by Nikki Poppen
“What is it?” Isabella said, reading the indecision on her brother’s face.
“I think I called him back because he waits for you,” Alain said softly. “If you can find him in the fever, I think you alone could bring him back. Give him something to fight with, Bella.”
When Alain left, she took up her vigil on the side of the big bed, eschewing the chair for Tristan’s side. She took his limp hand in her own, amazed at how hot his skin burned. It was almost uncomfortable to hold on to him, but she did not flinch. She began to talk of their summers at Summer Hill, of the river and the horses and the picnics. She imagined his brow relaxed and became peaceful as the stories of their picnics and river walks wove their magic around him. Unmistakably, she felt the hand in her own grow increasingly slack and anger welled up inside her. He would not cheat her again!
“Tristan! Wake up. I did not give you permission to leave.” She raised her voice. “You will not break my heart a third time. I will not allow it. I love you and I will not give you up to this. Come back and give us a chance, Tristan. Don’t leave me, Tristan!”
She cupped his face between her hands and put her face close to his and began reciting the first thing that came to mind. “I take thee, Tristan Alexander Moreland, fourth Viscount Gresham, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, until death do us part.” She sobbed openly as the words tumbled out in disorder, begging and pledging all at once as she repeated her litany in anger, in desperation.
He was dying and it was lovely, Tristan thought as he floated through peaceful memories. At first it had been very painful. Middleton’s bullet had wrought a terrible amount of damage when it struck him. He had fallen, finding in the chaos Isabella’s piercing, healthy screams. She was safe. Then the burning in his chest had claimed all of his attention as he struggled for consciousness. Chatham was there, tearing at his clothes and Isabella was there, far more terrified than he’d ever seen her, which had to be a good sign. At the end, she loved him at least a little and that was something. After the pain, there had been peace. He heard Alain’s voice calling to him and the five of them were all together at the estate at the lakes, running and riding and laughing. They were younger and happy. They were picnicking and Isabella had made him a crown of daisies to wear on his head while the others laughed affectionately.
Ah, God had been good to him after all, to give him this paradise for all eternity, the one place where he’d felt at home, the one time in his life when his soul hadn’t been so dark, with the people he’d loved most in his life. Isabella was laughing up at him now, her topaz eyes alight with the joy of being with him as they walked down by the river, the other boys off in the distance.
Up ahead the boys were calling to him to join them. He would go to them and stay in this blessed place forever, but Isabella would not let go of his arm. He tugged gently but her hold tightened and she was pleading with him, mouthing words he could not understand at first. Realization dawned. They were the words of the marriage ceremony and she was repeating them over and over as she begged him to stay.
He resisted her, his desire to go with the boys growing. In exasperation, he pulled once more and he felt all her strength go into her arms as she held onto him. He heard the words her mouth formed, “I love you. Do not leave me” At last, he relented. A sense of happiness flooded him now that he’d made his decision to stay. But the boys had run up to him, and were tugging now at him, forcing him to join them in their play. He cried out to Isabella, “Don’t let them have me. I will stay.” He felt her lend him the strength he’d fought against moments ago. A new sense of power infused him and Tristan felt the boys fall back vanquished. Isabella gathered him into her arms murmuring a litany of words he could not make out. Then his paradise disappeared and there was nothing but darkness and peace.
“There is much to hope for if he has lasted the night,” the surgeon declared to Tristan’s friends the next morning after checking on the patient. “His fever is diminished. He is breathing deeply and his wound has not bled. He is not safe yet, but we may hope°”
His friends kept their vigil three more days, each day bringing with it renewed hope that Tristan would survive the ordeal. On the fourth day, he awoke to find Isabella sitting next to him. She jumped in surprise as his eyes opened. “I’ll get the others,” she cried, rising from her chair. Tristan gave a weak shake of his head and said one hoarse word, “sit”
Isabella sat and lifted a glass of water to his lips. His voice was stronger after the drink. “Are you well?” he asked, his brown eyes searching her tired face. “Do you love me? Do you still wish to marry me?”
“Yes. You heard me?” Isabella’s eyes filled with tears as she was overcome by emotion. She grasped his hand and knelt by the bed. “You nearly left us. Oh, Tristan, I couldn’t bear you dying. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been so foolish about loving you”
“We’ve both been foolish,” Tristan said, reveling in the feel of her hand around his own. “At the wedding, I wondered what would happen if I crossed the dais, carried you out to my coach and simply drove off. I was so close to doing just that. What would you have done, Isabella?”
“Need you ask?” Isabella said. “I am beyond caring about scandal and reputations. I would have gone with you. I was wondering much the same thing. I wanted to cross the dais and confess the truth to you, that I loved you”
Tristan smiled weakly and turned somber. “How is Caroline? And the others?”
“Everyone is doing well. Caroline’s parents have packed her off to London. The events of the wedding have been portrayed quite sympathetically. She’ll be little harmed by the gossip, I think. If anything, it will increase her cache this Season. We’ve all stayed on to look after you, even Avery. He’s ridden over daily from his stables to help.” She added for clarification, “he knows that our engagement is null.” She and Avery had not discussed it, but one night she’d simply taken the engagement sapphire off her finger and slipped it wordlessly into his palm. He had looked at her, tightlipped and drawn and nodded in acceptance.
“Then there are no impediments to our marriage?” Tristan asked.
“No.”
“I wish us to marry as soon as possible.”
Framed by the rays of a sunny mid-May morning, Isabella stood in the archway of the stone church at Summer Hill, savoring the scent of spring wild flowers mixed with the best roses Tristan’s greenhouses had to offer. Vicar Hurley looked regal in his black robes at the front of the little church. Beside him, Tristan stood rigidly, the white of his sling stark against the dark blue of his morning coat. He was otherwise impeccably turned out. His face was slightly pale from the journey to Summer Hill. She had tried to counsel rest and patience but Tristan had been adamant that they wait no longer to begin their life together.
The three musicians they’d hired from the village began to play a soft country tune. Tears welled in Isabella’s eyes. This was the wedding she’d always dreamed of: the friendly old vicar presiding over a small service among her friends as she pledged herself to the man she loved. She cast a quick look down at the unpretentious rose muslin gown she wore, adorned with the simplest of gros grain ribbon trim and Nottingham lace at the neck. The gown was much different than the one she’d worn when she wedded Westbrooke. She was much different.
Alain appeared at her side to usher her down the aisle before taking his place next to Tristan. “Tristan is holding up well. Don’t let his paleness alarm you. I think it’s just bridegroom nerves,” he whispered. “Are you ready?”
Isabella could only nod.
She shed tears as Tristan spoke his vows to her and slipped the simple gold band on her finger. Her hands shook as she put her own ring on Tristan’s scarred hand. Tristan covered her hands with his own until the shaking abated. In no time, the ceremony was complete. The vicar pronounced them man and wife. Tristan bent to kiss her, a honest offering of his love.
Isabella
smiled up at him as they walked down the aisle. They stole a moment for themselves in the church anteroom before going out into the sunlight and the throngs of villagers who awaited them.
“It is done, at last. You’re mine, for always,” Tristan said reverently, helping her drape a light rose patterned shawl about her shoulders.
“I never dreamed I’d win so much when I wagered with Alain,” Isabella beamed.
“To win much, much must be risked,” Tristan pointed out sagely.
“I agree with that! I thought I was only pitting my matchmaking skills against a silly fortune. It took me awhile to realize I had wagered my heart,” Isabella admitted shyly. She pressed close to Tristan and gazed up at him, a mischievous smile playing about her lips. “I am glad you married me, Tristan, only you can save me now.”
Tristan started to laugh as he recalled her words from years ago. “It is only fitting that our story ends as it began, isn’t it, Bella?”
“You’re wrong, Tristan. This is not the end,” Isabella said softly, rising slightly on her toes to plant a promising kiss on his lips.
The Meadows, February 14, 1817
ccalud!” glasses clinked as the five friends gathered around the fireplace where roaring fire crackled in the hearth. It was only seven o’clock in the evening. Valentine’s evening was still young by London standards. There would be time to toast the day of love later. This toast was for the new one in their midst. “Our circle has grown larger by one. To little Alain Alexander!” Giles led them in his toast. They all raised their glasses in tribute to the month old infant that snuggled contently in Isabella’s arms.
Tristan reached out a finger for the baby to grab and smiled at Isabella, his whole heart etched on his face as he did so. He was a man well contented. This Valentine’s Day he had so much to celebrate. Isabella was his wife, at last. The Meadows was thriving under his direction and Isabella’s dedication. His stables blossomed with two promising new foals sired by Hellion. In the fall, Isabella’s pregnancy provided a brilliant excuse to forego the little Season in London. They spent Christmas and New Year’s surrounded by their friends at The Meadows as they anticipated the arrival of their child. Alain Alexander made his appearance early, January tenth.
If he never set foot in London again, he’d be content. All he truly needed in life was here at The Meadows.
The nurse came to take the sleeping baby and Tristan reluctantly gave up his son’s hand as Isabella turned her wide eyes in his direction, full of an overwhelming love for him. She wore a magnificent gown in deep carnelian velvet that reminded him of both fire and the sun, the two images he most closely associated with her. He bent to kiss her hand while Giles called for attention.
“Everyone, for our Valentine’s Day together, I’ve planned something special,” he began as the others laughed.
“No, not after last year!” Chatham pleaded goodnaturedly. “Look where your antics landed poor Tristan!”
Giles made a great show of puzzling over the thought and then said in mockingly playful tones, “Ah yes, Tristan ended up married to his best friend’s lovely sister. Poor Tristan indeed! We should all wish ourselves to be so lucky!”
“You could not be luckier than I,” Tristan said with great humor. He lifted his glass to salute himself. “It’s Isabella who must have your pity. All she got out of the deal was a wild stallion.” The group laughed.
Isabella rose and placed her hands saucily on her hips and tossed her head. “I beg your pardon, I got two wild stallions and I tamed them both.” She reached up and put her arms around Tristan’s neck, drawing him close for a kiss that held the promise of more while the others clinked their glasses and roared their approval.
