Wedded in Scandal Read Free Page B

son. Still, her voice was strong enough as she peered down at Helaine.
    “Smithee! Who have we here?”
    The butler responded in sneering tones. “She claims to be an old school friend of Lady Irene.”
    “Really?” A gleam of interest sparked in Mrs. Knopp’s eyes. She rushed down the last few steps to Helaine’s side. “A school friend, you say? Oh, it shall be ever so excellent for Irene to see you. She has been so withdrawn. She needs an old friend to bring her out of her room, take her shopping and the like. Maybe to a party or two. It’s perfectly acceptable, you know, though she’s not out of mourning yet. But a party or something, one where her dearest mama could remain at her side.”
    Irene’s “dearest mama” was Mrs. Knopp. Irene’s real mother had passed on more than a decade before. Obviously the cit had hopes that Irene would bring the family access to the upper echelons of the
ton
. And Irene’s father had resurrected the ancient practice of a bride price so that the earldom would be well compensated for Irene’s sacrifice in marrying down.
    Helaine smiled as warmly as she dared without raising the lady’s hopes. “I don’t attend many parties these days, Mrs. Knopp, but I should dearly love to talk to Irene for a bit to see how she fares. We used to be good friends.”
    Mrs. Knopp took the slight well, nodding as if she expected no less. “Well, I must say the visit is most excellent nonetheless. Smithee, go tell Irene she has a friend here and order tea. We shall settle in for a nice chat in the salon.”
    “I am right here,” returned a quiet, delicate voice. It was Irene, gliding down the hallway from the back of the house. “There is no need—Helaine! Is that you?”
    Helaine felt her breath release at the warmth in her friend’s voice. She had not been certain of her welcome. After all, Irene had merely married a cit. Helaine’s fall had been much, much deeper.
    “Yes, Irene, it’s me. Will you let me sit with you for a while? I have missed our late-night whispers.”
    Helaine saw it all flash through her friend’s expression. The memory of why they had stopped communicating. Of all that had passed in the intervening years. As girls they had bonded over poverty, both understanding the silent misery of having titled fathers who were perpetually broke. Helaine’s disgrace had come first, but Irene had been pulled from school soon afterward because her father couldn’t pay her tuition. And neither of them had seen each other since.
    A million expressions flitted through Irene’s face, but none settled long. And then her once best friend sighed and looked at her hands. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to return to our beds back at school? To whisper about the new cook—”
    “And her terrible cherry tarts!” Helaine felt a laugh bubble up from nowhere, free and lighthearted, as she hadn’t felt in so very long. “And how I shall never learn to darn socks!”
    Irene smiled, bringing a softness to a face too harsh with angles. “You did have a terrible hand.”
    “Still do, to tell the truth,” she said.
    “And I still cannot manage to dress my hair in anything but a straight braid.” Irene gestured to the long thick cord of black hair that fell down her back.
    They waited there a moment, both standing in the hallway staring at one another. Helaine had the impulse to hug her friend, and yet she didn’t dare. By society’s rules, that would be much too presumptuous. And Irene, too, looked uncomfortable.
    It was Mrs. Knopp who rescued them, half escorting, half dragging Helaine into the front salon. “Come, come, we can’t be gadding about in the hallway. Come into the parlor. Smithee! Tea, right away. And do we have any
tasty
tarts for Irene’s dear friend?”
    The butler bowed with a touch less doubt in his expression. “Right away, madam.” Then he departed while the three women settled in the opulent salon.
    But then once again an awkward silence descended. Once, she