The other’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Mais oui.”
“Fetch it, please.”
When the dark-haired maid returned, she handed Bea the requested object. Inhaling deeply, Bea held up the oval mirror and looked at herself. She hadn’t done so for a long time. After her injury, her papa had been determined to “fix” the damage. He wouldn’t let her hide in the country, insisting that she stay in London to be treated by the best physicians. As part of the quacks’ “treatments”—she shuddered, thinking of the caustic creams and ointments, poultices made of everything from duck fat to sand to ground-up parts of exotic beasts—she’d been forced to assess herself in the mirror daily and report any changes to the angry red mark.
She’d known, far before her father had, that her scar was here to stay. She’d resented having to put herself through disappointment again and again. Even worse was the guilt of knowing that her ugliness had ultimately destroyed her parents’ marriage. After months of futilely trying to fix his broken daughter, Papa had given up. He’d stayed away from the house more and more; around a year after her accident, he’d been found dead…in his mistress’s bed.
Mama hadn’t survived much longer, the pain of her broken heart too much to bear. Among her last words, she’d whispered to Bea,Don’t be foolish like me, my daughter. Don’t entrust your happiness to another.
After the loss of her parents, Bea had used a portion of her inheritance to purchase Camden Manor. She’d wanted nothing more to do with her old life—or her scarred face that had wrecked so many lives. She’d focused on what mattered: what she could accomplish, what she could control.
Now, as she looked at the reflection she typically avoided, she tried to see herself impartially, the way a stranger might. It wasn’t difficult: shewassomewhat alien to herself after all this time. As she perused her own image, she felt a curious sensation in her chest. It felt like that first ray at dawn, breaking through the darkness, illuminating a thought that became a revelation.
I’m not…beastly?
The scar was there. A ridge of knitted flesh that started at the top of her right cheekbone, curving up before going downward, stopping a few inches shy of her mouth. It was visible, would draw attention, and yet…it was also somehowlessthan the scar of her memory.
Less red. Less raised. Less glaring.
The mark had flattened, she saw objectively, time weaving it into the fabric of her skin. Her cheek would never be perfect again. But maybe beauty wasn’t just about perfection?
Wick’s life-altering words washed through her.Your scar is a part of you. Because of that, it is beautiful. Because beautiful, Lady Beatrice, is all you could ever be.
Through his eyes, she saw herself as desired and special…andthatwas true beauty.
The scar had defined her, but it had never been all that she was. She’d always known that; Wick had helped her tofeelit. And she wanted her outside to match what she was feeling on the inside. Now that she was being courted by the most attractive man she’d ever met, was it wrong to want to look her best?
She realized that Lisette was standing by, awaiting her instruction. When the maid had applied for a position several months ago, Bea had hired her on the spot, no questions asked. Not only because she’d liked the way Lisette had arranged her hair, but because of the fresh bruise on the maid’s cheek and the fear etched on the other’s delicate features. As the weeks passed, Lisette’s confidence had seemed to blossom—until that bastard Randall Perkins had tried to assault her.
Bea thanked God that Gentleman Henderson had found the two in the stables. A weeping Lisette had told Bea that the butler had arrived and dispatched Perkins before anything had happened. Bea was grateful that the maid hadn’t been harmed and that the incident hadn’t caused Lisette to retreat into her former shell.
Courage took many forms, one of them being the ability to carry on despite one’s past. To not allow old fears to become a prison…and to remain open to new possibilities.
Bea exhaled. “Perhaps we could try something different? A coiffure that is moreau courant, that might accentuate my favorable features?”
“Oui, my lady,” Lisette said. “I know a style that has been made fashionable by the Queen herself, if you’d care to try it.”
Bea smiled. “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”
* * *
Supper went off without a hitch.
Bea had been worried about Wick and Severin Knight—the Duke of Knighton rather—but the two had been on their best behavior. Both had their own brand of charm, and she could scarcely credit that, after years of avoiding society, she had not one, but two such charismatic gentlemen at her table. They made easy conversation with Mr. Sheridan and Fancy, asking questions about the tinkering life.
Having heard Mr. Sheridan’s colorful tales before, Bea sipped her wine and enjoyed the camaraderie. She noticed that Fancy seemed to be enjoying the evening as well. The latter had overcome her natural shyness enough to carry on a conversation with Knighton.
After supper, Bea decided to forgo the formality of separating the sexes, announcing that the gentlemen could have their cigars and brandy in the drawing room. Mr. Sheridan took out his fiddle, and Fancy accompanied him on the piano, the two giving a rousing performance that ranged from country dances to a stirring Irish ballad.
Afterward, Knighton invited Bea to take a turn with him around the drawing room. Since she wanted an opportunity to speak privately with her guest, she agreed.
“May I compliment you on your looks, Lady Beatrice?” the duke asked.
She smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. I thought I’d try a new style.”
Lisette had arranged her hair so that it no longer covered her face. Parted in the middle, the front of her hair was braided, then looped over her ears. The rest was arranged in a coronet and augmented with fresh flowers from the garden. Bea had donned a lilac gown that Fancy had made for her, but that she’d never had occasion to wear. The dress bared her shoulders, nipping in at her waist before cascading in frothy skirts trimmed with blond lace.
Bea was rather pleased with the results, a feeling deepened by Wick’s smoldering look of appreciation when she’d descended the stairs.
