"I mean that sometimes we are so focused on what we think we want that we fail to see what is right in front of us." Helena squeezed her hand. "Or perhaps I mean the opposite. Perhaps we are so convinced that we cannot have what we truly want that we refuse to recognise it when it appears."
Vanessa turned to look at her friend. "You are speaking in riddles."
"Am I?" Helena smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I am simply observing that Lord Montehood has never, in all the years I have known him, voluntarily risen before noon to ride in the park. And yet there he was, on the very path you habitually take, at the precise time you are known to ride."
Vanessa's heart stuttered. "That is merely coincidence."
"Is it?"
"It must be."
"If you say so." Helena rose, smoothing her skirts. "I must go, Mama is expecting me for tea. But I shall see you at the Castleton ball next week, yes? Assuming your ankle has healed sufficiently?"
"I hope so. If I must spend another week on this chaise longue, I shall go mad."
"Rest well, dearest. And think about what I said." Helena paused at the door, her expression softening. "Sometimes the things we want most are closer than we realise. We simply need the courage to reach for them."
She departed, leaving Vanessa alone with her thoughts and the growing suspicion that her friend saw far more than she let on.
***
The evening arrived with the inexorability of a tide.
Vanessa had spent an hour with her maid, selecting a gown and arranging her hair, trying to strike the impossible balancebetween looking attractive and not appearing to have made an effort. She had changed her mind three times, dismissing first a pale pink that made her look washed out, then a deep green that felt too reminiscent of her riding habit and the memories attached to it. Finally, she had settled on a dress of deep blue silk that brought out the green of her eyes, her hair pinned up with a few curls left loose around her face.
"You look lovely, miss," her maid had said, and Vanessa had felt a flutter of something that might have been hope or might have been fear.
Perhaps both.
She had applied a touch of rice powder to her nose, a hint of rose water to her wrists. She had examined herself in the mirror from every angle, searching for flaws, second-guessing every choice. Was the neckline too low? Too high? Was her hair too elaborate? Not elaborate enough?
It was ridiculous. She had dressed for countless dinners before and had never given her appearance this much thought. But tonight felt different. Tonight, Martin would be there, and she wanted…needed…to look her best.
Not for vanity's sake but for courage.
If he was going to speak truths that could not be unsaid, she wanted to be ready to hear them.
She was seated in the drawing room when the guests arrived, propped on the chaise longue like an invalid display, her injured ankle hidden beneath the drape of her skirts. Her mother had arranged the furniture so that Vanessa would be the first thing visitors saw upon entering, a strategic positioning that Vanessa suspected was designed to elicit maximum sympathy.
Or perhaps maximum marriageability. With her mother, it was sometimes difficult to tell.
Edward came in first, his familiar figure a comfort in the midst of her anxiety. "There's my wounded soldier," he said cheerfully, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "How's the ankle?"
"Still attached. Barely."
"Dramatic as always." He grinned and settled into the chair beside her. "I've brought reinforcements. Martin's just behind me,he stopped to say something to Father."
As if summoned by his name, Martin appeared in the doorway.
He was dressed simply but elegantly, as always, dark coat, pristine cravat and an air of casual sophistication that seemed as natural to him as breathing. His eyes found hers immediately, and something passed between them a current of awareness that made her breath catch.
"Lady Vanessa." He crossed the room and took her hand, bowing over it with perfect propriety. "I trust you are recovering well?"
"Well enough, thank you. The enforced rest is tedious, but I am told it is necessary."
"Indeed. One must not rush these things." He released her hand, but his gaze lingered. "You look well. Better than I expected, given the severity of the fall."
"It was not so severe. I have survived worse."
