Nineteen
L ucas didn’t tell Mother where I’d been, but he told her that I was not to be believed regarding a curfew, that I clearly couldn’t be trusted to come home on time—or at all, even though there was no evidence otherwise. Mother agreed with him that it would be wise to keep me at home until Wright came. And thus began my true house arrest, as it were.
I could only reach Flora by telephone. Our first conversation, in which she was begging me to sneak out so I could at least sit with her while she readied to go out that evening, was cut short when Mother walked into the room. “Who are you talking to?” Hands on her hips, like she knew the answer.
“Flora,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“No more.” She waved her hand at the telephone. “She’ll only drag you into more trouble.”
“What trouble?” I demanded .
Mother raised her brow, but didn’t back down. “She may not soon be a married woman, but you are. Hang up.”
I sighed, and told Flora I’d talk to her later, before placing the receiver on its hook. “Are you happy now?” I cursed that we only had the one telephone in the house, so should I want to sneak down and speak to her in the evening, Mother likely would hear from upstairs.
“I will be,” she said, turning and leaving the room. “You must ready. Lord Highsmith is arriving.”
All my blood rushed to my feet, my stomach dropping. I had thought I had a few more days.
Lucas lied .
He stood in the foyer, apparently having watched this all go down. He smirked, watching as I paled. He hadn’t told me the truth the night before, just so he could revel in my reaction, take his twisted glee in how unprepared I really was.
“Yes, sister,” he sneered. “Go get ready. Your fiancé awaits.”
The maid raked her fingers through my hair. She was becoming a familiar, almost comforting, face in my home. I knew whatever I said wouldn’t make its way to Mother or Lucas.
She focused on her task, brushing all the knots out of my waves, adding a barrette to hold the curls away from my face. She had set out the gown Mother ordered for me, completed as quickly as the dressmaker could manage, just for me .
I hated it. The soft blue skirts went all the way past my knees, nearly to my ankles. There was a sash at the waist, to pull in and show off my figure to the lucky bachelor, and three-quarter sleeves. It was a modest and humble gown, with lace accents and ribbons, but it was something Mother had picked out. In her vision, I’d be the perfect docile lady, enticing to a man wanting a young wife. He’d see me and have no worry that I’d make a wonderful housewife, a doting mother . Because surely, the heir of a barony wanted children. A son.
Mother had instructed my maid that I was to wear this dress, even if I gave her trouble. And I wouldn’t, because it was not her fault Mother had such a domineering hand.
I had heard the gentleman arrive earlier in the afternoon. I’d retreated to my room to think on what I was to do—I couldn’t go through with this, couldn’t bear to accept another man, not now —when downstairs came the sound of the front door opening and Lucas gaily greeting our guest. The servants had been in a tizzy all day, making every room just so, even though Lord Highsmith was staying at a hotel a couple blocks away.
There was much banter I could hear from the foyer, and the clunk of trunks being set down. The male voice I didn’t recognize was rich and baritone, and I knew with the way he spoke with Lucas, with such casualness, they were somewhat close, this agreement likely bonding the two men even further.
A sudden pull to my scalp made me hiss in a breath.
“Sorry,” my maid said. “But you are all done. We should get you dressed.”
I said nothing as I stood, not wanting to look at the haunted girl in the vanity’s mirror any longer. Sighing, I let the robe fall from my shoulders as the maid lifted the dress to help me into it. I saw her eyes linger on my hips, on the red marks slowly healing there, the only evidence of my night with Adam. But she didn’t let her surprise show as the dress came over my head, skirts falling and fluttering around my waist.
“You look beautiful,” she tried.
“I suppose.”
“Everything will be alright, Helena.” She set about straightening the gown, pulling it into place, securing ribbons, tying the sash. When I didn’t reply, she looked up at me from her kneeling at my feet. “I truly mean it.”
“I am just being dramatic,” I said, but had to cover my eyes with a hand, my head beginning to ache.
“No, I don’t think so.”
She stood before me. Her curly hair was neat and restrained by a white headband, her black clothing prim and pressed. I knew she was maybe my age, and what had she experienced that I had not? But when I looked into her eyes, I saw a young woman who spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel at that moment. I had not given her a good look before, and maybe if I had, I would’ve found a true ally.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes widened at my question. “Oh.” Like it never occurred to her that I’d ever ask. The dusting of dark freckles on her cheeks reddened at my attention. “Séraphine, Miss. Séra.”
“Séra.” I held out my hand. “Helena. It’s nice to formally meet you.”
She’d worked for us for months yet, and I’d never asked her name. Maybe I was turning into a selfish prick like Lucas .
She grasped my hand, her fingers tinier than mine, a chill to her skin. She smiled up at me, softly, almost conspiratorially. If we were different people, if the roles were reversed, would we come to the same conclusion, tentative confidants?
A knock at the door and I suddenly ripped myself away, running my hands over my skirts.
“Helena?” Mother.
Séra turned and tidied the vanity. It was covered in rouges and barrettes and jewelry and kohl, all instruments of my transformation into would-be-wife.
“Yes?” I cleared my throat, avoiding looking toward the mirror, as she entered the room.
Mother clasped her hands together when she saw me. “Oh, Helena!” Grabbing me as though to pull me into a hug, she looked down at the gown, at the job well done by Séra. “You look perfect!”
“I suppose,” I repeated.
“Lord Highsmith is eager to meet you,” she said, smiling. She was dressed in her own pastel evening gown, gloves on her hands, her light hair braided around her head, stuck with flower pins. I hadn’t seen her get so dressed up in a while, but I supposed we didn’t have many visitors.
And this one was important—a bachelor wanting to marry her daughter.
She couldn’t stop beaming at my dress, like her dreams finally came true.
While mine were shattering.
I could just walk out the door, I thought. Wave down a taxi and save Highsmith the embarrassment of a runaway bride at the altar. Most anyone would stop a car for a desperate woman, would they not? Someone surely would get me away from here.
“Come,” Mother said, pulling me from my fantasies. “Let us go down to dinner. Magda has worked hard all day on the feast she has prepared for us to celebrate, and I’m sure Lord Highsmith would like to dine after all his travel.”
She began to lead me from the room.
“But—”
I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t do this .
My shoes became glued to the floor, my tongue dry.
I’d met plenty of men before; how could this be any different? But it was so, so different. All the other men—sure, some of them wanted marriage, eventually, or a woman who was willing to let them sleep around while she stayed at home. Those men wanted double lives, and the freedom to continue their partying and illicit drinking. But there was no threat of permanence, no expectations, really, outside of the glamor of the bars. Maybe they fantasized of bringing me home and keeping me, but it wouldn’t become reality.
This was reality.
Lord Highsmith was downstairs, waiting for his would-be bride, and I wanted nothing more than to empty the contents of my stomach in the water closet.
“Oh, really, Helena, this is quite ridiculous,” Mother’s happy facade fell, the lines between her brows deepening. “It was no surprise the lord was coming. We’ve been talking about this for quite some time now.”
“Yes, but—” Bile rose in my throat.
“Let’s go.” She gripped my hand.
Séra kept her head down, cleaning up the bottles of makeup, setting the discarded jewelry into their boxes. Mother glanced at her and ushered me past the threshold.
Stepping through that door frame was like being ushered into my new fate against my will. It was always going to be against my will, but once I was at the landing of the stairs, a dark acceptance began to permeate through me, a sense that it was happening , and there was no Prince Charming to steal me away.
And my plan to run out the door was thwarted, because there, at the bottom of the stairs, standing next to a smug-looking Lucas, was a man I’d never seen before, but who gazed at me expectantly. His hair was chestnut brown, coiffed and shorter on the sides than may be fashionable here. He wore his suit, gray and starched, his tie knotted at his throat. Cigar smoke drifted into the foyer from the parlor, where they must have been waiting. His brown eyes were calculating, inspecting my clothing, my stance, and finally coming to rest on my face.
I was sure I looked like a statue, a deer waiting for its predator to make the next move.
But his brown eyes only softened, crinkling crows’ feet, as Mother made me descend the staircase. Every step was like a strike against my heart. Closer to him, to Lucas, standing just a few feet behind him with a brow raised in warning. Don’t try anything. Don’t embarrass me.
Lord Highsmith reached up as I came down, and somehow, I was right before him, my fingers in his, and his lips were coming to rest on the top of my hand. Stubble brushed against my skin, and I almost recoiled, the sensation all too similar yet so different from the feel of Adam’s stubble against my cheek.
It felt wrong, placing my hand in another man’s.
“I am so glad to meet you,” he said, the deep voice much softer than the riotous laughter from before.
He smiled at me with those brown eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to return his easy smile. Lucas’ glare was burning a hole in me.
“Well!” Mother said, beaming at her visitor. “This is Helena, my beloved daughter. Helena, this is Lord Wright Highsmith.” She gave me a look. “How nice of him to come all this way to meet you.”
“I—” I choked on the words, but Lord Highsmith only chuckled. Then, I knew he mistook my silence for awe.
“Why don’t we dine?”
“Wonderful idea.” Mother gestured toward our dining room. “We hope everything is to your liking.”
Lord Highsmith waved her concern away. “Your hospitality has been exemplary.”
Mother blushed. Bitterly, I thought she should just marry him, if she liked him so much. But of course that would be improper—an old widow and a young heir.
Lucas took up the rear of the group as Mother led Lord Highsmith into our dining room. They chattered happily, becoming fast friends. My awareness of Lucas behind me raised the hair on my neck. I knew he was looking at me, knew all the things he was thinking. And he leaned in, sending chills down my spine, halting me in my steps. He was touching me, having run into me, but didn’t back away .
“Don’t mess this up,” he threatened, his voice low and full of malice. I felt his nose graze my shoulder. “Just behave, and good things will happen, dear sister .”
And then he was gone, stepping around me and into the happiness of the dining room.