Chapter 3 #3
She fully intended to keep a happy home, and she would gladly fulfil the duties expected of a wife. Yet she could not help thinking it rather unfortunate if a woman's highest ambition was expected to end there.
Helena shook her head, unable to decide whether to laugh at the absurdity or be offended by it.
Helena looked toward the doorway and wondered how much longer the butler might be.
Her gaze drifted back to the desk, where several letters lay beneath the leather writing pad.
One protruded just enough for the opening words to catch her eye. ‘My Dearest…’
She hesitated and thought it was surely intended for her. Lord Ravenscroft had addressed more than one of his letters in much the same manner. Curiosity got the better of her, and she gently drew the letter free.
Almost immediately she realized it had not been written for her at all.
There was warmth and tenderness in every line, more so than from the letters she had received, yet he spoke of moments she had never shared with him.
He wrote of an afternoon when they had been caught in the rain together, describing how beautiful she had looked beneath the shelter of an old oak while they waited for the shower to pass.
Later, he recalled what Helena deduced he was alluding to—a kiss—and read as he confessed that he found himself thinking of it more often than he ought.
Helena read the passage twice, scarcely believing what lay before her.
She and Lord Ravenscroft had never been caught in the rain, and he had certainly never kissed her.
Carefully, so as not to disturb anything, she slipped the letter back beneath the writing pad. Stepping away from the desk, she looked toward the open doorway, but her thoughts had already returned to Hyde Park. Was the young lady she had seen beside his carriage the recipient of the letter?
Or had there been others? She thought back to the many months of their engagement, remembering how grateful she had been for the patience he had shown while her father insisted upon settling every detail of the marriage.
She had taken it as evidence of his honor and devotion.
Suddenly she found herself wondering whether his patience had simply allowed him the freedom to pursue another attachment while he waited.
"My apologies, Miss Fairchild. I trust I have not kept you waiting long."
Helena turned as the butler reappeared in the doorway. "Not at all," she replied, forcing a pleasant smile as she lifted the book from the desk. "I took the opportunity to look through the book, thank you."
The butler bowed and motioned for her to follow. Helena did so without another glance at the study, though the contents of the letter remained very much at the forefront of her mind.
Once she reached the ballroom, the butler bowed and quietly withdrew.
Helena hardly noticed the guests around her as she crossed the room toward the terrace.
The cool evening air was exactly what she needed.
Although several ladies and gentlemen stood in small groups engaged in conversation, the terrace was peaceful compared with the crowded ballroom, and she found a place near the stone balustrade where she might gather her thoughts unseen.
She rested her gloved hands upon the cool stone and looked out over the gardens.
The letter replayed itself in her mind, each sentence more impossible than the last. There could be no misunderstanding.
Lord Ravenscroft had written it to another woman, and with an affection he had never once shown to her.
Helena closed her eyes for a moment. Whatever explanation he might offer, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She could not marry a man whose word she could no longer trust. The engagement must come to an end; she would speak to her father in the morning, deciding she would not do anything that might cause a scene before so many guests at the ball.
"Helena?"
She turned at the familiar voice and found Tristan approaching, a glass of lemonade in one hand.
A grateful smile touched her lips as she accepted the glass. "Thank you. I found myself in need of a little fresh air. It is exceedingly warm in there with so many people."
"It is." He studied her for a moment. There was nothing intrusive in his manner, only concern. "What is it?"
Helena lowered her eyes to the glass in her hands.
"It is not something to be spoken of tonight.
" The humiliation of what she had discovered, and of what the next day would inevitably bring, was almost more than she wished to bear.
She drew a breath before looking up again.
"I am quite well," she said with a small smile that failed to reach her eyes. "I promise."
Tristan regarded her for another moment and nodded. "I shall not ask another question," he said quietly. "But if ever you find yourself in need of a friend, you have one."
Later, as Helena rode home in the carriage with her parents, Lady Fairchild chatted cheerfully about the acquaintances she had renewed, the gowns she had admired, and the success of the evening.
Helena answered when expected, offering the appropriate smiles and replies, yet her thoughts never strayed far from the letter she had found in Lord Ravenscroft's study.
She could no longer deny that she had misjudged his character, however much the realization wounded her pride. The gentleman she had believed herself to know had existed only because he had carefully allowed her to see that version of himself.