s real talent lay. Her nimble fingers flew through Helena’s thick heavy hair. She frowned a little as she began and finally stepped back, to study the effect.

“Please do not be angry at me for asking, My Lady, but why does she want your hair to be dressed so?” she asked, frowning over the way Helena’s hair half hid her face.

“Is it not better so…?” Helena asked, wishing not for the first time that she could just let the hair fall where it may, with no pins to hold it up. Would it not be more considerate of others if it were a curtain to hide behind?

“My Lady, we have time. If you were to trust me…”

Helena bit her lip and considered this. If this did not work out, would there be time for the old style? Helena wasn’t altogether sure, but at the same time, Tess’s judgment regarding her clothing had been accurate enough. At least she felt more confident of herself than she ever had up until this moment.

Helena took a breath. “Do it,” she said, speaking in a rush as terror filled her at her audacity. “Just…do it. As quickly as you can. I cannot be late. Not tonight.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

Tess was worth every penny of whatever she was going to be paid henceforth. Helena’s hair was pinned and curled and pinned again. For the first time in her life, the long column of her neck was exposed, as was the elegant forehead, and the delicate collarbone that was just visible through the lace at her neck.

Oddly enough the rash, which left her skin red and burning, did not seem to matter quite so much. In fact, the radiant visage far outshone the raw patches and bloody welts.

“My lady, you are beautiful,” Tess said as she stepped back to survey her handiwork.

For the first time in her life, Helena wondered if such a thing might actually true.

It fails to matter if it is or not. I feel beautiful, and in feeling beautiful, I can walk into that dinner with my head high regardless of who is at the table.

To her, that would have to be enough. Helena Barrington had girded her loins that she might go to battle. The question was, would the Duke of Durham appreciate the effort…or go home?