Page 2 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Tristan felt for a moment the foolishness of raising his grievances in a busy household, to which he had just added the burden of responsibility for his high-spirited sister, Esme. But his ire could not be so easily dampened down.

“You are family,” he declared.

“And you are Father’s heir, the next Earl of Wolvesley,” Frida said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “He asks little of you, considering the import of your inheritance.”

“Little of me?” Tristan scuffed his boots on the polished floor, annoyance swirling in his veins. “Only a contract that perchance will last the rest of my days.” His pulse picked up speed as outrage took hold. “Only my freedom to live and love as I please. Only my heart and very soul.”

Frida’s expression passed through disappointment into scolding. She heaved Christopher into her arms, staggering slightly under his weight, and held out a hand towards Flora. “I see you are not to be reasoned with. I’m taking these two up to bed.”

Tristan knew he had spoken harshly and good manners demanded an apology, but he couldn’t seem to summon it.

He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the tall window to the side of the fireplace.

Beyond these walls, birdsong still filled the blue skies and he itched to be out there, striding over the rolling hills.

A brisk walk would burn off this frustration.

He could think of better ways to find release, but none that could be indulged this night at Ember Hall.

At that moment, Mirrie returned holding a heavy tray, which she carefully lowered onto a wooden table beside Tristan. Too late, he realised he should have taken it from her.

“I have brought in some freshly-baked honey cakes,” she said with a small smile.

“Just what we need.” Tristan strained to inject enthusiasm into his voice.

“Aye, to sweeten the atmosphere in here.” Esme widened her eyes when Tristan shot her a disapproving look. “’Tis true, brother. You should stop this ceaseless complaining.”

Tristan bit into one of the soft cakes and allowed himself a moment of pleasure as his mouth filled up with sweetness. “I do not want to find myself in a situation like Isabella,” he said, after he had swallowed.

Even Callum chuckled at that. “With a spouse some forty years your senior?”

“In a marriage that has not brought her happiness,” Tristan persisted.

Callum shook his dark head, eyes twinkling.

“The Earl of Felsham was an old man when Isabella danced at her first ball. An equivalent match, for yourself, would hardly help with your need to continue the de Neville line.” He lifted a honey cake in a mock salute.

“I do not expect that to be your destiny, Tris.”

Esme nodded approvingly at her brother-in-law.

“Exactly.” She returned her gaze to Tristan.

“You know as well as I do that Mother and Father will invite a dazzling array of young heiresses to the midsummer ball. Many a man would welcome such a fate.” She swiped another cake from the tray.

“Just pick a bride and hurry up about it. ’Tis I who will suffer, being obliged to stay all the way up here, far from anything of import, until you do. ”

Tristan glanced down at Mirrie, still standing by his side. “What do you think?” he asked her gruffly. “Are you on their side, or mine?”

She straightened up but did not meet his eye. “I think your attention is fixed on the wrong thing.”

Her unexpected reprimand was a shock. Mirrie kept her eyes fixed on the floor, but her sweet voice was firm.

“Your father is ill,” she continued, her voice gaining volume and conviction the longer she spoke.

“That is, after all, why he is ordering you to marry with such haste. That is why you have brought Esme here from Wolvesley.” She looked up pointedly at Esme, who pouted a little in return.

“’Tis all so your father can recuperate in peace.

And so your mother can concentrate on finding you a suitable bride.

” Mirrie’s shoulders hunched. “It is unlikely you will be given no choice in the matter, Tristan. And in that, you are far more fortunate than I can ever hope to be.”

He was winded by surprise. But Mirrie had not yet finished.

“Imagine yourself a spinster without a dowry. Then consider what marriage prospects you may have.”

Tristan recovered his wits and waved her concerns aside with what he hoped was a reassuring air.

“First of all, my father’s health is bound to improve before long.

He’s the Earl of Wolvesley. He’s as strong as an ox.

” He nodded to give emphasis to his words and saw Esme nodding along with him.

Both of them were utterly convinced that their hale and hearty father would soon bounce back to his customary excellent health.

“Second of all, what is this talk of you not having a dowry?” He put his hands on his hips and lowered his brow.

“You are Father’s ward and he loves you like his own.

Of course he will see you rightly settled, when the time comes. ”

“And the time might come soon, might it not?” Jonah interjected, with something of a challenge in his voice. “The new physician in the village has shown quite an interest in our Mirrie.”

Mirrie sniffed and turned her face away. Callum was the one to speak up next.

“Methinks dear Mirrie can do better than a blabbermouth who thinks mainly of coin.”

“What’s this?” Jonah cocked an eyebrow.

“David Bryce became most attentive toward Mirrie when he discovered she was your father’s ward,” Callum drawled. “’Tis no crime to have an eye to an advantageous match. But no great credit to him either.”

Tristan had opened his mouth to agree, but now he found he had lost his train of thought.

Why does the notion of some village physician paying court to Mirrie make me so uneasy?

Mirrie pulled her shawl about her shoulders, despite the heat, and walked closer to the window.

“You are wrong about the physician. David Bryce is polite and attentive to everyone, but he pays no special notice to me,” she said mildly, alleviating Tristan’s alarm only a little.

“Your family have always been very kind to me,” she added. “I did not mean to appear ungrateful.”

“And nor did you appear so.”

Tristan glanced over at Jonah who was seated comfortably in an over-stuffed armchair. That was the first sensible thing he had said all evening.

“Quite right,” Tristan agreed. He had to get out of this stifling hall and walk over the fields. Some vigorous exercise would surely clear his head.

But Jonah fixed him with his piercing blue gaze. “If you will hear me, brother, I have a suggestion.”

In truth, Jonah was the last person Tristan would look to for advice.

But he brushed cake crumbs from his tunic and nodded with what he hoped was a genuine-looking smile.

“I will gladly hear you.” Suppressing his urge to flee, he settled himself in the nearest chair and crossed his long legs at the ankle.

“Forsooth, I am relieved to know that at least one member of my family has some interest in my happiness.”

He felt, although could not see, Eme rolling her eyes once again. He resisted a childish urge to stick out his tongue at her.

“Speak up, Jonah, and quickly, before Tristan makes another long speech about the hardships he must endure.” Esme sashayed past him before plonking herself down in a cushioned window seat, closely followed by the adoring hound.

“We are all ready and waiting for you to scatter your pearls of wisdom,” she said pointedly, settling her chin on her upturned palm.

Jonah cleared his throat. “You’ve said it yourself, Tristan.

Father’s condition is temporary.” Jonah waved his hand about in a vague manner.

None of the siblings were altogether sure what ailment had struck down their previously invulnerable father.

“Your best recourse, surely, is to buy yourself time.”

Tristan leaned forward, his interest piqued. “How so?”

Jonah shrugged expansively. “Father is insisting you marry and produce an heir so that his line will be secure into the next generation.” His blue eyes glowed with momentary angst, causing Tristan to reflect that for as long as he did not produce an heir, Jonah would be next in line behind him to inherit the Earldom of Wolvesley.

“But the need to marry you off has never bothered him unduly before. It seems likely that once he is recovered, some other matter will claim his attention.”

Tristan found himself nodding as his fingers drummed impatiently on his breeches. “Aye. But how does that help me now? Mother is planning a midsummer ball with a long line of ladies brought for my perusal.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Tristan was not in the least averse to perusing ladies.

But he was most uncomfortable with being forced into any situation.

Marriage felt like it would be far more of a constraint on him than a blessing.

With the wealth of the Wolvesley estate at his disposal, together with his natural good looks and gregarious charm, the heir to the Earl of Wolvesley had grown accustomed to dancing with whomever he pleased, dining wherever he pleased, and bedding whichever willing beauty caught his eye.

He had no intention of settling down and marrying any time soon.

Jonah opened his arms. “Tell Mother and Father you have already found true love. Then their match-making efforts will cease. And once Father is up and about again, your lady can break your heart and leave you free to return to doing as you please.”

Silence fell as they all digested this. Tristan repeated Jonah’s words to himself, looking for a flaw and finding none. Could it be that Jonah, of all people, had found a solution to his problem?

A low chuckle sounded from the window seat. “’Tis a fine idea.” Esme sat back, a faint breeze from the open window ruffling her blonde hair. “But you would need to be convincing, especially with Mother.”

“I can be convincing,” Tristan declared.

His fingers beat out a rhythm on the arm of his chair as enthusiasm took hold.

“God’s bones, if it gets me out of marrying some empty-headed heiress, I can be utterly convincing.

” Someone tutted and Tristan swung his head to one side to see Mirrie in the act of bending down to collect the now empty tray. “You do not approve?”

She straightened up, hazel eyes looking directly at him. “I think only of the poor young woman you will enlist for this dishonest venture.”

Tristan shook his head, uncomprehending. “What of her?”

A sad smile played about Mirrie’s heart-shaped lips. “Exactly that.”

“She would have to be in on the plan,” Esme piped up, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Someone we can trust.”

“And someone that Mother approves of.” This from Jonah, who was refilling his goblet of wine.

Tristan had not lifted his gaze from Mirrie’s hazel eyes. The solution was here before him. She was pretty and gentle and kind. A woman well-beloved of both his mother and his father.

And someone that he himself trusted above all others.

“I can think of the perfect person,” he said, softly.

A blush stained Mirrie’s cheeks as she understood his meaning. She shook her head and proclaimed, “Nay, I could never.”

But at the same time, Esme rose from the window seat and rushed forwards to grasp Mirrie’s hands.

“Perfect indeed,” she gushed. Mirrie was still shaking her head, but Esme seemed blind to her hesitation.

“You will save us all. Tristan will be free. And I will be able to return home. Not that Ember Hall isn’t beautiful,” she assured Callum.

“But you know how I love the balls and excitement of Wolvesley Castle.” She turned again to Mirrie.

“As did you, back in the old days before you and Frida moved up here.”

“That’s right,” Jonah agreed. “I know you’ve missed the dances, Mirrie. You’ve told me so yourself.”

It was indeed the perfect solution. Tristan could not allow Mirrie to say no.

He stood up from his chair and moved into the centre of the circle. Nudging his sister aside, he took Mirrie’s slender hands in his and gazed down into her familiar face.

“What do you say?” he whispered, summoning up his most winning smile. “Will you save me, Mirrie?”