He sighed deeply and sat down on the edge of the fountain. Reaching for the mask she had worn, he fiddled with it, examining the details. It really was a good match for his own mask. Where his was black and gold, hers was white and gold — perfect compliments to one another.
“It was a fine outfit, you know,” he whispered to her. “You were quite astounding to look at tonight.” He heard her feet stumbling on the paving nearby though he didn’t turn to look at her.
“Was that a compliment?”
“I’m able to make them,” he said with a chuckle and laid her mask on his lap beside his own. “Are you truly well, Helena? You practically ran from the ballroom.”
“Ah, I see.” The sounds of her swishing skirts moved closer. She sat beside him on the edge of the fountain so near that her skirts brushed his leg. He turned to look at her, finding this longing to see her again. Her face was glowing in the moonlight, and her eyes looked back at him with equal interest. “You actually worry that I left in anger?”
“Anger or sadness.” He exhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t want either of those to be the case.”
“I am fine.” She smiled though it wasn’t a full smile. “Let us say I needed some air after our dances.”
“Affected you, did they?” he teased her, glad when that smile grew into something more meaningful. “Well, if it helps, you’re not the only one they affected.” She brushed her leg against his, and they both breathed in.
What is happening here?
It would be so easy to reach out and take her hand. Christopher itched to do it.
“Who knew my sister’s marriage would make all this happen,” Helena murmured with a light giggle. “So much feels like it has changed.”
“That it has. Marriage does change things.”
“My mother talks of me marrying soon now.” She shifted where she sat and turned her eyes up to the sky. “Apparently it is not the done thing to have a younger daughter married before the elder.” She wrinkled her nose, clearly in distaste of her mother’s insistence.
“She is one for the proper thing, isn’t she, your mother?” Christopher asked.
“Oh yes, unashamedly so.” Helena continued to stare at the stars. Something about the mention of marriage had twisted Christopher’s gut. He stood and left the masks on the side of the fountain, needing distance between them suddenly. “Is something wrong?”
Christopher pictured Helena dancing with Lord Mistwood, the way the gentleman had held her hand and spun her under his arm. There was an intense look there, one that Christopher hated.
“Do you intend to marry Lord Mistwood?” The words fell from his lips abruptly.
“I beg your pardon?” Helena leapt to her feet.
“You heard me.” Christopher turned back to face her.
“We were talking with ease, and now, you ask me such a thing as this?” She gestured between them.
“Indeed, I do. For I heard you praise him, and now, you danced with him tonight.” He waved impatiently back in the direction of the house and the ball. “You’d probably much prefer his company out here than my own, wouldn’t you?” At his mocking question, she blushed a deep shade of red.
Good god, does that mean she really does wish Lord Mistwood was here rather than me?
“You do, don’t you?” he asked.
“Enough of this. Lord Mistwood is a respectable man.” She shrugged her shoulders, yet there was a hesitation in her voice, one that Christopher leapt upon.
“Wait, is that the only praise you can give him?” Christopher stepped toward her. “Do you have nothing more to say in his favor?”
“Is that not enough?” she asked wildly.
“No, no, I do not believe that.” Christopher moved even closer to her. Her hands returned to her corseted waist, and she lifted her chin up, an attempt at a confident look, but there was a tremble to her lips, one that Christopher saw. “You have never once spoken of actually having feelings for that man. So let us make matters plain now.”
“Why should I be so open with you!?” she asked wildly and tried to step back then collided with the fountain. She stayed put, staring at him.
“Because I am asking it of you. Are you in love with Lord Mistwood?”
“Your Grace! You cannot ask me such things?”
