Chapter 8 #4
Helena remained in the doorway, uncertain whether to announce herself or withdraw.
During the past week they had spoken every day, yet since the morning after their wedding, when he had asked whether she believed she could find happiness in the life they had chosen, neither of them had ventured beyond the usual subjects.
She realized, with some surprise, that she no longer knew how to begin a conversation that belonged only to the two of them.
Before he noticed her, Helena stepped back into the corridor.
She returned upstairs more slowly than she had descended, the candle casting long shadows along the walls.
Within her own chambers, as she drew back the covers, her eyes came to rest upon the connecting door between her room and Tristan's.
It remained closed, as it had each night since their marriage. For a moment she stood looking at it. She thought it strange that sharing a house with Tristan had become so effortless, while speaking to him of anything beyond the ordinary had somehow become so difficult.
At last, she extinguished the candle and climbed into bed, carrying the thought with her into the darkness.
Chapter 10
The family had gathered for breakfast as usual, and Tristan noted that, apart from the morning after Helena had become his wife, Oliver had not disappeared before breakfast again.
Since Helena had found him hiding away in the room used for storage on the fourth floor, the boy had appeared at the breakfast table every morning without protest. That morning he sat between Beatrice and Helena, confidently informing them both that when he one day married, his wife would have to join the family just as Helena had.
Tristan buttered his toast and noticed Helena had yet to reach for the strawberry jam. He waited, knowing she always did, and would shortly, before he helped himself. Leaning back in his chair with a sip of coffee, he let his gaze wander around the table.
Only a week had passed since their wedding, yet he had already become accustomed to the rhythm Helena brought to the house.
He knew the sound of her footsteps in the passage outside his study without thinking of it, that she always reached for the strawberry jam after finishing her eggs, and which cakes she favored when tea was served.
More remarkable still was the difference she made without ever seeming to try. A light-hearted remark or a few well-chosen words were often enough to divert Oliver, Beatrice, or Georgiana before tempers could take hold.
Helena set the jam pot back upon the table, and Tristan drew it toward himself, spreading a spoonful across his toast as she resumed the story she had been telling Beatrice about a walk she and Charlotte had taken.
"It was absolutely pouring! And it had been sunny when we arrived at the park. We tried to hurry in as ladylike a fashion as we could, but both found ourselves slipping in the mud and clinging to one another for dear life." Helena laughed, shaking her head at the memory.
"By the time we reached the pavilion, where several older ladies had taken shelter, we realized they had witnessed the entire spectacle and were tutting their disapproval. Naturally, neither of us could stop laughing, which only prompted further comments about youthful high spirits."
"They would be horrified to see me on the estate then," Beatrice replied, sharing in her laughter.
"I was once caught in a storm while walking through the gardens.
I simply gathered up my skirts and ran as fast as I could.
Our poor butler could hardly keep a straight face when he saw the muddy state I was in. "
"The ton would indeed have been horrified," Helena agreed. "It is as though we are expected to be delicate creatures whose greatest accomplishments are playing the pianoforte and deciding who ought to sit beside whom at dinner."
"Before I forget," Tristan interjected, "Nathaniel is joining us for dinner this evening." He glanced toward Helena. "I trust that does not inconvenience you."
"Not in the slightest," Helena answered.
"Excellent." He turned to Georgiana. "Then perhaps you might favor us with something on the pianoforte after dinner. I cannot remember the last time I heard you practicing."
Georgiana very nearly rolled her eyes. "I do practice, brother, I promise. I simply enjoy ribbons and bonnets rather more than scales."
"I shall play as well," Helena offered with a smile. "Then you need only perform one piece instead of entertaining us all evening."
"Do you truly enjoy it that much?" Georgiana asked.
"Very much indeed. I have always loved music," Helena responded honestly.
Georgiana's face brightened. "Then if you play two pieces, I shall only have to play one."
Tristan chuckled. "Taking advantage of Helena's enthusiasm, are you?"
"I merely wish to hear her play. I have not had the opportunity yet." Georgiana looked at him with exaggerated innocence, her eyelashes fluttering prettily.
"You had best save that look for the eligible gentlemen of the Season, Georgie," Tristan replied. "It will not work on me."
The conversation continued long after breakfast had ended, and although Tristan would ordinarily have excused himself as soon as he had finished eating to begin the day's work, he remained where he was.
Oliver had launched into another elaborate tale, Georgiana interrupting often enough to challenge every improbable detail, while Beatrice and Helena laughed between offering their own observations.
The correspondence waiting upon his desk and the estate business requiring his attention seemed, for once, content to wait.
Only when Oliver's story gave way to another did Tristan realize he had made no attempt to leave.
Breakfast had become a part of the day he no longer hurried through.
Somewhere over the past week, the familiar bustle of the morning had taken on a different character, and he found himself reluctant to exchange it for an empty study.
The reason sat opposite him in a dusty rose morning gown.
He could not deny the color of the gown did her every justice, bringing warmth to her chestnut curls and making her gray eyes appear almost silver.
As she laughed at something Georgiana had said, he caught himself smiling before he thought better of it.
Tristan abandoned the smile as quickly as it had come, pushing his chair back and rising from the table. "I shall be in the study when you are ready," he said, glancing toward Helena.
"I shall not be long."
With a nod, he left the morning room.
As he crossed the hall toward the study, his thoughts returned once again to the warning contained in the baron's letter.
He had dismissed it initially and had resolved to pay it no attention.
Yet, despite that resolve, the words found their way back into his thoughts with irritating persistence, leaving him unable to dismiss them entirely.
Seated behind his desk, Tristan broke the seal on a letter from his steward, who remained at Blackmere. As he read through the contents, his attention drifted now and then toward the door, waiting for the familiar knock that would announce Helena's arrival.
It came a few moments later.
"Come in."
Helena stepped inside, carrying the notebook she had taken to bringing with her each morning. Once she had taken her seat on the chair opposite him, Tristan folded the letter and set it aside before opening a drawer and withdrawing a neat stack of invitations.
"There is little of consequence to discuss this morning beyond the family's social engagements for next week.
" He placed the invitations upon the desk between them.
"Fortunately, no one thinks it remarkable for newlyweds to disappear for a week after the wedding, so we have not neglected Georgiana's prospects.
A longer honeymoon, however, would have meant leaving her first Season to others, and I was unwilling to do that. "
"I had not even thought of a honeymoon," Helena admitted. "Were you considering one after the Season?"
Tristan paused. In truth, the matter hadn’t even crossed his mind. Their marriage had begun under circumstances neither of them had anticipated, and practical matters had occupied his thoughts far more than tradition.
"I confess I had not yet given the matter much thought," he said. "It seemed wiser to see Georgiana through her first Season before deciding upon any plans, and before speaking with you about what you might prefer."
A faint blush colored Helena's cheeks as her gaze dropped to her hands resting in her lap. Tristan's eyes followed almost without thought. It still surprised him, from time to time, to see her without gloves.
The weeks before their marriage he had only seen her with gloves on, as was socially expected, yet there her hands turned the pages of books, poured tea, reached across the breakfast table for the strawberry preserves, and rested before him as naturally as though nothing had changed at all.
The familiarity of it felt strangely new.
"I do not believe it is necessary," Helena said after a moment. "It was never discussed as part of our arrangement. Unless, of course, you mean for the whole family to spend some time away from both London and the estate."
She looked up, meeting his eyes only briefly before lowering them again.
There had been a time, only a few weeks before, when she had trusted him with the pain of her broken engagement, speaking with a candor she no longer seemed to possess. Marriage had placed them beneath the same roof, yet in some respects they stood farther apart than they had before.
"We need not decide today," Tristan said gently.
"We can return to the matter another time.
" He gathered the invitations and passed them to her.
As she accepted them, his fingers brushed hers.
The contact lasted no more than an instant before she drew the invitations into her lap, yet he found himself oddly aware of the touch.