She doesn't like the way her mother's eyes seemed to narrow and the corner of her lips turn down with non-concealed insatisfaction. Her shoulders were a straight line of hard wired muscle and her back seemed to be perfectly aligned, leaving enough distance from the back of the chair to make her wonder if, perhaps, she was trying to keep herself away from the monumental sin that ( in her own eyes ) her daughter was committing.
Sometimes, she forgets her mother can be more than a warm memory at the back of her mind, but a cold actress who decided from a very young age that everything but the intimacy of her own bedroom was a stage. It can get hard to reconcile, from time to time, the smell of lavender and gentle hands with hard eyes and the unforgiving sharpness of her tongue.
Helen knew of her mother's history, she knew of the existence of past lovers and husbands and the lists of sacrifices she'd had to pay in order to achieve a strong hold on power ( sometimes, in the quiet evenings when everyone went out and her mother decided to stay in, she would get this look on her eyes that made Helen believe you couldn't completely get back to life after all ).
Right now, said eyes were wary as her daughter’s mouth ran inhibited, explaining something absolutely banal, and trying to find some sense of footing before she had to make her way back to the crowd of people. Helen hadn't realized how cold her hands were until her mother placed her left on Helen's right, fingers clasping softly.
( her talking doesn't come to a sudden stop, instead having her voice lower as she goes, until there is a barely imperceptible mutter about a curtain or a carpet, and then nothing. )
"You are sure this is what you want to do."
Her impending marriage, she means. Pretending otherwise would be taken as an insult.
"I do. It would further my position and open way for new opportunities."
Helen is surprised when everything she gets from her mother is silence. Helen's hand is now firmly pressed on her Mama's lap, but not before Libitina allows it to rest on her bosom, for the briefest of moments, so Helen can feel the hammering of her heart against her chest.
It's the closest thing Libitina could get to showing a sign of weakness in such a public place. Somehow, being reminded that her mother's disapproval comes from fear and not disappointment helps ease her nerves. She can't deal with disappointment.
The silence stretches, and she can all but see the gears in her mother's head turning. Her eyes seem to get lost on the sea of people, and just when Helen is starting to think this might have just been intended as a one sided conversation, her mother finally breaks the silence.
"You will do what you feel needs to be done." A bonny finger raised low, 'be quiet and let me finish', it says. "You will do what you feel needs to be done to achieve what you want. And nothing I say would change your mind. So I won't beg you to change who you are--," the thought of her mother begging anything to anyone was something her mind couldn't properly grasp, "--I simply ask you to be careful."
A simple nod from Helen; she's saved from speaking as her mother simply continues, eyes ever so lightly closed, looking at her with too much precision for her own comfort.
"At least you won't be as young as I was when I married."
Helen wonders if she means the first or the second one, or both. It would give her more information on her mother's worries if she knew more about either one of them, but Libitina never spoke of the first and rarely spoke of the second (only when speaking to or about her older brother, and rarely in front of her father --a sign of respect, she supposed).
"But foolishness is not always reserved for young age, so be careful."
And then Libitina is standing and pulling her along, ready to start moving around. With one last squeeze of her hand, she lets go.
"I know you'll be content with this life, Helen. You are more like me than I care to admit. And if we named you that, is because I've always known that you were born to raise empires and burn others to the ground.
But for yourself, child, do me one favor and remember: content isn't always as good as it sounds."
The back of her eyes stung, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her mother's bittersweet worry, the years and years in her voice, or the weight of her words.
Both women have to allow themselves one precious moment to recompose, before the easy, practiced smile is back on their faces, arms loosely interlinked with each other as they start making their way through the crowd.
Libitina's voice was back its usual clear and crisp, business like tone when she spoke again ( no surprise there; when Libitina talked, she and only she talked. If you got to say more than a few words, well, lucky night ).
"Let's go need this man of yours, then. He better be able to keep up."