She half made to stand, waiting for her sister to join her.
“Oh…” Clara sat up as if she meant to stand, only to look at her husband. “Edward, might I…”
Lord Eggerton was handsome enough, with his sharp chin, golden hair, and perfectly shaped nose. But he had a stiffness about him, and he spoke in a way that was slow and precise and without humor.
“What was that?” He turned to his wife.
“Helena and I were just going for a short walk around the grounds.” Clara smiled hopefully.
“No, I don’t think so.” He kept a hold of her hand and turned back to their father.
“Oh.” Clara hesitated, caught Helena watching, and tried again. “We will only be a short time and?—”
“I said no,” he cut her off. Not angrily, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. “I did not come all the way here so we would not spend time together. Besides, it is far too humid a day to walk, and you might break into a sweat and ruin your dress.”
“Oh, yes.” Clara sank back down. “I did not think of that. Sorry.”
“It is quite all right.” He kissed her hand and smiled, and was back on their father.
Helena watched the interaction with abject curiosity. And as she did, she felt her stomach twist, a nagging voice screaming in the back of her head that something was terribly wrong. Something so obvious that she could not believe she hadn’t seen it before.
She did not doubt that her sister loved her husband, and indeed, Clara had told her so many times. She had seen it herself, and Lord Eggerton was not shy about holding her close, kissing her gently, with eyes that glimmered with that same love when he looked at her. They were happy, and that was clear. But it was also not what Helena took note of.
That Clara was forced to ask for permission and was then denied… that was alarming. And that she accepted the denial so meekly was so unlike her that Helena hardly recognized her.
On the surface, she is the same, but it’s what lies beneath that is the problem. The ugly side to her marriage, which I wonder if she even realizes, is a problem. She has become so used to it that she does not see what has happened to her.
“Mother…” Helena was on her mother’s next. “Would you like to go for a short walk?”
Her mother was watching their father, apparently listening to the conversation. But she was doing so blankly, her eyes distant as if she was not there. When she heard the question, she blinked and turned to find Helena watching her.
“What was that, dear?” she asked.
“A walk,” Helena said simply. “Do you wish to go?”
“A walk…” Her mother bit her lip and looked at her father. He did not say anything, but his eyes flicked to her quickly. “No, I do think so, dear. I am listening to your father.”
“Not about anything interesting,” Helena argued.
“Helena!” her mother cried. “That is rude.”
“I am just saying?—”
“She does not wish to walk with you, Helena,” her father grumbled. He took his wife’s hand and held it as if to stop her. “Now please, Lord Eggerton and I are trying to have a conversation in peace.”
Helena pouted and sank back into her chair.
She sat for the rest of the afternoon in silence, looking from her mother to Clara. And as she watched them, as she studied the way they behaved, she could not believe that it had taken her so long to notice. But she supposed that was what came from being a married woman now herself.
Her sister was slowly transforming into their mother. The way they sat attentively. The way they held their husbands’ hands. Laughed at their jokes. Looked upon them as if the world moved at their beck and call.
More than that, she considered her mother’s behavior when she was growing up. She had never noticed before, but her motherwas always doing whatever her father said. When her father was angry with her, so was her mother. When he punished her, her mother agreed. She never defended Helena, and she never stood up for her. It was always what their father wished.
And now Clara is the same. I can see it as clearly as the nose on my face. Slowly but surely, the bonds of her marriage and the expectations of it are swallowing her whole.
Helena felt sick as that realization dawned on her. She started to squirm, to sweat, to feel fear like she never had before.
Was this what lay in store for her? Was this what married life led to? Regardless of who you were, once bound in holy matrimony, were all women doomed to the same fate? And was it so insidious in the way it worked that it wasn’t until it was too late to escape that one might even realize it?
