Please.Had Margaret ever said the word to Joan?
Margaret walked forward, glad Helen’s back was to her but wishing she might throw a shawl over that mirror.
She picked up the brush and again began stroking through Helen’s hair. Glancing down, she noticed that the high neck of Miss Upchurch’s gown was frayed—the decorative buttons sagging on their threads. The dress was not only worn but outmoded. Helen Upchurch had always dressed quite fashionably when Margaret had seen her during the London seasons. But that was before her heart had been broken and she put herself on the shelf.
As she pinned Helen’s hair, she felt the woman’s eyes watching her in the mirror. Margaret swallowed and, nervous, stuck the final pin too deep.
Helen winced. “What are you doing?”
Margaret did not like the odd light in Helen’s eyes. The light of suspicion... or recognition? She said in her acquired accent, “Beg pardon, miss.”
Helen blinked. She asked slowly, “Why are you here at Fairbourne Hall?”
That question again. Margaret licked dry lips. She wondered once more if Helen knew. Had she seen through her disguise when her brothers had not? She was probably reading too much into Helen’s questions. After all, the woman had not tossed her out on her ear after their last meeting.
Margaret summoned her courage. “I needed the work, miss,” she began. “Glad I was when Mr. Hudson offered me a place.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you want to workhere?”
“I... There was no work in London.”
Helen’s expression hardened. “There is always work in London.”
“I couldn’t stay there, miss. I had to get away.”
“Butwhy?” Helen repeated, her expression perplexed, frustrated.
Margaret swallowed. “Because my...” She hated to use the wordfatherrelated to Sterling Benton but didn’t want to name the man. “My stepfather was pressurin’ me to marry his nephew—a man I can’t abide.” Margaret shuddered anew at the thought of marrying Marcus Benton.
Helen seemed to consider this, then said slowly, “You cannot be forced to marry against your will, you know. The law prohibits it. You can marry or not as you choose.”
“Didyou?” Margaret’s tongue jabbed the words before she could stop them.
A flush of pain and of indignation marred Helen Upchurch’s face.
Remorse swamped Margaret. “I am sorry, miss. I shouldn’ta said it. But you know men has their ways of gettin’ what they want and there is little women can do to stop ’em.”
For a moment, a faraway look misted Helen’s hazel eyes. “Yes, I do know.” Then she looked up sharply again in the mirror. “What are you playing at in cominghere? If you have some scheme in mind, I warn you—”
Margaret lifted both hands in her defense. “No scheme, miss. I woulda gone farther than Maidstone, but I hadn’t the money. When Mr. Hudson found me at the hiring fair, I didn’t even know which family he worked for. Honest I didn’t.”
For several ticks of the clock, the two women stared at each other in the looking glass.
Then Helen seemed to reach some decision. She rose and turned, saying officiously, “Well then... Nora. You had better go about your duties, had you not?”
Knees weak, Margaret bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.” She backed from the room, not fully certain what had just transpired. Had Helen Upchurch just agreed to allow her to continue her ruse? Or had she imagined all those telling looks and suspicious questions? She would need to tread carefully and follow Helen’s lead.
———
In the corridor, Fiona grasped her arm none too gently. “In there again? What are you about? Waiting on the mistress is Betty’s job. And if it wasn’t, it’d be mine.”
“I only went because she asked for me.”
“And why is that? Because ya pushed yar way in, didn’t ya? Took advantage of Betty bein’ indisposed to wheedle yar way into her place. The mistress would barely know you existed otherwise.”
If only Margaret had foreseen that. “I only meant to help.”
“Help yarself, ya mean. You know Betty hopes Miss Helen will bring her up as lady’s maid, official-like. A step toward becoming housekeeper one day.”
