Virtue's Reward by Jean R. Ewing Read Free Book Online Page B

down.”
    “You can’t be serious?”
    She was to have no reply. They had pulled up before the sweep of steps. Bewigged servants in livery appeared like ants from a disturbed mound. Richard handed her down. The curricle was efficiently whisked away. She clung blindly to her husband’s arm as he led her up to the grandiose entrance. The doors opened and closed behind them. Footmen bowed silently. Their hats and gloves disappeared.
    Swallowing hard, Helena glanced around. The ceiling of the hallway arched away above her head. Everything was white stone. Marble statues of Greek gods stood on tall stone platforms. Classical urns graced a row of niches at each side of the room. In front of her, two branches of a grand stairway swept in graceful arcs to the floor above.
    She felt overwhelmed, desperate, as if she were drowning.
    A footman was still hovering.
    Richard spoke to him. “This is my wife, Manners. Have her shown to the appropriate suite.”
    The charming companion of the journey was gone. Richard’s face was set as still and hard as that of Apollo on his dais. It chilled her like a frost.
    He turned absently to Helena. “We eat at nine. Put on whatever is the grandest thing that you have.”
    And leaving her standing alone with the servant in the hallway, he strode away.
    Moments later, a maid ushered Helena up the right-hand staircase and into an echoing chamber, dominated by a four-poster with blue velvet drapes. More maids in starched caps and aprons bustled into the room. Her luggage was delivered and unpacked, and several of her things whisked away to the laundry to be washed or pressed. She was brought a tray of tea. A copper tub followed and was filled with steaming water. Helena was undressed and bathed without mercy for her modesty, and dried in a capacious towel.
    The woman who came in next had obviously been trained as a lady’s maid. She sorted through the handful of dresses Helena had brought from Trethaerin.
    Helena knew immediately that she had nothing grand enough.
    “Have you nothing but this?” the lady’s maid said, holding up Helena’s best blue silk with the silver flounce.
    Helena shook her head.
    The woman sniffed. “I suppose it will have to do.”
    She dropped the dress over Helena’s head and fastened the ribbons.
    An older woman in black stalked into the room. “I am Lady Acton’s personal dresser, ma’am,” she said stiffly. “I usually touch no one’s head but her ladyship’s, but she directed that I attend you. The curling iron, if you please.”
    This last comment was addressed to one of the maids, who scurried to obey.
    “You are most kind. But please leave it!” Helena stepped over to the dresser and took up her own brush and comb. “I am content to dress my hair in my usual way.”
    “But it is positively countrified, ma’am!”
    “Yes, indeed,” Helena said. “And so am I. Now, please leave me be.”
    The woman bobbed a small curtsy and signaled the other maids. They all sailed back out of the room, leaving Helena alone.
    She took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her color was high and her eyes shone with indignation. Her blue silk might not be all that grand, but it was elegantly cut and the color had been her father’s favorite. With deft fingers she brushed out her hair and twisted it into her usual style. If she was presentable enough for Cornish society, then she was good enough, just as she was, for the Earl and Countess of Acton.
    But how could Richard have sprung all this on her with no warning? She had married a stranger, indeed! Good heavens, she could never be a satisfactory countess.
    At that moment she heard a gong, and a manservant appeared to show her to the drawing room. She was about to meet Richard’s family. If the thought had seemed enough to strip him of his good humor, what on earth could she expect? Helena threw up her chin. Whatever his reasons, Richard Acton had married her and rescued her from Garthwood. She