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Helen let out a chuckle.

“Well, they don’t itch on everyone,” Olivia elaborated. “Caroline was responsible for half of this wardrobe, and she knows the best seamstresses and the most beautiful designs. However, I can’t wear them. And since Jarvis doesn’t care about what I look like, I decided to get rid of all the ones that I do not intend to wear.”

Helen slowly spun around the room, looking at the heaps of clothing. “And you want me to help you decide which ones you want to be rid of?”

Olivia waved a careless hand. “No. I can do that on my own. Although, I do not mind the company. What I was thinking about is the women’s shelter. Lavinia said they take in childbed linen, but surely women need clothes, too.”

Helen raised her brows. “You want to give away your ballroom gowns to the women’s shelter?”

“Um… yes?” Olivia hesitated.

“I love your generosity, darling, but I think most of these are far too extravagant for the women in that shelter. Lavinia said the women there are working women. Not ladies.”

Olivia shrugged. “Well, they can cut them up and use the fabrics, can’t they?”

Helen rubbed the beautiful silk fabric of one of the gowns between her fingers. It would be a shame to dismantle such a beautiful piece of art. Caroline certainly did have wonderful taste in clothes. “Perhaps. I shall definitely take them with me if you wish and see if they can put these gowns to use. If we ever get there, that is.” Now that Jarvis had left, she wondered if she’d ever visit the shelter. She turned toward Olivia. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful of you.”

Olivia came closer to her. “If you want, you can take some of these gowns for yourself.”

Helen scrunched up her nose. “I am probably not going to be in the public eye that much. But do not worry. Your items won’t go to waste.”

Olivia visibly brightened up. “Do you want to look through the clothes that I have?”

“Absolutely!” Helen perched on the corner of Olivia’s bed and spent a few minutes watching Olivia showcase one gown after another, describing the positives and drawbacks of a given outfit, making Helen laugh.

She recalled where she wore them and if the gown was responsible for any unfortunate incidents, which most of them were.

Olivia was like a beam of light shining through the dull and gray social season. Helen was glad that Jarvis loved and appreciated her for who she was. In a marriage with any other lord, her spark would have been extinguished.

Olivia was putting away some of her gowns when Helen saw the mask on top of Olivia’s dresser. It was a gorgeous white silk domino, with green leaves and olives embroidered in the top right corner and hanging down the side. Helen walked toward it and took the mask into her hands. She ran a finger against the silk. “And what about this? What is this mask responsible for?”

Olivia came closer to Helen and peeked at the mask in her hands. “Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “I had this mask made for the Kensington masquerade ball, but I didn’t wear it.”

“Why not?”

Olivia took the mask from Helen’s slack fingers and walked to stand behind her. Olivia pressed her mask against Helen’s face, and she instinctively raised her hands to keep the mask in place as Olivia tied it behind her.

“It chafed. Right here.” Olivia touched Helen’s temple where the ribbon met the mask.

Helen turned toward Olivia and the latter giggled. “Look!” She picked up a little mirror from the dresser and handed it to Helen.

Helen peeked into the mirror and an involuntary smile graced her lips. She was unrecognizable.

“It suits you well,” Olivia exclaimed. “Doesn’t it chafe?”

Helen couldn’t quite avert her eyes from her own reflection. “It doesn’t. Um… maybe a little. I didn’t notice.”

“Then you should keep it.” Olivia stepped away and continued rummaging through her things as if the conversation was over.

“I don’t think that I am going to attend masquerades.”

“Oh, but you should! Society offers freedom to widows.” Olivia turned her excited face toward Helen and then clamped her lips shut. “Apologies. I did not mean to imply that it’s good that you’re a widow. But if you look on the bright side of things—”

“I understand,” Helen interrupted Olivia’s apologetic mumblings. Masquerades. No, they were not something Helen considered attending. From what she’d heard, they were loud, crowded affairs just like regular balls, except that people felt they could act loose behind their masks. And perhaps she would have loved to attend one with Greyson in the past, but not on her own.

But there was a place where this mask would be useful. A place she’d been curious about for a few days now.

The brothel.