Chapter 22 #2
Finally, the performances started, and the guests settled down.
As a trio played a lively piece before them, Matteo watched Helena from the corner of his eye.
Her hair, which was swept up in an elegant chignon, allowed him to see the line of her neck.
She had a small smile on her face as she listened to the music soar to a crescendo.
Look at me.
He could count the number of times that Helena had looked directly at him since they left Huntington House.
Why will you not look at me?
Matteo gave himself a mental shake. He must stop. Had he not known that their arrangement would end? Had he not himself conceptualized the whole thing? Why then was he acting as if she had reneged on their agreement when she had merely lived up to it?
I am a fool of a man. A conceited fool of a man!
For indeed, he was just that. He had thought that all his worldly knowledge, all his years of experience, would save him from the most common affliction that claimed man. Love.
What else could it be? What else could this raw, desperate feeling to have Helena by his side be?
The past three days of not seeing her, of not being with her had been almost unbearable.
And now, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they truly separated was something that Matteo dreaded.
After the remaining events, we shall finish this. And then, Your Grace, we must never meet again.
Helena’s words echoed in his mind.
Never meet again.
The pain that had pierced his heart when she said those words was his proof.
I am in love with Helena Ayles.
Well, now he knew that he was not immune to love. He had thought too much of his abilities, and now he would pay the price.
An intermission was announced when the first set of performances was done. Matteo stood up and offered his hand to Helena. When she placed her hand in his, he almost sighed with relief.
“We can greet our friends if you prefer to do so now,” Matteo said in an even tone.
Helena nodded her head without speaking. Indeed, she hardly looked at him.
“I see Lady Chapman, shall we go to her?” Matteo said.
“Yes, let us start there. Thank you.”
They made their rounds among their friends and acquaintances, both of them acting and speaking to other people as they had done on previous occasions.
When the start of the next set was announced, Matteo sighed with relief. It was getting harder and harder to pretend.
Refreshments were served at the end of the performances. Footmen carrying flutes of wine walked about the room, offering the guests.
Matteo, Helena, and Chastity were in a group with Chastity’s friends. Matteo maintained a steady flow of conversation with the group.
“The Austrian Quintet was the best of the performances in my opinion,” Matteo said, smiling. “If my memory serves me well, it is the same family of musicians that I had the pleasure of watching during my Grand Tour.”
“Then they must have multiple generations, for the members of this quintet seem too young to have performed during your Grand Tour, Your Grace,” Chastity said.
“You wound me, Lady Chastity!” Matteo said dramatically. “How old do you think I am?”
Laughter met his question. Matteo glanced quickly in Helena’s direction to see her covering her mouth.
The others gave their opinions on who the best performer was, and the exchange ran on in this easy way. Although Helena contributed to the conversation now and then, not a word was spoken directly to him.
Matteo had to stop himself several times during the event from taking her hand in his.
He now realized how the simple act had become quite habitual to him.
Holding her hand in his as they milled about, as they talked to others, had become so natural to him that he now had to exert effort to stop himself from doing just that.
Matteo also realized that he missed holding Helena’s hand.
To all the world, Matteo appeared the dutiful fiancée. Always by Helena’s side, offering her drinks, escorting her, assisting her when needed.
When it was time to leave, he escorted Helena and Chastity back to his carriage. The drive to Huntington House was a silent one. Even Chastity, who had been quite lively during the musicale, had become silent and gloomy.
Only when they arrived did any of them speak.
“I shall see you on Friday,” Matteo said as he handed Helena and Chastity down from the carriage.
“On Friday?” Chastity asked, confused. “Will you not be joining us tomorrow at the Kew Gardens and on Wednesday at Lady Lister’s dinner and at Almack’s, Your Grace?”
“I am afraid that I shall not, Lady Chastity.”
“Oh,” Chastity said. She was about to say something else, but Helena spoke over her, leaving Chastity frowning at her sister.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Helena said, then hastily added, “Would you care to join us for some tea before you leave?”
Matteo studied her for a moment, trying to read beyond her words, but he found that, this time, he could not read her expression.
“Perhaps not tonight. I think it wise for me to leave now. Good evening, Lady Helena.”
As soon as they entered Huntington House, Helena said a hasty good night to Chastity. Without waiting for an answer, she hurried to her bedchamber. She had no wish for her sister or anyone else to witness the tears that were forming in her eyes.
Once inside her chambers, she closed the door and leaned against it.
Matteo had never spoken to her in such a polite and nonchalant way as he did just then. It felt to her as if he had turned into a different person. But perhaps so did she. Perhaps this was the best way, to pretend that they had not formed this—this… She did not even know what to call it.
In the dimness of her rooms, she rubbed at the tears that streamed down her cheeks, berating herself.
Had she never let her feelings for Matteo grow, had she stayed focused only on her sister, Chastity would not have become so distant, so secretive.
And she would not be in such pain. She knew how their arrangement was to end. She had only herself to blame.
It is my fault.