‘Please, come this way, my lady.’ The hairdresser gestured towards the dressing table.
With as much composure as she could muster, Helen sat down in front of the mirror. She saw nothing left of the elated young man who had been reflected in her dressing room glass. Now there was just a young woman in a costume holding back ridiculous, vain tears. She glanced at his lordship, but he was giving instructions to Quinn. The decision had been made and that, apparently, was that.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap as Mr Harrington arranged a drape of cloth across her shoulders and picked up his shears. The first snip cut off her plait in one long hank.
‘For use in the hairpieces,’ Mr Harrington remarked as he set it aside.
After that, her hair fell to the floor in a relentless rhythm of snip, snip, snip. All her softness carved away until only two inches of length was left upon her head.
Hideous.
‘There,’ Mr Harrington said, combing back the layers. ‘Arranged thus, it can be dressed with hairpieces and adornments into a modish young lady’s style.’
He paused, waiting for her response, but she could not even nod. Drawing a determined breath, he dipped his fingertips into a pot of pomade and quickly smoothed all her hair forward on a wave of thick sandalwood scent.
‘And like this, it is a man’s Brutus cut; or, if pushed to the side, even a short Windswept. Do you see how it changes?’
He looked hopefully into Helen’s eyes in the mirror, but she had nothing to say.
‘Some false side whiskers will complete the picture,’ he added encouragingly. ‘They are easily affixed with thespian gum. I will have them, together with the curls and Grecian knot for your woman’s toilette, ready by tomorrow.’
‘It is very effective,’ Lady Margaret said.
Helen turned to Delia. Her friend was not quite quick enough to hide the stricken pity in her face. Nor, it seemed, could she find anything to say, merely conjuring a bracing smile and vigorous nod.
Helen smiled back. It must be worse than she thought.
She gathered her courage and looked back at her reflection. All she could see were sharp-angled cheekbones, a square jaw, firm chin and a nose on the long side — no feminine softness. Not quite as hideous as she had feared — she made a bold-faced boy — but not pretty either.
In the corner of the mirror’s reflection, she watched his lordship. He was studying her with such an odd expression. Did he think her ugly now? Unwomanly? Or was he relieved to see this stripping of her femininity?
She chewed the inside of her mouth. Yes, it was probably a relief for him. A female Reclaimer brought too many complications that were his duty to solve. And of course there was the extra problem of the base attraction that leaped between them that even he could not fully quell. There, she had named it for what it was: base attraction. What else could it be, so anchored in the response of her body to his? She was just another fool caught in the thrall of his handsome features and physique. She must overcome it. He was still married and such attraction was against the laws of God.
‘It is a most artful cut, Harrington,’ his lordship said. ‘A successful transformation.’
‘Indeed,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘In fact, so successful, I think Lady Helen is ready to start her field training.’
That drew her attention from her shame. ‘Field training?’ she queried, trying to catch his eye: What are you doing?
Ignoring her alarm, he turned to Carlston. ‘I propose a trip to a tavern. Lady Helen needs practice as a young man, and if Harrington has those side pieces finished by tomorrow night,’ he raised a questioning brow at the hairdresser, who bowed his compliance, ‘I think we should go into Lewes.’
Lud, he was bringing their expedition into the open. Helen forced an expression of enthusiasm. He should have told her he was going to do such a thing; she was the Reclaimer, after all. Not to mention the risk he was taking. What if his lordship said no, she was not ready? Yet beyond her own hesitancy, she could see the sense in it: they could meet Lowry under the guise of the training trip. No secret excursion to try to keep from the household — something that would be difficult, if not impossible.
Lady Margaret frowned at her brother. ‘For goodness’ sake, Michael, do not rush her so. She needs —’
Carlston held up his hand, stopping her protest. She obeyed, but Helen saw her eyes flash.
‘Why Lewes?’ his lordship asked.
‘The place is not fashionable. There will be almost no chance of meeting someone we know,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘She can practise with impunity.’
‘What do you say, Lady Helen?’ Lord Carlston asked. ‘Do you feel ready to go out into the world as a young man?’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ she said. Even to her ears, she sounded confident. ‘The sooner the better.’
Lord Carlston tilted his head, considering. ‘Tomorrow night you say, Hammond?’
‘A Tuesday evening will be lively enough but not too unruly.’
‘True. And I am not otherwise engaged.’
‘You are, of course, very welcome to accompany us,’ Mr Hammond said politely, but his true reply was deep in his steady gaze: For her sake, do not come.
Helen frowned. What did he mean, for her sake?
She saw his lordship’s eyes narrow at the silent message, then cut to her in consternation: had she seen it too? It was no use trying to hide the fact that she had, and on a rush of hot shame came the knowledge of Mr Hammond’s meaning. He knew about the energy between herself and Lord Carlston. Not only that, he had seen its effect upon her mind and body. Most likely on his lordship’s mind and body too. Dear God, was it obvious to everyone?
The same thought had patently crossed his lordship’s mind, for he closed his eyes for an appalled moment.
‘No, I will not go this time,’ he said to Mr Hammond, his voice clipped. ‘The two of you go alone, but keep this visit brief.’
‘A drink in a tavern and then we will return,’ Mr Hammond said, a note of apology in his voice.
‘It is settled then,’ his lordship said. He walked to the doors, and Geoffrey opened them with a bow.
‘Lord Carlston?’ Lady Margaret called. ‘I thought we were to review Lady Helen’s alchemy knowledge this morning?’
He turned back, his hand clenched at his side as he bowed. ‘You are quite right, but if you will excuse me, I must attend to other business.’ He directed a cold glance at Mr Hammond; the apology, it seemed, was not accepted. ‘Use the time to prepare Lady Helen for her excursion tomorrow.’
He bowed to Lady Margaret again, then strode from the salon, Geoffrey closing the doors behind him.
The room was silent.
‘Is something amiss about your trip to Lewes?’ Delia asked Helen. ‘His lordship seems displeased.’