Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Helena lay in bed, feeling too lazy to rise.
Her mind, now awake, was commanding her body to wake up as well.
But it refused, and it was a good amount of time before she found herself rising.
Indeed, Sally had entered her room with the intention of rousing her, mistakenly thinking that she had overslept.
As she prepared for the day, Helena ran through her mind the tasks that she must accomplish for the day. The first of which was a meeting with her father and mother. She was not exactly dreading meeting them, but she was not excited about it either.
Deciding to get the task over with. She focused and called on her willpower.
“Which names will you give Mama and Papa?” Chastity asked Helena as they left the breakfast room.
“The four gentlemen who have been calling quite regularly now. Lord Fleetwood, Lord Algate, Sir Abington, and Lord Strong.”
“What do you think they will say?” Chastity fidgeted with her hands; her smooth forehead was creased.
“That you have done very well for your first ball, I imagine.” Helena smoothed a fallen lock from her sister’s hair. “Worry not, dearest, they will be proud of you. I am proud of you. You have displayed such growth, such grace. I can hardly believe that you are still my little Chassy.”
Chastity’s eyes softened at the pet name. She embraced Helena so suddenly that the other exclaimed in surprise.
“I am glad I have you, Helena.”
Helena sniffed as she fought back the tears that threatened to form in her eyes.
“Oh, away with you now. I can hardly meet Papa and Mama with red-rimmed eyes.” Helena said, laughing. “Be ready in half an hour, for we are to head to the modiste for the fitting of the last of your new gowns.”
“I shall.”
Chastity walked away, glancing back one more time. She smiled at her sister.
Helena took a deep breath and composed herself as she stood outside the door of her father’s study. When she felt ready, she knocked.
“Come in.”
“Good morning, Papa.” Helena curtsied to Lord Edmund Ayles, the Earl of Huntington, who sat behind his desk, a stack of correspondence laid out before him.
Then she turned to the settee beside the fire where her mother, Lady Clarissa Ayles, the Countess of Huntington, sat. Since her sisters had outgrown their need for a governess, once a month, she met with her parents in this fashion to report to them her sisters’ progress in their education.
“A good morning to you as well, Mama.”
“Good morning, child.”
“Is everything coming along nicely?”
“Yes, Mama. Faith is doing very well in her lessons with the masters. I had to find a replacement for her painting lessons, but a referral from Dahlia solved that quickly. Grace is performing well in her lessons with her tutors as well. She was having some difficulties with her French; her verb conjugations need more polishing, but she has shown significant improvement. And Chastity has had a successful first ball. Has Lady Chapman informed you of her success?”
“Yes, I went to call on her yesterday.” Clarissa leaned over to pour milk into her tea. “She tells me that Chastity danced every dance and performed gracefully. Please tell your sister that your father and I are very pleased.”
Helena smiled at her mother’s words.
“Have you the list, Helena?” her father asked, looking up from his papers for the first time since Helena entered his study.
“Yes, Papa. Here it is.”
She went to her father’s desk and handed a pristine piece of parchment with the four names written on it. Her father read the names, pausing at each one.
“The Fleetwoods of Hampshire?”
“Yes, Papa.”
The earl nodded his approval.
“Algate, Abington, Strong. Quite opinionated for one so young and new in Parliament.”
“Lord Strong seems very serious about his duties and responsibilities,” Helena said.
“He would do better if he listened to those with more experience than himself first; he can form his opinions when he has understood matters better,” the earl added with a slight frown.
Helena deemed it better not to add anything to her father’s opinion on Lord Strong. She waited until her father was done with his study of Chastity’s suitors.
“Does Chastity favor one over the other?”
Helena tried to be as nonchalant as possible.
“She seems to prefer Lord Strong.”
Helena did not know what to make of her father’s replying grunt.
“We shall see if Chastity receives a proposal from any of them, but I am leaning towards Fleetwood.”
“Yes, father.” Inwardly, Helena deflated but was not very much surprised.
“Helena.”
Helena, who had been preparing to leave and thinking what to tell Chastity, resumed her position in front of the earl’s desk.
“Yes, father?”
“This is good work,” he gestured towards the list. “These gentlemen hail from good families. Their own persons, I hope to hear, have passed muster?”
“Yes, father.”
“Excellent.”
Edmund Ayles stood from behind his desk and went to Helena. He laid a hand on his eldest daughter’s shoulder.
“I have not forgotten our promise to you. Your mother and I fully intend to keep our end of the agreement so long as you do your part. Which I can see that you are.”
“Thank you, father. I take our agreement very seriously.”
“As you should, it is your future.”
“Pray tell, Helena,” her mother called to her. Turning, Helena looked at her mother. “You have not changed your mind about marriage?”
“No, mother, I have not.”
“You are still sure of your decision not to enter matrimony?”
“Yes. A townhouse of my own, a staff of my own, a carriage, a monthly allowance. Independence. My wishes have not changed, Mama.”
“Very well, marry off your sisters well, and your father and I will grant you your wishes as agreed upon, daughter.
“Yes, Mama.”
Matteo sat in the parlor of Valen House. His solicitor had sent a profusion of apologies for not being able to make it to their appointment, a personal emergency, he had said.
It was not a difficult matter for Matteo to set a new schedule for their agenda today. And he, being very satisfied with his solicitor’s work, was more than happy to accommodate him at another time.
But now, as he found himself quite alone, with more time on his hands than he knew what to do with—for the appointment was to last well until the evening, he poured a glass of brandy for himself. It was still quite early in the day, but as his time was now his, he excused himself.
He walked to the window, watching carriages and people pass by.
A tapping sound from the other window facing the gardens caught his attention. He walked towards it, wondering who could be tapping on the window and why.
Matteo grinned at the sight he saw.
A robin was repeatedly pecking on the panes of the window. It flitted about from pane to pane, repeating the movement.
“I have no worms for you, little robin,” he chuckled.
Not believing him, the robin continued with its activity. Matteo watched, as if enthralled, at the entertaining but futile task of the red-breasted bird. It was tireless, determined.
“Are you perhaps a mother robin looking for food for your chicks?”
He was reminded, unsurprisingly, of Helena Ayles.
A mother to her sisters, as Dahlia had described her once.
Indeed, seeing them in various situations, she had wondered why it was she and not their own mother, who performed those tasks.
Then again, what did he know of what mothers were tasked with aside from birthing their children?
He had no firsthand knowledge or experience of this, certainly not in terms of motherly affection.
Mother, look. It is you and Father.
The memory of his six-year-old self, proudly giving his mother a drawing that he had made of his parents, stole into his mind. She had looked at it for a few seconds, patted him on the head, and left without a word. He recalled the look of pity on his governess’s face.
Does she not like it? I tried so hard to make it look like them.
He forced the memory from out of his head, for if he let one slip in, others would surely follow.
No, he did not know what motherly duties or affections bestowed on their children felt like. Perhaps not every woman knew how to be a mother. And perhaps to some it came quite naturally. Like Helena’s protective care over her sisters, the way she accompanied Chastity everywhere.
I suppose that is one of the things that puzzles me about Helena Ayles.
“She may as well be her sisters’ mother.” Dahlia had said with censure aimed at the countess.
It seemed that she was tireless in her care for her sisters. A hollowness in him wanted to feel someone’s tireless care for him.
Matteo let out a long breath. He downed the remainder of his brandy in one gulp.
He must stop his woolgathering; it was making him maudlin.
His mind went back to Helena, to the thrill he felt when he was able to rile her. To the way her blue eyes turned fiery when she could not hold her temper back. He touched his cheek, remembering the slap she had bestowed there.
I deserved it, perhaps.
But the temporary sting had awoken a fire in him. It had been very fortunate that she had stormed off after that, for he wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her. To act, for once, on his rakish reputation.
He remembered how it had felt to have her close to him as they hid behind the hedge, her slim figure almost flush against his frame. The smell of her hair and of her skin was enough to distract him.
Before he could change his mind, he walked briskly to his study. Once there, he went to his desk and pulled out his writing implements.
He wanted something from Helena Ayles. He could not deny it any longer. But what it was, he was not entirely sure. He paused suddenly, thinking of his relationships with Peter and Dahlia.
“This will be complicated,” he said to himself. “I must tread with extra care.”
But he found that he must pursue it; he must pursue her.
“I am not entirely sure what I want from you, Lady Helena. So I shall let you decide what to bestow on me.”
It would be another slap perhaps, but Matteo was determined to try. An intensity in him would not let him be silent.
He put ink on paper.
“My lady.” Mr. Keble waited by the sitting room door.
Helena looked up from the letter she was writing and gave him her attention,
“A Penny Post messenger is waiting to hand you a missive,” the butler continued.
Surprised—and very curious, Helena stood up at once.
“Thank you, Mr. Keble. I shall see to it myself.”
She opened the front door where, indeed, the messenger stood patiently waiting for her.
“Lady Helena Ayles?”
“Yes.”
He handed her a sealed letter. When Helena started to reach into her purse to pay him, he stopped her.
“It has already been paid by the sender, m’lady.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
The messenger tipped his hat and went on his way.
She turned the letter over and looked at the wax seal perfectly intact.
Her heart leapt. She was very familiar with this particular coat of arms. As a young lady of the ton, she was expected to know the coat of arms of all the illustrious families; those of the ducal families were especially paid attention to.
This is the Duke of Valen’s coat of arms. Why would Matteo Castor be writing to me?
Aside from the fact that it was highly inappropriate, she could not imagine what he had to say to her that required it to be in the form of a letter. She hurried back to the sitting room.
Beyond curious, Helena, tore the seal open and unfolded the letter.
My Dear Lady Helena,
I am writing to give you an option. If you ever want to continue our arguments, please send word. I will be happy to meet with you in any location of your choosing. Perhaps there is something that we may both find desirable.
Know that, of course, all steps will be taken to ensure discretion.
I remain, your humble servant,
M.C.
Helena hid the letter so hastily behind her as if a crowd of people descended upon her to steal it. Very aware that her face turned red, she quickly went to the door and closed it.
Carefully, she read the letter again. The second reading, however, did not lessen the shock and annoyance she felt.
Matteo Castor dared write her such a letter!
She was greatly annoyed, incredulous and, yet, flattered as well.
Matteo Castor with his handsome face and irresistible charm, wished for her to form something with him.
More feelings seemed to explode within her, but the two strongest were polar opposites of each other.
Excitement and derision at the offer. Though she could only guess at what kind of offer it was.
Excitement, for she could not pretend to find him unattractive. It wasn’t just his face—for he was probably the handsomest man of her acquaintance—but it was his bearing as well, his confidence and ease that gave him his obvious appeal. No, she could not deny that she found him attractive.
She could not, of course, answer his letter. It went against everything that she had been taught, against everything that she had taught her sisters.
No, she decided to ignore the offending—she had finally decided that it was, indeed, offending—letter.
What is that man thinking? Has he lost his mind? Dahlia must never know; she will be so furious with him! And what of Peter? What is it called when a person kills their own friend? Amicicide? Stop!
She felt herself going insane.
This only proved that he was indeed a rake. A deviate. A libertine!
She would cast the letter into the fire. She went to the fireplace, but her traitorous hands did not seem to be responding. Instead of burning the letter, she folded it and tucked it into her book of poetry.
What possessed her to keep it, she did not know. And truthfully, she did not wish to find out. She would lock it in her desk drawer, yes, that was it.
She walked to her chambers directly. She tucked the book discreetly under her arm and walked as fast as she could without attracting attention.
When she reached her room, she let out the breath that she had not known she was holding.
Why she felt so guilty, Helena did not know, as well for she had not done anything wrong.
“Is keeping this letter considered a sin of omission?” she asked herself worriedly.
Cursing Matteo for making her question her morals, she vowed never to speak to the man again.
She opened her desk drawer and slid the book of poetry under her journal. She pushed the drawer closed and was more than relieved when the click of the lock sounded.
If she did not see it, then she was bound to forget about it.