‘Do you think it’s possible to remake yourself into a completely different person?’
Helena opened her mouth to answer Cynthia, but closed it again and frowned. To be fair, it was a difficult question for anyone to answer and not something one normally discussed over tea – coffee for Cynthia – on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. The windows had been thrown open, letting in the birdsong and muffled sounds of life bustling along on the street beyond her hedged yard.
‘That is a rather complex question. Why do you wish to be someone different? Are you not happy with yourself?’
Cynthia sipped her drink, letting the blend of bitter beans and sweet cream converge on her tongue while she thought about the question. ‘I’m not certain the woman I’ve become is the woman I truly am. I know there are parts of me that are mine. But there are other pieces I’ve formed to please society, my parents, my husband – who could never be pleased. Even Thomas expects me to behave in a certain way, though I know he loves me. I’m just not sure he understands who I truly am. Maybe I don’t understand myself, but I’m desperate to find out. And I’m worried that once I do, none of the people I love will be comfortable with the person beneath all of these layers.’
Helena stood and walked around the low table to sit next to Cynthia. She took both her hands, and Cynthia felt the odd vibration of energy passing between them. ‘I think seeing oneself and accepting who you truly are, the beautiful and beastly parts, all together, is something few people have the courage to do.’
A swell of emotion rose in Cynthia. Fear, hope, and unexplainable sadness. As though something had been taken away from her that was precious and vital. ‘I’ve been thinking about the dinner at your aunt’s house last week. Our conversation about my childhood. Thomas described me as a wild thing, but I can’t remember. I can’t remember that little girl who ran through the fields and could call the hummingbirds from the flowers to hold them in her hand. Isn’t that strange? Thomas will go on about adventures we’ve had, and I feel like he’s talking about a stranger. A girl I wish I could be. It’s as though my past was stolen away from me. But I yearn to find that girl and let her free.’ A hot tear spilled, making a trail down her cheek. She dashed it away with her shoulder, unwilling to take her hands back from Helena. ‘You must think me nothing but a silly watering pot.’
‘I think you are a wonder. And a mystery. And very, very beautiful.’
Cynthia had been complimented before. There was always a young buck or an old lord sniffing around in hopes she might be willing to follow in her husband’s example of infidelity. But their compliments, whether obsequious or obscene, never felt real. They were bargaining cards for favours Cynthia had no wish to barter. But when Helena called her beautiful, something broke loose in Cynthia’s soul and flew. Because when Helena spoke those simple words, Cynthia was tempted to believe her.
‘You are so certain of yourself. I find that endlessly… appealing.’ Cynthia was not a wilting wallflower, but she never acknowledged her desires, because she wasn’t free to indulge in them. Until now, with Helena. She felt safe enough to try.
It was impossible to ignore the delicious tension pulling between them. But she also knew they were walking on fragile ground. They hadn’t established the parameters of their newly developing friendship. The last thing Cynthia wanted was to destroy this sense of intimacy. These were uncharted waters. She was used to knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. Which rules she could bend, which she could break, and which needed to be respected. In this new world, nothing was clear.
Hamlet had been sitting on the couch with Helena, and he padded after his mistress, hopping onto the cushion next to her and curling into a tight, copper ball. Cynthia looked to him, hoping for some wisdom from the fox. He blinked his golden eyes and licked his chops.
Don’t ask me for advice. I’m in love with a ferret.
A lot of help you are.
He yipped an agreement.
Helena squeezed Cynthia’s hand. ‘You have never explored your desires with another woman. I don’t want to push you too far or too fast just because of my own confidence.’
Cynthia could appreciate Helena’s concern. But it wasn’t warranted. ‘If I asked you to stop, would you?’ She knew the answer, but she also knew Helena needed to say the words.
‘Of course.’
‘Exactly. And Iwillask… if anything crosses my boundaries. I swear it.’
Helena brought Cynthia’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against the sensitive pads of her fingers. Such a simple gesture, and yet an explosion detonated in Cynthia’s core.
She licked her bottom lip, then caught it between her teeth. The trickling need that had been building since Helena arrived became a rushing river. ‘I would very much like to kiss you, Helena Blair. If you would allow me such liberties.’ It was glorious to take the lead, even if she wasn’t quite sure where they were going.
A small smile curled Helena’s lip, and Cynthia was charmed. ‘Is this part of you remaking yourself?’
Cynthia slowly shook her head. Sunlight warmed her skin while a different fire heated her from within. ‘No. I’m quite certain this is me reclaiming myself. Will you let me try? To kiss you?’ The need was so desperate, she wondered if one could die from wanting.
Helena tangled her hand in Cynthia’s hair and held tight, an anchor keeping Cynthia tethered to the moment.
Cynthia traced the back of her fingers along Helena’s jaw. Her skin was softer than silk.
‘I will let you do whatever you please, Lady Burrows.’
Cynthia recoiled from the title. She needed to shed the name that never belonged to her. It tied her to a life she wanted to leave behind. ‘Not Lady Burrows. Not Miss Cynthia Grey. Just Cyn. Will you call me that?’
‘Cyn and Hel. What a pair we make.’
Cynthia closed the distance between them. She paused a moment away from Helena’s lips, waiting for permission. It was the sweetest kiss she had ever experienced, and they hadn’t even started yet.
‘Kiss me.’ The need in Helena’s voice was unmistakable.
A dam burst free in Cynthia as a rush of unfiltered need washed through her. She pressed her mouth against Helena’s and tasted the honey from her tea. Tentatively, she traced the seam of Helena’s lips with her tongue, as the flavour deepened, growing more complex.
