“Of course, sir.” She came to him and transferred the baby into his arms smoothly. If she noticed his lack of confidence, she said nothing. “I’ll be just in the other room if you need me.”
Before Tristan could protest, she had left the nursery, going into her own small bedroom and shutting the door. A cold shock of panic froze him to the spot. He hadn’t meant for her to leave. He had no idea what to do with a baby. She was so light in his arms. So fragile. What if he hurt her?
She made a little snuffling sound, and he reflexively looked down. His first look at his daughter’s face… and he tumbled headlong into love.
She was perfect, from the wispy pale hair on her head to her delicate little fingers that came into view as the blanket wrapping her loosened. He walked carefully to the rocking chair near the hearth, the chair Dariela had specifically designed, and sat, careful not to wake the baby. He had no idea what to do with a baby, no idea how to raise a daughter, but sitting here, staring down at her sweet little face, he vowed he would learn anything he needed to know. Anything to keep her safe, healthy, and happy.
He had no idea how long he’d sat there rocking as she slept, her warm weight gradually growing more comfortable in his arms, when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He just kept himself from jumping and looked up.
Amory stood beside him, his face so full of concern and compassion it made Tristan ache. “I came as quickly as I could.”
“You didn’t have to.” But he was pathetically grateful Amory had.
“Of course I did. You’re my friend. I’m so sorry, Tris.”
“Me too.” He looked from Amory’s beloved face to his daughter’s, his gaze drawn there again.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” He smiled down at her, filled with awe that she came from him. Unbelievable.
“Does she have a name?” Amory asked.
“If we had a girl, Dariela wanted to name her Bria, so that’s her name.” It suited her, though he didn’t know how Dariela could have known. Maybe mothers just knew.
“That’s a lovely name. She chose well.”
“She did.” She usually did. Marrying him hadn’t been a choice for her any more than it had been for him, but all the other choices she’d made were good. Her taste was impeccable, her judgment sound. She would have known what was best for Bria. “Mother wants to take her.”
“The baby? Why?” Amory kept his voice down, certainly out of deference to the sleeping baby—a father himself, he would know well the consequences of waking an infant—but his sharp surprise was still obvious.
“She doesn’t think I can care for her properly without Dariela.” Tristan sighed. “She could be right. I don’t know anything about babies. I never imagined being a father, not really. Not sure I ever wanted to be one.”
“And now?” There was no judgment in Amory’s tone, just the understanding and support of long friendship. Tristan’s whole body relaxed hearing it. He’d needed his friend here, even if he hadn’t admitted it.
“Now….” He studied Bria’s face again. “I love her. It’s stunning how much, how quickly.”
“I felt that way about Julien. Seeing him for the first time….”
Yes, Amory would understand Tristan’s feelings, even though, unlike Tristan, Amory had known he’d wanted a child. “I don’t want Mother to take her away. I want to keep her with me.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do.”
“I don’t know anything about babies, Amory, or about raising a daughter.”
Amory smiled. “You’ll learn. Philip and I did. We didn’t know anything before Julien was born. But we loved him, wanted him.”
“You’re a wonderful father.”
“You will be too.” Amory shook his head, forestalling what Tristan was about to say before he even opened his mouth. Amory knew him that well. “You love her. You want to care for her. So you will. You’ll learn, and you won’t be alone. You have her nursemaids, and you have your friends. You know I’ll help you.”
Yes, he knew Amory would, despite Amory’s own family and responsibilities as consort to the crown prince. Because Amory loved him, not as Tristan once wished he would, but loved him as a friend all the same. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Do you need to go to Dariela? I can go with you, or stay here with Bria if you don’t want to leave her alone.”
Tristan shook his head. “Her mother is with her. I won’t intrude.”
Amory nodded, quietly accepting Tristan’s assertion, but then he knew how Tristan felt about Dariela. “Do you want to get some rest?”
He should. The coming days would be long and tiring, but he didn’t want sleep, not yet. “I think I’d like to stay here a while longer.”
Amory only nodded again and, after a moment, quietly brought a chair over, set it next to Tristan’s, and settled into it.
“Don’t you have to leave? You should be at the palace.”
“I should be here with my friend.” Amory squeezed his shoulder and left his hand there, a comforting connection between them.
“Thank you.”
“WHAT TOOK you so long?” Etan asked, still laughing at a witty observation of Flavian’s as Philip came back into the room. Then he realized Philip was alone. “Everything all right with Julien? Where’s Amory?”
Cathal and Flavian looked up as well, giving Philip their attention. The five of them had been playing cards, enjoying a casual evening together, when Amory had been called from the room by a message. Philip had taken the opportunity to check on their son while play paused.
“Julien is fine. He’s sleeping.” Philip dropped into his chair, slumping down. Alarm rushed through Etan, and he sat up straighter, poised to spring into action. Whatever that action might be. He wasn’t sure why he had such a bad feeling. Philip rubbed a hand over his face. “The message was from Tristan.”
“The baby?” Cathal asked.
“Fine. A girl. But his wife… didn’t survive the birth.”
The last of the laughter drained from the room, leaving an echoing silence in its wake.
“What happened? Wasn’t Jadis able to do anything?” Flavian asked after a moment.
“He never had the chance. Tristan’s mother sent him away as soon as he arrived.” Philip’s exasperation was palpable. “Tristan apologized in his note for any disrespect she may have given.”
Another moment of silence. Etan tried to comprehend why Tristan’s mother would send a powerful healer away and the terrible consequences of that action.
“And Tristan?” Etan asked, finally finding his voice. He ignored Cathal’s sharp glance in his direction. “How is he?”
There was a knowing and rather sympathetic look in Philip’s eyes that Etan did his best to ignore as well. Everyone knew of his feelings for Tristan—or at least what those feelings had been—but he didn’t need their pity.
“I don’t know. His note was brief and formal—more to me than to Amory, what with the apology. Amory’s gone to him.”
“Good. That’s good.” Part of Etan wanted to be the one going to Tristan now, the one to help and comfort, but it wasn’t his place. He wasn’t Tristan’s oldest friend. He wasn’t anything. And really, that was the reason he couldn’t be the one to drop everything and go to Tristan tonight. He’d wanted to be far more to Tristan than a friend once. He’d loved Tristan and been hurt more than he’d thought possible when Tristan married. It was best for him to stay away.
But that didn’t mean he could avoid paying his respects to Tristan two days later. It was only proper to do so, though he approached the trip with some trepidation. He went with Philip, Amory, Cathal, and Flavian in the hopes that arriving in a group, especially one that included the princes, would somehow distract from his presence.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Cathal said, his voice pitched so only Etan could hear him.
Etan almost laughed. Cathal was usually the one who maintained the importance of duty, res
ponsibility, and propriety. Perhaps Flavian had more of an effect on Cathal than they knew. Etan glanced at his brother. Or perhaps Cathal was just that worried about Etan. “You know I do.”
Cathal sighed. “I wish you didn’t.”
“I’m not weak, Cathal. I can handle this.”
“I never thought you were weak.” Cathal’s shocked expression proved the truth of his statement. “I just want to spare you pain.”
The tension inside Etan loosened. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Cathal seemed skeptical, but he said nothing more as they approached Tristan’s house. Etan had never been to the townhouse Tristan moved into after his marriage. He’d visited Tristan at his family’s home, the house where Tristan grew up, many times before that, but after, Etan had distanced himself. He swung down from his horse and took a moment to study the house as the others dismounted and the guards that accompanied them got themselves and everything else sorted.
It was a nice house, smaller than Tristan’s family home but a fine size for a couple and a child—or Tristan and a child, now. Three stories tall, the house was built of gold-colored stone, the door and shutters painted a rich green. It would be welcoming—inviting even—on any other day. Today it only seemed cold and sad with the swags of black fabric draping the door and windows, all under the leaden gray sky and chill wind that were the last gasps of winter.
“Ready?” Cathal asked.
No, but Etan nodded just the same. Cathal must not have believed him because he stayed close to Etan’s side. Flavian took up a place on Etan’s other side instead of walking next to his husband. The support from his brother by marriage was touching, though Etan hated that they thought he needed the support. Hated that his unrequited feelings for Tristan and the grief when his hopes were dashed were so widely known.
They followed Philip and Amory up the few front steps and into the house. Several people milled around the small entrance hall, all strangers to Etan except Adeline, Amory’s sister. She moved gracefully around other people and dropped into a curtsy in front of Philip and Amory. The others in the room noticed the action and the princes in their midst and made their bows and curtsies as well. When Adeline straightened, Amory embraced her and Philip kissed her cheek.
“It’s good you’re here. I know Tristan will be glad to see friendly faces,” she said, reaching out a hand to Cathal and Etan, and then Flavian.
“How is he?” Amory asked. Etan was secretly happy he did, because it saved Etan from having to ask the question.
“A little overwhelmed, I think. With the arrangements, and between his family, Dariela’s family, and the baby.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to help as much as I can.”
“You’re a good friend, Adeline,” Amory said, smiling and squeezing his sister’s hand.
“Oh, hush. Come, I’ll take you to him.” They followed Adeline’s slim figure, clad in a gown so dark a gray it was nearly black, as she walked farther into the house. People bowed or curtsied when they passed. Etan trailed at the back of the group, still flanked by Cathal and Flavian.
While conversation had been quiet in the entrance hall, it was hushed in the room where the coffin was, so much so that the quiet weeping of the older woman who was likely Dariela’s mother was clearly audible. She was in a chair in the corner, a small cluster of women around her, trying to comfort her.
The poor woman had lost her daughter far too young. But still Etan’s eyes sought out Tristan. He stood near the coffin. Etan was used to him shining with his bright blue eyes and his gleaming gold hair. Today Tristan seemed dulled, dragged down by fatigue and grief. Etan ached to make it better, to take some of the burden from his shoulders, to hold Tristan and comfort him, but he couldn’t. He steeled himself against the urge to do so.
They filed past the coffin on their way to pay their respects to Tristan. The woman lying there had been undeniably pretty in life. Etan didn’t know much else about her. In the months they had been married, Etan had done his best to spend as little time with Tristan, with or without his wife, as he could. Self-preservation on his part, giving himself the time to get over his grief and put away his love for Tristan. He hadn’t managed to get over all the hurt yet. And now she was dead. As much as he wished Tristan hadn’t married at all, as much as he wished Tristan returned the feelings Etan had had for him, he never would have wanted that for this poor woman. Etan’s unrequited feelings, his grief, hadn’t been her fault.
And he felt wrong standing at her coffin with her mourners after doing his best to avoid her for so long.
“Etan.”
Tristan’s voice brought Etan out of his thoughts. The musical quality was muted now, but his voice still made Etan’s insides swoop around dizzyingly. As it always had. He ruthlessly ignored the feeling.
“Tristan, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Tristan nodded. “Thank you for coming.”
The words were stiff, formal, completely different from the words they used to exchange back before Tristan had married. Back when they had been close friends and Etan had reason to hope for more someday.
“Of course.” Yes, of course, Etan would come today to pay his respects after Tristan’s wife died, but Tristan couldn’t have known that, not after he had distanced himself from Tristan and their friendship as much as possible in the almost year of Tristan’s marriage. Guilt stirred inside him, just a little.
As Tristan stared at him, Etan struggled for the polite words he should say in this situation, but he couldn’t seem to find them. He’d been brought up to know what to say in every social situation, but all of that training failed him now. Not that he thought Tristan was waiting for meaningless social niceties. No, Tristan had to expect something more from someone who had been his friend, and Etan should give him that because it wasn’t Tristan’s fault Etan’s heart was broken, not really. But Etan couldn’t find the words.
Thankfully, Amory stepped up, filling the silence with all the words Etan couldn’t conjure up. And that was best. Amory had been Tristan’s closest friend since childhood, was someone Tristan had probably been more than a little in love with. Maybe still was, for all Etan knew.
He nodded at Cathal’s discreet nudge, and the two of them and Flavian faded back into the small crowd. They wandered through the rooms on the first floor of the house, stopping to talk here and there with someone they knew. Etan tired of the conversations quickly, his awkwardness at the situation and his feelings—whatever they were—making him restless. Maybe some air would help.
He excused himself quietly from Cathal and Flavian and the two others they were speaking with. Cathal shot him a concerned look, but Etan shook his head, trying to reassure. He was fine. Or he would be. Mostly.
He wandered back into the entrance hall. Out the front door would be the easiest route to fresh air, but it would lead him onto the street. The peace and quiet of a garden would be his preference, but he wasn’t sure where to find one here, though this house had to have at least a small one.
“Etan, where are you off to?” Adeline asked as she walked up to him.
“Just thinking of stepping outside for a moment, getting some air.”
She nodded. “It is close in here with so many people, and Tristan’s mother refusing to allow a window to be even cracked open.”
“Yes.” He didn’t disagree with her assumption, but from the look that flitted through her eyes, he wondered if she didn’t guess at the real reason.
“I was going to take a moment myself and go upstairs. Check on the babies.”
“The babies?”
“I brought my son with me. I didn’t want to leave him while I’m here all day.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t been thinking. Adeline’s first child had been born almost two months ago.
“You haven’t seen him yet, have you?” She smiled when he shook his head. “Would you like to come meet him? It isn’t the fresh air you were seeking, but it’ll be less stifling upstairs, and I’ll be able to show of
f my son to you.”
He choked back a laugh at the twinkle in her eye. Laughing would not be appropriate at all. “I would love to meet him.”
He offered her an arm, which she took as she led him up the stairs and along a corridor. She didn’t knock on the door but just let them in to what he immediately saw was a nursery. Of course she would have left her son in the nursery with Tristan’s infant daughter, probably with both nursemaids. Something twisted in his stomach. He didn’t know if he wanted to see Tristan’s child, didn’t know if he could.
But Adeline sailed through the door, and he could do nothing but follow. With only a few murmured words of greeting for the nursemaids on the other side of the room, she went straight to the crib, a large, handsomely carved piece of furniture, and looked inside. When she turned to beckon him forward with a smile, he forced himself to walk to her side and look down into the crib.
Both babies were sleeping quietly. The chubby-cheeked boy with the dark auburn hair was unmistakably Adeline’s child. His face was stamped with something of both her and her husband, and those features mingled into an adorable infant. She reached into the crib and straightened the baby’s clothing, brushing a gentle finger lightly over one little hand. He smiled watching her dote on her son.
“He’s gorgeous, Adeline. Looks just like you.”
Adeline laughed lightly. “And it’s usually your brother who’s the charmer. Thank you, though. I certainly think he’s beautiful, though I see a fair amount of Pierrick in him.”
Adeline leaned over and moved her hand to the other baby in the crib, fussing over that child just as she had her son. Etan’s gaze was drawn to the infant. She was smaller than Adeline’s son, not surprising since she was younger, but it wasn’t just that. The baby girl seemed delicate somehow with her pale hair and skin and her slight frame, or maybe that was just Etan’s impression of her, stemming from his pity that she’d lost her mother so very young. It made the baby seem even more helpless, even more vulnerable.
The Scholar's Heart (Chronicles of Tournai Book 3) Page 2
