Helena did not need a lecture from either her father or her aunt to know that she had done something most unforgivable. Regardless, she still got both.

“Child, I fail to understand what you were thinking. To put yourself at risk for the sake of a…a…” Her father floundered, searching for the word. It was highly unlikely he had any idea what one called a lady’s bag.

“A reticule, Papa,” she said, though she knew the statement would have been better treated as rhetorical. He was most decidedly angry at the whole affair, for a good reason. The very fact that the would-be thief had used a knife on the bag meant he could have just as easily used it on the lady who resisted the theft. And all for what? A handful of coin and an embroidered handkerchief?

“A…what?” Her father floundered at the interruption. It might have been amusing to see had there not been a vein throbbing in his forehead that told quite clearly of his anger.

“Reticule,” she supplied again, though Phoebe groaned next to her and covered her eyes with one hand in the manner of one much too aggrieved for words. Helena had seen that expression before as well, making her quite an expert in just how sorely disappointed her aunt was in her.

“And to think I trusted my treasure to that…that…scoundrel!” This last word was snarled, a remonstrance so entirely new that both Helena and Phoebe both jumped.

“The Duke of Durham was quite right in his actions, acting with utmost propriety!” Phoebe exclaimed, drawing herself up in a way that was most regal. “It was I who was at fault, for I should have seen that Helena entered the carriage first. After all, in the cold, it would have been better to safeguard her from a chill. It was entirely my own fault in taking the first seat.”

“Nonsense.” Harcourt Barrington waved that particular excuse off as though it was of no consequence. “You were quite right to take a seat. To have you catch a chill would have been a tragedy indeed. Had Helena not been lollygagging along, as she is wont to do, she would have perhaps not been so targeted in the first place.”

Lollygagging! It seemed hardly fair to make such a statement when the Duke of York had not been there to bear witness to the affair at all. Helena stared at her father, crossing her arms over her chest in a direct mimicry of his own stance.

“Besides,” her father finished in triumph. “Had the Duke been aware of his surroundings at all, none of this would have happened. How was it you came to be so late to leave the theatre? You said he had misplaced a glove?”

His tone left little doubt over what he thought of a man who could not keep track of the most basic of possessions. All of this was fast becoming more unfair by the minute, for had it not been Helena’s own fault he had pretended to lose the glove in the first place? Had she not embarrassed him so that he felt forced to leave when no one could bear witness as to who he escorted, none of this would have happened.

Helena let her arms fall, realizing her own defiance only fueled the ill feeling toward the Duke of Durham. “Father, I feel I need to apologize. As you say, it was my own actions that led us to lag behind the rest. I humbly accept whatever punishment you choose to bestow.”

The apology might have been a little over the top, especially given the way she bowed her head and awaited his pronouncement, but there was a certain truth to her words. Her behavior had been monstrous at best.

Her father though only chuckled, and when she cracked an eyelid to regard him warily, he laughed outright.

“Helena…child…” He held his arms out to her and drew her close in a paternal embrace. “You do take on so. When you are perhaps older, you will come to understand that the role of the man in society is to protect those who are under his care. The fault is clearly upon the Duke, and I shall indeed have to take action in this regard come morning.”

She accepted the embrace though she could not help but think that she had in fact, had the matter well in hand by the time the Duke or anyone else had come to her assistance. Would not society function better if the world were expected to take care of each other equally?

None of this could be said out loud, of course. She only flinched and held her tongue, trusting that whatever punishment one duke chose to mete out on another would at least be civilized, and likely no worse than this dressing down she had just been given.

Not that she wouldn’t owe the Duke an apology, but she had already planned on penning just such a letter. What mattered in having one more transgression to add to the list?

So, she allowed herself to be coddled, scolded and sent to her room, taking her leave from her father with a certain relief. Things could, after all, have gone much much worse.

Sadly, Phoebe didn’t share her assurance when she joined her in the hall where she had been bid to wait.

“Words fail me, child,” she said with a shake of her head, but her expression was thoughtful. She had stayed behind a moment to consult with the Duke, likely in regards to Helena’s own punishment. Helena sighed and awaited the pronouncement that would likely remove the harp from her activities for a time.

“I am most sorry about all of this, Aunt Phoebe,” Helena said as they ascended the stairs together. Helena felt weary suddenly, as though her chambers were too far to walk. Now that the danger was past, and the punishment meted out, she only wanted to return to her room and sleep if she could convince her own thoughts to quiet and be still for the remainder of the night.

Phoebe only shook her head. “You do seem to lead a charmed life, child. If you had been my daughter, I daresay you would not leave your room for a fortnight. Your father will see you in the morning,” and surprisingly left it at that. They parted at Helena’s chamber door, saying quiet good nights before each going their separate ways.

To her surprise, it was not Tess, but Bridget who awaited Helena in her room to help her undress and prepare for bed.

It was in seeing that dear, familiar face that all of Helena’s strength left her in a rush. She had been held together by sheer determination until this moment. Now, only with Bridget’s comforting plump arms around her in a warm embrace, could Helena finally cry.

“Oh, Bridget…I have lost him…”

And so the entire story tumbled out, from the moment she’d gone downstairs and met the Duke at the door — though it was likely Antony had already shared that part of things — to her own dreadful behavior that had rendered the Duke so speechless that he had failed to say more than a dozen words in the journey home, and nearly none at the door, save a quick pressure of his hand upon hers as he wished her good night.

Bridget frowned as she helped Helena out of her dress and helped her into her nightclothes. Helena sat where she was placed, barely noticing as Bridget unpinned Helena’s hair and began to unbraid the stubborn plaits.

“Are you sure you understood the meaning to be so clear?” she asked finally, pausing to rest one hand upon her hip as she regarded her charge in the mirror. “That there could be no other reason for the Duke to have delayed his leaving? The glove could well have been dropped as an accident.”

Helena gave her dearest friend a somewhat withering look. While Helena had very little to base her knowledge upon, it seemed that this had been quite clearly a ruse to delay their leaving until the lobby would be empty of his peers.

“Truly, I feel I have created a problem for the Duke. His reputation was already at risk before he ever called upon me. Not that it was ever any of his fault,” she added this last in haste before Bridget could get the wrong idea entirely.

“You are not troubled that the man has lost his fortune?” Bridget asked, one eyebrow raising delicately as she took a hairbrush to Helena’s long locks with renewed vigor.

“He has only to start again, with the ship that Father wishes to provide, to have it again. Of this I have no doubt,” Helena declared loyally.

Bridget snorted and continued to pull the brush through Helena’s hair. It was no answer, but still somehow managed to convey a wealth of feeling in that single sound.

Again, Helena flinched, but for entirely different reasons, for her, it seemed Bridget was set upon removing every last hair from her head, in her enthusiasm. Finally, she covered the top of her head with her hands and cried, “Enough!”

Bridget pried the girl’s hands from her head. “Sit still and allow me to finish, or you will never have the tangles out in the morning.”

Helena twisted upon the stool and stared at Bridget, her eyes wide in startled surprise. “Are you angry with me? Bridget, have I upset you?”

Bridget let the hairbrush fall and stood, staring helplessly at the girl. “My lovely girl, I have been here since I saw you take your first breath. I have prayed for you and over you since I dandled you upon my knee. But to be sure, I have never seen such foolishness as I have here tonight, and I must confess I find it frustrating in the extreme.”

“Because I fought the thief who stole my reticule?” she asked, wide-eyed, for never had she seen Bridget so thoroughly put out.

“Because I see you giving up something which has the potential to become very beautiful. True love is a rare thing, my Lady, with the power to transform those it touches in strange and mighty ways.”

“You speak as though I have a choice!” Helena cried. “How could I possibly demand he carry on this false courtship, knowing what it is costing him to spend time with me? The damage to his reputation—”

“Nonsense!” Bridget threw down the hairbrush and came to stand in front of Helena, her brows drawn together in anger. “You seek to take the blame where there is none to take. As though you have fault in what lies upon your skin.”

“I do…” Helena whispered, stretching forth her arms, letting the sleeves of the loose robe she wore fall back that the blemishes might be seen. “I have carried this since my mother died. These marks stain me with the sin of my birth that took her so rudely from this world. They are the marks of the blood of my birthing etched into my very skin.”

Bridget reeled back as if struck. “Surely, you do not believe that!”

“What else is there to believe?” Helena cried. “You have said yourself that I have carried these marks since I was small…”

“Small surely, but not as a suckling babe. Your skin was perfect, as unblemished as any child’s who has ever been born. The marks came later…months later. Why, you could ask your Aunt for she was here then, she knew…”

Helena shook her head. “What is the use of questions? What matters a day or a week from the moment of birth? Surely my mother’s departure from the world has forever stained mine. I shall be cursed forevermore, destined to destroy whatever I might touch.” She caught her breath then, remembering the gentle touch of his hand upon hers.

“What? My Lady, you have thought of something…” Bridget reached to steady the girl who swayed suddenly upon her seat.

“I have touched him! Our hands met…though not our flesh. I wore my gloves. Surely that is enough…” She looked down then, seeing the hands that clasped her forearms and held her that she might not fall. “Oh…Bridget! Must you be taken from me too?”

“My Lady, you are overwrought. I have embraced you many a time, child. Come…see…” Bridget bent to sweep the protesting girl into her arms, holding her in a hug so tight that Helena could barely breathe.

Helena fought a moment then relaxed. She was overwrought. She had been hugged many a time before. No ill would come of this moment. Somehow, she was mixing things up in her mind.

So, it was she was able to return the affection, thankful for the reminder that whatever lay on her skin was a curse to her alone.

This was not a moment of mistress and servant, but of two hearts that had spent long years together and formed a bond that went beyond titles and position. Bridget had been as much mother to her as Aunt Phoebe, if not more so, having in abundance the affection that Phoebe had always lacked.

It was Bridget who drew away first, a look of satisfaction upon her face. “See? I am safe. We are both safe. You must rest. Your mind is filled with nonsense. You have had too much excitement, and here I am fussing at your hair when you should have been in bed an hour ago already.” Bridget wiped tears from her eyes and helped the girl to her feet.

Helena swayed, exhaustion catching up with her. “Yes, I am tired. So very tired…” she murmured, allowing herself to be led to her bed. She turned a weary head that seemed almost too heavy to move toward Bridget as she eased her down amidst the blankets and covered her over with all the care of a mother laying her infant to rest.

“Shh…tomorrow all of this will look very different.” Bridget bent and kissed the pale cheek and stood a moment, staring at the girl with troubled eyes before blowing out the candle next to the bed and turning to go.

Helena watched the door close behind her. Alone for the first time in what seemed forever she finally had her thoughts to herself. She turned on her side, pulling a pillow over to hold, thinking of the letter she must write when she rose.

For regardless of what Bridget had said, Helena knew she had been right in one thing tonight. She had to end this agreement between herself and the Duke of Durham before she did irreparable harm to his reputation.