Page 24 of My Viscount’s Madness
Chapter 24
Separation
L ady Elizabeth’s morning room in Berkeley Square bore little resemblance to the one Marguerite had left behind at Fitzroy Manor. Her aunt’s taste ran to rich jewel tones and exotic patterns, with Persian carpets covering every inch of the floor and Indian silk cushions adorning each chair. The effect might have seemed excessive had the overall arrangement not spoken of such an organized design.
“More tea?” Lady Elizabeth held the pot poised over Marguerite’s cup. Her aunt’s dark eyes—so like Marguerite’s own—had a knowing gleam. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”
“I find my appetite somewhat diminished this morning.” Marguerite accepted the fresh tea nonetheless. Three days had passed since her arrival in Berkeley Square, each feeling more prolonged than the last.
“Naturally.” Her aunt settled back into her chair, her russet morning dress making her appear like an exotic bird at rest. “Perhaps your distraction stems less from adjusting to new surroundings than missing certain company?”
The hair at the back of Marguerite’s neck stood up. “I didn’t come here to avoid Lord Guildford.”
“No, you came to avoid Lord Edgecombe’s machinations while your father untangles himself from that web.” Lady Elizabeth selected a piece of toast. “Though I must say, your betrothed’s daily messages suggest he finds the separation equally challenging.”
As if summoned by her words, the butler appeared with a silver salver bearing another note in Tristan’s achingly familiar hand. Marguerite’s fingers trembled slightly as she accepted it.
“The third such delivery since breakfast,” her aunt observed. “One might almost suspect him of inventing reasons to write.”
“He keeps me informed of the magistrate’s progress.” Marguerite broke the seal, drinking in Tristan’s bold script. “And Papa’s cooperation with the investigation.”
“Among other matters, I’m sure.” The slight quirking up of Lady Elizabeth’s mouth suggested she was more amused than censorious. “Perhaps you might share what brings such color to your cheeks?”
Marguerite pressed her palm against her heated face. The note contained nothing improper—merely a confirmation of his intention to call that afternoon—yet somehow, his formal words said something far deeper between the lines.
“He means to visit today.” She tucked the note into her pocket, though her fingers lingered on the paper. “To discuss certain developments in the investigation.”
“Developments that couldn’t be shared through correspondence?” Her aunt’s eyes shone. “How fortunate that he requires such matters be discussed in person.”
“Aunt Elizabeth!”
“Oh, come now.” Lady Elizabeth rang for fresh tea cakes. “Surely you don’t imagine I believe your engagement is one of those awfully passionless ones, like poor Dinah’s? Not when every note brings such exhilaration to your face.”
Marguerite stared down at her napkin and smoothed it, buying time to compose herself. “Our arrangement has…evolved beyond its initial purpose, which was actually of convenience.”
“Convenience? Surely not!” Her aunt’s laugh was warm and good-natured. “My dear, you glow so sweetly at the mere mention of his name. Though I must say, he shows similar symptoms when speaking of you.”
“Does he?” The question escaped before she could think better of it. “That is—I mean…”
“Peace, child.” Lady Elizabeth reached across the small table to pat her hand. “Your secret is safe with me. Though perhaps not such a secret to anyone who sees you together.”
Marguerite twisted her fingers in her lap. “Well…”
“That is to say, you two can’t hide your love for each other.” Her aunt’s eyes softened. “When he escorted you here, the way his eyes followed your every movement. How you leaned toward each other in conversation, as though words could not express your longing for each other. The manner in which you both found excuses to touch—helping you from the carriage, adjusting your shawl, all those little moments that spoke volumes to smart observers.”
“We maintain all proper behavior,” Marguerite protested, though she couldn’t deny the truth in her aunt’s words.
“Of course you do.” Lady Elizabeth’s smile widened. “Which makes those small gestures all the more revealing. One doesn’t generally see such tenderness in marriages of convenience.”
Before Marguerite could respond, the butler appeared once more. “Lord Guildford has arrived, Your Ladyship.”
Marguerite’s heart performed a peculiar flutter beneath her ribs. She rose, running her trembling fingers over her face, brushing back a few ringlets.
“Show him in, Mr. Preston.” Lady Elizabeth adjusted her position to better observe their incoming guest. “Though perhaps we might relocate to the drawing room? More suitable for morning calls.”
They had barely settled into the larger room when Tristan entered. His woolen coat sat seamlessly on his shoulders, his cravat arranged faultlessly, yet Marguerite noted the slight shadows beneath his eyes that suggested only God knew how many sleepless nights he had. Margaret hadn’t slept much either since she’d come here. Did her eyes have similar shadows under them?
“Lady Elizabeth.” He sank for the customary bow. “Lady Marguerite. I trust I find you both well?”
“Quite well,” Lady Elizabeth replied before Marguerite could speak. “Perhaps you might share what developments bring you to Berkeley Square so early in the day? Your notes suggested some urgency.”
Tristan exchanged a brief glance with Marguerite. “The magistrate has made considerable progress. The Marquess of Ash’s testimony has proven most illuminating.”
“Papa actually spoke of him?” Marguerite leaned forward slightly. “Willingly?”
“More than willingly.” A ghost of a smile touched Tristan’s lips. “It seems your departure sparked rather significant changes in his attitude. The threat of losing his daughter’s respect proved more motivating than Edgecombe’s schemes.”
Her lips parted a little. “Then he truly means to make amends with us?”
“He means to do whatever is necessary to deserve your trust again.” Tristan’s voice softened. “Though perhaps we might discuss the particulars during our turn about the garden? If Lady Elizabeth permits?”
Her aunt’s eyes darted between them. “The garden seems an excellent venue for such discussions. Though naturally, I shall accompany you. Propriety must be maintained, even between betrothed couples.”
“Naturally.” But Tristan’s expression as he offered Marguerite his arm suggested he wanted nothing less.
They made their way outside with his arm beneath her gloved hand, the brush of his coat against her dress, and his stride slowed to match hers seamlessly.
Lady Elizabeth followed at a discreet distance, close enough to observe yet far enough to allow some privacy in conversation. Her presence felt more comforting than restrictive, a reminder that some people understood the complexity of their situation.
“I’ve missed you,” Tristan murmured as they rounded a corner in the garden path. The words were so hushed Marguerite might have imagined them, save for the way his arm tightened beneath her hand.
“And I, you.” She matched his tone. “Perhaps we might focus on my father’s progress with the magistrate?”
His low laugh stirred the curls near her ear. “Always so practical, or is it your aunt’s presence? Very well—shall we discuss strategy while Lady Elizabeth pretends not to watch our every movement?”
Marguerite glanced back to find her aunt examining a rose bush with so much focus it came across as artificial. “She means well.”
“She means to protect you while allowing as much freedom as propriety permits.” He looked as though he approved. “Though I confess, these chaperoned visits make me rather impatient for our wedding.”
“Tristan…”
“Come.” He smiled brightly. “Let us discuss your father’s testimony while your aunt continues her focused study of the shrubbery. Perhaps you might explain why my last three notes received such brief replies?”
“Your notes required no lengthy response,” Marguerite said, though her fingers pressed on his arm. “Unless you expected detailed commentary on the weather and the horses’ health?”
“I expected whatever thoughts occupied your mind.” They paused beside a flowering arbor, their bodies angled toward each other despite Lady Elizabeth’s distant presence. “Even if those thoughts involved criticism of my correspondence.”
“Criticism? When you wrote three pages about your stallion’s new shoes?”
His mouth curved. “Would you prefer I wrote of other matters? How the library feels empty without your presence. How I turn to share observations with someone who isn’t there.”
Marguerite’s eyes burnt at that. She sniffed. “Such admissions seem unlikely to aid the magistrate’s investigation.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “Though perhaps they might ease the separation. Unless you’d rather maintain strictly business-like discourse?”
“I’d rather—” She stopped, heedful of her aunt’s alert eye. “I think we should focus on my father’s testimony?”
Tristan’s expression suggested he understood her deflection but chose not to press. “He’s provided detailed records of every transaction. The magistrate seems particularly interested in certain property dealings in Jamaica.”
“The ones Papa mentioned that day in his study?” She guided them toward a stone bench positioned to catch the heat of the sun. “Shall we sit? These discussions prove easier when seated.”
His knowing look suggested he received her real message—to maintain physical contact while appearing properly apart—but he held her hand as she sat before settling beside her.
“The Jamaica properties form only part of Edgecombe’s scheme,” he said, speaking so slowly that she had to lean towards him to hear him. “Though proving the connection requires access to his private accounts.”
“Which the magistrate can now demand, given Papa’s evidence?” She twirled a curling lock of hair around her finger, noting how his lips parted as he watched her do that. She smirked, pretending to fix her shoes and using the motion to shift slightly closer.
“Indeed.” His hand settled beside hers on the bench, their fingers nearly touching. “Though Edgecombe fights the investigation at every turn.”
“Of course he does.” She resisted the urge to close that tiny gap between their hands. “His entire house of cards depends on secrecy.”
Lady Elizabeth drifted closer, her attention ostensibly fixed on another nearby rose bush. “The weather proves remarkably fine for gardening,” she announced to no one in particular. “Though I wish to examine the new plantings near the gate. Do not forget yourselves in my absence.”
Marguerite bit back a smile as her aunt retreated. “She’s rather obvious in her efforts to give us privacy.”
“She’s rather obvious in her approval,” Tristan corrected. “Though I confess myself grateful for her understanding.”
His fingers brushed hers, and she had to force herself not to grasp them. “As am I. Though sometimes I wonder if this separation serves any purpose beyond satisfying propriety.”
“It serves to protect you while the investigation proceeds.” His voice roughened slightly. “To keep you beyond Edgecombe’s immediate reach until the magistrate can act.”
“I don’t require protection.” But she turned her hand beneath his, their palms pressing together. “Especially not at the cost of our ability to work together.”
“We still work together.” His thumb rubbed slowly against her wrist. “Though perhaps not as closely as I’d prefer.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “Tristan…”
“I know.” He withdrew his hand reluctantly. “I find myself counting the days until such restraint proves unnecessary.”
Before she could respond, Lady Elizabeth’s return forced them to adopt more proper postures. Her aunt’s smile suggested she’d witnessed their intimate moment but chose not to comment.
“The gardens were absolutely lovely, weren’t they?” she said instead. “And now, shall we return inside? The morning grows rather cold.”
They rose, Tristan’s hand touching Marguerite’s elbow. The contact lasted barely a moment, yet she felt it long after they’d separated.
“I should take my leave,” he said as they reached the house. “Though perhaps you might permit me to call again tomorrow. To discuss any new developments in the investigation.”
“Of course.” Marguerite met his gaze, reading everything the company forbade him to express. “Though you needn’t invent excuses to visit.”
His answering smile was more of a grin, almost impish. “Don’t I? Then perhaps I might simply admit I find every day without your presence increasingly unbearable?”
“Tristan!” But she couldn’t help returning his smile, even as her aunt made a sound suspiciously like muffled laughter.
“Until tomorrow, then.” He bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles through her glove. “Though I trust you’ll respond more fully to my next note?”
“That depends entirely on its contents.” She withdrew her hand reluctantly. “I must say, though, fewer details about your horses shall prove welcome.”
His low laugh rang in her ears as she returned to the house. Lady Elizabeth waited until they’d come to the morning room before speaking.
“Well,” she said, settling into her chair. “I begin to understand why you insisted this separation remain temporary.”
Marguerite licked her lips, trying to slow her racing heart. “I told you we are perfectly proper, thank you very much.”
“Barely.” Her aunt said with adoration rather than strictness. “Though I must say, seeing you together again confirms my earlier observations about your love.”
“Aunt Elizabeth!”
“Oh, come now.” Lady Elizabeth rang for fresh tea. “Surely you don’t imagine anyone could mistake your feelings for anything less? Or his?”
Marguerite could not help but blush. “I assure you, we endeavor to exercise restraint.”
“Oh, I’m sure you try, my dear.” Her aunt said sarcastically. “Though we ought now to focus on more practical concerns, for example, how long you intend to maintain this separation when you so clearly belong together.”
“Until the magistrate concludes his investigation.” But even as she spoke, Marguerite’s fingers strayed to her pocket where Tristan’s note lay. “Until we can face what happens in peace without fear of Lord Edgecombe’s interference.”
“A sensible approach.” Lady Elizabeth inclined her head. “Though does your heart fully endorse it?”
Marguerite didn’t bother answering it. Instead, she thought of tomorrow’s visit, wondering what excuses Tristan might invent to call again.