Chapter 14 #3
"Goodnight, Helena," Tristan said, finding himself reluctant to part from her.
"Goodnight, Tristan," she responded softly.
She continued up the stairs toward her chambers, while Tristan watched her for a moment before turning down the opposite corridor toward the library.
It was there, seated in an armchair, with his legs stretched before the fire and a book lying forgotten upon his lap, that Tristan turned his thoughts over.
Only the previous day he had wondered why Helena had Elinor's box upon her lap, and whether she even knew to whom it had belonged.
Yet after a single evening, he had uncovered thoughts and feelings within himself that had remained hidden.
A gentle tap sounded at the library door before it opened and Helena stepped inside, still dressed in her evening gown. She carried a large leather portfolio beneath one arm and a well-worn volume in the other. "I wondered whether you would mind if I read with you for a short while."
Tristan could not suppress the pleasure her request brought him. "Please," he said, "you are most welcome."
They read together in comfortable silence.
Once Helena had taken her seat, the only sounds were the occasional crackle of the fire and the turning of a page.
Tristan had every intention of returning to his book, yet more often he found his eyes drifting to Helena.
She sat contentedly in the armchair opposite him, the firelight casting a warm glow across her features as she read with concentration.
More than once, he attempted to return his attention to the page before him, only to discover he had not taken in a single line.
His thoughts remained fixed upon the evening, upon the waltz, and upon the realization that his heart had seemed to abandon the careful arrangement his mind had so long upheld.
As though sensing his gaze, Helena looked up from her book. Their eyes met and she raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in silent inquiry.
Tristan could not help smiling.
Helena laughed softly, closed her book, and rose from her chair. She laid the volume upon the table before opening the leather portfolio she had brought with her. She withdrew a single sheet and held it out to him.
"I had almost forgotten," she said. "I finally finished it this afternoon."
Tristan accepted the drawing, and for a long moment simply looked at it.
It was himself, as he had sat in the library several nights before, on the evening Helena had sketched him while he read.
The likeness was remarkable. Every line had been drawn with confidence, yet it was not merely his appearance she had captured.
There was a thoughtfulness in his expression, a calm he had never realized she had seen in him.
He lifted his eyes to hers. "Helena... it is extraordinary."
She smiled, pleased that he approved. "Thank you.”
He laughed quietly. "No, thank you. I shall treasure it."
Helena lifted her head before folding her hands together. "I fear the evening has finally caught up with me. I believe I ought to retire."
Tristan immediately rose from his chair, his gaze falling once more to the sketch before he carefully laid it upon the table beside him.
"Allow me to thank the artist properly."
Reaching for her hand, he gently enclosed it within his own. Helena looked at him in surprise as he bowed over it, pressing a respectful kiss to the back of her hand.
"Goodnight, Helena."
She did not withdraw her hand. Instead, she held his gaze as a delicate color rose to her cheeks. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was unlike any smile he had seen from her. There was a softness to it, unguarded and almost shy, before she gently slipped her hand from his.
"Goodnight, Tristan." She turned and quietly left the library, the door closing softly behind her.
Tristan remained where he stood for several moments before lowering his eyes to the sketch once more. A smile returned unbidden to his face as he traced the edge of the page with his thumb, wondering whether the likeness she had captured was truly how she saw him.
When he retired to his own chambers, Tristan studied the drawing once more. As his gaze traveled over the careful lines, he wondered whether Helena had truly meant what she had said during the waltz, that she could ask for nothing more from their marriage.
His eyes drifted to the locked door that connected their chambers.
Something within him urged him toward it, yet the thought of turning the key in the lock gave him pause.
Beyond that door lay the risk of disturbing the friendship they had built so carefully, and the mutual respect upon which their marriage rested.
Tristan had always governed himself with caution and reason, and he could not bring himself to jeopardize either.
Setting the drawing carefully upon his dressing table, he reflected upon the arrangement they had made together. Convenient. It was the very word they had both agreed upon, yet it no longer seemed sufficient for what had begun to take root within him.