Chapter 14
The following evening, Tristan waited in the entrance hall at the foot of the staircase, his thoughts returning to the previous afternoon.
Helena had joined the family for tea, sat with them in the drawing room, and dined with them that evening, yet their conversation had remained much as it always did.
Still, he could not put from his mind the sight of Elinor's writing box, the one that had stood upon her dressing table when they were married, resting in Helena's lap. It was not merely the sight of the box that occupied his thoughts, but Helena's expression when she realized he had seen it.
She had offered an explanation, yet he had not been entirely persuaded. Coupled with the anonymous notes, it left him wondering what she believed she could not tell him, and how much she had chosen to keep to herself.
"What do you think, Beatrice?" Georgiana asked as she stepped from the last stair. "The midnight blue becomes me rather well, does it not?"
"Indeed. Paired with your modesty, you have quite outdone yourself," Beatrice laughed. "It does become you, and I think it is the perfect gown for the Harbury Ball. Charlotte insists it shall be the event of the Season."
Tristan looked his sister over with an approving nod. "Very well done, Georgiana. Mama's pearls suit you admirably." His gaze dropped briefly to her slippers. "And I trust those ivory satin slippers are not intending to accept a dance from Lord Ravenscroft."
Georgiana gave a small huff. "Why should I refuse him? He is a baron, and a handsome one besides. We are merely acquainted, and I can see no disadvantage in being seen dancing with a gentleman of his standing."
"Well, he was your sister-in-law's fiancé before she married me," Tristan replied, holding her gaze. "Besides, I would rather see your dance card filled with gentlemen who may genuinely hope to win your regard."
"Indeed, he was her fiancé," Georgiana answered. There was something in the way she said it that gave Tristan pause.
"Tristan, is Nathaniel attending?" Beatrice interjected.
"Indeed, he…" The words fell away as Helena appeared at the top of the staircase.
Candlelight from the hall caught the silk of her gown, its warm golden hue seeming almost liquid as it shimmered with each measured step.
The color drew out the honey tones threaded through the curls of her chestnut hair, while the cool gray of her eyes appeared all the more striking against it.
She wore no elaborate ornament beyond a string of pearls at her throat and a pair of matching earrings, yet she required nothing more.
Tristan found himself watching her descent in silence. For one brief moment the hall, the conversation, and even the anticipation of the evening ahead faded from his thoughts. There was only Helena.
"Indeed, he is planning to attend?" Beatrice finished for him, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
Tristan cleared his throat. "Yes... indeed."
"I hope I have not kept you waiting." Helena smiled as she reached the foot of the staircase. "Mary insisted upon a more elaborate arrangement for the ball."
Her chestnut hair had been arranged delicately, soft curls framing her face while pearl pins caught the candlelight among the darker strands.
Tristan smiled. "Not at all. You look remarkably well this evening, Helena."
Her lips parted in evident surprise before a smile answered his own. As he offered his arm, she accepted it with grace, and together they crossed the hall toward the front door, where the footmen waited with their coats.
A short while later they were seated in the carriage, Helena opposite him. Beatrice and Georgiana spoke with cheerful anticipation of the evening ahead, but Tristan didn’t even try to follow their conversation.
Helena happened to glance up and found him looking at her. Rather than looking away, she held his gaze. There was the faintest lift of her brows, a silent question that brought an unexpected smile to his face.
He laughed softly beneath his breath and turned toward the carriage window, though the passing streets held little interest. Before long, his attention returned to Helena once more.
Once they had been announced, Tristan led Helena through the ballroom upon his arm, exchanging the occasional smile with her as they greeted acquaintances. The room was lit beneath the light of hundreds of candles suspended from glittering crystal chandeliers, casting a glow on all the guests.
Ladies in silks of every color drifted among gentlemen in dark evening coats, while the strains of the orchestra floated from the musicians' gallery above. Fresh greenery and white roses adorned the columns, lending the vast room both elegance and fragrance.
They had attended many gatherings together since their marriage, yet that evening felt different.
Ordinarily, Helena would be occupied guiding Georgiana through introductions and conversation, but with Beatrice at her sister’s side, as well as Charlotte, Tristan found himself rather grateful to have Helena at his own.
"I believe there is to be a waltz this evening," Tristan said, a smile slowly forming. "Would you do your husband the honor?"
Helena lifted her eyes to his, color rising gently to her cheeks. "Most certainly." Her smile matched his own. "I do not think we have danced since our wedding."
Tristan looked at her thoughtfully. "I have just realized I cannot remember whether I told you how becoming you looked on our wedding day."
Helena laughed softly. "I am quite certain you did. You have always been most considerate."
"Then permit me to repeat myself." He lowered his voice as they continued across the room. "I believed I had never seen you look better... until this evening. That gown becomes you exceedingly well."
For a brief moment Helena simply looked at him, surprise plain upon her features before warmth spread into her smile. "You are most generous, and rather handsome yourself."
Tristan found himself smiling in return, feeling the warmth of her compliment stirring in his chest.
"Come," he said, offering his arm once more. "We ought to pay our respects before everyone concludes we have become quite unsociable."
Helena slipped her hand upon his arm again, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Very well, My Lord."
It was not long before they came upon Lady Fairchild and Sir Benedict. While Helena greeted her parents, Tristan found himself watching her, smiling almost unconsciously whenever she did the same.
It gave him pause. For weeks he had been careful to preserve the practical understanding upon which their marriage had begun, never allowing himself to expect more of it. Yet somewhere along the way, almost without noticing, something had changed.
Whether it was the competence with which Helena had embraced the duties of countess, the effortlessness with which she had won the affection of Oliver, or simply the woman she had become since he had last truly known her, he could no longer deny the admiration she inspired in him.
After bidding her parents farewell and continuing through the ballroom, Tristan glanced at her again. The warm candlelight seemed to follow her wherever she went, yet it was not her appearance alone that drew his eye.
Only then did he begin to realize how often he listened for her voice in a crowded room, or found his gaze seeking her almost without thought, whether across the breakfast table or as she laughed with Beatrice and Georgiana over afternoon tea.
"You appear in remarkably good spirits this evening," Helena observed, searching his face. "And I had thought you were never particularly fond of crowded ballrooms."
Tristan glanced about the room before his gaze returned to hers.
"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "I am simply enjoying your company beyond the walls of Blackmere House, where we are not forever occupied with the responsibilities of our household."
Helena gave a small nod. "I see."
She hesitated, as though deciding whether she ought to say more, then gave a slight shake of her head.
Tristan smiled. "No, Helena. The Helena I have always known has never been afraid to speak her mind. Pray tell, what were you about to say?"
She laughed softly. "It is only... I had forgotten how easily we once spoke to one another. This evening reminds me of Lord Ravenscroft's ball and the conversation we shared."
Tristan held her gaze for a moment before a smile found its way onto his face. "I understand precisely." He then added, “I was thinking much the same.”
What he did not say was that he had missed it more than he had cared to admit.
Away from Blackmere House and the demands of their household, they had slipped almost effortlessly into the companionship they had once shared.
Even the anonymous notes, which had occupied his thoughts so persistently of late, no longer pressed upon his mind.
For a little while, he was content simply to enjoy the evening with his wife.
After taking refreshments together, while the guests paused between dances, footmen moved among the crowd carrying silver trays laden with sweetmeats, delicate pastries, savory morsels, and glasses of lemonade and wine.
The orchestra began to play again, and Tristan watched as guests gathered for the country dance in unexpected anticipation, knowing the waltz would soon follow.
When the final figures came to an end and the couples withdrew, the orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz.
Tristan turned to Helena with a smile. "Shall we?"
Helena placed her empty glass upon a passing footman's tray before slipping her hand into his.
He led her onto the floor and gently drew her into position, one hand resting lightly at her waist as she placed her gloved hand upon his shoulder.
Their free hands met, and as she lifted her eyes to his, he was struck again by how the warm hue of her gown seemed to deepen the cool gray of her eyes.
"No wonder the waltz caused such controversy when it first arrived in England," she said softly, a shy laugh escaping her.