Darington?” said Helene as she entered Miss Sewell’s green parlor. “I am Helene Fitzgerald. How do you do?” The woman got to her feet and bobbed an awkward curtsy. She also twisted her fingers together. “You must forgive me, Miss Fitzgerald, for calling on you like this. I almost did not, but I did not know what else to do.” “Please, sit down.” Helene gestured to one of the tapestry chairs. The woman did. She was clutching a very rumpled handkerchief, and her eyes were red around the rims. The housekeeper had been correct in saying that she was probably not a lady, although she was well-dressed. However, after spending most of a season with Adele, Helene had become fairly conversant with the subtleties of dressmaking and fashion. Everything about Mrs. Darington was expensive, but it was all a little too loud and a little too bright. More flash than fire, Adele would have said. The rouge on her cheeks and her lips was just a little too heavy as well, and the style of her hair with its thick lovelocks and pink ribbons was too young for her.
