The Duke of Durham was ushered into the parlor with certain ceremony. The contrast was noticeable, for while he had been bid to wait an uncommonly long time in his previous visit, in this instance, he was brought directly to the sitting room.

Lady Barrington sat at her harp, playing softly as he entered. An older woman sat sewing in the corner. Her chaperone, he guessed and wondered where the indomitable Miss Barlowe was, for he had been expecting the woman to be the one keeping an eagle eye upon her niece.

He bowed as he entered and sat in the chair which apparently seemed set aside for this purpose, as she finished her piece. Her face seemed flushed, her movements a little unsteady upon the strings. He knew the piece she played well, and noted the small hesitations, the flaws. Not many, to be sure, but a wrong note here, a chord that felt somewhat discordant there.

My hostess seems nervous.

It was a startling thought. Her letter had intimated that she was a force to be reckoned with, a lady in control of her own destiny. This though, was the playing of a maiden uncertain, who avoided his eyes by playing with her own eyes shut, a feat that was in itself noticeable. What had happened to leave her so utterly lost?

The chaperone seemed unaware of the tension. Or if she were, she gave no sign as she sewed at whatever she had bundled in her lap. She tapped her foot in time to the music, a peaceful smile upon her face, that left him with the feeling that he had been judged and so approved, especially when he sat down without interrupting this impromptu concert.

When Helena’s hands finally stilled on the strings, he found disappointment in the cessation of the music. He sensed she could do better if she were not nervous and wondered what it would take to coax a smile from her, to enable her to play as she had when she’d been alone, and he’d overheard her playing from the hall only the day before.

“I am unsure how this is supposed to work,” she said softly into the silence, without looking at him. “I have never had a gentleman caller, and I am not sure of the proper etiquette. I have never been taught, Your Grace.”

The chaperone made a noise which might have been a protest of some kind. Helena shot her a glance, but stayed where she was, her hands still on the harp, holding it against her. An entire conversation seemed to take place without anyone making a sound at all. A lifted eyebrow from the chaperone, a swift shake of the head from the girl.

He might have laughed had he not been summoned so peremptorily. James rose and crossed the room, easing the harp from her hands, so that it stood in its place in the window. “You begin by not hiding behind the furniture.”

Helena’s swift intake of breath brought his attention to her mouth. She would have a pretty smile, he decided, should she ever quit scowling at him. “A harp is hardly a piece of furniture,” she said, fists bunching in her skirts.

“Some would call it such. Come, let me assist you to a more comfortable seat. That chair looks positively excruciating,” he said and offered her a hand.

She looked at it a long moment, as though trying to decide whether or not it was proper to take his offer. Finally, she acquiesced, rising gracefully, and shaking out her skirts before allowing him to walk her over to the settee which appeared far more comfortable.

“Is this right, then?” she asked, smoothing her skirts. He noticed the long gloves upon her hands and wondered if they were the fault for the ill-playing. She had been bare handed when she’d played alone.

“It is,” he said, with a short bow and returned to his seat which was directly across from her and in clear view of the chaperone.

“What happens next?” she asked, leaning forward, inquisitive as a child. So earnest was her expression that he found himself smiling.

“We talk politely about such topics as are easy to talk about, such as the weather or mutual acquaintances until the servants enter with the refreshments. Have you never made a social call?” James asked curiously, finding it harder and harder to remember that he was angry for having been summoned here.

She plucked restlessly at her skirt. “I have not,” she said quietly. “Sometimes the banker’s wife, Mrs. Prescott shows up for tea or the rector’s wife. I have not…” she gestured from her to him and back again. “This is new.”

The chaperone clucked and shook her head.

“It is all right,” James said, hoping to reassure them both. “I fail to see why we need to adhere to such rigid strictures of propriety as all that. We will look upon today as a lesson perhaps.”

“So, it does not count then, and I still have five remaining social calls?”

“Is does count and you have three,” he informed her haughtily.

“Four at the very least. You can hardly count dinner the other night,” she shot back, folding her arms in front of her in a most unladylike arrangement.

“I despair of you. Young ladies do not cross their arms at callers. And it does count. I fully expected to share the entire meal with you and music afterwards. You were the one who left, not I.”

For a moment he thought she’d keep her arms crossed just to defy him. She faltered though under his stern gaze, and shifted, letting her hands fall to her lap. “But I…”

“Left,” he finished for her a second time. “Regardless of the reason, I was there in good faith.”

“Four and a half calls then,” she decided firmly, her head coming up and meeting his gaze with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“And how do you propose a half call?” he asked, trying to decide if he were amused or exasperated.

“‘Tis simple. You begin a call, and then you have the right to leave early. If you so choose.”

“Why am I even considering this? Has anyone ever said that you were an absurd and rather irritating young lady?”

“Four and a half,” she said again, “and I do not have to chase you down to make you come again.”

“I came only because I wanted to,” he reminded her, unable to believe her cheek that she would persist in this deal even with the brooch back in her possession.

Lady Barrington sat back in surprise, shooting a look at her chaperone who seemed for all the world to have dozed off over her embroidery. “You do not have to maintain that fiction. Bridget knows the full details of our arrangement.”

“Bridget appears to have fallen asleep,” he said, and nearly laughed when she rolled her eyes. “I think you are more of a handful than you let on.”

She gasped but was smiling all the same. He was right; it was a beautiful smile. “Though I hardly think it is proper for you to bring it up in just that way, Your Grace.”

“I hardly think you know what’s proper or not. Now here, don’t look at me like that. Look, the refreshments have arrived. For your next lesson in the art of making calls, it is your duty to serve your guests. Namely me.” James nodded toward the loaded tea cart that trundled toward them, with at least two servants guiding it to keep from spilling the tea.

Lady Barrington stared at him. Her face had gone pale, making the scratched portions of her face stand out in stark relief. For the first time, James saw how truly damaged she was, and he caught his breath.

“Do you wish me to serve? To handle the refreshments?” she asked, as the servants bowed and retreated.

“Would you rather that…what did you call her, Bridget? Would you rather Bridget served then?” James asked, frowning a little, for she seemed somewhat…panicked.

Lady Barrington sat, staring at the cart as though it were a dread monster. Steam rose from the teapot in the center. “I do not know. It seems a shame to wake her. She works so terribly hard.”

“Then come, let us figure this out together.” James rose and offered her his hand for a second time since coming into the room. This time her fingers curled around his a little more readily though she still seemed unsure as they approached the cart. “It seems you ordered enough food to feed half the town.”

“I…I was unsure what you would like,” she murmured, staring with a certain amount of consternation at the plates of cakes and nuts and other treats. “I might have ordered too much…”

“Nonsense, I am famished. It is a good thing you have. Here, why don’t you start with assembling two plates while I pour the tea?”

Her head came up, eyes meeting his with a scandalized gasp. “Truly you do not mean…”

“I fail to see how difficult it would be. Tell me how you take yours and I will pour. Shh…do not gasp so, your Bridget will awaken and give you no end of scolding for such scandalous behavior. We cannot have that.”

“Oh…but what if I…” She stared at the cakes uncertainly. “What if I make you sick?” she asked all in a rush.

“Sick how? You seem healthy enough.”

Her hand rose to her cheek and he saw then how fearful she was of her own self. He caught the hand and drew it away, bending to look intently in her eyes. “Shh…do not make it worse. I know you long to scratch at it, but you were doing so well. Let us busy those hands. There is nothing I fear in whatever skin condition you carry. It does not seem serious.”

“Does not seem serious!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand from his and almost frantically grabbing at the silver cake server that she might position a small cake upon each of their plates.

“I have seen things. My father thought it wise for me to travel, thinking it would someday aid me in the management of his affairs when he was gone.” James snorted at that. “Much good as it did him. Were it not for the disaster of my own making, we would not be having this conversation would we. Tell me how you like your tea.”

“Plain, with just a hint of sweetening.”

He lifted the teapot and poured, finding it a little trickier than he’d expected, as the teapot was heavy and ornate, with the tea escaping in an almost unexpected direction there was so much decoration on the spout.

“So, did you?” she pressed, as she placed a collection of small fruits upon the plate, bright grapes that brought a dark and purple to contrast with pale biscuits she’d stacked in plenty. She added in several sandwiches and stood back to look at the effect.

“Traveled? Yes. Considerably. Though not in so romantic a way as your father. I understand he worked aboard ship. I went as the honored guest. Or at least as the passenger who paid generously for his position aboard.” James motioned toward the settee, inviting her to again be seated.

There came a moment of juggling items and passing plates back and forth, but they ended amicably enough seated side by side. He passed her the tea he poured. She almost dropped the plate of food on his lap, so heavy had she piled it.

“You said you were hungry,” she reminded him, when he stared somewhat aghast, but with a certain fascination at the stacks of food she presented him with.

“I daresay you emptied out half the cart onto here. It might have been easier to just roll the trolley over and hand me a fork,” he said and laughed when she looked for all the world like she would cry. “Shh…it’s fine. I am hungry. Ravenous in fact. I can’t remember when I ate so well.” And to prove that he was in earnest, he took a large bite from the first sandwich.

It was perhaps not the most proper of dining etiquette, but it served to make her laugh again, which in turn brought out that fine smile. He was coming to live for those smiles and thought how if there had not been the matter of Lucy and the brooch between them, that he might very well come to enjoy courting this girl.

“So, what happened? When you traveled?” she asked around a mouthful of sandwich and then ducked her head, that she might hide behind her napkin when she realized what she had done.

He politely ignored the indiscretion. “I saw the world. I have been to the islands and back. And to several of the colonies. I was gone for more than a year and came back a changed man. I loved seeing the world, and would have gone to explore more of it, but father was sick by then. I knew it was time to take up the mantle of responsibility and stay at home.”

“And you said you saw….” She waved at the raw patches of skin upon her face and neck. “…such as me?”

“No. I saw true disease of the skin. Leprosy Plague. This…this is a minor thing. A discomfort I am sure, but there is nothing sinister in it. Forgive me for being so blunt, but such diseases are accompanied by a certain look, a certain smell. And you…you smell like strawberries and roses.”

Judging from the way she blushed, he guessed he perhaps should not have said that either. He concentrated on his cake, though he could not have told a soul afterwards what it tasted like.

“I suppose I should thank you for that. I…I do not know what to think. There was…” she sighed and stared at her plate. She’d barely touched her food. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m the one who is not good company today. Perhaps I should go.” She started to rise.

James had been furious when he had been ordered to come here to this place, but right now all he could think was how loath he was to let her go. The sadness in her eyes, in her voice…the way she was so terribly unsure — not just about how to conduct a call, but how to even eat in the company of another soul, spoke of her isolation. For a moment he was furious at the family that had kept her so locked away from the world.

It is perhaps for her protection, he reminded himself. In his travels he had seen how the world reacted to what was different. And those of the ton would be less forgiving to one such as she. But it was unfair, and he knew it to be so. For he enjoyed her exuberant nature and the way she embraced new experiences. And how hard she fought for what she wanted.

“Please stay,” he said, catching at her before she could escape, a hand upon her arm that he belatedly realized was the injured one when he saw her wince. “Please.” For a moment he panicked, wondering if her fleeing a second time from him would likewise end badly for her and could not bear to let her go.

“I am not good company, I fear,” she said, but she at least lifted her head and he saw her there, the frightened child in the depths of her eyes, so damaged and hurt that he wanted nothing more than to find every person in her world that had left her so, that he might render them impotent and harmless, that she might never be hurt again.

“You are excellent company,” he said, and his smile was gentle. Cautious. “Besides, I was wishing that I might speak to you about this weekend. I wish to keep a promise to you.”

Her eyes lit up, a spark of life that ignited, an excitement that left a fine tremor through her body as she regarded him. “What promise? Another call?”

“Better than another call. An outing.”

If he’d expected her to be excited at the prospect, he was sorely wrong. She flinched as if struck. “If you are making sport of me, then I find your cruel invitation not funny in the least.”

“I am most in earnest. More so than I have ever been in my life. You might take your Bridget with you,” he said, with a nod toward the slumbering chaperone whose head had fallen back, her mouth gaping open issuing forth with some rather impressive snores.

“I should wake her…” Helena said, uncertainly, laying her plate on the table next to the settee and rising.

“A moment.” James rose with her as manners dictated, speaking earnestly, quietly. “Let us settle this. I am truly in earnest. I wish nothing more than to take you to the concert this coming weekend. It shall be a small gathering in a local theatre. If you are concerned for your appearance, I see nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll have you know, I find you beautiful.”

“Beautiful! In spite of such a face?” she asked, her tone harsh and mocking.

“Beautiful already. Just as you are. Though you will not believe that, and it’s highly improper for me to say it.” James murmured. “I would be proud to escort you that night. If it bothers you so much, we will arrive late when the theatre is already darkened and leave early before the press of people becomes so great. Though I hardly think either actions are necessary.”

Helena bit her lip. “You are in earnest?”

“I have never been so earnest in all my life.” He stared at her, willing her to see the truth in his eyes.

“I would have to include my aunt I should think, as chaperone,” she said thoughtfully, biting at her thumbnail. “But I think Papa would allow it.”

“I will talk to him myself,” James declared though from the tone of the letter he’d received he had no call to be quite so confident as all that. The Duke of York had been furious, he was sure. No one was that terse in a letter without a great deal of subtext hidden between the lines. The very blankness of the paper had held an entire universe of subtext, James was sure.

“I did not think our arrangement included outings…” Helena said, her expression thoughtful. “One could extrapolate from that that we would still have four calls owed then after today.”

“Or three,” he countered, motioning again for her to be seated.

“I should think four, at the very least,” Helena murmured, settling herself again on the settee and taking up her plate.

“Or two after the concert if we are counting with any kind of accuracy.” He glanced toward the tea cart. “Might I freshen your cup?”

“Three and a half. And yes, Your Grace, I would like that immensely,” she said, quickly and when their eyes met, they laughed.

I should be mad. I should be furious. But when I am with her, I am not. In fact, I find myself standing here doing ridiculous things I have never before done in my life. Pouring tea. Negotiating social calls as though I am gambling down at my club.

James shook his head, but took her cup all the same, and pouring Lady Barrington a fresh cup with a steadier hand than the first time. He was just turning back to deliver the beverage with a certain feeling of pride and accomplishment that he had never heretofore felt, when the door opened suddenly, admitting a gust of cold air from the hall, and one rather put out young aunt who stood a long moment, staring at the tableau with her mouth agape.

Bridget startled awake at that moment, likewise taking in the scene — Lady Barrington seated on the settee with James handing her a cup of freshly poured tea — and rising up with a certain amount of consternation and a hearty dose of fear in her eyes.

James ascertained immediately the way this particular wind was about to blow and immediately reached into his waistcoat, withdrawing his timepiece and frowning over it. “You are indeed right, Lady Barrington, it is nearly time to meet with your father. I appreciate your holding my tea for me.”

With that, he took the cup back from her hand and took a long drink from it, though it was far too sweet for his tastes entirely. The cup drained dry he set it on the table and bowed first to Lady Barrington, and then to Bridget who looked at him gratefully as he rose. “I do apologize for my boorish manners. If I were not in such haste, I would stay and finish this call more properly.”

He glanced toward the door, at Miss Barlowe who eyed him suspiciously. “And to you as well, Miss Barlowe. I regret that I was not able to enjoy your company, as well.”

“I was not informed that you were here. I was under the impression that you were coming later today,” she said, with a hard glare at her niece that even he could not miss, though when she glanced back at him, she was all softness and smiles. “I am regretful to have missed your company.”

“Perhaps then you would be more forgiving of my hasty departure should you know that I have invited Lady Barrington and yourself to my box at the theatre this coming Saturday. You will come, will you not?” James issued the invitation with a certain earnestness, for indeed he was coming to find that he really did want this outing, regardless of who had to come along to make it happen.

Miss Barlowe seemed to be having difficulty in finding the appropriate words to answer. “I…well I…Lady Barrington does not…well…usually…”

“What my aunt is trying to say, is that we would love to,” Lady Barrington said, with a smile that warmed James all the way down to his toes, brooch and bargains be damned.

“I look forward to it then,” he said and bent over her hand. “You will be all right?” he asked quietly as he made his bow. His eyes went to her wrist, safely concealed within the fabric of the long gloves she wore.

“I will be all right,” she answered just as softly. “But you still owe me four calls. Not including the concert.”

“Three, with the concert,” he countered, feeling the beginnings of a smile.

“Three and a half.” They were both laughing now. James bowed again to the assembled company and took his leave.

He made it as far as the hallway. Behind him, the door to the parlor shut with a certain finality. Before him, stood the Duke of York.

“Five,” Harcourt Barrington said sourly as he regarded James from head to foot, in a gaze that let James know he’d been found wanting. “And you will take that bloody ship, if I have to force if down your gullet. Come, Sir, we have much to discuss.”