Page 33 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Tristan swallowed down his instinctive refusal. For all his mother’s quietude, he knew her life had not been easy. And after his father’s recent ill health, Tristan should know more than anyone not to take either the presence, or the support, of his parents for granted.

They were walking, by long habit, on the winding path which led up through the paddocks. Morwenna had always been happiest and most relaxed around horses. Tristan also felt some of the weight on his shoulders decreasing as he greeted his favourite charger.

“He’s looking well,” Morwenna commented, running her pale hands over his sleek, black neck.

“I imagine he is bored, as I am,” Tristan retorted.

Morwenna made no attempt to hide her smile. “Is it the battlefield you both miss? All that blood and danger?”

At this moment, he would quite happily take the ugliness of a battlefield over the unfathomable machinations of his own mind.

Although he could never miss all the death and destruction that battle brought, even when one fought on the winning side.

He sighed, momentarily lost in thought. “There is something to be said for the clear singularity of purpose one feels at such a time.”

“Truly?” Morwenna raised her eyebrows. “You do not enjoy this hard-won period of peace we are enjoying? A peace you had such a hand in creating?”

“Of course.” The uneasy peace now existing between England and Scotland was not something he would ever dismiss. “Peace, prosperity, stability. They are the very things we fight for.”

“Just so. And speaking of prosperity, I should tell you that your father has read through your proposal to introduce a three-field system. He believes you are right. ’Tis a way to increase our harvest.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” Tristan smiled at his mother and regretted his earlier outburst. He patted the horse’s shoulder and accepted him nuzzling at his pockets. “I should take him for a gallop over the moors.”

“Aye, that might be one way of improving your temper.”

“And another?” Tristan eyed his mother speculatively over the horse’s ears. She rarely made pointed observations if there was not something serious that she wished to say.

“Son, tell me what is troubling you.”

Where would I even start?

“’Tis the market traders,” he hedged. “Some time ago I had the idea of introducing a covered market to Wolvesley. I spoke to Father about it as soon as he recovered, for this is the perfect time to build the stalls, before winter sets in.”

Morwenna was nodding slowly. “I can see the benefits of such a plan.”

“So could Father. So could the traders,” he added quickly.

“Where lies the problem?” Morwenna resumed their walk, holding up her skirts as the ground rose into a slight incline.

“The carpenters cannot source the correct wood. The traders cannot decide where they would like to base themselves.” Tristan folded his hands behind his back to prevent himself from flinging them around like a child in the midst of a tantrum. “In short, everything has gone wrong.”

Everything went wrong on the day that Mirrie left.

“These things can take time, Tristan.”

“And it is damnably frustrating.” The words escaped him in a growl.

Morwenna turned to face him. They had crested the hill and now stood with the beauty of Wolvesley woods unfolding beneath them. A slight breeze rustled the branches of the ancient oak trees and the silvery song of a ruddock floated through the warm air.

“Now tell me what is truly troubling you.” She arched her blonde eyebrows. “I doubt the logistical challenges of sourcing wood can put my eldest son in such a foul temper.”

Under her watchful gaze, he felt his anger turn to desolation.

“Could it be, Tristan, that it is someone close to all our hearts who has disturbed your equilibrium?”

“Jonah put me out of sorts. He always does. But he is gone now,” Tristan muttered.

His mother sighed loudly. “You well know that I do not speak of Jonah.” She shook her head in exasperation.

“The two of you are more alike than either of you would ever admit. In more ways that e’en I first realised.

” She fell silent, her eyes fixed determinedly on the tree tops as if she had said more than she intended.

“What do you mean?” Tristan grudgingly gave in to his curiosity.

“You resent Jonah because of his cleverness. He resents you because of your strength. Is that not enough?”

“Nay, Mother. That is not what you meant at all.”

She put her head to one side. “Very well. If you insist. I believe a certain young lady has come between you.”

One name floated across his mind. “Mirrie?”

“The very same.”

“Why should she—?” Tristan stumbled. He had given his parents a very poor explanation for Mirrie’s hasty departure from Wolvesley and, to his surprise, they had accepted it with little questioning.

“It was clear to a great many of us that Jonah had a special place in his heart for Mirrie when you were all growing up,” Morwenna said, fondly. “It was hard for him, to give that up.”

Some response was expected of him, but he could not properly form it.

“But he put his feelings to one side, because of you.”

“Why would he do that?” Tristan was nonplussed. “I never asked it of him.”

“You had no cause to. I doubt you were e’en aware of how he felt.” Morwenna put her hands in the small of her back and tilted her face towards the sun. “The ways of love are eternally strange. Jonah would have given heaven and earth to Mirrie. But Mirrie has only ever had eyes for you.”

Tristan’s pulse picked up speed, although he kept his expression neutral.

“I saw some silly graffiti in the school room.” He plucked at some long grass and shredded it in his fingers.

“But it was youthful nonsense. Mirrie may have felt that way about me for a short time when we were children. She admitted as such.” And Jonah knew it too, he realised, with a pang of self-awareness. “But ’twas naught serious.”

Morwenna smiled at him gently. “Is that what she told you?”

He nodded.

“I would not call Mirabel a liar. But perchance she was forced to make certain statements to protect her dignity, or, more likely, the friendship that exists between you. Perchance she rightly sensed that you were not ready to hear such a declaration.”

Tristan felt himself on uncertain ground. “You are telling me that Mirrie has long had feelings for me?” He flinched at the awkwardness of asking such a question of his own mother.

She met his gaze. “Aye, that is the truth of it.”

“Well, she has put them away from her now.” He scratched at his head, frustration swirling in his gut once more. Hadn’t he asked, nay begged, Mirrie to give their fledgling relationship a chance?

“Such feelings are not easily put away. Methinks Jonah knows this as well as anyone else.”

Tristan groaned out loud, then flung himself down onto the springy grass. “’Tis all a mess, Mother.”

She carefully lowered herself down beside him. Not talking. Giving him the space he needed to think it all through.

“If Mirrie has such feelings for me, why did she agree to come here and act the part of my betrothed? Why did Jonah suggest it?” He took a breath. “’Twas all a ruse, Mother, agreed upon before we departed from Ember Hall. I’m sorry for it. But there it is.”

He waited for the axe to fall, but Morwenna only nodded slowly. “I know.”

He frowned, incredulously. “For how long have you known?”

“That day in your father’s bedchamber. When the two of you showed such resistance to announcing your betrothal at the ball, ’twas then I began to work it out.”

“Are you not angry?” He could not reconcile what she was saying with the calmness of her delivery.

“I would be hypocritical if I were.” She paused to send him a rueful smile. “I consider myself culpable in the deceit, Tristan.”

“How so? You were not e’en at Ember Hall when we conjured the plan.” He rolled onto his side so he could study her more closely, feeling more curiosity than anything else.

She stroked back his hair. “But ’twas I who sent you there. ’Twas I who made sure your head was full of our insistence that you find a bride.”

Tristan blinked in amazement. “I wondered at your sudden insistence on marrying me off.”

“I knew you would find Mirrie waiting there for you. Beautiful, kind Mirrie,” she added, emphatically. “She would be the perfect bride for you. But only if you began to see her in that light.”

He had no words. He rolled onto his back, put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the blue sky. Fluffy white clouds floated aimlessly above him, much like his thoughts. He could not decide if he were angry or amused at his mother’s meddling.

After all, she had only pointed him in the direction of Mirrie. He had done the rest.

“Have you begun to see her in that light?” she asked, softly.

He answered honestly. “I don’t know how I feel.” He threw her a rueful smile. “Except out of sorts with everyone and everything.”

“Well, that is the important question you must answer before anyone else’s heart is further compromised. Certainly before you visit Ember Hall again.”

“I have no plans to visit Ember Hall,” he said stiffly.

Morwenna pressed her lips together. “It is your sister’s home. Some day you must go back there. And you have hardly been happy these last days, Tristan.”

He plucked at a handful of grass and let it fall.

“Tristan?”

“Aye, you are right.” He sat up and clasped his hands around his knees. He had felt as if a part of him were missing ever since Mirrie rode away from Wolvesley.

And perchance he felt slightly lighter of heart just for acknowledging that.

“You must try to work out why you are so out of sorts. I am unused to seeing my handsome son with such a scowl on his face,” Morwenna said lightly.

“I will endeavour to appear more cheerful.” He dropped some of the grass over her lap and she brushed it away with a chuckle before turning to him with a serious expression.

“And then you must decide if you truly love Mirrie. And if the answer is yes, I ask you this. What are you going to do about it?”

He fixed his gaze on the distant treetops.

“That is precisely the problem, Mother. For if I have learned one thing these last days, ’tis that our friendship is very dear to me, and I would do naught to risk it.

” He took a breath. “And if I have learned a second thing, ’tis that my actions all too often do exactly that. ”

Morwenna watched him closely, a small smile playing about her lips. “But?” she supplied.

“But I find myself craving her company.” And her smile. And her laugh. Tristan added silently, struggling to articulate these new, deeply held emotions.

“Then you must talk to her.” Morwenna nodded firmly, as if it was all so very simple.

“But if I get it wrong again…” Tristan deliberately left his sentence unfinished.

His mother reached out and patted his shoulder. “You must curb your instinctive impatience. Take things slowly with Mirrie.”

“You mean, careful conversation? Slow walks through the woods?” He raised an eyebrow.

She nudged him with her elbow and laughed. “I mean no hasty decisions. No grand gestures. Court her as if she is a new acquaintance.”

“But I know Mirrie as well as I know anyone in this land.”

“Which is why this transition will be hard, for you both. The question is, are you willing to try?” Her voice rose with emphasis.

A beat passed. Tristan tilted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes.

He was willing to try. But was he willing to face rejection again?

He thought the answer must be yes, for there was no alternative that he could see.