“Your offer is kind, but I have Hayden to keep in line while the rest of you are off rusticating.” She stood from her chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You seem happy with your decision. Congratulations on your marriage, Tristan.”
“I am happy.” He brushed a few loose strands of hair from Jez’s brow. “You really look a mess. Let your gardener handle this and spend the afternoon outdoors under an elm with an ice in hand. Otherwise, I’ll worry while I’m away.”
“Hayden’s dragging me about Town tonight for this and that.”
Hopefully Hayden could keep Jez in higher spirits, enough to return her to her old self. She was a changed woman and hopefully for the better.
“I’ll write while I’m away,” he promised.
Jez ushered him out of the garden and toward the house. “You’ll be here all day if you don’t leave now. I’m doing much better than I was at my husband’s funeral. I promise you.”
He shook his head. “I hope that to be true. But honestly, Jez, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t worry after my friends, especially in their time of need?”
“My time of need has passed. And luckily, I have a long future without that blackguard husband of mine. We both know that he would have eventually been the death of me.”
Tristan wasn’t sure if she meant Fallon would have gone too far and killed her with his hands, or damaged her in some way psychologically. Thank God they’d never have to find out the answer to that question.
“My bride is probably wondering where I am.”
“I’m not the one keeping you,” she pointed out.
“Adieu, darling.”
He left with a heavy heart. He would have to trust Hayden to look out for her. In fact, he’d send a note to his friend on his return home.
Chapter 17
Lady H____ has been banished to the countryside. I do not imagine her daughter’s prospects to be very good with all the sordid business surrounding their family right now.
—The Mayfair Chronicles, August 1846
“Welcome to Hailey Court,” Tristan said as he took Charlotte’s hand to assist her from the carriage.
Charlotte stared up at the house before them. It was larger than anything she’d ever had the pleasure of being in and very nearly a castle. The road leading up to the grand house must have been three miles long. Unlike the Carletons’ estate, there didn’t look to be any houses nearby.
The Tudor-style house stretched up three stories in yellow stone, and there was a turret and walkway atop. On either side of the center building there were two-story structures that turned into a U shape where she could just make out the deep brown wood and masonry siding covered with climbing ivy.
At least thirty staff members were lined up outside on the yellow-cobbled road. Tall wildflowers danced along the edge of the building and trimmed hedges were lined up neatly beneath each window like tin soldiers on watch.
Tristan stopped to speak to each of the maids, kitchen staff, footmen, and finally the butler and housekeeper. He introduced Charlotte to everyone along the way. He knew their work lives and something of their personal affairs. Her father had never cared about the staff in this way and Charlotte found the marquess’s personable manner refreshing.
Finished with introductions, he held out his arm for her to take. “Shall I show you around the house, or would you prefer to rest until the supper hour?”
“I’d like a small tour.” She slipped her arm through his as a footman opened the Gothic double doors into her new home.
The entrance hall was large, airy, and welcoming. The walls were paneled with dark walnut that stretched the length of the room and toward a vaulted ceiling painted the lightest of blues. A rich Persian rug was centered beneath a round wooden table over the gray shale floor. A massive set of closed double doors lay directly across from the front door of the entrance hall. There were Gothic-style doors to her right and left. One was open, revealing a long corridor that stretched the length of the house; she could make out inlaid doors at various intervals.
Tristan led her straight through to the closed door ahead of them. Pushing the door inward, he revealed a large sitting room that stretched two stories high with a wall of paned windows.
“This is the garden room.”
“Aptly named,” she said, staring outside at the extensive grounds. There was a round, tiered fountain on display in the middle of the back courtyard.
“There are a number of gardens here, mostly consisting of wildflowers. We have staff on hand to keep them fresh and full. There is a lake on the property. It’s small, but surrounded with an old wood that makes for a serene boat ride, if you like the water.”
“It’s quite grand and beautiful.”
“My family has lived here since the house was built in the fifteenth century.”
She tore her gaze away from the paned windows and toward her husband. The history such a place must have. He showed her room after room, each as richly appointed as the last. All the ceilings were high, the colors used in the paints and wallpaper light and airy.
When they finished the main floor, she said, “We can tour the rest of the house tomorrow. I’m weary from the two-day trip here. And your children haven’t spent a lot of time with you these past few days, so they are probably missing your company.”
He stared at her with an odd expression. “Do you say this out of concern for my children, or so that we can avoid getting to know each other better for a while longer?”
“You think me conniving.”
“I do not, but we do have the remainder of our lives together. We might as well learn to get along as husband and wife. I won’t live a separate life from you, so we must come to a truce.”
“Right now, I’m trying to come to terms not only with the change in my life, and with our marriage, but also with the fact that I am now a stepmother.” Why was he so adamant on this issue? “I don’t even know what role I play in this family, let alone in your children’s lives.”
“I hope you can accept my children in time.” His response was short and clipped.
“I’ve angered you.”
He bowed gallantly, but his gesture was not made in a gentlemanly manner. He was dismissing her. “No, I’m not angry, merely disappointed that you are not as accepting of our situation as I thought you would be.” He turned from her to address the butler. “Hobbs, have one of the maids finish the tour with Lady Castleigh. All her things should be brought up to the master bedroom. Place mine in the chambers next to hers.”
“I’ll have Jamie and Marshall take care of your luggage right away, my lord.” Charlotte thought those were two of the footmen she’d been introduced to on their arrival.
“Tristan.” She didn’t want him angry with her, and now they were taking separate rooms. Not that she would dare argue over the sound judgment concerning the bedroom arrangements. She needed to know him better before she shared a bed with him again. If that made her a hypocrite considering her actions before they were married, then so be it.
His light blue eyes pierced right through her and stopped her from saying more. “The trip has been trying for us both. I will spend the hours before dinner with my children.”
“Of course. I’ll see you later this evening.”
“We keep country hours here, Charlotte.”
“That’s perfect since I’ve only just come back from Hertfordshire.” There was a little bit of defiance in her voice. She would not slink away into the shadows after being chastised by her husband in front of the servants. She would have to speak with him later on that matter—she was too travel-worn to argue at present.
* * *
Tristan could barely fight back the grin at Charlotte’s cheeky comment. He liked that she was high-spirited. It must be awkward to have married into a family with children who were not your own, but she had done just that, and she would have to come to terms with it.
Ronnie hadn’t spoken a civil word to him since before the weddin
g. Rowan was beside himself with joy to have a mother figure in the house, which brought with it a whole new set of problems. It was high time Bea and he told Rowan the truth of his parentage; to delay much longer would only hurt the boy when he was grown. Resentments could be forgiven at a young age. Children were not malicious or vengeful. He must bring up the topic with his sister while they were here. Besides, Charlotte should know the truth, too. Surely they could keep it a family secret once the truth was revealed.
Tristan rubbed his eyes before turning on his heels and leaving his wife to brood on her own. It would take time to learn to live with each other. Now all he needed to do was find some vestige of patience—which he sorely lacked at the moment.
He came upon Bea and the children in the blue salon. All the curtains were pulled back from the paned windows that stretched two stories high and gave a splendid view of the gardens outside. Light-sage damask chairs and sofas were strewn about the room, some near the windows, and some next to the fireplace where portraits of family long gone hung in a place of prominence.
The room was aptly named for the cornflower-blue paneling that wrapped around the room and the sky-blue painted walls. He remembered sitting in here with his mother while she’d read stories to him and his sister on the sofa on rainy days.
Bea and the children didn’t notice that he was standing in the doorway of the room, so he listened to them chatter.
“Ronnie, you can’t be difficult about this.”
“Why’d he marry her? I don’t like her.”
“Don’t be mean, Ronnie. It’ll be a change for us all.” His sister had the patience of a saint when she talked to the children.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like her,” his daughter argued.
Frowning, he took a step back, not wanting them to see him. He wanted to better understand the origins of his daughter’s displeasure, but she’d clam up the moment she saw him.
“I don’t see why you don’t like her. She’s pretty.” This came from Rowan.
“Being pretty doesn’t make a person nice,” Ronnie said.
“Life is full of change, dearest.” Bea’s voice was soothing and calm. “You will grow to like her in time.”
“I don’t want a mother.”
“She doesn’t have to be your mother. You can be friends if that makes it better,” Bea suggested.
“I don’t need any more friends.” Something smashed against the floor.
“Ronnie.” His sister’s voice was much firmer now. “You’re acting like a baby going on in this fashion. I’m tempted to bring you up to the nursery if you’ll not behave and act like a proper young lady.”
“Why can’t I go to school, Aunt Bea?” Ronnie suddenly asked.
“You’re not of age—”
Ronnie stamped her foot hard on the ground. “I am, too.”
Tristan chose that moment to enter the salon. “What’s all this I hear about wanting to attend school?”
“Becky—”
“And who is this Becky?” He tried to keep his spirits high while questioning her, but her dislike of Charlotte had disappointed him.
“One of girls in the village,” Rowan answered.
“Ah, now I understand. Has she been by the house?”
“Yes, her father is the local magistrate. They came before summer.”
“Papa,” Ronnie said. “She’s going to a girls’ school in the fall. I want to go, too.”
“Oh, angel, you’re still a bit young yet.”
At least he was thankful that his daughter was talking to him. Though he had a feeling if he didn’t give her whatever she wanted, she’d return to disliking him again. It was not easy to strike a balance with his children. He wanted to give them everything he could, but he couldn’t spoil them or he’d ruin them. They didn’t know it yet, but their lives would be filled with the unfair cruelties of the world once they understood they were not what was considered good association since they were bastards.
“I’m not too young. Becky is only a year older than me. I can’t see why you won’t allow it. You don’t want me around anymore now that you are married.”
Tristan sat on the sofa next to his daughter. “That’s simply not true.”
“Then why did you marry?”
“You’ll understand when you’re older.” He rubbed her back, trying to be comforting. He understood this was a difficult situation for his daughter.
“I don’t like it when you tell me that. Is she my mother?” she asked earnestly.
Tristan looked to Bea and gave her a nod, indicating she should leave the room with Rowan. He couldn’t brush that question under the carpet this time. It was time he explained her background.
Bea stood and held out her hand. “Come, Rowan, your father needs to sit with Ronnie for a bit.”
Rowan picked up his wooden soldiers and followed Bea without arguing.
“Ronnie—” Tristan started.
“Why did you send them away?”
“Because I needed to have a conversation with you and you alone. If you want to be treated like a young lady, then I am offering to treat you exactly like one.”
She only stared back at him with blue eyes identical to his.
“Lady Charlotte is not your mother, she is your stepmother. Do you understand the difference?”
His daughter nodded.
“Good. Your real mother is no longer living. She died of fever five years ago.” He recalled the day he’d received a letter from Ronnie’s aunt detailing what had happened. She’d had another child, but both mother and babe had died after a long labor. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth and I’ll not lie to you.”
“Did she live with us before that?” Tears filled his daughter’s eyes.
“She did not. We lived very separate lives. She was not able to marry me when she had you because she was already married to another.”
“But you’re not allowed to do that.”
He nearly smiled at his daughter’s innocence. He wouldn’t dare, though—not when the conversation was so serious. “Your mother was a dear, dear friend of mine. I like to think we were in love with each other.”
He rubbed his hand over her cheek and brushed away the stray tear with his thumb.
She stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Would she understand the significance of this truth? Would she judge him for it?
He didn’t expect her to entirely understand what he’d revealed, but she would grasp that what he’d done so long ago had not been the right decision. He needed to say what the harsh reality of her world would bring.
“Do you understand what a bastard is?”
“Becky called me that. She said her mother told her I was one. I understand.” A new stream of tears fell from his daughter’s eyes. He’d give anything to stop them, but he couldn’t lie about her past.
“You know, then, that it means you were born out of wedlock?”
She nodded. “Papa?” There was no other word than defeated for her beseeching tone. “What about Rowan?”
“Same, I’m afraid.”
Though he’d not explain that Rowan was not her brother but her cousin. Ronnie rubbed her tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled loudly. Tristan dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it over to his daughter. She took it, and gave him a long look before standing up and running off to her room—presumably. Tristan fell back on the sofa.
He had a wife that after one night of perfect passion had changed her mind about playing the part of marchioness, a daughter that in all likelihood hated him, and a sister that was not happy about the decision he’d made. Rowan was the only one on his side at the moment and that nearly made him burst out laughing.
The tall grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room chimed five times. Dinner would be served in an hour. He needed to find his way to his chambers and ready himself for the evening. Who knew what the conversation over dinner would bring? The last two nights
in posting inns had been filled with awkward silence accompanied by the clink of silverware at odd intervals.
He stood and headed up to his chambers. Though he and Charlotte wouldn’t share a room just yet, the one he was situated in had an adjoining door. Not that she’d give him admittance just yet. What could he do to persuade his wife to like him as she had before they’d married? Was this such a great shock that she really couldn’t discuss her feelings with him? They’d written letters for over a month and now they could barely have a civil conversation without arguing.
Dixon was already in his room. “Shall I suggest the navy frock coat for this evening’s dinner, my lord?”
“Too warm. I need something I can move in easily.”
“What evening activities do you have planned?”
“After supper? Maybe a walk in the garden with the family. I’d like to see how the gardeners have fared since last I was here. They undertook the orangery in the springtime, didn’t they?”
“Yes, my lord. According to what the maids have said, the building was reinstated to its former glory and citrus trees are being brought in. Would you prefer the tan short coat and black trousers, then?”
“Sounds delightful.” Tristan turned his back to his valet, so he could be assisted in undressing. Cupboards were being slammed just beyond his adjoining chamber door and he could hear mumbling. “Is my wife readying for the evening, as well?”
“Yes, my lord. Marcia is assisting her.” He remembered the dark-haired girl. She’d been hired some five years ago; she would be of an age with Charlotte.
“They’ll be a perfect match.” Tristan dropped his arms when his jacket was off, and stepped toward the wall separating him from his temperamental wife. He couldn’t stop himself from knocking on the adjoining door. Would she answer? Or would she choose to ignore him?
He didn’t have long to wait, for she flung the door open not a minute later. Had she not known it would be him? Her look was curious, her hair down and wispy around her heart-shaped face. She was wearing a blush-pink dressing gown edged in fine lace. Her maid was also in the room, an ivory silk gown folded over her arm.
Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord Page 23
