Chapter Six
Tristan bent to inhale the heady sent from a white rose on a large bush to the left of the gate. He had meant what he’d said about Arabella and Mrs. Riley being two of the loveliest things he had seen in a while. He and Marcus had been posted in India for several years before being sent to the Ionian Islands and then Malta before returning to London. The heat and the dust had been grueling and Tristan had longed for cool wet English summer.
He’d also missed women in general, there were few opportunities to mingle with the locals and when he did the local men in India and Ionia had always been very protective of their women. In Malta there had been a few English women, wives of officers who’d accompanied them to see to their husband’s needs. He’d had few opportunities to interact with them, and even fewer to talk to them.
Tristan had also missed English flowers and trees; he hadn’t lied when he’d said that his fondest memories as a child had been running through the forests and fields with his cousins. In the days since his return, he’d been so focused on saving the family from ruin that he’d done little but eat, sleep, and plan. The closest he’d come to a woman that wasn’t his mother, sister, or a housemaid were the bar maids from the taverns he and Marcus had stopped in. Arabella Layden had literally knocked the breath from his body; her face was that of a forest nymph, and her piercing green eyes cut right through him. And her hair, he had never seen such hair before. If she agreed to marry him ten days from now, he would be a lucky bastard. He could imagine the looks he would get walking into a ballroom with her on his arm; men would think where had the spare heir found such a beauty?
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Sir Tristan,” Tristan turned to Arabella on the path behind him. She’d changed into a white muslin gown with tiny blue flowers on it and a large straw hat trimmed with blue straw flowers.
Tristan shook his head, thinking what a lovely picture she made standing there, framed by her house and flower garden.
“No, it was worth the wait. You look lovely, Miss Layden, and as pretty as a picture. And it gave me time to enjoy your charming garden, it is lovely.” Tristan saw Miss Layden blush prettily.
“You have a silver tongue, my lord, the ladies in London must be all a flutter when you talk to them,” Arabella replied, gesturing towards the gate.
Tristan shook his head as he followed Arabella out the gate and into the lane. There he offered her his arm, with a smile Arabella slipped her hand about it to rest on his well-muscled forearm.
“I would not know Miss Layden; I have never talked to any ladies of the ton, other than my mother and sister Penelope. I joined the army when I was seventeen with the help of Uncle Howard. After a brief period of training, I was sent to India, where I met Marcus.” Tristan shrugged. It was the truth; he had no idea how to court a lady and had only been with two women, both high-priced prostitutes. And those encounters only because a friend and superior officer had twisted his arm into doing it for his twentieth and then his twenty-fifth birthday.
“Seventeen? Good heavens, why so young?” Arabella asked in surprise. She knew that younger sons of the upper class often entered the army, but usually not till they were in their early twenties.
Tristan sighed, it was a fait question. “As we have so little time to get to know each other I shall again have to be honest with you. It is not a pretty tale. My father wanted to form an alliance with another nobleman. Why I do not know, only that he did. The noble man had a daughter who was six years older than I, her name was Lilly. I was to marry Lilly, but Lilly did not want to wed me anymore than I did her.”
“I can see that the age differences would be off putting to a young lady,” Arabella replied, she’d not want to marry a young man either.
“No that was not the reason; Lilly had been married to the son of a Scottish baron and was in a family way. Her father had not been pleased that she had married a man of her choosing and had arranged to have him sent away and claimed that he’d had the marriage annulled.” Tristan heard Arabella’s sharp intake of breath.
“What a horrible man,” Arabella exclaimed.
“Indeed, he was near as bad as my own. I could not marry Lilly, not when she, in my mind, was still wed. I ran to Uncle Howard for help. Uncle Howard and I discussed my options, and the only way to stay out of my father’s grasp till I was of age was to flee England. Father had threatened to throw me out on the streets if I did not do as I say, and that if I tried to live with Uncle Howard, he would ruin him or simply drag me away. I knew that my father would do it too.” Tristan said, shaking his head sadly.
“So you joined the army?” Arabella stated, seeing Tristan nod.
“I did, I had never been to sea so I did not fancy joining the navy. In addition I had no love for my family and they me, I knew if I stayed in England my father would make my life hell.” Tristan replied. “Uncle Howard took me to London, said he was my father and bought my commission as an ensign.”
“What did your father do?” Arabella asked.
“Father flew into a rage when I told him. He struck me in the face and then kicked me when I fell, then told me I was disowned. The next day, I stepped onto a ship bound for Malta for and then onto India,” Tristan shrugged. “In India, I met Marcus, so as you see, I had no time for socializing. Before my father told me I was to wed, I was living in a boarding school, and I’d rarely seen him since I was six. I’d been allowed brief stays in the London townhouse for Christmas breaks, only because the school would close and my father did not wish to incur the expense of renting me rooms. When I was London, I was ordered to stay in my rooms and take my meals with the servants in the kitchen.”
“How horrible, what a beastly man, I am sorry for how they treated you. Do you know what happened to the young lady?” Arabella asked, thinking what a monster Tristan’s father had been.
“I do, Uncle Howard wrote to me that he had gone to Lilly’s father and found out what he’d done with her husband. Uncle Howard somehow convinced him to reunite them. Lilly and her husband are happily living in Scotland on his estate with three children.” Tristan replied, he had been pleased that Lilly and her husband had been reunited, and that by denting his father he’d done the right thing.
“That is delightful news. I must make a confession of my own since you have been so honest with me. I do not have a beau, in fact I never have,” Arabella shook her head sadly.
“You jest, I meant what I said you are a lovely young woman, and obviously very intelligent and kind.” Tristan could not believe Arabella didn’t have a dozen beaus.
“There are not many men in the village of Wilton. The few that are unmarried are farmers, and think me too high born for them. There are two unmarried sons of a baron in the next county but to them as the daughter of a lowly naval officer I am too low born for them to bother with me.” Arabella could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. The few times she’d met the Belmonts, they had been very cool and condescending to her. They had made comments about her hair color and stature, especially Lucinda Belmont, the youngest daughter, and the comments had burned painfully.
“Then they are all blind fools, to me you are kind, intelligent and lovely,” Tristan stated, shaking his head at how foolish the local men must be.
“You are very kind, is this what courting couples do? Walk and talk?” Arabella asked giving Tristan a side long look.
“I believe that I am also required to bring you flowers and escort you to dances and church. Marcus has three older sisters, over the years, who have entertained him with endless letters about the failures of their hapless suitors. He routinely reads them to me, and in them they are full of references to going to dances, being escorted to church, and going on picnics,” Tristan replied. “I have never been on a picnic, but I am happy to go on one if you would like?”
“Oh yes, that all sounds delightful,” Arabella replied. At just twenty-two, she had yet to put aside all her youthful fantasies about being courted by a handsome swain.
“Then we shall plan for one,” Tristan replied, and saw Arabella smile. He was about to ask if the cook at Avondale would know what one ate for a picnic when he heard the sound of horses approaching and looked up to see a bright yellow barouche coming down the road towards them. Worried that the driver would not see them in time, Tristan gently tugged Arabella towards the far shoulder of the road.
The barouche slowed and then came to a dusty stop beside them. Sitting in the barouche was a young woman, in her early twenties, Tristan guessed. The woman had blonde hair, a thin face, and a long nose. She was dressed in a blue gown and a bonnet that seemed to hug her head. The woman gave Arabella a scathing look, her eyebrows lifting as she regarded Arabella as if Arabella were doing something wrong.
“Why, Arabella, imagine my surprise on seeing you walking with a common soldier, unchaperoned along the lane. Whatever will people think?” The woman snipped, giving Arabella a scathing look.
Tristan felt Arabella’s fingers dig into his arm at the woman’s comment; whoever the shrew was, she was not a friend. “Miss Belmont, this is Captain Tristan Sizemore, now retired and just returned to England. He is Sir Howard Sizemore’s nephew and heir. Captain Sizemore is also the new Earl of Rawlings. He asked me to escort him to Avondale.”
“Oh, forgive me, my lord, it’s just that I was surprised to see Arabella with a man,” Miss Belmont gave Arabella a condescending look. “Arabella, my mother has been having her headaches again and sent me to fetch some of your headache powders. Why she could not have sent a footman I don’t know. Anyway, she needs some of your powders; now that I have found you here, I won’t have to continue on to your cottage. Would you return home and secure several packages for her, and then bring them to our home. You can give them to the butler. And I can give his lordship a ride to Avondale. Be a dear and go fetch them now.”
“It is a five-mile walk to your home,” Arabella protested. “It will take me hours to do that, my cottage is less than a quarter mile down the road.”
“Yes, well, you are so sturdy and well, the exercise shall do you good. I’m sure his lordship would enjoy riding with me,” Miss Belmont’s voice dripped acid.
Tristan could not believe the acid dripping from this woman’s mouth, she reminded him of his hateful mother.
“No, I asked Miss Layden to escort me to Avondale and introduce me to the servants, and then to go over the accounts with me, as I understand she has been instrumental in helping my late uncle successfully run the estate. Also, your carriage is facing the wrong way, and the lane is too narrow for your driver to turn it about here, which would require us to drive past Rose Cottage to find a place to turn about.” Tristan pierced the woman with a reproachful glare and saw her wilt. “In addition, I did not like the way you insinuated that Miss Layden was behaving inappropriately by walking with me. It is broad daylight, and we are in the middle of what is obviously a well-used lane. And, your comment that Miss Layden, who has a rather fine figure, should somehow benefit from a ten-mile walk is preposterous and cruel. And what of your reputation if I were seen in your barouche unchaperoned? No, thank you, Miss Belmont, I would prefer to walk. In fact, we were having a pleasant conversation before your unwanted interruption. Mrs. Riley is at Rose Cottage, and I’m sure she can help you with your errand. Now, good day.” Tristan gave Miss Belmont a curt nod, then turned to Arabella with a gentle smile.
“But, my lord, my lord.” Miss Belmont called after them.
After a few moments, they heard the carriage move on, and Arabella let out a soft giggle. “Oh, thank you, Sir Tristan, for what you said in my defense. It was a pleasure to see Miss Belmont brought down a peg or two. She thinks she is the prettiest girl in three counties and the most important because her father is a baron. She had a London season last year and is forever going on about all the handsome men she danced with.”
“It was my pleasure; she was a rather spiteful little shrew, if you don’t mind my language. I believe my sister Penelope would say I gave her the cut direct. And lastly, she reminded me of my hateful mother. If you do the honor of marrying me, I plan to send my mother away as soon as I can. She is a bitter shrew and I will not inflict her on you any longer than necessary.” Tristan said.
“You would send your mother away?” Arabella asked in amazement.
“In a heartbeat, she was only my mother in the fact that she bore me. After I was born, she handed me off to the wet nurse and Nurse Molly, who cared for me and raised me till I was sent away to school when I was six. Nurse Molly was more of a mother to me than my mother ever was.” Tristan stated with a sigh.
“But she is your mother?” Arabella could not believe Tristan’s mother was so cold.
“In name only, as I said, she handed me off to nurse Molly. My father was off on one of his gambling binges and would not even return home for my birth. Molly waited three days for my parents to either ask to see me or name me, when neither did she named me Tristan after the hero in a penny dreadful she’d read. Molly and our butler, Buttons, took me to the local church and had me baptized. When my father eventually returned home a week later, I’d already been named Tristan, and he could not be bothered to change it.”
“Good heavens, how awful. I’m sorry, Sir Tristan, your parents sound truly beastly.” Arabella couldn’t imagine a mother having so little care or feeling for their child. “I can’t imagine such cruelty from a parent. My father, while hardly ever home, was at least loving when he was, and my mother adored my brother and I.”
“Thank you for your words, but Molly more than made up for the lack of motherly affection. After I was sent away, she would write to me weekly. She’d found a position as nursemaid to a widowed Count with two infant daughters. A year later, they were wed and she became Countess Lincoln and now resides in Wales with a devoted husband, two sons, and four daughters, two of whom are hers. She still writes to me, as does her husband, the count. Molly remembers me at Christmas and my birthday every year.” Tristan replied. The letters and gifts from Molly had kept him going through many lonely and dark nights.
“My word, a count married a simple nurse. You aren’t teasing me are you?” Arabella inquired and saw Tristan shake his head.
“Not at all, Molly was the daughter of a doctor and from a good, respectable family. I was happy to have someone to write to other than Uncle Howard, of course. In school, one of the older boys once grabbed my correspondence and asked why I was writing to a countess Lincoln while my last name was Sizemore. I told him my father had died and my mother had remarried. He left me alone after that, and in my heart, Molly was and is my mother.” Tristan had no pleasant memories of boarding school; it had been a cold and horrible place, with barely edible food and countless bullies.
“How wonderful then, and you say the count also writes to you? That is kind of him but why?” Arabella was amazed that a noble man would write to a child he’d never met.
“At first, I think he wrote because of Molly’s prompting, and then over time we became friends of a sort. I would send them gifts every Christmas and for their anniversary once I was in the army and had my own funds. Despite all the madness going on, I wrote them a quick note before I left to come here, telling them I was home and asking if I could visit them.” Tristan stated.
Arabella was pleased that Tristan still had someone in his life that cared for him. That he wasn’t alone, other than his friend Marcus. Arabella knew the pain of being alone. She’d had Sir Howard after she’d lost her mother, and then Eliza came into her life.
“I understand your happiness at having someone in your life to care for you. When I lost my mother if not for Sir Howard I’d have been lost. Your uncle was always so happy when he received a letter from you. He would read them to me sometimes more than once. And the drawings you sent to him, oh how he loved your drawings.” Arabella fondly remembered how much delight Sir Howard had in the letters and drawings Tristan sent.
“Good heavens, he kept my drawings? They were never very good, but sometimes I could not express in words what I saw.” Tristan was touched that his uncle had kept his crude attempts at art.
“Oh no, you are wrong, they are marvelous. Sir Howard kept them all, and the two watercolors you sent him, he framed. They hang in his office now. He would look at them and say Arabella, can you imagine Tristan there? And then we would sigh and go on with his work; they all meant a great deal to him.” Arabella stated.
Before Tristan could reply, they rounded a bend in the lane, and before him was Avondale Manor. It was even lovelier than he remembered. The light red sandstone rose above the wide gravel drive, framed by towering oaks and chestnut trees. It was a striking three-story house with a slate roof and dark green shutters that framed the numerous windows. A stone wall of matching sandstone ran east to west in front of the manor, the western side for a good quarter of a mile into the dense forest, while the right side ran along the lane for a good half mile before disappearing from sight around a bend.
The lane forked before them, with it narrowing as it went straight to become the hard-packed gravel drive of the manor, and the lane itself going right, leading towards the village of Wilton. The large wrought iron gate was swung wide, looking like welcoming arms open wide for a hug. It seemed to Tristan that Avondale was welcoming Tristan home.
“Are you all right?” Arabella asked, noticing Tristan had halted in his tracks.
After a moment Tristan nodded. “Yes, forgive me the last time I saw the house I was a frightened boy of seventeen. I remember turning around and looking out the carriage window as the carriage rolled away and thinking I might never see Avondale again. Now I’m standing before it as a man with a lovely young lady on my arm on a bright spring afternoon, and instead of going off to war I’m coming home.
Arabella tried to imagine what Tristan had felt at that moment.
“You must have been terrified. I have only been away from here four times and that was to accompany Sir Howard to Bath. Each time I left I was nervous, yet I knew I would be returning. Each time I returned I felt such joy, I can’t imagine what you are feeling now.”
“Joy indeed, yet also sorrow for I know he and my aunt will not be there to greet me.” Tristan began forward again, Arabella walking quietly along beside him.
“There is something I should tell you the land manager Mr. Simmons does not like me. In fact he had banned me from ever stepping foot in Avondale manor again.” Arabella said.
“What that is outrageous. How dare he say that to you? Mr. Solomon told me how you had been helping my uncle that you had been managing the estate accounts for him and I know from his letters you had been advising him.” Tristan was outraged that this faceless man had treated Arabella in such a manner.
“Leave Mr. Solomon to me, I shall put him in his place. I, for one, welcome you anytime, and I am looking forward to your help and guidance in the days to come. I know nothing about farming or running a manor. I must confess I am rather intimidated by all that it entails.” Tristan said truthfully. “It was daunting enough to suddenly become an earl of an impoverished holding but now I have Avondale to see to.”
Tristan was very conscious of the fact that Avondale was only prosperous because of the hard work of his uncle and Miss Layden. While the profits from the mines were a steady income, Tristan knew that the profits of Avondale not only kept Avondale in good standing but also helped support those that worked there.
Arabella was pleased that Sir Tristan valued her counsel and appreciated how she’d helped Sir Howard. It made her regard for him rise all the more.
“And why did my soon-to-be ex land agent ban you from the house?” Tristan asked with genuine interest.
“A little over a year ago, I noticed discrepancies in some of the accounts,” Arabella replied as they began through the gate.
“What sort of discrepancies? Tristan asked with a frown.
“Tallies didn’t add up, just small amounts would be off, but when I questioned Mr. Simmons, he would grow angry and tell me my math was off, or that as a mere female I didn’t know what I was doing.” Arabella could barely keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Tristan frowned, not liking what he heard. He had remembered passages from his uncle’s letters during the carriage ride, in which he’d praised the young woman who helped him. He’d said that the young woman had healed not only his body but his broken heart, but that she was helping him with the estate and had a very good head for figures.
“Well, Mr. Simmons shall not be my land agent much longer. Any man who speaks to a lady in such a fashion is not to be tolerated. In addition, I do not know you well, as I have only known you for a short time, but I already know you are trustworthy, loyal, and honest. From my uncle’s letters.” Tristan replied hotly.
Before Arabella could reply, one of the upper windows opened and Marcus looked out.
“Ah, Tristan, there you are. I’ll be down in a moment,” Marcus shouted, then disappeared back inside the window.
Tristan led Arabella the last few feet towards the large front door of the manor, as they began up the three steps to the wide front door, the door was opened and an older man with black hair shot with silver, wearing a black jacket and tan breeches, stepped out onto the top step. Tristan paused as he studied the older man before him, and he smiled as he recognized the older man. It was Jenkins, the butler, the older man gave him a wide smile and then stepped back into the manor.
“Welcome home, master Tristan, welcome home,” Jenkins said, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth, his face radiating happiness and warmth.
Beside him, Tristan saw Mrs. Jenkins, the cook was a little greyer and a little heavier than he remembered, but to him she looked like home. Mrs. Jenkins stepped forward and wrapped her arms about him in a fierce embrace. As Tristan returned the hug, he bent low, inhaling the mingled scents of bread, vanilla, and sunshine. And Tristan, in that moment, knew that he was indeed finally home; this house, these people were his family, and he would fight to keep it.
“Thank you Mrs. Jenkins, thank you it is good to me home at last.” Tristan replied as Mrs. Jenkins rose on her tip toes to kiss him on the left cheek.
“We missed you my boy, missed you more than you could know.” Mrs. Jenkins said as she stepped back so that Tristan could accept greetings from other members of the staff.
“Thank you, thank you all for being here, I missed you all too as you are my family, and I never want you to forget that.” Tristan said as warmth filled him. This was the welcome home he’d longed for had hoped for all those long lonely years.