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“ I swear I meant to leave.”

And yet Julian stood there as if they hadn’t parted ways back at the chapel only hours ago.

After returning from the chapel, Tristan decided to take a walk to clear his mind. But now he found himself raising an eyebrow at his friend, who stood in the middle of the path.

“I cannot believe that if you are still here. We already said our farewells.”

Overhead, the sky was growing drearier by the hour. It had yet to rain properly. Just a drizzle here and there. The ‘almost’ aspect was beginning to make his nose itch. Why couldn’t it simply rain or clear up?

If only mankind could control the skies. But then where would we stop before reaching the heavens? What a bane of an existence this is.

Up came Julian to distract him.

Tristan supposed that was for the best, since his mood was rather morose. He didn’t usually feel unease like this unless something particularly awful had happened.

I suppose that a wedding is not meant to be awful. Even a second wedding. And yet…

“Yes, but you know I adore surprises and attention. Besides, I nearly forgot my horse. I left him in your stables. They’re preparing him now, and then I’ll be on my way.

Nosy aunts and cousins complaining about one illness or another will always have me turning my head all the way around.

But what a perfect opportunity it is for me to check on you. ”

Tristan stopped. He squinted, tilting his head as he wondered if that was the truth. “We already talked.”

Julian nodded with a cheery grin. “Yes, but you hardly said a word, and that doesn’t count for a conversation. Honestly, Tristan, you should know better by now. And now that you’re back home with your new wife, I wanted to see how you two are getting on.”

The two of them glanced back at the manor as though they were expecting Verity to appear and join them. Tristan was relieved that she did not.

If Verity did join them out here, then they would have to speak to one another. And he would not know what to say in that instance. They did not know each other well enough for casual conversation. A skill like that required years of practice.

Good Lord, that will happen if I don’t do something about it beforehand.

At least he could clear his conscience now about his tenants, that being the entire reason he had come down here in the first place.

His wife was a decent negotiator. Confident and unyielding.

They had discussed when the wedding would take place—getting the special license to wed earlier than the usual three-week minimum for the reading of the banns had been much easier than any conversation with her—as well as what would cross over into his hands once wed.

“Legally speaking,” Verity had said to him, “as my husband, you will have rights over everything I have and am. But I am not willing to ask you for pin money. And I want to keep responsibility over as much as possible.”

Not her aunt, as he had assumed.

Verity had explained that Lady Wetherby had her own money and had stayed put all this time for her. She had been too stubborn and proud to accept a farthing from her.

Tristan had heard her demands before finally nodding.

“I want copies of every document. One for my steward and one for my records. We’ll need everything confirmed.

If you need a second steward, you only have to ask.

And should you need anything for yourself or our tenants, you’re welcome to use mine or the estate’s resources. ”

That had caught her by surprise. “I won’t need anything.”

“But your tenants will. Do you intend to leave them struggling merely because you don’t wish to take advantage of what will also be yours?” he had asked, pointing out that she would gain more out of this marriage.

It must not have occurred to Verity. She had scowled for a short spell, pausing to think the matter through.

Watching her get lost in thought had given Tristan a moment to study her. She was thoughtful and intelligent. Stubborn, too, however, and could easily become a problem should she demand too much from him.

But if he gave her enough money and kept her busy with her own affairs, perhaps this time he would be safe from the woman he called ‘wife.’

“Very well,” she had eventually agreed. “And you won’t stand in my way?”

“So long as you do not stand in my way,” he told her with a nod.

It was not exactly the marriage-related conversation Tristan had expected.

When the papers had been drawn up and delivered, they had been returned to him the following morning.

Clean, tiny script detailed a few requested changes, which he made without complaint, since she didn’t seem to mind access to every one of his properties.

Strange. Perhaps she doesn’t like to travel. If she wishes to stay put here, then that would certainly be ideal. Then, we could encounter one another every few years. She can manage matters here with the steward.

Yes, I think that would suffice. So long as she makes no demands on my time, my person, or my attention beyond what I have offered her.

Suddenly, his friend’s voice called, bringing him back to the present.

“Tristan?”

He blinked, trying to recall where he had left off in his conversation with Julian.

His friend raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Your wife?”

“I think she is well.”

They had not talked in the carriage. He remembered the awkwardness, the tension.

Too focused on ensuring that his knees didn’t knock into her own, he couldn’t think of anything else.

Especially with her sweet floral perfume permeating the air.

He had needed to sneeze, so once they were inside his home, he’d rushed off to blow his nose in private.

Surely, we are better for it. Not needing to speak. And the servants will take good care of her. They know their duties.

“Have you asked her about your marriage or how she feels about it? About you? About anything?” Julian prompted as they resumed walking.

They took a winding path through the trees without any particular direction. Already the air grew thicker. Rain was inevitable, though it would probably not stop Julian from taking his leave.

What a fool he is, taking needless risks. The man is a rake and a scoundrel. He cheats time and will surely have an early end if he is not careful. And worst of all, he refuses to listen to reason. If anyone needs to get married, it is Julian.

But Tristan knew better than to say that. Everyone knew Julian’s thoughts on marriage, given his parents’ unhappy union. He was there to enjoy his life and nothing else. So he would cheerfully and gladly leave this evening no matter the weather.

A blessing, Tristan told himself, so he wouldn’t have to suffer questions like these. He thought about lying or changing the subject. But when he glanced at his friend, Julian appeared in earnest. And an earnest question deserved the truth.

“I have not asked her,” Tristan admitted. “I don’t believe she cares for me or my attention, so it may be best to keep our distance. Besides, I know that she prefers a quiet life, and she can maintain her current lifestyle without me.”

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” Julian shook his head in confusion.

“You could indeed remain strangers, or you could at least attempt to like your wife. I cannot always be here for you, Tristan, nor can the others. If you will not take a mistress, why not at least try to enjoy your wife? You might try a little harder in this relationship than the last.”

That stirred heat in Tristan’s chest. While his friends didn’t know all of the circumstances of his first marriage, they already knew enough. They had noticed how little he grieved when Cassandra passed.

Still, it was a subject they had never broached. Hearing Julian bringing it up now only irritated him further. His hands clenched into fists as he held back the feelings rising inside him.

“You don’t know what you speak of,” he barked.

Julian took a step back, before giving him a look. “Would you speak of it if I were willing to listen?”

“There is nothing to speak of,” Tristan muttered, changing his mind.

Snorting, Julian shook his head. “Exactly what I knew you would say. You never change, Tristan. It is a good thing, but not always. This one is not the last one. Your wife could be good for you.”

“I look forward to the day you marry and I try to convince you to make the most of your marriage as well,” Tristan scoffed.

That only made his friend chuckle. “Except I have no intention of marrying. I cannot be ordered or tricked or begged into marriage. Someone else in the family will inherit the title when I meet my creator. But you’re different, Tristan.

You always were. So, as I told your Duchess, I wish you the best of luck. ”

In the distance, near the front of the manor, stood one of Julian’s servants, waving in their direction. It was time for him to go. He grinned and offered a ridiculous bow that made Tristan snort.

They said their final farewells there, so Julian could be on his way without further distractions. Tristan promised to write and then watched the man go.

They were friends. The best of friends in every way he could imagine. Though sometimes he felt he was too private a fellow for such a thing.

But I suppose it’s something I should know after all these years. Friends and wives seem to be inevitable. They will continue on their way, and I shall… resume mine.

Tristan headed back to the manor, rounding the garden and making a beeline to his preferred back entrance. He liked familiarity. The same things in his life. It provided a sort of comfort and ease to carry out his duties. Everyone else could sort out the rest.

Still, he knew he couldn’t control everything. Just like he knew he couldn’t control people. So he often avoided them.

And here I go, bringing another person into my life.

He exhaled and stopped in his tracks as something skittered down his spine. Already he knew he couldn’t reach that spot.

Frowning, he lifted his head. A rain droplet fell on his nose. Looking up, he spotted movement at a window on the second floor. Light flickered, and there stood his wife.

Standing in her bedchamber, she lifted a hand but made no other motion. Nor did he. He ignored the tickling sensation as the rain droplet slid from his nose down to his lips.

How long had she been watching him from up there?

Tristan weighed the need to know, before deciding it wasn’t worth the conversation. The less they spoke, the better. So he offered a slight nod and continued on his way to the house.

All the while, he wondered how similar Verity might be to Cassandra.

Unease coiled tight in his guts. How careful would he need to be this time?