They gracefully made their way across the downs in high-waisted frocks, Juliana and Corinna in white and Alexandra in pale blue. From the fragments of chatter that drifted back, he surmised they were discussing their evening gown selections yet again. Although she’d always dressed and groomed herself beautifully, he’d never known Alexandra to be so obsessed with clothing.
In fact, he was certain she wasn’t. A competent female like Alexandra had more important things to occupy her mind.
“The men have nearly finished testing all the stations that will water the different areas,” Griffin said, tearing Tristan’s attention from the renegade curls on the back of Alexandra’s neck. “Everything seems to be working perfectly.”
“You’re not surprised, are you?”
“That it would work? No. You always did a thorough job of it, even back in our schooldays. But I am surprised it came together so quickly. I didn’t believe you when you said you could do it in a week. I owe you my apologies—and my thanks.”
“You had a cooperative foundry.”
“Regardless, I appreciate your attention to the matter. And your…shall we say lack of attention to my sister.”
Tristan’s gaze went to Alexandra’s slender form. Her laughter floated to him. “I made a promise,” he said.
A promise to keep his hands off. But he hadn’t promised to abandon their friendship, and he was determined to renew it.
By the banks of the River Caine, all five of them gathered around the square pit Griffin’s men had dug, gazing down through the grille at the noisy gray metal pump. Rhythmic hissing sounds shimmied up through the air.
“I told you there’s not much to see,” Tristan said. “The workings are all hidden inside. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“It’s very impressive,” Juliana disagreed tactfully. “How does it work?”
“That pipe there runs from the river down to the pump.” Everyone stepped back while he opened the hinged grating. “It provides the water, and the downward motion of that water flowing into the pump creates the energy that the pump uses to send it back up.” He descended a ladder into the pit and stood there looking up at the rest of them. “This slender valve took me longest to adjust,” he said, indicating a shank that moved up and down with rapid precision. “It pulsates fifty to seventy times per minute—roughly once per second. Each of those pulsations provides half a pint of water.” With each pulsation, a bit of water squirted out. “It’s losing water,” Corinna said.
“Not much, and that’s part of the design, not a leak. The vast majority of the water is sent into the main chamber here.” He laid a possessive hand on the vibrating machine. “Inside, there’s a flap to keep the water that goes up from coming back down, and air in the top forces it through the outlet and into the pipe that runs uphill to the vineyard.”
Although Tris kept talking, Alexandra wasn’t really listening anymore. She was thinking about how the pump looked exactly like the pictures he’d drawn in the library. He’d created this, and it worked to get a job done even when no one was there watching it.
Awed, she gazed down at him in the pit and thought about how he was so very intelligent. Intelligent and handsome and hardworking. And honorable, too—never mind that he’d kissed her.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
It was a good thing he was leaving tonight.
“Your lordship?” When a gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts, she looked up to see a man addressing her brother.
“Yes?” Griffin replied.
“The caps on one of the stations aren’t working properly.”
Griffin looked inquiringly at Tris.
“Go on,” Tris said, climbing back up the ladder. “I won’t be here to solve any problems tomorrow.”
Griffin nodded. “I’ll meet you all back at the blanket.”
Alexandra watched her brother head for the vineyard with the man. “Griffin can handle it,” she said when their voices had faded away.
“I have no doubt.” Tris hopped out of the pit and turned to lower the grille. “Your brother is a very competent man. He led troops all over the Peninsula.”
“Sometimes I forget that,” Juliana said as they started back at a leisurely pace. “Sometimes he makes me furious.”
“Sometimes you make him furious, too, I’d wager.” Tris softened that with a smile. “Did you ladies finally choose your dress designs?”
“Oh, yes.” Corinna gave a little skip. “Mine will be covered with embroidery and pearls.”
Juliana hugged herself. “Mine will be off the shoulder, with puffed sleeves and silk flowers tacked along the hem.”
“And yours?” he asked Alexandra.
“Oh, it will be very pretty.”
She didn’t feel like discussing her dress. A dress Tris would never see.
Other men would see it. Wearing it, she would smile and flirt and dance, and one of the other men would end up her husband. She knew she should be excited about that, but at the moment she could hardly think straight with Tris walking beside her.
It was a good thing he was leaving tonight.
Juliana met her gaze, her eyes sympathetic. Alexandra looked away. To the north across the hedgerows, fields were planted, but the rolling land beneath their feet was covered only by untamed grass. The air smelled fresh. A kestrel hovered overhead in search of prey.
“Will there be a famous Chase sweet to finish my last dinner?” Tris asked.
“Perhaps.” Corinna looked to be considering.
“Strawberry tarts.” Suddenly enthusiastic, Juliana turned to him. “Do you fancy strawberry tarts?”
“Very much so—”
“François rarely keeps strawberries in the larder,” Alexandra pointed out.
“No matter,” Juliana said cheerfully. “There’s a patch of them over there.”
Corinna looked to where she indicated. “Wild strawberries!” Perhaps she had little talent for making sweets, but she certainly enjoyed eating them. “And this late in June, they ought to be perfectly ripe.” She sighed, looking down at her white garden dress. “A pity we have nothing to put them in.” Their skirts would surely stain should they use them to carry fresh fruit.
“We have the empty picnic basket.” Juliana grabbed Corinna’s hand. “Let’s hurry and fetch it.”
Disconcerted, Alexandra watched her sisters run ahead. “That’s not very ladylike,” she muttered to Tris. “A Lady of Distinction wouldn’t approve.”
“Is that why you’re not going with them?”
“No. I’m…I cannot pick strawberries. They make me itch.”
“Even if you just touch them?”
She nodded. “If I eat them, my tongue swells and my throat starts feeling tight.”
And Juliana had known that, of course. Juliana had taken advantage of that to leave her alone with Tris. Juliana, who always knew what was best for everyone—one had only to ask her to be informed of that—had been trying to maneuver the two of them together all week.
Tris reached to touch her arm on the bare skin below where her blue puffed sleeve ended. When she jumped, he dropped his hand. “I’m glad you cannot pick strawberries.”
Her arm tingling, she stopped walking and turned to him. “You’re glad they make me itch?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
The little hairs on her arm were standing on end. “Talk to me about what?”
“Although we cannot ever be together as we might wish—” He cut himself off when she opened her mouth to interrupt, raising two fingers to briefly touch her lips. “There’s no sense in denying what we both know.”
Now her lips tingled, too. “There’s no sense in discussing it, either.”
“But that doesn’t mean we cannot talk at all, about anything. I always considered you a friend, Alexandra. I don’t want to lose that, too.”
Tristan watched her fight with herself, watched her swallow hard, watched her eyes go from glassy to clear as she came
to a decision. “I’ll be your friend,” she said at last. “Always.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
He expected her to pull her hand away. Instead she squeezed his back, so hard he wondered if her slim fingers might break. Then she didn’t let go as they continued walking back to the abandoned picnic site.
They strolled silently for a while, simply holding hands. Such a small, innocent connection. But although he’d shared his whole body with many a willing female, he was more aware of Alexandra’s hand in his than he remembered being aware of any physical sensation, ever. And he knew it was the same for her.
“Tris?” she finally said.
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe there’s only one perfect person for each of us in this world?”
He smiled to himself. This was the sort of philosophical question she used to bring up when they were younger. “Perhaps some of us have no perfect person.”
“Be serious,” she said.
He had been, but obviously she didn’t want to hear that. “No. My father believed there was only one for him, though. I don’t think I ever quite forgave him for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t always a drinker and a gambler,” he said, wondering vaguely why he was telling her this, “although I barely remember him as anything else. But my uncle assured me he’d once been a kinder man, and responsible.”
“What happened?”
“When I was seven, my mother left us.”
Her eyes widened. “She didn’t die? She just left?”
“Yes, she just left. Went to America—”
“With another man?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I expect there’s more to the story than anyone bothered telling a lad of seven.” Over the years, he’d never asked. Perhaps he’d feared the truth. And when his father and uncle died, the facts had died along with them. “One day my mother was gone, and Father said she had gone to America. She took my sister with her. Susan.”
“Tell me about her,” she said softly.
She must have heard the wistfulness in his voice—an unintended wistfulness that had taken him by surprise. After all these years, he’d figured he was past feeling pain from old memories.
He took comfort from her fingers laced with his. “Susan was four years older, and my half sister, really—from my mother’s previous marriage. The odd thing is, though I missed Mother something fierce, missing Susan hurt even more.”
“Sweet heaven.” She squeezed his hand. “You must have loved her very much.”
“With all my heart. Worshipped her, to tell you the truth,” he admitted sheepishly. “She was more a mother to me than my own mother, and I couldn’t understand why she would leave me. Now I realize she probably wasn’t given a choice.”
“Have you ever tried to find her?”
“They both died. Of smallpox. We received a letter a year later. That was when my father became blue deviled and never recovered. It reached the point where he eventually squandered all of his inheritance, endangering the viability of his estate and the people who depended upon it. Who depended upon him.”
“You were one of those people.”
“I wasn’t talking about myself, but yes, I suppose I was.” He didn’t like to think of himself as a victim. There was nothing to be gained by placing blame; it was better to get on with life. “You see—to get back to your original question—my father loved my mother, and I collect that until he saw that letter, he hadn’t given up hoping she might return. But once he learned of her death, he was so convinced love would never happen for him again that he never bothered trying to find it.”
“Did you want another mother?”
The sympathy in her tone all but killed him. “Desperately, when I was young—all the other boys had one, after all. But perhaps it’s just as well that my wish never came true,” he added to make her laugh. “With my luck, she would have turned out to be a mean stepmother like Cinderella’s.” When she did laugh, his heart warmed. “Do you believe there’s only one perfect person for each of us?”
“No,” she said in a way that made it clear she’d thought on the subject before. “I’ve seen many of my family’s acquaintances lose spouses and find someone new. Ofttimes they seem happier.”
“Maybe the first person wasn’t the right one and the second one was.”
“Perhaps, in some cases. But I still don’t think there’s only one in the world for each of us. What would be the odds of finding him or her? God wouldn’t make it that difficult for us to be happy.”
He knew she was thinking about finding someone besides him. The stab of hurt he felt at that was unexpected—and entirely inappropriate. He hoped she’d find her one true love, or two or three should she think that possible. With all the grief she’d suffered in the past few years, she still saw happiness in her future. Bless her for that.
Life had taught him to be more cynical.
As they came in view of the vineyard where her brother knelt by the pipeline in the distance, she slid her fingers from his and gave him a soft, apologetic smile.
He was very glad they were friends again.
But it was a good thing he was leaving tonight.
*
GRIFFIN MADE DINNER that night into a celebration, toasting Tris and their success with champagne. Conversation flowed along with the bubbly wine. Her tongue loosened by spirits and Tris’s offer of friendship, Alexandra was very much a part of it.
But while she watched everyone else eat Juliana’s strawberry tarts, a melancholy mood began settling in. When Tris’s horse was saddled and waiting, she defied her brother’s wishes and walked Tris downstairs.
The stone entrance hall felt cold this evening; the carved beasts that topped the newel posts looked fierce and forbidding. Although it was still light out, the sun had shifted, throwing shadows through the open oak doors.
They both paused on the threshold. “I don’t know when next I’ll see you,” she said.
“I wouldn’t count on it being soon. I don’t go about in society.”
“You could visit again. You and Griffin are still friends.”
Tris’s gaze flicked to that friend, who stood on the staircase watching them like a hawk, his fingers gripping the gray marble handrail. “I won’t be visiting for a while, I expect.”
“Not until I’m married,” she said to the floor.
In spite of Griffin’s vigilance, Tris reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “I wish you a happy life, Lady Alexandra.”
Captured in his intense gray gaze, she remembered him saying the same words years ago.
And as then, she had no reply.
Chapter Thirteen
*
THE NEXT MONTH PASSED in a whirl of preparations for the ball. Though Alexandra had spent the first few days in a forlorn blur, she’d long since recovered from that. She wasn’t the sort of woman to mope around. After all, a mere four days from now, the great hall would be filled with the most eligible men in all of England. Surely one of them would sweep her off her feet and make her forget Tris.
In fact, due to her own determination, she’d half forgotten him already. She was hardly thinking about him at all as she slogged through the household bills and prepared them for sending to Griffin’s solicitor.
“Mrs. Webster is overpaying for meat again,” she muttered, referring to their housekeeper.
Corinna mixed two colors of paint on her palette. “Griffin can afford it.”
“That’s not the point.” Pushing back from her mother’s rosewood desk, Alexandra wandered pensively to one of the drawing room’s windows. Outside, the morning was gray and dreary. Her reflection in the glass looked rather dreary, too. “I shall have to have a talk with her and set her straight.”
Juliana looked up from her copy of La Belle Assemblée. “You should be paying attention to other matters now, Alexandra.”
“Ever
ything for the ball is in place.”
“I meant personal matters.”
She turned from the window. “Like what?”
“You’ll want to present yourself—”
“Your skin, yes. A Lady of Distinction says a flawless complexion is key.” Adding a dab of white to the hue she was creating, Corinna nodded toward Juliana’s magazine. “I read in there that if you hang a sprig of tansy at the head of your bed, a few inches above the pillow, you won’t be bitten by any bugs as you sleep.”
“Not her skin. Her skin is beautiful.” Juliana shook her head. “Her deportment. She needs to practice enticing men.”
“Practice?” Alexandra scoffed. “I’ve never had trouble enticing men—I simply haven’t been afforded the chance.” She certainly hadn’t had any trouble enticing Tris into that kiss. But since Juliana seemed to draw men like moths to a flame, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. “What sort of practice?”
“For example, smiling in the mirror. You should have many smiles, you know, for many different occasions. And if you wish to make men fall at your feet, you need to practice the look.”
“The look?” Alexandra and Corinna asked together.
“The look.” Setting down her magazine, Juliana rose and faced them. “First you locate the man you wish to entice. Then you command his gaze.”
Her sensual, blatant stare had both her sisters swallowing hard. “And then?” Alexandra prompted.
“Look down, bowing your head slightly to display your lashes against your cheeks—lashes you will have darkened, no matter what that twit lady says—and then sweep your eyelids up, gaze at the man full on again, and curve your lips in a slowly emerging smile.”
When she demonstrated, both her sisters sighed.
“Where did you learn that?” Corinna asked.
“I was born knowing it.” Juliana plopped back on the sofa and picked up the magazine, idly flipping pages. “But I have no doubt you can master it with enough practice.”
Corinna stared hard at Alexandra, shut her lids, opened them again, and grinned.
“Not like that!” Alexandra rolled her eyes. “She’s right—you need practice.”
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 72
