Inside, lamplight glowed softly over a profusion of green fronds and leaves, delicate ferns, tidy rows of potted citrus.
The air was warmer here, scented faintly with earth and something sweet and sharp beneath it.
Adrien closed the door behind them, not entirely, but enough to hush the sounds of the drawing room to a distant murmur.
For the first time that evening, Helena felt as though the world had narrowed to a space small enough for her to fully inhabit.
Lady Marianne's plants are very fortunate, she said, more to fill the quiet than anything. They must find this room a sanctuary from drafts and careless feet.
Like some people, Adrien replied, watching her rather than the greenery.
Helena moved a little further in, letting her fingertips brush the bright, glossy leaves of an orange tree.
You said you had something you wished to ask me, Your Grace.
I did.
He came to stand opposite her, the lamplight catching in his dark hair, throwing the planes of his face into gentle relief.
Two, some things in truth. One small, one perhaps less so.
Then you must begin with the small, she said, striving for lightness. It will make the second less alarming.
His mouth curved.
Very well. The small question is this. Will you forgive me if I never again permit myself to sit down where you were meant to be?
The foolish, painful memory of Lady Harbury's table rose between them, the lonely place by the lilies, the folded napkin, the bent card.
Helena shook her head quickly.
There is no need.
There is every need, he cut in gently but firmly. It has occurred to me, Miss Helena, that my entire life I have been ushered toward the head of every table. It had not fully crossed my mind that each time someone else might be quietly moved to the shadows to make room for me.
His honesty unsettled her.
She looked away to the lamplight glinting on glass.
It is not your fault when others rearrange things, she said softly. I have been used to such adjustments since I came to London. One becomes rather expert at being convenient.
His gaze sharpened.
Convenient, he repeated. Is that what you believe yourself to be?
She gave a small, helpless lift of one shoulder.
I am often invited when a number must be evened. When an aunt fears appearing slighted if she comes with only one niece. When a table lacks a final chair.
I take up space neatly. I do not disturb the pattern.
She tried to smile.
It is a useful talent.
A talent, he said slowly, or a defense.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of a nearby pot.
You are very direct, Your Grace.
You make it difficult to be otherwise, his tone was quiet, not accusatory. You spoke of peace and kindness. I saw neither offered to you at Lady Harbury's table.
You left the room, and no one noticed but a stranger who had taken your place.
Helena swallowed. The words brushed against something raw inside.
What would you have had me do? she whispered. Object? Refuse to move? Demand my chair back from a duke? That would hardly have been peaceful.
No, he agreed. But it would have been just.
She laughed then, softly, the sound laced with disbelief.
Justice is not always invited to these gatherings, Your Grace. She tends to clash with the upholstery.
He smiled at that, brief and genuine.
Then his expression grew more intent.
That was the smaller question, he said. Whether you would forgive my blind participation in an arrangement that harmed you, however unintentionally.
She drew a breath.
I do. Thank you.
He paused.
The larger question is this. If you were allowed to choose, truly choose, where you might sit, Miss Helena, where would you place yourself?
The absurdity of it struck her first.
At the table? she asked faintly.
In life, he said simply.
She stared at him, her heart suddenly loud in her ears.
No one had ever asked her that.
People had told her where to stand, where to wait, where to make herself useful, but never where she wished to be.
I do not know, she admitted, her voice unsteady. I have spent so long slipping into empty spaces that I have never quite dared imagine being wanted in one.
Silence folded around them, heavy and tender at once.
His gaze did not waver.
Then perhaps, Adrien said quietly, it is time someone asked you to imagine it.
Helena wet her lips, struggling to breathe evenly.
And you, Your Grace? You are always placed at the head. Would you choose it if it were not required?
He exhaled a soft, humorless laugh.
You think the head of the table is freedom. It is only another kind of confinement to be always watched, always weighed, always the prize to be claimed.
I have long suspected that those in the corners see more of real life than those at the center.
She looked at him then, truly looked, and saw not just the title and the effortless aplomb, but the weariness at the edges of his eyes, a man fenced in by admiration.
Then we are both misplaced, she said almost wonderingly. You too seen. I too unseen.
Precisely, he murmured, which leads me to one last imposition.