Helena nodded, “Yes. I haven’t slept in such a soft bed for a long time.”
Amelia gave her a sympathetic look. “Was it very hard at the convent? Did they work you like slaves?”
“Amelia!” Silas chided, giving her a quelling look.
Amelia simply smiled and shrugged.
“I do not mind the questions about the convent,” Helena said quietly. She turned to Amelia. “They didn’t work us quite that hard, but the abbey didn’t have as many fireplaces as you have here. It was very cold most of the time. And our mattresses were made of straw. We only had a thin blanket to cover us, so it was quite cold.”
Amelia’s mouth turned down. “That sounds just awful. I am so very sorry that you had to endure that.”
Helena shrugged. “One gets used to it.”
The duke’s gaze swept over them, his expression unchanged. “Amelia,” he said, his voice cold and firm, “this is neither the time nor the place for such an emotional display.”
Amelia stiffened, but she didn’t back down. “I’m sorry, Silas, but it’s?—”
He cut her off with a sharp glance, his voice dropping an octave. “We are at dinner, not in some drawing room for private confessions. If you cannot control yourself, you’ll excuse us.”
Amelia’s eyes flashed, but she pressed her lips together, the sharp retort dying on her tongue. Silas, seemingly unaware of the tension, turned back to Helena, his posture unwavering.
“I’m sure we can discuss something more fitting for the occasion, don’t you think?” he added, as if he had never spoken a word to Amelia.
“Your Grace,” Helena interjected softly, her voice firm despite the tension that pulsed in the room. “She is only trying to help. There is no need to be so harsh.”
Amelia’s gaze flicked to Helena, a flicker of gratitude flashing in her eyes. Silas turned his steely gaze on Helena, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked at her with quiet intensity.
“Perhaps you do not understand the importance of maintaining control,” Silas said, his voice icy. “My sister is not in charge here, and I do not need a lecture from someone I barely know.”
Helena stood her ground, her posture defiant. “Control is fine, but there is a difference between leading and crushing the spirit of those around you. She is just a girl, Your Grace.”
His gaze darkened, and for a moment, the air between them seemed charged with something more than words.
He lowered his voice, the growl in it unmistakable. “And you think you know me well enough to teach me how to handle my sister?”
Helena met his gaze, unflinching. “You are not as adept at hiding it as you think, Your Grace.”
Silas raised a brow, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Hiding what, precisely?”
“Your fear,” Helena replied with an edge to her voice. “You push others away with such practiced ease. Almost as if you’re afraid they’ll see the man you really are.”
His jaw tightened, but he masked it quickly with a smooth smile. “And what do you suppose that man might be?”
Helena’s eyes glinted, her tone softening just enough to be dangerous. “Someone too terrified to lose control. You govern your every action as though your life depends on it, as if letting someone else in would shatter that control.”
Silas’s expression darkened, but he remained silent for a moment, as if contemplating her words.
Then, with a trace of amusement, he replied, “And you believe you have me figured out already? After so little time in my company?”
Helena’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “It is not difficult to see the truth when it’s so plainly on display, even when you do your best to disguise it.”
The tension between them crackled in the air, thick with unsaid things, and for a heartbeat, it seemed as though the conversation might spiral further into something neither would want.
Before Silas could speak, Amelia, who had been quietly observing, seized the moment.
“Helena,” she interjected with a bright, though slightly strained smile, “why don’t we take a walk in the garden? The air will do us both some good, I’m sure.”
Helena, sensing the subtle relief in the interruption, inclined her head. “A walk sounds quite agreeable.”
