Page 5

A ny relief Tristan might have felt about finding his way back to his estate was unfortunately set aside and entirely forgotten as a new emotion gripped him.

He couldn’t quite name it, which only bothered him more.

There was a weight on his shoulders, similar to the responsibility he’d felt when he had a brother and then a wife to worry about. But now, it was different.

It was disarming and uncomfortable and irritating.

Another betrothed. How is this happening all over again?

His head ached over the notion that he would have to wed again. Another woman in his life. Another union he did not choose. Another agreement made because he had no choice. Another mistake.

It was a long journey back to his estate. His shoulders slumped, his thighs ached, and he could hardly focus on the path ahead of him. He didn’t reach his estate until after dark, his horse lagging under his weight.

He slid down from the saddle. He would have stumbled had he not clung tightly to the reins. His horse snorted before they continued on toward the stables.

“Your Grace!” A young stableboy came running out, fumbling with a hat that didn’t appear interested in staying on his head. His face broke into a sheepish grin as he pointed to them. “We were thinking about sending out a search party. It’s been days. Are you all right?”

A question a duke had no reason to answer, especially coming from a servant.

Tristan eyed the lad thoughtfully. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had asked him that question. No one really cared about him.

Not since Oliver, at least.

He thought of his friends with a frown, for they had always been an exception. Questions and doubts filled his mind.

He shook his head. “Tend to the horse, will you?” he instructed. “It’s been a long day, and he hasn’t had his proper feed.”

“Were you all right?”

Tristan studied the young man, only to conclude that he had not been here for long. The estate was run by a skeleton staff when he was gone. More help was hired whenever he visited, so perhaps the lad hadn’t been properly trained after all.

“The horse, if you please. Have my bags taken to my rooms,” he added, before turning toward the house.

He needed a quiet evening and fewer conversations.

I’ll have a hot bath and some hearty food. Some meat—perhaps some fish, which I did not have at Redcliff Manor. Or perhaps I should send some. It has been a while since I was betrothed to someone. Besides, we are in the country, and she has little family. I could even ignore some of the…

He lost that train of thought as he entered through the nearest door, making his way into the grand hall to see a familiar figure talking jovially with his housekeeper. His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

The old woman never smiled at anyone except for one person. Never him.

Except that the tall man with the golden hair couldn’t be who Tristan was seeing now.

But when Mrs. Burns nodded in his direction and the man turned, Tristan was forced to accept that it was indeed Julian Ashcombe.

He was now the Duke of Southwick, Tristan heard. They hadn’t discussed it in their recent correspondence, but the papers he had read confirmed it, and his other two friends had also mentioned that Julian was well, alive, and managing his duties with aplomb.

“Tristan!” Julian cried out.

The hall echoed with his loud clap. He was immediately a cacophony that Tristan wanted to walk away from, for he only desired peace.

“Hello, old man! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Too late, his old friend was hastening over to him.

“What are you doing here?” Tristan asked.

I only just sent a letter last week, and I did not think I mentioned this short trip. He must have been close. Ready to pack his bags—and I assume he did bring his bags—for however long.

A duke has responsibilities; he shouldn’t be so easily led by his interests. Surely he has more important matters to attend to than irritating me?

Plans for a quiet evening were squashed as Julian pulled him into a quick handshake and a short embrace, before stepping back to beam at him.

“Look at you!” he cried, ignoring his question.

“How dreadful you seem. I see that nothing has changed. But it sounds like you have had an adventure of your own. I arrived only four hours ago and could not believe it when the staff told me that you were not at home despite the invitation you sent me.”

Tristan frowned. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

A wicked grin crossed his charming friend’s face.

“The mere mention of you here is invitation enough for me. I read between the lines. I heard of your ungodly loneliness and came to keep you company. Truth be told, I feared you might have already taken your leave. What a pleasure it is to see you again! It’s been nigh on two years, has it not?

The other lads have been wondering about you as well.

I will have plenty to tell them. But after supper, of course. Mrs. Burns?”

They both turned to the housekeeper, who kept smiling at Julian as she bobbed a curtsey like a debutante. “Your Graces, please make your way to the dining room. The first course should be ready.”

“You’re a madman,” Tristan muttered as he led his friend down the next hall. “There was no invitation. Have you come only for gossip?”

“Certainly not. I came to ensure that you still live. Your hiding in Scotland won’t deter me,” Julian added with a wink and an elbow to the ribs. “Truthfully, I needed to escape my aunt. Elspeth is visiting the county. I came as soon as I could.”

Tristan let out a quiet snort. “You’re still running from her, then.”

But his friend wasn’t going to be embarrassed over such a matter. He grinned as he said, “Indeed. Are you not most fortunate? Come, I’m starving. It’s been hours since tea.”

The two of them made their way to the dining room, both hungry and eager for a chance to sit. Seats were taken and drinks were served.

Tristan took a sip of his brandy and nodded to the footman bearing a tray of soup.

After his first mouthful, Julian asked him, “How are you?”

Tristan frowned at his bowl, not certain he enjoyed the leek soup. Someone had changed the recipe. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that question this evening. How odd.”

“What’s more odd is you not answering the question. How did you answer it the first time?”

Eyeing his friend, who took the opportunity to slouch in his seat, Tristan avoided meeting his eyes. “I didn’t. The stable boy didn’t really care about the answer, and I had no cause to give him one.”

Julian motioned to himself. “And what of your friend? I care for you.”

Tristan jerked his head up. He thought of his parents, long since gone, a barren memory. Then of his brother, who was too good and too foolish for this world. Then of the wife, who had claimed too much of his world and nothing of him.

Friendship made him uncomfortable. He was always waiting for something awful to happen. Everyone was flawed. So he had to ask, “Do you?”

“Don’t you care for me?”

Silence ensued.

Tristan frowned and took another sip of his brandy. “I offer company and advice, and the occasional financial support. I keep our secrets and provide political insight.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Julian pointed out. “Of course, I care for you, as do our friends. It only looks different because… well, you’re a very private fellow. You don’t make it easy for us to care for you.”

“It’s not easy caring for the lot of you either,” Tristan muttered with a huff.

“Easier than a mistress, at least,” his friend teased. “Speaking of which, I must tell you the most ridiculous tale. I tried explaining in recent correspondence, but I cannot do it justice with a quill.”

They spent hours conversing, long after supper ended and the table was cleared. Soon, they were drinking in his study, the candles casting a warm glow, and no one around to bother them.

Julian recounted countless stories, for his life was one adventure after the next. But eventually, as he always did—and as Tristan always dreaded—he began asking about his life and distractions.

“You were gone all day. For a few days, your staff noted,” he said. “That must have been an adventure. Were you really at Redcliff Manor?”

Tristan set his glass down. “If you know all of this, then you must know everything. Just ask the staff.”

“I did.” Julian shifted in his seat. “How was she?”

Tristan frowned. He remembered his butler saying that the weather would be fine, when it was not. And before that, the man had misremembered the lady of the house. Who did Julian think he was speaking of?

“She is well.”

“Beautiful?”

Tristan frowned. “Beautiful?”

Leaning forward, Julian drained his glass and set it on the desk. “Don’t be daft, Tristan. I’ve heard the rumors. I told everyone off, but I came to learn the truth myself.”

So, he did know already.

Tristan shot him a dour look while he processed his words. Verity had hinted at London knowing. He hadn’t taken that seriously, but now…

Now, there really wasn’t any way out of this.

He rubbed his chin in frustration. Part of him hadn’t taken it seriously. Hadn’t thought it was possible. But if London knew, he had no options left any longer; they would have to move quickly to quell any further speculation.

“Lady Verity Redcliff. Lovely young lady. I danced with her once. There were rumors about her father back then. Some said she was desperate, but she wanted nothing to do with me. Excellent dance partner. Is she still beautiful?”

Tristan exhaled, yet it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. He curled his hands into fists and stared down at his desk, disliking the way Julian spoke about Verity. Like the charming fellow had anything to do with her.

Beautiful is not a word I would use to describe her. I was trying dearly not to look her way. And yet… one would be a fool to ignore her delicate, refined looks. The way her nose twitches and her soft ruby lips pucker. Those stormy eyes can undo a person.