Page 25 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

The lady was about to retire early, once again.

Tristan took a napkin from the Seneschal and cleaned his fingers, but all the while, his eyes were fixed on Mirrie, rising from her seat at the end of the table on the dais.

For almost a sennight now, she had done this. Arriving in the great hall just moments before his mother—almost as if she lay in wait behind a pillar. And leaving, just as soon as the sweetmeats were cleared away.

Mirrie curtsied to his parents and inclined her head towards him.

Tristan nodded to her with equal dignity and a display of patience which cost his temper dearly.

On the first night of this charade, Tristan had pushed back his own chair and courteously offered to escort her from the hall, but Mirrie had refused him.

Had refused him!

With impeccable politeness.

Tristan had always been a quick study. He did not believe in making the same mistake twice.

And so he sat and watched as Miss Mirabel walked graciously through the creeping tide of men-at-arms and disappeared through the high arched doorway. Just as she had for several nights now.

’Twas not even dark outside. God’s bones, there was still at least an hour of daylight left to them. They could have walked in the gardens or played a game of cards. Trivial pastimes, the likes of which he had taken for granted all these years, along with Mirrie’s ready smile and bubbling laugh.

All now denied to him.

His mother, dressed in a finely-embroidered gown of green silk, leaned towards him. “Mirrie denies there is aught wrong, so now I must ask the same question of you. Have you two exchanged cross words?” Her blonde eyebrows were raised towards Mirrie’s departing back.

“We’ve exchanged no words at all,” he growled.

Morwenna’s look became severe. “What of your actions, then? Has aught occurred between you that should not have?”

“Of course not, Mother.” He closed his mind to memories of their passionate embrace in the school room. After all, eye-opening as it was, he had done no more than kiss her. And they had spoken quite comfortably after, so it could not have been that which troubled her.

Looking puzzled, his mother sat back in her chair. She glanced sideways at his father, who was deep in conversation with the steward, then turned back to Tristan. “Mayhap she is anxious about the ball.”

He threw her a look, just as the trio of musicians piped into a lively jig that could not have been more at odds with his mood. “Mirrie always looked forward to the Wolvesley balls.” He drummed his fingers on the wooden trestle table. “Why should this one be any different?”

“Because of you,” she replied softly. “’Tis one thing to desire the son and heir. Quite another to get him.”

“Get him?” he echoed, his own eyebrows now shooting up beneath his thatch of hair. “What am I, Mother? A prize pig?” As if spurred on by his frustration, the musicians played faster, until Tristan wanted to roar at them to stop.

Morwenna hid her smile behind a napkin. “Oh, Tris, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” She dabbed at her lips, recovering her composure. “In any case, Esme and Jonah should be with us before dark. Hopefully they will bring Mirrie out of herself again.”

Tristan made a non-committal noise. Jonah and Mirrie had always been close friends, although until that day in the schoolroom, Tristan had never suspected the two of them shared secrets behind his back.

’Twas ridiculous to experience envy towards his afflicted younger brother, but that was exactly the emotion surging through his veins.

It could not be borne.

He stood up abruptly, scraping back his chair and causing his father’s conversation to cease. The earl glanced up towards him.

“Are you well, Tris?”

Tristan bowed. “I must take some air, Father. Is there aught I can do for you before I depart?”

Angus waved his hands in mock-exasperation. “Enough fussing, boy. I have your mother for that.”

“You call it fussing. I call it love.” His mother laid a hand over his father’s. “And I won’t be made to feel guilty over it.”

“Quite right too, my dear.” Angus lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips.

Such displays of affection between the earl and countess were hardly new, but tonight, Tristan had no stomach for them. He bowed again, then tripped down the steps from the dais and beat a hasty retreat from the great hall.

’Twas a great relief to hear the piping music fade once he reached the calm of the entrance hall.

More soothing still to step out of the front door into a warm, welcoming evening.

Birds twittered from the tree tops and horses whinnied from the paddocks, but these were merely background noises, giving him the space and quiet he needed to think.

He took a deep breath and stood for a moment by the fountain, admiring the colourful reflections of the setting sun.

There was beauty enough here to fill his heart with joy, were it not already brimming over with frustration. He had ne’er known rejection to carry such a bitter sting, like a sharpened wedge tunnelling so deep inside him that he could hardly think of anything else.

Out of long habit, Tristan started walking towards the lake, but vivid memories of his last visit there with Mirrie made him swivel around and journey instead to the paddocks.

He followed a faint rabbit path towards a group of grazing ponies, who swung their heads towards him and huffed out grass-scented breath over his extended palms. He rubbed their ears and talked to them gently, taking comfort in their kind, intelligent gazes.

It did not seem so long since he and his siblings had ridden on ponies like these, racing one another through the woods and acting out pretend battles with wooden swords and half-sized shields. Frida, he recalled, had been particularly dexterous with her wooden sword.

As he’d recalled up in the school room, on rare occasions, he had successfully persuaded Mirrie to join them, entreating her to sit up behind him on his fleet-footed pony with the reassurance that he would keep her safe.

Which he always had.

She would wrap her arms about his waist and hold on tightly as they galloped through the trees, squealing with excitement. She had enjoyed it, despite her trepidation, just as he’d known she would.

But left to herself, Mirrie would choose to watch their escapades from a distance, keeping herself tucked away, safe from the prospect of harm.

Much as she was doing right now.

Mirrie was going to great lengths to avoid being alone with him. Was it because she was avoiding temptation?

Tristan teased out the tangles in a particularly coarse mane as the pony grazed contentedly.

The more he thought about it, the more he was sure this was right.

He couldn’t deny a grudging acknowledgement of the sense in this.

It showed great self-discipline, but then, she had always been one for forethought and rationality.

Tristan gave the ponies a last pat before moving away. It didn’t matter what he did or where he went, his thoughts endlessly circled back to Mirrie.

Hell’s teeth, how was it he had only just noticed how pretty she was?

Not in a sisterly way, but in a way that seemed designed with him in mind.

They had always been friends, good friends.

He had long thought of her as one of a worryingly small group of people who he could rely on to be unfailingly honest with him.

In his sphere, flatterers and panderers were frequent, even amongst those he counted among his closest companions. Truth-telling was a rare gift.

And Mirrie had given it in abundance.

Tristan’s evening walk had done him no favours at all. He was more out of sorts on his return than he had been watching Mirrie walk away from him in the great hall. Only one resolution shone through the tangled mess of his thoughts.

I must woo her.

And what better occasion than the midsummer ball, on the morrow?

Deep in contemplation, Tristan was oblivious to the bustle and excited chatter coming from the stable yard. ’Twas not until Esme barrelled into him, brightly-coloured ribbons flying out behind her, that he realised his siblings had arrived.

“Are you not going to greet us, Tris?”

“Esme.” He embraced his sister, who seemed to grow more lovely with every day that passed.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” He noticed the carriage that had come to rest in the yard.

Trunks were being unloaded from the back and Jonah’s blond head bobbed about in the crowd of grooms and stableboys who had rushed out to help.

“Indeed we did not. One of our horses went lame at Belford and we were obliged to take shelter at Rossfarne Castle for what felt like an age. We should have been here in time for dinner.”

“I am sure some food will be found for you,” Tristan observed. “Why did you come by carriage? ’Tis much quicker to ride over the moors.” He bent closer to her ear and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me that Jonah pleaded some frailty? He can ride as well as you or I.”

“Nay, brother, ’twas not for Jonah’s sake we took the carriage.” Esme raised her finely shaped eyebrows. “We had company,” she added in a whisper.

“Who?” Tristan was intrigued.

Esme took his arm and turned them both around in time to meet Jonah and a tall, brown-haired man who was walking uneasily by his side.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” she chirped prettily. “Lord Tristan de Neville, this is David Bryce. He’s a physician recently come to the village near Ember Hall.”

David Bryce bowed to Tristan. “It is my pleasure, my lord.”

“Mr Bryce.” Tristan nodded. The man’s smile was wide, but it could not hide the tremor of anxiety in his hands, nor the sheen of perspiration on his brow.

Not a keen traveller, he concluded.

“Tris.” This from Jonah, who dipped into the smallest of formal bows.

“Jonah.” Tristan’s greeting was equally lukewarm. “We do not oft see you at Wolvesley for these occasions.”

“I thought to make an exception.” Jonah inclined his head. “Also to bring David. I heard from Mother that there were some issues with the castle physician?”

“Aye, that is true enough.”

The small group began walking towards the keep, through early evening shadows which lengthened around them.

“Does Father continue to recover?” Esme asked, taking his arm.

“He is almost back at full strength.” Tristan gave her a reassuring smile.

“I am happy to hear it, my lord.”

Tristan cast a glance at the physician. “Did you come prepared to treat him?”

He sensed Jonah’s displeasure at the question, but could not guess why he bristled. Mr Bryce, however, answered readily enough. “I am always prepared for a patient.”

“David is here as our guest.” Jonah self-importantly cleared his throat. “He is a friend of Ember Hall. Frida and Mirabel both hold him in high esteem.”

“You are too kind,” muttered the physician.

Tristan threw him a smile, hoping to set him at ease. The man was as nervous as a hound expecting a beating. “That is praise indeed. My sister Frida does not readily place her trust in any physician.”

Mr Bryce seemed to walk taller. “I have been pleased to treat little Miss Flora to Lady Frida’s satisfaction.”

“Excellent,” Tristan replied, but his mind had taken flight elsewhere and he hardly heard as Jonah took up the mantle of extolling Mr Bryce’s skills and experience.

Instead, he found himself recalling a conversation from the last time he visited Ember Hall.

Did Jonah not speak of a physician who had intentions towards Mirrie?

Tristan’s pace increased as his memories sharpened into focus.

The physician’s name had been David.

And this same man was now here, at Wolvesley Castle.

“You have a most marvellous home, milord,” the physician said, resting a hand on his breast as his gaze swept around approvingly.

Tristan nodded; his thoughts not easily budged. Did a lowly physician really imagine he could court Mirrie?

His Mirrie?

Tristan nodded, making an outward show of attention as Jonah continued to list Mr Bryce’s many virtues as a physician.

“It is possible he could take a second look at Father?” Jonah concluded.

Tristan’s smile remained fixed in place.

“You must ask Father yourself. I’m afraid he may be a little weary of physicians now.

” He fixed Mr Bryce with his gaze. “But by all means, make your enquiries. I will leave you in my brother’s capable hands.

” He made a show of bowing to Jonah. “I have matters to attend to. You will find your way, of course?”

It was not really a question, but Esme answered it impatiently.

“Jonah has not been back at Wolvesley for some time, Tristan. But have no fear. You go about your business, whatever it may be. I will play hostess while a servant fetches Mother.” She took both men’s arms in a proprietorial gesture and marched them in the direction of the great hall.

With relief, Tristan turned towards his father’s solar, the room he was beginning to think of as his private retreat. Angus had not yet picked up the reins of earldom, and Tristan was enjoying taking on the duties in his stead. They gave his days shape and purpose.

But now, he had no intention of working, he merely wanted to be alone so that he could think more of his quest to woo Mirrie.

The stakes had just risen that little bit higher, and Tristan loved nothing more than a challenge.