Chapter Twenty Six
Tristan looked over at Arabella, where she stood on the receiving line a few feet ahead of him standing, beside Clara. Arabella was a vision in an emerald green silk gown. The bottom of the gown was embroidered to look like a rose arbor, with pink, red, and white roses entwining with each other. The embroidery only brought further attention to Arabella, not that she needed any. The neckline was a modest scoop that showed off her elegant neck, and full sleeves made her waist look even smaller; all in all, she looked like a fairy queen. With the money that Jules had returned to him from the corrupt tailor, Tristan had bought Arabella a pearl necklace from a second-hand shop. It was a simple single strand of pearls, but Arabella had acted like it was the most expensive necklace in all of England. She had thanked him most passionately while wearing her lace nightgown. The modiste had sent three more nightgowns, made with so little material that they could hardly in all honesty be called nightgowns. With the nightgowns had come several silk corsets, masterful creations of silk and lace that Tristan had been only too delighted to have Arabella model for him. Of course, they had not been on long, and Tristan had been thrilled to help her out of them.
“If you don’t stop looking at her that way, you won’t be able to make it through the ball,” Marcus commented.
Tristan tore his eyes off of Arabella to look over at Marcus, who was eyeing Clara with heated interest. Clara was wearing a gown the color of cream, with tiny flowers embroidered on the hem and neckline. Strings of pearls were threaded through her light brown hair, which was in a fashionable twisted updo.
“And you should talk, it’s obvious you like the girl, and she likes you. Her brother’s like you, even her parents like you. And she is rather pretty, and smart, and she’s a backbone. You could do worse, you know,” Tristan said softly so as not to be heard by those in line behind them. He took a moment to look around the echoingly large white marble foyer they were in. The house they were in wasn’t just large, it was the size of a palace, and Tristan couldn’t imagine how much such a house would have cost. He had thought Hastings House was large, but compared to this mansion, it was tiny.
“Aye, but she could do better than the likes of me. She deserves a lord or a duke at the least,” Marcus said with a heavy sigh.
“I never knew you to give up before a fight, and what is wrong with you? Your grandfather is a Marquis, your father a well-liked vicar, and you served with honor. You also have your own house now and a good yearly income.” Tristan replied as the line moved forward.
“Aye, well, I shall think about it. Do you think she would dance with me?” Marcus asked, looking at Clara like a starving man looking at a loaf of bread.
“Of course she would, now pull yourself together, we’re nearly at the blasted door. Remember what Penelope said: smile and bow when you are introduced.” Tristan said, giving Marcus a clap on the shoulder as the line moved forward again.
* * * *
Arabella felt like a thousand butterflies were in her stomach as the receiving line inched forward. This was her first ton ball, and she wanted to make a good impression. Arabella knew how vicious the ton could be; if the ton liked you, they would build you up, if they didn’t like you, they would tear you down and drag your name through the gutter. She was doubly glad now for her new ball gown and the pearls Tristan had given her. Arabella felt like she belonged with the richly dressed people, that she was just as good as they were. The Redingote’s house was a palace that would have been intimidating on its own, but standing in the receiving line with all the other richly dressed people, it was terrifying.
Beside her, Clara was dutifully listening to her mother drone on about the various lords that Clara should avoid, as well as those that would be acceptable for her to dance with. Arabella saw Clara roll her eyes before turning to look behind them at Tristan and Marcus. Tristan looked especially elegant tonight in a fine black evening jacket and a dark gold brocade waistcoat that accentuated his muscular frame. Arabella saw him smile at her, and she remembered what they had done earlier that day, when Tristan had helped her wash her hair. What had started with a few heated kisses had ended with them making love in the bathtub, and then again on the tiled floor beside it. Arabella knew she had a few small bruises on her back, but they had been more than worth it.
“I hope one day to find a man who looks at me the way Tristan looks at you, and the way father looks at mother. They have been married for thirty-five years, and father still looks at mother like she is the most beautiful woman in the world.” Clara said softly.
Arabella blushed deeply and looked back at Tristan again, who was now whispering to Marcus.
“Do you think Marcus would be scandalized if I asked him to dance with me? Other than my brother’s friends and a few fortune hunters I am rarely asked to dance.” Clara asked almost plaintively as the line moved forward again.
Arabella shook her head as she smiled at Clara’s suggestion. “No, I don’t think so, but why don’t you wait and see what happens. I’m sure he will ask you.”
“I hope so; he is so handsome and funny. Most men think me odd and don’t know what to speak to me about or go on about themselves, or ask how large my dowry is.” Clara shook her head sadly.
“All right, smile girls, we are next,” Mrs. Waterhouse said as they moved through the door leading from the grand foyer they were standing in and into the ballroom.
Arabella fought down her butterflies as Tristan stepped forward to place her right arm on his forearm, as the Waterhouses stepped into the cavernous ballroom and were announced by a regally dressed footman.
“Chin up, I’m with you, you look amazing, and remember you are a countess now,” Tristan whispered to Arabella as he handed their invitation to the butler and stepped up to meet their hosts. Tristan quickly looked about the huge ballroom before him, noting that the landing they were standing on was about twenty feet above the ballroom floor. This was obviously done so that those on the ballroom floor could look up at those entering the room and being presented. At the far right end of the cavernous ballroom was a raised platform where musicians were setting up. Straight ahead was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a lamp-lit garden.
Tristan felt Arabella trembling slightly, and he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and gave it a squeeze as the ancient butler cleared his throat loudly as the Waterhouses began down a wide marble staircase to the ballroom below.
“Lord Tristan Sizemore, Earl of Banbury, and his lady wife, the Countess Arabella Sizemore,” The butler announced loudly, drawing a gasp from the crowd of elegantly dressed people below.
Tristan nodded his thanks to the butler and then stepped forward to greet their hosts. Lady Redingote was an elegantly gowned woman with dark hair and a fine figure in her forties, he guessed, while Lord Redingote was a thin, wiry man with a hook nose, black hair and a ready smile. The two young woman beside him, both in white gowns, appeared to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty, with their mother’s fine looks and dark hair.
“Lord Sizemore, Lady Sizemore, thank you for coming to our little soiree,” Lady Redingote, said extending her gloved hand to Tristan, who took it and bowed over her, earning a smile from the lady.
“Thank you for inviting us. May I present my wife and my friend, Mr. Marcus Berkley?” Tristan said as Marcus was introduced behind him by the butler.
“Lady Sizemore, what a stunning gown. Where did you find it?” Lady Redingote said as Tristan eased them forward to greet Lord Redingote.
Arabella felt her nerves ease at Lady Redingote’s comment and gave her a smile. “Thank you, Lady Redingote, it is from Madame Dubois’s.”
“Madame Dubois, I have heard of her but never visited. I shall have to take the girls there. And thank you again for coming.” Lady Redingote said before turning to nod to Marcus, who bowed to her.
“Ah, Lord Sizemore, Mr. Berkley, I was pleased when I saw you were going to attend tonight. I work for the War Department, and I know what you both have done for England it is an honor to have you both here.” Lord Redingote stated, holding out his hand to first Tristan and then Marcus. Tristan took the older man’s hand, who gave Tristan’s hand a hearty shake before turning to offer his hand to Marcus.
“I would like you both to meet my daughters, Heather and Ivy,” Lord Redingote turned to introduce his two dark haired daughters, who were standing beside him.
“A pleasure, ladies,” Tristan said as he gave the two young women a nod, while Marcus gave the girls an elegant bow. The girls in, response, curtsied to Tristan and Arabella, in deference to their higher rank.
“My, you both look lovely, I hope we have time to talk later,” Arabella said to the two young women, who appeared to be about her age.
“Oh yes, that would be lovely,” Heather replied as Tristan began to lead her away.
Tristan’s hand still over Arabella’s as he led her down the wide steps and onto the ballroom floor, he was aware that they were being watched, but he kept his head held as he led Arabella to the Waterhouses, who were holding court on the left side of the staircase.
“Ah, well done,” Mrs. Waterhouse said softly as Tristan and Arabella stepped up to them, “You have all survived the hardest part of the evening. Now comes the dancing.”
“Yes, the dancing, they usually start these things with a waltz. I liked to dance the first dance or so with my wife, then I dutifully stand by her side for the first hour, glaring at any of the young bucks who think to try and make her a conquest, then I go to the card room.” Mr. Waterhouse stated.
“The card room?” Tristan asked; he’d not thought to leave Arabella’s side for the duration of the ball.
“Yes, the refuge of husbands and bachelors who attend these things to please their wives and mothers. After about an hour, those in the card room will have consumed enough alcohol to loosen their tongues and their wits. I go pretend to play cards and listen for business tips or possible investment opportunities.” Mr. Waterhouse replied, “Once you have done your duty to Arabella, you and Mr. Berkley should join me. I can introduce you to the men there; it will be a good opportunity for you to make contacts and possible friends.”
“It is a tempting offer, but this is our first ton affair, and I don’t wish to leave Arabella alone,” Tristan replied.
“Don’t worry, I will keep an eye on her if you have to go; besides, how is she supposed to make friends and gossip with you standing guard?” Mrs. Waterhouse commented.
Arabella gave Tristan a smile and then nodded her head in agreement. “I shall be quite safe with Mrs. Waterhouse if you want to leave later.”
“Very well, I shall accompany you, sir, but not for some time. Arabella looks far too lovely to abandon right away.
“Oh, well said, Sir Tristan well said. Would you all do me a great favor and come and meet my friends, the other wallflowers?” Clara asked.
“Oh yes, that would be lovely, is it all right with you?” Arabella asked, looking up at Tristan.
“I would be delighted to meet your friends, Clara, as would Marcus,” Tristan stated, fixing Marcus with a look that said he couldn’t refuse.
“Ah, yes, of course. But I was wondering if Miss Clara would honor me with the first dance,” Marcus turned to Clara and gave her a bow. Clara flushed prettily, then held out her dance card and small attached pencil to him. Marcus looked at it in confusion for a moment, then, realizing what it was for, used the pencil to awkwardly write in his name on the first line, before handing it back to Clara.
Clara took it back with a shy smile and slipped the ribbon attached to it around her wrist.
“Come along, Clara, let’s go say hello to your friends before the dancing starts,” Victor prodded.
“Oh, yes of course, we shall return shortly, mama,” Clara replied as Edgar stepped up and offered her his arm. With a nod, Clara took it and began to lead Edgar and the others towards the back of the room, where there were several chairs broken up by a line of potted ferns. Standing in the left-hand corner of the room, between the wall and the ferns, were three young women. As Clara and the others approached, the three women’s faces went from disinterested to happy.
“Oh, Clara, you we are so happy you came; we feared it would be so dreadfully dull without you here,” The first of the girls stated.
“Of course I’m here. I would like you to meet my new friends,” Clara said, tugging Edgar forward.
“Everyone, this is Lady Lucinda, Lady Fanny, and Lady Winifred, my fellow flowers,” Clara said, motioning to each of the young women in turn. Lucinda was tall and thin to the point of gauntness with brown hair; Fanny was also tall and thin, with light brown hair and glasses, while Winifred was the shortest of the three, with dark red brown hair and a round face.
“Flowers, may I introduce Mr. Marcus Berkley, Lord Sizemore, and his wife, and my friend, Lady Arabella,” Clara said, making the introductions.
“A pleasure ladies,” Tristan said giving the young woman a nod.
“What a great pleasure, three such charming and lovely young ladies all in one place, as I am new to London, I was wondering if you would all do me the great honor of a dance? I’m not sure what the male equivalent of a wallflower is, a weed perhaps? But I would hate to be alone all night?” Marcus asked, eliciting smiles and giggles from the young women.
“Oh yes, sir, that would be very agreeable, sir,” Lucinda replied, looking up at Marcus and handing him her dance card and pencil. Marcus took it was a nod and put his name in the second dance spot, as he’d promised Clara the first. He then accepted the dance card from Fanny, filling in his name and then he moved on to Winifred’s. The short, curvy girl gave him a shy smile as he took her card and penciled in his name.
“Edgar, Victor, oblige me and put your names down. I can’t be the only man dancing with these charming ladies,” Marcus stated, giving the two brothers a steady look.
“Oh yes of course,” Edgar stammered and stepped up to bow to Lucinda, “Miss would you dance with me?”
The young lady nodded agreeably, then held out her dance card, while Victor stepped up to Fanny. When the brothers had signed each of the girls’ cards, Tristan looked over at Arabella, who nodded at the girls, and Tristan nodded in understanding.
“Ladies, would you all also do me the honor of a dance? I am promised to my wife for the first two dances, but after that I am free.” Tristan asked, giving the three young women his best smile, seeing them all nod in unison. Tristan remembered what it was like to be an outcast from his time at boarding school; he remembered the pain of being either unwanted or invisible. He could offer the ladies a dance and his friendship at the very least; if they were even half as kind and amusing as Clara was, they would all be a delight to know.
“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful?” Clara stated. She held her card out to Tristan who put his name down for the third dance. Then with a smile he moved on to sign his name on the other girl’s dance cards, when he finished there was the first strains of a waltz and he turned to Arabella and held out his hand, while Marcus put out his hand to Clara.
Tristan pulled Arabella into his arms as the music swelled, his hand tightened about her gloved one, and he gave her a smile. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Yes, I believe you did, but thank you. You look rather elegant yourself.” Arabella replied as Tristan turned her in the dance.
“Thank you, it was all Robert’s work,” Tristan tightened his hold on Arabella, turning her at the last minute to avoid colliding with another couple.
Arabella only nodded in response as she needed her breath for the dance, as Tristan spun her about the edge of the ballroom. Over his shoulder, she saw Marcus’s blonde head as he led Clara about the floor. Arabella had but a moment to think that for a big man, Marcus was remarkably light on his feet before having to concentrate on her footwork.
The set finished, and the orchestra paused to allow couples time to clear the dance floor or seek their partners, but Tristan stood in the middle of the ballroom floor just looking at Arabella. Her cheeks were flushed from the dance and her eyes shining with joy. Candle light from the crystal chandelier made her hair gleam like fire, and he was once again amazed that this beautiful woman loved him. He would fight to his last breath to keep her safe and happy. She filled him with such joy and happiness.
“What is it?” Arabella asked, realizing they were alone on the floor and that people were looking at them.
“Just you are so lovely,” Tristan whispered, then bent to brush his lips against hers, kissing her in the middle of the dance floor, not caring who cared. Tristan heard whispers and was aware that he was causing a scandal but didn’t care, let the ton be scandalized that he loved his bride. The music swelled again and Tristan pulled Arabella into his arms again as the second waltz started.
Arabella, her lips still tingling from Tristan’s kiss, felt his arms tighten about her as he spun her into their second Waltz. She had felt pretty and special for her wedding, but now in in her new silk gown, waltzing before all of London with Tristan, she felt positively beautiful. There was just Tristan and her and the candlelight.
* * * *
Arabella sipped the cup of watered- down punch that Tristan had brought her before going off to the card room with Marcus and Mr. Waterhouse. Beside her, Clara and her friends were still beaming over being asked to dance; the unaccustomed attention paid to them by both Marcus and Tristan had caused a ripple through the other unwed misses. The wallflowers, instead of being ignored, were now the focus of male attention for the first time.
“Mama will be pleased that I danced tonight, even if it was only a few times. You are so lucky, Lady Arabella, to have such a handsome husband, who obviously loves you. When I saw him kiss you on the dance floor, it was so romantic I thought I might swoon,” Lucinda said with a sigh.
“Oh yes, it was just so romantic, it was like something from a book,” Fanny shook her head, then looked about the ballroom.
“One day you will find a man who loves you,” Arabella replied, giving Fanny a comforting smile.
“I would just be happy with a good man who wants me for me and not my dowry.” Winifred stated, looking about the dance floor, “I loathe balls. I would much rather be at home working with my dogs and horses.”
“Dogs and horses?” Arabella gave the younger woman a puzzled look.
“Yes, Winnifred loves dogs and horses the way you and I love plants. She trains both dogs and horses with her brothers as a hobby,” Clara replied.
“Oh my truly, that is marvelous. What do you teach them?” Arabella asked.
“Well, we breed Scottish sheep herding dogs, and train them to herd not only sheep but cattle. I also teach the dogs obedience. The dogs are extremely intelligent and in some ways, I prefer them to men. The dogs don’t care about my looks or my dowry and do as I tell them to. Even the horses are better behaved than most men.” Winifred replied earning a soft giggle from Arabella.
Arabella turned back to watch the dancing and saw two dark-haired men in their early thirties approaching her and the other wallflowers.
“Oh no, don’t stare, but here come two of the men on my mother’s don’t dance with list,” Clara said as softly turning so that no one could see what she said.
Before Arabella could respond, the men stepped up to them and gave Arabella, Clara, and the other wallflowers smiles that did not reach their eyes; in fact, their expressions rather reminded Arabella of the way Mr. Lester used to look at her and Elizabeth like a piece of meat he wanted to eat.
“Miss Waterhouse, please introduce us to your charming friend,” The first of the two men said, giving Clara a sneering look.
“I would rather not. You are not someone she needs to know,” Clara replied, giving the man a dismissive look.
“As charming as ever Miss Waterhouse, you need a man to tame you. I am Sir Barnaby, and my friend is Sir. Parkes. We saw you standing here beside the wallflowers and realized we had not had the pleasure of meeting you before; such a lovely lady had to be new, so we came to introduce ourselves.” Sir Barnaby looked Arabella over like she was a prized horse for sale, making her shiver in disgust as he did.
“Why, yes, we said fresh blood and so early in the season, we just had to come and make your acquaintance. Dance, beautiful lady?” Sir Parkes, said holding out his hand to Arabella.
“No, thank you, I’m keeping my friend company while I wait for my husband to return,” Arabella replied, stepping back to put distance between herself and the two men.
“Come now, don’t be like that, we saw that kiss, you know how things work in London.” Sir Barnaby drawled.
“That was my husband, sir, and I do not know what you are talking about, nor do I think I wish to. Please go away.” Arabella stated.
“Now, now pretty, don’t be rude, come just a dance with me and then my friend.” Sir Parkes stated and reached forward to grab Arabella’s left wrist.
“Let me go,” Arabella hissed in disbelief that she had been grabbed on a public dance floor.
“Let her go, or I shall stab you with a hatpin,” Winifred stated, brandishing a three-inch-long pin in her right hand.
“Tsk, tsk, bad form, chaps, assaulting young ladies on the dance floor. I suggest you unhand this lady at once,” A tall gentleman in his late thirties, wearing a rose colored silk brocade jacket, with a light pink waistcoat, said from behind the two obnoxious lords. Beside him was another tall, wiry man with dark hair of an indeterminable age wearing a dark green jacket and light green silk waistcoat.
“Ah, leave off, Sir Percival, ‘tis no concern of yours. We were just planning on having a bit of fun,” Sir Barnaby retorted.
“Yes, well, the lady does not wish to enjoy your sort of fun,” The man in green stated menacingly. “And Miss Waterhouse is our friend, now be off, or I will be forced to dirty my jacket.”
“Come, Parkes, we had best be off; other partridges to pluck here,” Barnaby stated and then spun to storm off, followed by his friend.
“Thank you for your help, he was being most annoying,” Clara said, giving the men a welcoming smile.
“But of course, besides I don’t like to see women ill-used,” Lord Percival, stated giving Clara a grin.
“Percy, Maxim, I would like to introduce you both to my new friend, Lady Sizemore. She is a gifted herbalist, apothecary, and a midwife, and she knows as much about plants as I do. And Percy, she has the most enchanting rose garden at her country home,” Clara said. “Arabella, I would like you to meet Lord Percival and his friend Sir Maxim. In case you couldn’t guess from Percy’s jacket he loves roses. And Sir Maxim breeds cats.”
“Oh, really, that sounds fascinating,” Arabella was relieved at the men’s timely arrival. “You must tell me all about your roses and your cats.”
“How delightful, another botanist. I normally only come to these dreadful affairs to make my mother happy and to chat with Clara, but would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Arabella? I promise I shall be a perfect gentleman and deliver you unharmed back here at its end. It will allow us to talk about roses without drawing suspicion.” Sir Percival said, holding out his gloved hand to Arabella.
“I shall stay here and keep the ladies company,” Sir Maxim stated.
“Very well, if you promise to watch over them, sir, I was just having a delightful conversation with Lady Winifred. She breeds dogs and horses, Sir Maxim. You should have something to discuss.” Arabella stated.
“Indeed, I did not know that. Lady Winifred tell about your dogs,” Sir Maxim said as Arabella let Sir Percival to lead her onto the dance floor as a mazurka began.
* * * *
Tristan and Marcus followed Mr. Waterhouse out of the ballroom and then down the long corridor to a large smoke-filled room, with six round tables in it and dozens of chairs. About thirty men of a wide range of ages were sitting about the tables and playing cards, while footmen lingered in the fringes of the room bearing trays of drinks.
One of the older men looked up as they entered and motioned to an empty seat beside him.
“Ah, Waterhouse, have a seat, we can use some more players. The cards are running against me tonight,” The man stated.
“Hello, Sir Augustus, I would like to introduce you to Lord Sizemore and his friend and associate, Mr. Berkley,” Mr. Waterhouse stated, giving a nod to the older man and then the other four men at the table with him.
“Sizemore, Sizemore, you are lord Fergus Sizemore’s youngest, aren’t you, the one in the army?” Sir Augustus stated, throwing down his cards in obvious disgust. “Deal me out for now; I’ve lost enough for the night.”
The other men nodded, and one of them leaned forward to pull in Sir Augustus’ cards as well as a pile of coins.
“Yes, you knew my father, sir?” Tristan asked as the older man pushed back his chair and rose from the table.
“Indeed, for some thirty years, we were even business partners for a while; he was proud of you and spoke of you often.” Sir Augusts stated, motioning for Tristan, Marcus, and Mr. Waterhouse, who followed him to another table. A footman appeared with a tray of clean glasses and a bottle of port and a bottle of brandy. Tristan and Marcus waved the man away as they sat beside Sir Augusts.
“I am surprised and confused to hear that my father thought well of me. He rarely spoke to me, never even sent me a letter the entire time I was in the army.” Tristan replied, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“That is odd, but he often mentioned you with pride. He said you were one of the few men who refused to bow to him.” Sir Augustus stated.
Marcus gave Tristan a puzzled look, then shook his head in confusion.
“Sir Augustus, you said you did business with my father, then perhaps you can help me with a conundrum I have been trying to deal with since my return. I can find no records of any business my father or brothers transacted. I can’t even find any banking records. I returned to a mountain of debt and no income. I am floundering about in the dark here, and any light you can shed on the matter I would appreciate,” Tristan said.
“What, that is outrageous, what of your father’s man of business?” Sir Augustus retorted.
“Dead and all the records missing, any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated, sir,” Marcus added, earning a nod of agreement from Tristan.
“Well, of course, I will be glad to help. In the morning, I shall talk to my man of business and have him go through our records. Your father and I were partners in a plush mill and a tin mine in Cornwall. He did not sell his shares before he died, and I spoke to your brother Allister, at your father’s funeral about the matter.” Sir Augustus stated, with a puzzled look.
“That would be most helpful, sir,” Tristan felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. If what Sir Augustus said was true, then there was at least one if not two, sources of income that could help him save the family holdings.
“Oh, think nothing of it, I’m glad to help. There are a few other men I know your father did business with. I will contact them on the morrow and have them contact you as well.” Sir Augustus said. “Your father was a hard man, but not foolish; that is why, when I was told he died in some woman’s bed, I found it odd. It was no secret that he and your mother were not a love match, but he always kept his affairs discreet.”
“Thank you, Sir Augustus, you have been very helpful, and I look forward to hearing from you in the days to come,” Tristan replied.
“Think nothing of it, happy to help. Your father really did talk about you with pride. The War Office kept him informed of your exploits, and he would come into the club and tell us all about it over drinks,” Sir Augustus shook his head.
“Club, which club if I might ask?” Tristan was now doubly glad he had come to the ball.
“Whites, of course, I have not seen you there. Since your father and brothers were all members you shall easily be accepted,” Sir Augusts replied.
“Thank you again, you have been very helpful,” Tristan replied as two other men, about his age stepped up to the table and nodded in greeting to Mr. Waterhouse and Sir Augustus.
“Waterhouse, you are here. Who are your friends?” One of the men asked.
“Ah, welcome, Sir Peters, Lord Baxter, these are my friends Lord Tristan Sizemore and his associate Mr. Marcus Berkley.” Mr. Waterhouse replied, motioning to Tristan and Marcus in turn.
“You are gulling us,” Sir Peters replied, “This man is not Lord Sizemore, he is an imposter.”
Tristan groaned in annoyance and shook his head. “Bloody hell, not this again,” Marcus commented.
“I can assure you that this gentleman is indeed Lord Sizemore. I was business partners with his father for thirty years,” Sir Augustus growled.
“Indeed, I don’t know what game you are playing at but this gentleman is indeed Lord Sizemore. I knew his uncle for years,” Mr. Waterhouse snapped.
“Nay, nay, we met lord Sizemore about three and a half months ago at the Crimson club,” Sir Peters stated.
“I was not in England at that time, sir; I was still doing my duty to England,” Tristan replied.
“But, no, no, it can’t be we played cards for hours with a tall, dark-haired fellow who claimed to be Lord Tristan Sizemore. He had a rather great run on the cards. And he then spent some time with, well, the other entertainments there.” Lord Baxter protested.
With a groan of annoyance, Tristan stood, and reached into his inner jacket pocket to withdraw his identification card from the War Department and held it out to Lord Baxter. Lord Baxter took it with a frown. He read the card and handed it to Sir Peters, who then returned it to Tristan.
“My apologies, my lord,” Sir Peters stated. “It is just this fellow claimed to be you, not only did we play cards with him but so did several of our friends.”
“As you can see. he was an imposter. I was out of the country until just a few months ago. I was only in London briefly before going to my late uncle’s estate, where I met and married my wife.” Tristan stated hotly. “ Furthermore, I have never set foot in this establishment that you have spoken of, nor will I ever as I have no wish to lose my hard-worn coin or catch the clap.”
“Well said, sir, well said,” Sir Augustus stated pounding his fist on the table before him for emphasize.
“Our apologies, my lord, we shall withdraw then and leave you to our cards,” Lord Baxter said.
“If you truly wish to help, you could pass the word that you met the true lord Sizemore,” Marcus stated, rising to stand beside Tristan.
“Yes, yes of course,” Sir Peters replied, then, with a nod he turned and hurried from the card room with Lord Baxter.
“Well, that was interesting,” Mr. Waterhouse stated, and then looked across the room to nod to another gentleman. “If you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, I see a business associate that I must speak with. Make yourself comfortable, and I shall return shortly.”
“Of course, Sir,” Tristan responded.
Mr. Waterhouse crossed the room and spoke to the other gentleman who put down his cards, and then Mr. Waterhouse and the other gentleman, stepped through a side door and disappeared.
“Would you care for a drink?” Marcus asked, nodding at the footman in the corner.
Tristan was about to respond when Lady Fanny came hurrying into the card room, looking decidedly upset.
“Oh my lord, you must come at once, someone took Miss Clara, her ladyship went to search for her in the garden but needs your help.” Lady Fanny said softly so no one else in the card room would hear her.
“Hell, lead on,” Tristan replied, racing after Fanny, followed by Marcus.
* * * *
Arabella curtsied to Lord Perceval, “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”
“It was my pleasure. Perhaps we can meet again to talk about plants,” Lord Percival suggested.
“Yes, that would be wonderful. I do enjoy speaking about plants and botanical studies with new people. But if you wish to speak to a like-minded person, who shares your passion for roses, you should speak to Miss Clara’s friend Lady Lucinda.” Arabella stated as she allowed Lord Percival to escort her from the dance floor.
“Lady Lucinda? The tall, quiet one, she has mentioned something about roses once or twice, but I rarely paid full attention to what she said.” Lord Percival stated.
“Indeed, she told me just a few minutes ago that she has been working since she was twelve on creating an orange rose, and has had some success,” Arabella replied.
“Good heavens, an orange rose. I shall certainly have to speak to her about her studies. I myself have been working on creating roses with more intense scents for use in my perfumery.” Lord Percival stated as he returned Arabella to the other wallflowers, where Sir Maxim was currently engaged in a heated discussion with Winifred.
“Thank you again for the dance, my lord, and may I introduce you to Lady Lucinda, as I said, she shares your passion for roses,” Arabella said, motioning to Lucinda, who curtsied to Lord Percival.
“Ah, how charming.” Lord Percival said, giving a bow to Lucinda.
“Lady Lucinda, his lordship shares your interest in roses. I thought perhaps you could tell his lordship about your roses and your success at creating a new color.” Arabella suggested, and Lucinda’s face lit up, and she went from passing pretty to truly lovely.
“Oh, I would not wish to bother his lordship with my finding,” Lucinda said softly, but it was obvious from her expression that she longed to speak about it.
“Nonsense, I would love to hear all about your studies. Perhaps you would accompany me to the refreshments room, where we can talk without all these distractions and enjoy a bite,” Lord Percival offered his arm to Lucinda, who took it with a nod.
“Yes, that would be most agreeable, sir,” Lucinda replied taking his arm.
“Lady Winifred, shall we join them? We can continue our conversation about breeding, and you were just starting to tell me about the large, long-haired kittens your uncle brought you from Norway,” Sir Maxim said, offering his arm to Winifred, who took it with a nod.
Clara, Fanny, and Arabella watched them go with amused interest.
“How ever did you manage that? Lord Percival only speaks to me because we share a common interest in plants. It is widely rumored that he hates women.” Clara asked.
“Well every time we were close to each other he was telling me about his plants and his roses. On the walk back I told him about Lucinda’s studies of roses, and I simply mentioned to Sire Percival that Lady Winifred bred horses and dogs, and that he might like speaking with him about it,” Arabella replied. “Elizabeth back home always said that I had a way of speaking with people that put them at ease while helping them see what they truly wanted.”
“So you are saying Lord Percival wants Lucinda?” Clara jested.
“No, what he really wanted was someone who shared his interests, and to please his mother, who wishes him to marry. I think if he speaks to Lady Lucinda, he shall see what a clever, lovely young woman she is and that a woman can be a friend as well as a wife.” Arabella replied with a knowing smile.
“That is rather romantic of you and hopeful,” Clara replied.
“Indeed, but it gives me hope. I know nothing of plants, but I love music. I write music that only I shall ever hear. I would love to find a man who also enjoys music and would not stop me from my studies of it,” Fanny said with a sigh.
“Nonsense, Fanny, I would love to hear your pieces. Perhaps once Arabella knows more of the ton, she can find a lord who loves music for you,” Clara stated giving her friend a smile. “Now, if you two will excuse me, I need the retiring room.”
“Would you like company?” Arabella asked, and Clara shook her head.
“No please stay with Fanny; I don’t want any of the harpies to shred her to pieces in my absence.” Clara gave Arabella a smile, then turned, and picking up her gown, made her way quickly towards the left side of the ballroom and the dark corridor there that led to the ladies’ retiring room.
“Tell me about your music and what instruments do you play. I only ever had a few lessons on the pinafore when I was a girl; my mother didn’t have the funds for more than that,” Arabella said as she turned from watching the dancers to look at Fanny beside her.
“I play the piano, the pinafore, the harp, and the violin. I wished to learn the cello, but mother forbade it, saying it was unladylike.” Fanny replied.
“Good heavens, how smart you must be and how talented,” Arabella said, thinking of all the hours Fanny must have spent practicing.
“Oh, thank you. When I was a little girl, I had a weakness of the lungs, so mother rarely let me go outside. So I spent my time reading, drawing, and playing music. I don’t have much talent for drawing, though I love it so I concentrated on music.” Fanny stated her eyes fixed on the dancers. “I love how music makes you feel, how it can lift you up or bring you down. I suppose that sounds foolish.”
“No, not at all, I often feel that way about my plants,” Arabella replied.
The two young women stood together watching the dancers move about the floor in companionable silence. When the set ended, and another began, Arabella frowned, then turned to look towards the ladies’ retiring room.
“Shouldn’t she be back by now?” Arabella asked.
“I would think so, shall we go look for her?” Fanny suggested.
“Yes, it’s down that corridor.” Fanny turned to point to the corridor in the back corner. Together, Fanny and Arabella hurried down the side of the ballroom and then down the dimly lit corridor. A few feet down the corridor, Arabella spotted something white lying on the floor. Arabella knelt and picked up what she’d found. When Arabella turned the item over in her hands, she saw that it was Clara’s dance card.
“Someone has taken Clara,” Arabella rose, thinking quickly. “I’ll search the garden, go find my husband and Mr. Berkley, and tell them to come to the garden. Then go find Mrs. Waterhouse.”
“Oh, yes, yes.” Fanny picked up the front of her gown and ran.
Arabella, slipped the loop from Clara’s dance card about her wrist before hurrying down the corridor to where there was a large glass door leading to the garden. The door was ajar, and pushing it wide, Arabella hurried out into the cool night air. Arabella looked right, seeing the torch-lit terrace that ran before the ballroom windows, to her left was a wide stone staircase that led down to the garden.
Arabella closed her eyes and tilted her head, trying to listen for any sounds of distress, to block out the faint strains of the music. After a moment, she heard the faint sound of a woman’s scream. Picking up her skirts, she hurried down the stone steps and turned left as the faint scream came again. In the faint light of torches, Arabella could see a flash of white and saw Clara struggling against a man, while another man tall thin man was trying to tie her hands behind her back with a piece of rope.
“Unhand her at once,” Arabella cried, rushing forward to pound her fists against the back of the man trying to tie Clara’s hands together.
The man spun to glare at Arabella, “Now none of that girl, behave, and I’ll not harm you.” The man lunged for Arabella, trying to grab her. She twisted out of his way and, making a fist, stepped back and punched the man in the nose, using everything Tristan had taught her about how to throw a punch. The punch hit the man squarely in the nose knocking, his head back. Pain shot up Arabella’s right arm, while the man let out a curse and reached for his nose.
Clara, taking advantage of the distraction, managed to slam her elbow backwards, catching her captor in the stomach, causing him to loosen his hold on her.
“You little bitch, I’ll teach you to behave,” The man holding her swore as Clara used her fists to slam down on her attacker’s hands, where they held her about the waist. The man released her so suddenly that she dropped to her knees with a cry of pain.
The thin man, Arabella had attacked, lunged for her catching, her about the left arm and twisting it cruelly backwards, causing her to cry out in pain.
“You had no cause to do that, my friend means to marry the girl. Once he has her dowry and a child on the way he’ll let her go. Now that you know you will have to come along, can’t have you ruining our plans,” The thin man sneered.
“The hell I will, I’ll never willingly marry you,” Clara snapped as her attacker reached down to grab her by the hair and haul her up off the ground.
“Let go,” Arabella’s hand tightened about Clara’s dance card, hanging from her wrist, and she felt the tiny pencil. Holding it tight, she used it to stab into her attacker’s hand as hard as she could.
The thin man yelled in combined pain and rage and swung to strike Arabella when there was a bellow of rage as Tristan appeared and slammed his right fist into the thin man’s face as hard as he could. At the same time, Marcus charged the man holding Clara, letting out an inarticulate growl.
Tristan had heard Arabella’s cry of pain and flown down the steps to her rescue as fast as he could. He had seen the man holding Arabella and his vision had gone red as rage filled him. No one touched his wife, no one harmed her. His right fist slammed into the man’s face with so much force that his head snapped backwards, and he rocked back on his feet. Tristan didn’t let up his second strike hit the man in the stomach, dropping him to his knees, while behind him Arabella, ran to Clara’s side.
Tristan reached down and grabbed the thin man by the cravat to drag him to his feet as he pulled back his fist to slam the man again.
“No, no more, stop it.” The thin man wheezed.
Tristan shook him like he was a dog with a rat, and then shoved him away hard.
“Move, and I will end you,” Tristan warned, then turned to see Marcus holding Clara’s attacker by the throat with his left hand while simultaneously punching him with his right. The man’s face was now a bloody pulp, and he was whimpering softly, his hands clawing at Marcus’s iron grip.
“Marcus, let him go, damn it, that is an order, sergeant,” Tristan snapped when Marcus didn’t immediately release the man. Tristan placed his hand on Marcus’s arm and gave him a hard shake. After a heartbeat. Marcus released the man. who dropped to the gravel path with a moan.
Tristan knelt to gently touch Arabella’s cheek, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, help Clara,” Arabella said as Tristan helped her up.
“I have her,” Marcus knelt and slipped his arms about Clara, lifting her from the ground to carry her to a nearby stone bench, where he set her down.
There was the sound of footsteps, and Mrs. and Mr. Waterhouse, and Fanny, appeared, hurrying down the steps, their faces filled with alarm.
“Clara, Clara, my dear, what happened?” Mr. Waterhouse demanded in alarm as she raced to Clara’s side.
“Those two grabbed me as I was coming back from the ladies’ retiring room and dragged me out the door and then down the steps. I was trying to get free when Arabella came to my rescue, and then Sir Tristan and Marcus arrived to pummel them most satisfactorily.” Clara replied, wincing and in obvious pain.
“You have my undying gratitude,” Mrs. Waterhouse stated while Mr. Waterhouse looked from Clara to the two prone men and back.
“Clara is my friend, and a fellow woman. I could not stand by and see her ill-used without trying to help.” Arabella replied.
“Well, she is a true heroine,” Clara replied, then hissed in pain.
“Let me see to you, Clara,” Arabella knelt on the gravel before Clara and began to look her over. She saw blood on the front of Clara’s white gown and, easing up the hem, winced when she saw Clara’s left ankle. It was badly scraped and already swelling.
“Oh my, what happened?” Arabella asked.
“I managed to get away for a moment and made it to the stairs. I was running up the stairs, and the one that Mr. Marcus punched shoved me. I fell and hurt my ankle and my arm,” Clara replied, turning to point to the man Marcus had pummeled.
“You should have let me kill him,” Marcus drawled.
“And have you swing for killing a peer? Not going to happen,” Tristan replied looking down to see Arabella examining Clara’s ankle. “Do you think its broken?”
“No, not broken but badly sprained. Tristan, I need your cravat.” Arabella said, looking up at Tristan in the dim torchlight.
“Of course,” Tristan quickly untied his cravat and handed it to Arabella.
“Mrs. Waterhouse, can you please hold up her ankle while I wrap it?” Arabella asked, looking up at Mrs. Waterhouse, who was chewing on her lower lip in obvious worry.
“Oh, yes of course,” Mrs. Waterhouse replied kneeling beside Arabella to gently lift Clara’s ankle.
“What shall we do with those two?” Marcus jerked his head at the two men.
“You will do nothing, my father is a baron and Seymour’s is a viscount. In exchange for our silence, you will let Seymour marry the girl.” The thin man wheezed as he held a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.
“Blood hell, you should have let me kill him,” Marcus snapped.
“I have a better idea, I have a merchant ship sailing tonight for China, they can use two extra hands.” Mr. Waterhouse stated.
“What, you must be joking.” The thin man stammered.
“Not when it comes to my daughter. Fanny, do you know a way out of this garden that won’t draw attention by any chance?” Mr. Waterhouse asked.
“Oh, yes. Down from the door we used to come out, there is another door that leads to a mews which takes you out front.” Fanny replied.
“Excellent, Mr. Berkley, may I have your cravat for a moment and both your gentleman’s help?” Mr. Waterhouse asked as he pulled off his cravat.
“Of course,” Marcus replied, pulling off his cravat and following Mr. Waterhouse to the two men.
The thin man backed up nervously as Mr. Waterhouse approached. “Put your hands out.”
Arabella looked up from wrapping Clara’s bruised and bleeding ankle to see Marcus helping Mr. Waterhouse bind the thin man’s hands before him, while Tristan tied up the other man’s hands, though he made little protest.
“We need to get her home,” Mrs. Waterhouse stated, rising to place a comforting hand on Clara’s shoulder.
“Aye, I have a plan. Mr. Berkley, Sir Tristan, if you could please see Clara and my wife to your carriage. And then, Sir Tristan, if you could see them home, I would be much obliged. I will stay here with these two,” Mr. Waterhouse nodded to the two men. “Then, Mr. Berkley, if I could impose on you to help, I want to place these two in my carriage and take them to the docks.”
“It will be our pleasure,” Tristan replied.
“I would be happy to,” Marcus stated. He stepped over to Clara, who was shivering and looking rather dejected. Marcus shouldered out of his jacket and placed it around Clara’s shoulders. “Miss Clara, if you would place your hands about my neck, I will carry you as gently as I can to your carriage.”
“Oh, thank you, I’m very strong. I’m sure I could walk, if someone would just lend me their arm. I don’t want to hurt your back I’m heavier than I look.” Clara replied bravely.
“Nonsense, you are no bigger than a minute,” Marcus replied, easing his hands about Clara and lifting her effortlessly, while Tristan slipped his hand about Arabella’s waist.
“Are you all right, Bella?” Tristan asked.
Arabella nodded, “Yes, my arm is a bit sore, but otherwise I am well.”
Tristan nodded, but he was fighting the urge to go over and beat the man senseless who had put his hands on Arabella. His arm protectively about her waist, Tristan, Arabella, and Fanny followed after Marcus and Mrs. Waterhouse as they began up the stone steps. Tristan paused to look back at Mr. Waterhouse, who had pulled a small pistol from his jacket and was using it to heard the two men backwards and into the darkness of the shadows.
Mr. Waterhouse gave him a nod as if to say Don’t worry and then Tristan turned to follow the others up the steps. It had been an eventful night if filled with revelations of all kinds, not the least of which was that his good friend Marcus seemed to be in love with Clara.
* * * *
Tristan helped Arabella down from the carriage; she gave him a nod of thanks as she pulled his jacket tighter about her. On the ride to the Waterhouses, Arabella had begun to shiver, and Tristan had slipped his jacket about her. He knew from experience that after a shock, you could grow cold or sleepy.
Tristan helped her up the steps and was reaching for the door when Buttons opened it.
“My lord, my lady, welcome home,” Buttons said, stepping back, when he saw Arabella’s disheveled appearance his eyes widened in surprise. “My lady, what happened?”
“There was a bit of a disagreement between some unruly gentlemen and Miss Waterhouse; Lady Arabella came to her aid till Mr. Berkley, and I arrived. Would you please have a pot of chamomile tea sent up to our room and ask Miss Mia to run a bath for my wife?” Tristan asked. “Also, please have a basin of cold water and some clean towels sent up; her ladyship bruised her knuckles.”
“Yes, of course, my lord.” Buttons gave a nod and practically ran down the corridor towards the kitchens.
Tristan placed Arabella’s hand on his arm and his hand behind her back to help her up the stairs in case she showed a moment of weakness.
“I’m all right, truly I am, just perhaps a bit tired.” Arabella felt exhausted, and her right hand throbbed.
“Nonsense, you had a terrible encounter, I know, after my first time in battle, I was shaking like a leaf and threw up my accounts,” Tristan replied as he helped Arabella up the steps and then down the corridor towards their room.
“Did you really, or are you just saying that to spare my feelings?” Arabella asked.
“Tis the truth, it was just a few days after my eighteenth birthday, and my unit was attacked by a group of rebels. I shot my first man that day, and afterwards I ran into the trees to be ill. Luckily, Marcus followed after me, though he was shaken to. Not very brave of me, I’m sure,” Tristan jested as they reached their chamber door, and paused to remove the key from his pocket to unlock the door.
There was the sound of footsteps, and Tristan turned to see both Mia and Roberts hurrying towards them.
“Oh my lady, what happened? Mr. Buttons said you needed us?” Mia asked, gasping in shock at Arabella’s appearance.
“Come inside our chamber, and I will tell you,” Tristan replied. He knew the house had ears and didn’t want what he said to reach his mother or Miriam. While his mother had been pleasant of late, he didn’t want to give her any ammunition to set her off on one of her tirades about his unfitness as the earl?
Tristan opened the door to his chamber and helped Arabella inside, stepping to one side to allow Mia and Roberts to enter.
“Roberts, would you please light the lamps, and then build up the stove in here as well as the bathing room. Mia, if you could run a bath for her ladyship.” Tristan directed as he removed his jacket from about Arabella’s shoulders and then laid it over the back of the closest chair.
“Bella, sit, let me see your hand.” Tristan motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs beside the small table near the window.
With a nod, Arabella perched on the edge of the closest chair and held her hand out to Tristan, who dragged the other chair up before easing into it. Tristan gently took Arabella’s hand and turned it to examine it, while behind him, Roberts hurried to light the lamps. Arabella’s hand was slightly swollen and her knuckles bruised.
“It isn’t broken, but you badly bruised your knuckles. I admire your courage for punching that brute. Next time, use the heel of your hand, or if you are close enough, your elbow. They are harder than your hand.” Tristan leaned forward to kiss Arabella’s hand. then set it on the table as Buttons and Jimmy entered. Buttons set a tray containing a teapot, two cups, and a plate of biscuits while Jeremy set down a basin of water and several clean white towels.
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Could you please light the fire in Mr. Berkley’s room? In addition, can one of you please wait up for him below? He isn’t likely to return for a few hours, but I don’t want him to be locked out.” Tristan asked. Tristan took one of the towels and dipping it in the cold water dabbed at Arabella’s knuckles seeing her wince.
“I shall, sir,” Roberts replied. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you, Roberts, you may all go now,” Tristan replied, and all but Mia filed from the room, closing the door after them.
“I have the bath half-filled, ma’am, it will take a bit longer to fill, and the kettle is warming on the stove. Do you want me to help you out of your gown?” Mia asked.
“Yes, Mia, please help her ladyship, and I’ll attend the tub,” Tristan replied. “After your bath, we shall soak your hand, and I shall wrap it.” Tristan rose and kissed Arabella on the cheek, then headed into the bathing room to allow Arabella her privacy to undress.
Tristan kicked off his shoes before he entered the bathing room, then walked in his stockinged feet to the bathtub and turned off the tab. The water was cold; Tristan, using a towel, took the large kettle off the top of the stove and poured the heated water into the tub. He then filled it again from the tap, set it on the stove top to heat, and added lavender soap flakes to the water. Using his hand, he stirred the tub, then stepped back into the bed chamber to see Mia had stripped Arabella down to her chemise.
“Thank you, Mia, you may go, I will help her ladyship into the tub,” Tristan said and saw Mia nod, before scooping up Arabella’s degraded ball gown and hurried from the room. Tristan followed her to close and lock the door behind her, leaving the key in the lock.
“You mean to bathe me again? Last time we got the floor rather wet,” Arabella said, blushing deeply.
“We did, it is lucky there is a drain in the floor. But no, the water is still a bit cool, so I mean to wash you quickly, then bundle you in one of your older but warm night gowns, and then tend your knuckles.” Tristan replied.
Arabella gave Tristan a wicked smile then stepped into the wonderfully warm bathing chamber. She looked over her shoulder to see Tristan standing in the doorway and gave him a wink before slipping out of her chemise letting it slip to the floor. She heard Tristan’s sharp intake of breath as she then stepped out of her undergarments, letting them drop to the floor. She tested the water with her hand, finding it cool but tolerable. Arabella stepped into the tub as Tristan, using a towel, grabbed the kettle to pour the warmed water into the tub.
Arabella nodded her thanks as she settled into the tub and reached for the bar of soap on the edge. As she stretched out her hand, Tristan saw a dark bruise forming on her wrist. Tristan let out a soft curse at the sight of it.
“I should have hit him harder and longer,” Tristan commented, enraged that the man had hurt Bella.
“Thank you, but I would not like it if you went to prison because of me. I have grown rather fond of having you about every day,” Arabella teased, though she was touched by Tristan’s comment.
“And I am rather fond of you, too,” Tristan replied with a smile. “But had he hurt you worse, I would have happily ended him. I have killed men, Bella, it is not something I am proud, of but I have. For you, I would not hesitate to do so again.”
Arabella nodded, knowing that Tristan was declaring his love for her again. “As a healer, I have never harmed, anyone but for you, I think I could kill someone.”
“Let us pray that you are never put in that position. Now lean forward, and I will wash your back, then you should get out.” Tristan was touched by Arabella’s declaration of love. He grabbed a towel from beside the tub, and dipping it in the water quickly scrubbed Arabella’s back. He had to fight the urge not to kiss all the creamy skin exposed or the nape of her neck. Tristan, forcing down his desire, placed the towel on the side of the tub, then rose. Tristan turned to take a large towel off the rack by the heater and held it up for Arabella.
“Let us hope you never have cause to do so, for such a stain never leaves your soul, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now out of the tub, the water is too cool for a long soak.” Tristan directed. He turned his head and shut his eyes allowing Arabella her modesty as she was still a bit shy about being naked before him. When he felt her take the towel he opened his eyes and looked back at her.
“I’ll fetch your night gown while you get dry. Then you can have your tea while I bandage your hand and brush out your hair.” Tristan gave Arabella a nod, then stepped from the bathing room and into the bedroom, then into the closet to fetch one of Arabella’s old nightgowns. Though he would have preferred to see her in one of her new lace night gowns tonight, she needed her rest and to be warm. Taking the gown, he quickly returned to the bathing room and held the night gown out to Arabella who, took it with a nod.
“I will give you a moment of privacy,” Tristan stepped from the bathing room and stripped off his waistcoat. He crossed to the chair by the door and carefully placed the waistcoat on top of his jacket. He dragged off his shirt next, then balling it up threw it across the room to land in the wicker basket Roberts had placed there for dirty clothes.
“How are your hands? You struck that man several times you didn’t hurt them, did you?” Arabella asked as she stepped into the room in time to see Tristan remove his shirt and throw it across the room to have it land in the laundry basket.
“They are fine, thank you, but my hands are a good deal stronger and larger than yours. Now sit and drink your tea, while I brush out your hair. I’m afraid I won’t be as good as Mia, but I can at least remove all your braids.” Tristan said, taking one of Arabella’s brushes from the top of the bureau.
“You don’t have to do that, my hand is a bit sore, but I’m sure I can manage,” Arabella protested.
“Nonsense, I have watched you brush out your hair every night since we wed, and you always need two hands,” Tristan replied, stepping up behind Arabella as she poured tea for both of them, then dropped sugar into both of their cups.
“Very well, but it feels decadent to have you do it, but you might be right my hand is very sore.” Arabella replied. “Could I bother you and ask you to fetch some of my willow extract from the closet and pour it in my tea?”
“Of course,” Tristan set Arabella’s brush on the table then crossed to the large wooden cabinet they’d dragged from another room for Arabella to store her medicines in. He pulled the cabinet open and quickly spotted the large brown bottle that contained her pain tonic. Tristan pulled the bottle out and crossed back to the table; he uncorked the bottle and gave Arabella a questioning look.
“Oh, two spoonfuls should do,” Arabella replied, putting down her cup before Tristan. Tristan obligingly poured two spoonfuls of tonic into her cup, then corked the bottle and returned it to the cupboard.
Tristan watched as Arabella choked down the bitter brew. “I need to add more honey.”
“It was fine when you gave it to me, but then again, Marcus also mixed mine with brandy,” Tristan drawled.
“You should have told me it needed more sweetening,” Arabella replied, reaching for a biscuit.
“As I said, Marcus mixed mine with brandy Now soak your hand in the bowl while I do your hair,” Tristan directed, earning a laugh from Arabella.
“Yes, I know it should help reduce the swelling. You have talked about being interested in healing, and we have talked about plants, but somehow the thought of you actually practicing medicine never occurred to me.” Arabella stated as she felt Tristan begin to remove hairpins from her hair.
“You wound me,” Tristan jested as he set a handful of hair pins on the table beside Arabella, “Marcus and I took care of each other’s wounds as we did not trust the army physician. Now I may not have your skill, but I have the interest.”
“You know you need not fuss over me, and I’m sorry for doubting your talents,” Arabella replied.
“I like fussing over you; you are my friend as well as my wife. And I don’t feel insulted, I have not had your training, and we have had little time to discuss my past or yours. This madness has taken up far too much of our time.” Tristan sighed as he pulled the last of the pins out of Arabella’s hair and then began carefully undoing the ribbons that held the last of it in place.
“It will be over soon. Every day we find more answers.” Arabella sighed in contentment as Tristan began to slowly brush out her hair. “That feels rather nice; perhaps I should have you brush out my hair more often.”
“Speaking of which, after I left you, Mr. Waterhouse introduced me to a gentleman, Sir Augustus. He not only knew my father but he was business partners with him. Sir Augustus said that my father owned, in fact still owns shares in both a mine and a mill. He said he will contact his solicitor about the matter and have him contact me on the morrow. If it is true, then we shall have another source of income. I will be able to restore Rawlings sooner than I hoped.” Tristan finished brushing out Arabella’s hair and eased into the chair before her.
“Oh, Tristan, that is wonderful. I am eager to see it,” Arabella replied as Tristan took her hand out of the cool water and patted it dry.
“I, too, am eager to see it again, as a boy I always thought it looked like a castle, though it is only a manner house.” Tristan took one of the dry towels and ripped it into two long strips, then gently wrapped it around Arabella’s knuckles, which were swollen and already bruising. Tristan gently tied the makeshift bandage in place, then, leaning forward, brushed a kiss against Arabella’s forehead.
“Time for bed, I shall wash quickly and then join you. I had meant to show you how beautiful I thought you were when we returned, but I think you need your rest,” Tristan rose and held out his hand to Arabella.
Arabella nodded and let Tristan help her up; she was disappointed but also relieved in a way as she was surprisingly tired after the night’s events. “Will you hold me when you come to bed?”
“Of course,” Tristan replied as Arabella made her way to their bed and, pulling back the bedding climbed underneath, then pulled the blankets up to her chin.
Tristan grabbed the loose old breeches he wore to bed off the chair next to the bathroom door and then slipped inside. He reviewed the night’s events as he stripped and hurriedly washed and cleaned his teeth. He never should have left Arabella alone his conscious nagged at him, never should have gone off with Mr. Waterhouse. But if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have learned what Sir Augustus had to say. Tristan shook his head; all that mattered was that Clara and Arabella were safe. Everything else would come in time.