Then I am already less endangered than at our last gathering, Your Grace.
You see, Marianne said, reappearing at his side. I knew you would like her.
Marianne, he murmured, half amused, half reproving, but his eyes never left Helena's face.
The music began presently.
A young gentleman playing a Mozart sonata with earnest concentration.
Conversation faded to a respectful hush.
Helena let the notes wash over her, their ordered beauty soothing some restless part of her.
Between selections, guests murmured appreciations.
Marianne coaxed a shy girl to sing, a gentleman to recite a bit of verse.
It was simple, almost homely, and Helena found herself breathing more easily with each passing minute.
During an interval, Marianne sank into the empty chair beside Helena with a little sigh of satisfaction.
I knew you would understand this sort of evening, she said, not as a question.
Helena looked at her, startled.
Understand it?
Yes. Marianne's gaze swept the room, fond and shrewd. There are those who attend merely to be seen attending, but there are others who come because they truly listen.
My brother told me you prefer quiet corners.
I have found, she smiled, deepening, that those who prefer quiet corners often hear more than anyone else.
Helena hesitated.
Hearing more is not always a comfort, Lady Marianne.
No, Marianne agreed softly, but it can be a strength.
She tilted her head.
Do you sing, Miss Helena?
Helena's heart lurched.
Sing? No, no, I have hardly—
She sings very prettily, Alicia interjected from the row ahead, turning with a bright, careless smile, but only to herself or to the wallpaper. She refuses to oblige an audience.
Marianne's eyes warmed with interest.
Do you refuse out of dislike or from habit?
From prudence, Helena said before she could think better of it. A shy voice ought not to be dragged into large rooms.
I praise you, Marianne laughed softly. Oh, I like you very well indeed.
Still, if ever you should choose to let that shy voice be heard, my drawing room would count itself honored.
Helena could only murmur something indistinct, her fingers twisting in her lap.
Later, as another piece concluded and chairs scraped in gentle rearrangement, Adrien stepped into the small space beside her row.
Miss Helena, he said quietly, bending slightly so only she could hear. My sister informs me that you are depriving us of a musical talent.
She shot Marianne a look of betrayal, finding only innocent mischief in her expression.
Your Grace, I assure you, my talent extends no farther than humming to aid the rhythm of my stitching.
Then perhaps we might one day prevail upon you to embroider in our presence, he replied, for the sake of the tune.
The teasing was light, but there was something underneath it, a genuine desire to know, to hear, to bring her into focus rather than leave her in soft outline.
I could not possibly, Helena began, her pulse skittering. I should be quite terrified to stand before so many eyes.
Not so many, he interrupted gently. Only mine, perhaps, and my sister's.
Her breath caught at the quiet intimacy of it, the suggestion that he wished specifically to hear her.
The room around them blurred for a moment, the candlelight and polished wood receding, leaving only his steady gaze and her own startled reflection in it.
Before she could find an answer, Marianne rose and clapped her hands lightly, calling for one last piece from their earnest pianist.
After this, Adrien murmured, still bent close, would you allow me a few minutes in the conservatory? There is something I should like to ask you, Miss Helena.
The final notes of the sonata lingered in the air like a question that had not yet decided where to land.
Guests rose, stretching a little, conversations resuming in subdued tones.
Candlelight flickered over polished wood and silk, turning the room into a soft blur of gold.
Helena, however, was acutely aware of only two things. Her own heartbeat and the quiet curve of Adrien's request still hanging between them.
After this, there is something I should like to ask you.
She had not agreed aloud, but he seemed to take her silence for consent.
When the first strands of gentle talk began to weave through the room again, he straightened and offered his arm with unhurried courtesy.
Miss Helena, he said, as if proposing no more than a turn about the room. Might I show you my sister's conservatory? It is small, but she is inordinately proud of it.
Helena's pulse leapt.
To walk alone with him, even for a few minutes, would be to invite eyes, whispers, speculation.
Yet when she glanced quickly around, she found Lady Ashford deep in conversation with Mrs. Denby. Alicia laughing with Sir Thomas Hargate near the fire.
No one was looking at her.
No one ever is, she thought, and for once the fact did not feel entirely like a wound.
She placed her fingertips lightly upon his sleeve.
If Lady Marianne will not object to our invading her plants, Your Grace, I should be glad to see them.
I assure you, came Marianne's voice from behind them, amused, my plants find reflective company most improving. Pray take care not to speak too harshly of anyone within their hearing. They repeat everything to me later.
Helena turned, caught by surprise.
Marianne stood a few steps away, a music program in hand, her smile knowing but kind.
I promise to be entirely respectful, Adrien said dryly. At least in the conservatory.
Then I shall be easy, Marianne replied, inclining her head to Helena with a look that was almost encouragement. You will find the orange trees in fine temper this season, Miss Helena.
The conservatory opened off the far end of the corridor, its glass panes turned into dark mirrors by the night outside.