Chapter 7 #2
Silas immediately straightened, his expression shifting to one of practiced calm.
“Good morning,” he said, his tone polite, though carefully measured. He turned his attention back to his sister. “I was wondering if you’d taken the time to practice your lessons this morning.”
Amelia blinked, a sudden shift in her demeanor. “I…I suppose I’ve forgotten. I was so eager to get outside.” She shrugged, her innocent grin spreading across her face.
Silas felt a flicker of impatience, but he kept it carefully in check. He had allowed Amelia more freedom than was perhaps wise, and now it was time to guide her back onto the proper path firmly, yet without unnecessary harshness.
“So take care of your lessons before you go outside,” he instructed, his voice steady and controlled.
“And what if I don’t want to?” Amelia tossed back, a playful edge to her tone, though he could see the challenge in her eyes.
His jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “You know better than this, Amelia. Your lessons are not optional.”
Amelia’s grin faltered, but she lifted her chin, defiance glimmering in her eyes. “I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need you to remind me what to do.”
Silas’s gaze softened slightly, though his jaw remained set. “No, you’re not a child. But you are still young enough to make poor choices. You’ve been entrusted with responsibilities, and it’s time you took them seriously. Doing so will serve you far better than arguing now.”
Helena’s voice cut through, calm yet firm. “His Grace is right, Amelia. You need to focus on your studies. There will be time for the outdoors later. Why don’t you let me help you? It might make things easier.”
Amelia blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “You? Help me?” she asked, tilting her head, a skeptical frown tugging at her lips.
“Yes,” Helena said smoothly. “If you’d like some assistance, I can help you focus. It will make the work go faster, and make it all less frustrating.”
Silas watched the exchange, noting the subtle shift in the room. Amelia seemed to pause, considering it, and he found himself quietly pleased. Helena had intervened in just the right way—direct, confident, yet gentle—and it had the desired effect.
“Well,” Amelia said finally, sighing dramatically and leaning back slightly, “I suppose I can’t argue with that, can I? Fine. I’ll let you help me, but only because I’m being magnanimous.”
Silas resisted the urge to smile at the way Amelia tried to mask her reluctant acceptance.
Helena returned a small, knowing smile. “I promise it won’t be so bad. We’ll start with what’s giving you the most trouble.”
Silas stepped back, folding his arms. His gaze lingered on them both, analyzing the situation as he often did.
He cleared his throat, his voice measured and even. “Don’t waste time. I’ll leave you to it.”
Amelia turned her eyes to him with a mockingly sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Silas. We’ll get through it without too much trouble, I hope.”
Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder. “If either of you need anything,” he said, “you know where to find me.”
Amelia muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “And you’ll probably be watching us anyway.”
He resisted the instinct to respond to her teasing. There was no need to engage in games today; he had matters far more pressing to consider.
With a final glance at them both, he left the room.
Yet his mind lingered, as it always did, on Helena. The situation with her remained complicated, and, perhaps for the first time, somewhat beyond his control.
That thought unsettled him far more than he would admit.
A couple of hours later, Helena was in the sewing room, assisting the seamstress in making her a few more gowns. Apparently, there were bolts and bolts of cloth in storage for just that purpose.
Suddenly, Amelia breezed into the room.
“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Helena spread out her arms. “Well, you have found me.”
Amelia took the chair next to Helena. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hemming this gown.”
Amelia frowned. “Isn’t that the seamstress’s job?”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“Yes, it is.” Amelia grabbed her arm. “Now leave her to it and let’s go.”
Gently, Helena removed Amelia’s hand from her arm. “Or we could stay here. There’s much to be done. The lace needs to be unfurled and straightened out. Would you mind doing it?”
Amelia stared at her with wide uncertain eyes. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”
“Why not?” Helena asked. “Are you averse to needles?”
Amelia snorted. “No that’s not it…” She bit her bottom lip, thinking about it. “I suppose I could… help?”
Helena smiled. “It will go much faster if you do, then I can have some clothes to wear.”
Amelia relaxed and smiled. “You’re right. What would you like me to do?”
Helena pointed at the lace, which was all bunched together. She showed Amelia how to straighten it out, keeping an eye on her as she continued to mend.
The other girl was quite proficient, however, and extremely focused on what she was doing, so she did not need much help. Helena smiled fondly at the picture Amelia made: biting her tongue, brow furrowed as she concentrated hard on her task, wanting to do it exactly right.
Being at St. Margaret’s had taught Helena that it was best for a woman to have as many skills as possible. She flicked her eyes at the seamstress, wondering if she might learn from her how to make gowns.
It’s a way to earn a living.
She put that out of her mind for the moment, focusing on hemming her gown and keeping an eye on Amelia.
It wasn’t long before the other girl had finished straightening the lace, and she sat with her legs tucked underneath her on the bench, entertaining both Helena and the seamstress with endless stories about her life.
She told them about all the interesting dinner guests they hosted from time to time, from foreigners coming from the continent, the new world, and even the Far East to lords and ladies from London, Wales and Scotland passing through on their travels.
“Silas is usually good about letting me sit and hear all their stories. Especially his friend Benedict, the Marquess of Richmont. He’s so handsome, so refined that I sometimes cannot face him or speak to him at all!
” She shook her head. “It’s quite embarrassing.
The worst part is that he has a beautiful head of blonde hair, and the most striking green eyes I have ever seen.
But I bet he thinks I’m just a little foolish girl,” she said dejectedly.
Helena rubbed her shoulder consolingly, unable to hide her smile. “I am sure he knew what a lovely, compassionate, interesting person you are.”
“I hope so. I would hate to seem foolish like that in front of my brother’s friends. He’s done so much for me, and I only hope that I’ll measure up to it when I come of age.”
Helena’s smile widened. “You already are measuring up to it.”
Helena was sitting in the gazebo, enjoying the view and reading her book, while Amelia was off to her music lessons. She was surprised to realize that she was smiling.
Just being in this beautiful garden, surrounded by gorgeous flowers giving off lovely scents, made her feel calm and at peace.
Maybe even happy.
The sound of approaching footsteps made her look up. Her heart skipped. She was not expecting anyone. Her eyes widened as she saw Silas striding towards her, his expression tight, controlled, but there was a tension in him she recognized instantly.
She straightened, her spine rigid, as he came to a stop in front of her. His tall frame cast a shadow over her, blotting out the sunlight.
“Lady Helena.”
“Your Grace,” she curtsied, her heartbeat picking up now he was standing closer to her.
“I heard that you…taught Amelia how to do some sewing,” he said, voice low but edged with frustration.
“Oh. Yes, I did. I was helping out the seamstress—”
“Which you did not have to,” he cut her off. “You’re a guest here, not part of the staff.”
She pressed her lips together. “I am not used to idleness, Your Grace. Or, at least, I’ve forgotten it.”
She noticed his jaw tighten for a moment before he responded, “Well, whatever the case may be, any kind of household labor isn’t required of you. In fact, I forbid you from it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Forbid?”
“Yes. I assume if I were your guest in your home, my lady, you wouldn’t like me digging the vegetable beds, would you?”
Helena blinked at him, but her mind betrayed her.
She imagined him bent over the dark, rich soil, muscles straining, a sheen of sweat glistening across his broad shoulders, his shirt clinging in all the wrong—or right—places.
Her cheeks heated at the image, and she bit the inside of her cheek to bring herself to reality.
“Well, um, I suppose not, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
“Good, then you’ll leave the work to the staff from now on, then?” he raised his eyebrows, and she nodded.
He paused for a long moment, studying her up and down, and Helena’s toes curled in her shoes, every part of her hoping that he wouldn’t be able to read the wanton image her mind had conjured of him.
“Erm, is that all, Your Grace?” she prompted.
His eyes narrowed, though not in anger, but in thought.
“No,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wished to talk about Amelia. Today you convinced her to attend to her studies first, then showed her a skill which she’d never agree to learn on her own…
Well, I mean to say that she’s difficult to guide.
I struggle with how to reach her sometimes, how to make her listen. ”
Helena’s gaze softened. She could tell he wasn’t looking for argument; he was genuinely admitting a small truth, however briefly.
“Perhaps,” she said gently, “she responds better when she feels understood, rather than told. Small lessons, meaningful ones, often do more than orders shouted across a room.”
He studied her, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. “Meaningful lessons…hmm. I see. And you think I should…?”
“Show her why it matters,” Helena suggested, her voice steady. “Even something as simple as a stitch can teach her patience, care, focus. If she understands why, rather than just being told, she’ll listen.”
For a moment, he was silent, absorbing her words. The set of his jaw relaxed fractionally, the sharpness in his gaze softening.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Helena felt a faint thrill at the rare acknowledgment. The garden seemed to still around them, along with the distant hum of bees and the rustle of leaves, yet all she could feel was him. His presence, warm and imposing, close enough to make her pulse quicken.
He stepped a fraction nearer, and Helena’s breath hitched. She could sense the energy between them, the unspoken pull of proximity, and the faint brush of his coat as he shifted. Her fingers itched to reach out, yet she stayed frozen, aware that the moment held the fragile weight of possibility.
Then he drew back, reclaiming his composure. “I have work to attend to,” he said, voice steady but softer than before. “Do take care with Amelia. And…thank you. For your insight.”
Helena’s hands rested lightly on her book, her chest fluttering. “You’re welcome, Your Grace,” she murmured.
He gave her a brief, curt nod, then turned and walked away, leaving her with the lingering impression of his presence and the echo of his words.
Her heart still raced, and she felt a cool breeze on her cheeks, though it did nothing to mellow the heat left by his nearness.
You’re only a guest here. Nothing more, she reminded herself.
Sighing softly, she picked up her book, trying to settle her thoughts.
Yet the memory of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, and the almost-tangible tension made it impossible to focus entirely on the garden.