Chapter Twenty Two
Tristan pulled at his impeccably tied cravat; he hated the blasted things as they also made him feel like he was being strangled. Roberts had wanted to do his new master proud and made sure that he and Marcus were both turned out impeccably with finely tied cravats, well-fitted suits, and highly shined shoes.
“If you keep tugging at that, you will ruin it, and Roberts will have a fit and lecture you till your ears burn. He spent an entire hour washing, cutting, and styling my hair and threatened me with bodily harm if I messed it up before I left the house.” Marcus stated from a few feet away, he looked like a proper dandy in a black suit, dark red silk waistcoat, and black leather dress pumps polished to a high shine.
Tristan gave him a sympathetic look. Roberts had dragged him into the room next to his bed chamber to shave, wash, and dress him. Tristan had tried to say that he could shave himself, but Roberts would have none of it. Tristan, like Marcus, was now dressed like a ton dandy in a black suit, white shirt, starched cravat, form-fitting black breeches and highly polished black pumps. Tristan was also sporting an emerald green silk waistcoat at Roberts’s suggestion, as Arabella was planning to wear an emerald green gown.
Tristan was about to tell Marcus he looked like a proper dandy when he heard footsteps and looked up to see Arabella descending the steps towards him, and the words died in his throat. Arabella looked like a princess in a flowing silk gown of emerald green that showed off her trim figure to perfection. Her lustrous red hair was piled on top of her head in a fantastic concoction of braids, green ribbons, and curls.
Tristan was barely aware of Penelope descending the stairs behind Arabella; all he could see was his beautiful Bella.
“I have said it before, but you are one lucky bastard,” Marcus drawled.
Tristan was only able to grunt in response as he was transfixed by the vision Arabella made.
Arabella pushed down the butterflies in her stomach, tonight was her first foray into ton society, and she wanted to look her best. She saw Tristan smile up at her, and her heart skipped a beat at how handsome he looked. Arabella remembered what they had done last night, the pleasure they had shared, and her cheeks heated at the memory.
Arabella reached the bottom step and Tristan stepped up to her to place a chaste kiss to her left cheek.
“You look amazing Bella,” Tristan said, then turned to the small table in the foyer that held the clock and a flower arrangement, and lifted a large brown paper-wrapped bundle. “This is for you, Bella.”
“For me?” Arabella asked in surprise, taking the package. She set it down on the table and began to tear open the paper as Penelope joined them.
Tristan looked over at Penelope, who was wearing a dark purple gown and a black silk shawl.
“You look lovely, Penelope,” Tristan said and gave Penelope a smile before returning his attention to Arabella, who had torn open the package.
Arabella gasped in surprised delight and pulled out a shimmering shawl of dark green emerald silk shot with threads of gold. She pulled it out and held it up to examine it. The shawl shimmered in the lamplight. Arabella had never seen anything so lovely in her life, and it was hers.
“Oh, Tristian, it is beautiful, would you put it on for me?” Arabella turned to present her back to Tristian. She didn’t own either a shawl or a cape and had feared she would be cool tonight in her fashionable gown, but not now.
“Do you really like it? I saw it in the window of a modest this afternoon. The shop was next door to the second-hand men’s clothing, where we took some of Allister’s things to sell. I remembered you saying you were wearing an emerald gown, tonight and I was worried that you might be cold.” Tristan said he wished he had some of the money his brother’s had frittered away so he could buy Arabella an emerald necklace or pearls, but for now, the shawl would have to do. Tristan draped the shawl around Arabella’s fighting the urge to press a kiss against her exposed neck, but this was neither the time nor the place for such a thing; he would have to wait till later to show Bella how lovely he thought she was.
Arabella spun about in a flutter of silk, slipping her arms about the shawl to hold it in place as she did.
“How do I look?” Arabella asked, smiling up at Tristan.
“Beautiful,” Tristan murmured.
“Thank you, I adore it. It was so thoughtful of you,” Arabella said.
“Are we ready?” Marcus asked, taking Penelope’s arm.
“Yes, we had better go, we don’t want to be late. Victor sent the tickets by messenger this afternoon in case we missed him in the crush going in.” Tristan tapped his upper jacket pocket as Buttons opened the door for them.
“Thank you, Buttons. We will be back late.” Tristan said. Buttons had seen that the door had been fitted with a metal bar as he had requested, and he didn’t fancy being locked out of his house.
“Yes, sir, and enjoy yourself.” Buttons said as Tristian stepped out the door followed by Arabella.
“I was so excited to be going out that I never even asked which opera we were going to see,” Penelope said as Marcus handed her up into the waiting carriage.
“It is the Barber of Seville at the Theater Royal,” Tristian replied, helping Arabella up into the carriage.
Tristian climbed up into the carriage next, taking the backward-facing seat across from Arabella, while Marcus settled into the seat next to him. Jeremy closed the carriage door and pushed up the steps, a moment later the carriage dipped as Jeremy sat down, and then the carriage rolled forward.
Arabella was too excited to make casual conversation with Penelope, who was sitting beside her and going on about the last time she had seen the opera.
“Are you all right? You seem nervous?” Tristan asked, leaning forward in the dim carriage.
“Yes, just nervous, it is our first outing into the ton and I don’t want to make a bad impression. Also, I have discovered I hate crowds.” Arabella
“I know what you mean; I’m not fond of them myself. But in the army, it is hard to get away from them. If you feel overwhelmed, just close your eyes and take a deep breath. If that doesn’t help you, just take my hand, all right,” Tristian said, and Arabella nodded.
The carriage rolled through the crowded street, the interior occasionally lit by a passing lamp. After about ten minutes, it slowed to a crawl, and Tristian looked out the window to see that they were now in a line of carriages.
“We are almost there. When we arrive, I will jump out first and put down the steps, and then you, Marcus. And then, ladies, you need to come quickly, we are in a line of carriages, it appears.” Tristan said. “Then once we are down, Arabella, be sure to take my arm and don’t let go till we are in Victor’s box. Penny, you take Marcus’s and don’t let go. It is likely is to be a terrible crush, and I don’t want either of you to become separated, all right?”
“Yes, of course,” Arabella replied while Penelope nodded.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and while Tristan was reaching for the door, a middle-aged man in red livery ran up, opened the coach door, and put down the steps. Tristian clambered out first, and with a nod of thanks, dropped a penny into the doorman’s hand before he raced off to help another carriage.
They all quickly descended the carriage, and as soon as Marcus shut the door with a bang, Jeremy slapped the horses, and the carriage lurched forward to make room for the next one.
Tristan took Arabella’s hand and placed it on his arm as they took a moment to look up at the towering white building, lit by several brass lamps. Elegantly dressed people were lining up to climb the few steps before the building. Tristan kept a firm hand on Arabella’s hand where it rested on his forearm as they made their way up the short flight of steps and then through the center door of the three towering doors in the middle of the colonnade.
Arabella let out a gasp as before them a wide white marble staircase, covered in dark red carpet, swept up to an upper floor. Directly before them, two towering red marble columns rose to the towering ceiling. Ahead of them was a line of well-dressed men and women who slowly filed in through the huge arched door. Men were pausing as they entered to show their tickets to dark red liveried ushers, who looked at the tickets before giving directions to the ticket holders.
Tristan reached the front of the line and showed all four tickets to the usher.
“Aye, my lord, you are in box AA. One moment and I’ll have Peter show you your seats,” The middle-aged usher motioned to a young dark-haired man of about 18 who trotted up to them.
“Peter, take these gentlemen and ladies to box AA,” The usher said, handing the tickets to the younger man.
Yes, sir my lords, ladies please come this way,” Peter nodded to Tristian and the others then turned pushing through the crowd making way for Tristan and the others to follow him.
Arabella was trying not to gawk like a country bumpkin at the beautiful interior of the theatre. Gold leaf tastefully accented white painted walls, which were adorned with massive paintings. Everywhere Arabella looked were fashionably dressed people, ladies in beautiful gowns and men in dark form-fitting suits. She was grateful for her lovely silk gown and her beautiful new shawl. Arabella felt like she belonged at last, and that she was no longer the poor country girl with threadbare gowns. She was a countess now, with a handsome husband who loved her and not a penny less orphan anymore.
Peter led them to the second floor, then around a side passage before stopping before a curtained box.
“Here you are, Sir, box AA,” Peter said, pulling aside a dark velvet curtain.
“Thank you,” Tristan pulled two pence from his jacket pocket and held them out to the young usher.
“Thank you, sir. I will be on this floor later if you need anything,” Peter gave a small bow to Tristan and Arabella before hurrying away.
“Ah, welcome, welcome,” A loud voice rang out, and Tristan turned to see Victor standing behind them in the large plush box, a smile on his face.
“Thank you,” Tristan replied, leading Arabella further into the box while the others filed in after him.
“You are right on time. Please come in.” Victor motioned for Tristan and the others to come in. “Arabella, you look stunning.”
Arabella blushed at the compliment as she moved all the way into the surprisingly large box that was on the left-hand side of the stage on the second floor and afforded a perfect view of the stage. Arabella looked out at the theatre, which was resplendent with red seats, padded red balconies, and gold accents. A large chandelier hung overhead, and every few feet along the walls were candelabras affixed to the wall. The theater was the second-largest building she had ever been in, with Westminster being the largest. Everything in London was so big, busy, and marvelous, but despite all the excitement of it all, she missed Avondale and her roses.
Behind her, she heard Tristan introduce Penelope to Victor, who was complimenting her on her gown.
“Lady Penelope, Arabella, Tristan, I thought you should have the first row as it will allow a better view for the ladies. Marcus, you and I shall sit behind.” Victor motioned to plush red velvet chairs, then stepped forward to hold the farthest chair for Penelope, while Tristan held the middle chair for Arabella.
Arabella eased into the chair with a nod of thanks, then Tristan settled into the end chair next to Arabella, as he turned to survey the theater, a dark-suited footman stepped into the box with a tray of champagne glasses.
“Ah, thank you, Tristan said as he took a glass and handed it to Arabella before taking one for himself. Victor tipped the footman as Marcus took his glass with a nod. The footman stepped from the box, closing the curtain behind him.
“To new friends and new opportunities,” Victor held up his glass while the others did the same.
Arabella savored the cool champagne, letting it roll over her tongue before swallowing it. She had never had much opportunity to have either wine or champagne before coming to London, and she planned to enjoy every glass, though the bubbles tickled her nose.
“Tristan, Marcus, I have something for you both,” Victor finished his champagne and set the empty glass on a small table beside him. Victor lifted a leather folio by his feet and pulled out four magazines. He handed two to Marcus, who was sitting beside him, and two to Tristan, taking Tristan’s empty glass as he did.
Tristan nodded his thanks as he looked around the plush box. He didn’t want to think about how expensive the box was; the fact that Victor’s parents owned the box spoke volumes about the Waterhouses’ wealth. As an impoverished earl trying to make his mark in London, he was now doubly grateful for Victor’s friendship. Victor could help him break into the ton without costing him too much.
“They are galley copies of the next issue of my magazine,” Victor stated.
Tristan looked at the cover of the magazine while he handed a copy to Arabella. The cover of the magazine said Waterhouses Magazine for both Town and Country Living, with the sketch of a fashionable gentleman on the cover.
“Marcus, your amusing story is on page ten, and Tristan, your sketch is on page nine. It was perfect for Marcus’ story.” Victor said.
Marcus flipped to the designated page, and then held open the magazine showing Tristan’s sketch and a story with Marcus’ name on it.
“Thank you, Victor; my parents will be thrilled that I am now an author.” Marcus quipped, showing the magazine to Penelope.
“Tristan, you drew this? I never knew you were so talented, this is amazing.” Penelope said as she handed the magazine back to Marcus.
“Thank you, Penny,” Tristan replied as the lights in the theatre began to dim. Beside him, Arabella gave him a smile as she handed him back the magazine.
“This is marvelous, Tristan, we shall have to celebrate later,” Arabella said softly, eliciting a smile and a wink from Tristan.
“Indeed, we shall,” Tristan replied as the house lights dimmed to a glimmer and he reached over to take Arabella’s hand.
* * * *
Arabella had never heard anything as beautiful as the opera before her. When Sir Howard had taken her to Bath, they had attended several musical evenings, but they paled in comparison to what she was watching. The curtain came down and the lights came up as intermission started.
“That was marvelous, I forgot how much I missed music,” Penelope sighed.
“I am glad you are enjoying it Lady Penelope,” Victor said with a smile. “Oh, and before I forget, my family is due to arrive in London on Sunday. Mother, in her last letter to me, asked if I would invite you all to dinner Wednesday night.”
Tristian looked over at Arabella and then Marcus, who both nodded. “Yes, that sounds wonderful,”
“Excellent, Mother wrote to saw she knows how it feels to be new in London and friendless, so she wishes to introduce you to some of her friends to help introduce you to the right people,” Victor stated. “I also know that Clara can’t wait to see you again. She last wrote that mother had forbidden her to write to you Arabella saying that you were still settling into married life and shouldn’t be bothered yet.”
Arabella laughed, “That was thoughtful of your mother, though I would have welcomed a letter.”
Before Victor could reply, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly, and everyone turned to see two well-dressed men stepping into the box.
“Ah, Waterhouse, we saw you from below and wanted to meet these lovely ladies,” One of the men said.
The men were in their thirties; one was dressed in a plum colored jacket, bright purple waistcoat and tan pants. The other man was in a lime green jacket and a yellow waistcoat with black breeches.
“Kingsworth, Ramsforth, may I introduce Earl Tristian Sizemore and his wife, Lady Arabella, his sister Lady Penelope Kenyon and their friend Sir Marcus Berkley.” Victor stood up to make the introductions. “Everyone, the fellow in purple is Sir Gerald Kingsworth, baronet, and the other fellow in green is Sir Charles Ramsforth, Count of Ramsworth.”
Tristan rose as Victor made the introductions; he was suddenly very conscious of the fact that the men were eyeing both Arabella and Penelope. He felt a sudden wave of anger and realized that he was jealous of the men’s attention of Arabella. Arabella was his, damn it, but he could not blame the men for admiring her. Tristan reminded himself that Arabella loved him, so let the men flirt with Arabella, for he knew nothing would come of it.
“Gentlemen to what do we owe the pleasure of the visit? Victor asked.
“Why, an introduction to the lovely ladies; of course,” Sir Ramsforth replied.
“Yes, yes, fresh faces are so rare this early in the season,” Sir Kingsworth added, “Especially lovely ones. We are hoping the ladies would be willing to go for a promenade with us about the gallery.”
Arabella looked at Tristan, who appeared irritated, then over to the gentlemen. Lizabeth had warned her that in London, flirtation was considered a game and to be careful if she didn’t want to be considered wanton, despite the fact that she was married.
“No, thank you, gentleman,” Arabella replied, shaking her head.
“I would be delighted to accompany you,” Penelope stated with a smile.
“Oh, capital Lady Penelope,” Lord Ramsworth stated.
“Penny?” Tristan gave her a questioning look.
“I shall be fine,” Penelope rose, and Ramsworth extended his arm to her. Penelope took it with a smile and a nod.
“Come, my lady, we will show you the paintings in the gallery during the intermission, and do not worry, we promise to have her back soon,” Kingsworth stated.
With a nod, the two dandies escort Penelope from the box, quickly disappearing from sight.
“Do you wish for me to follow them?” Marcus asked.
Tristan shook his head, “No, let her have her fun. She is a grown woman and a widow; her whole life, she has been under someone’s thumb.
“You need not worry, she will be fine. Those two make a habit at every event to find the prettiest woman there and take her for a promenade. They are known as peacocks and are both harmless,” Victor said.
Before Tristan could reply that he was not worried, two more men stepped into the box, both dressed in expensive black suits with dark blue silk waist coats.
“Aye, Waterhouse, we saw that you were here tonight and wanted to meet your guests. New blood so early in the season is always exciting,” The taller of the two men said.
Victor gave the two newcomers a smile and a nod.
“Lord Vincent, Lord Brewster, welcome, may I introduce Lord Tristan Sizemore, his wife Lady Arabella, and his associate Mr. Marcus Berkley,” Victor said, making the introductions.
The two lords frowned, “What kind of jest is this? Are you bamming us, Waterhouse? This fellow isn’t Tristan Sizemore,” Lord Vincent protested angrily.
“What of course he is, I was at his wedding. His uncle was business partners with my father,” Vincent protested indignantly.
“But, nay, we played cards with Lord Tristan Sizemore several weeks ago,” Lord Brewster protested.
“Not this again,” Marcus drawled, getting to his feet with a look of severe irritation on his face.
“I assure you, I am Tristan Sizemore.” Tristan reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his identification card for the war department, which listed his name, former rank, and his office number. He also pulled out his army pay card, which listed his rank and his name. Tristan held them out to the uninvited lords.
Lord Brewster took the cards and read them before showing them to his companion, and then handed them back to Tristan.
“I apologize, sir, but we met a man a few weeks ago at a, “Lord Vincent colored as he looked over at Arabella, then swallowed nervously, clearly not wanting to say where he had met the imposter. “A house that caters to gambling and other pleasures.”
“What did this imposter look like?” Marcus demanded, his burly arms folded before his chest.
“He was tall, thin with dark hair,” Lord Brewster replied, “With a large nose.”
“Fletcher,” Tristian said in irritation, looking from Marcus to Arabella and back.
“Indeed, you were gulled by an imposter, gentlemen.” The man who tricked you is wanted by the police for murder,” Marcus stated evenly.
“Murder, you are a hornswoggler, sir” Lord Brewster protested with a vigorous shake of his head.
Arabella pushed to her feet and took a step forward. She had remained silent until now but she would not tolerate Marcus being maligned.
“Mr. Berkley does not lie. He served with distinction in his majesty’s army for many years and was wounded in action. His word is his bond.” Arabella came to stand beside Tristan and fixed the two coxcombs with a withering glare. “My husband also does not lie; he is an honorable man who has done more for England than the two of you ever will. You are lucky I am not a man, or I would call you out for the insults.”
“Forgive us, my lady, but murder you say? Tis unbelievable.” Lord Brewster sputtered.
“Indeed, but it is the truth.” Marcus pulled a card from his inner pocket and handed it to Lord Brewster. “This is the name of the inspector at Scotland Yard who is investigating the manwho gulled you. I will tell him to expect you both.”
“Scotland Yard, Good lord, you are serious.” Lord Vincent sputtered.
“Deadly so,” Tristan replied, “And as a gentleman, I ask for your discretion on the manner.”
“Yes, yes of course. If you will excuse us,” Lord Vincent gave a polite nod and elbowed his friend in the ribs, then the two men turned and hurried away.
“You truly know how to chase away unwanted guests. So what was that about murder? What happened?” Victor asked looking at Tristan.
“I will tell you later, when we have more privacy,” Tristan replied.
“Very well, I shall respect your request, but you know by the end of the opera, the entire opera house will know that Earl Tristan Sizemore is in London and has a lovely and fierce bride. You should be prepared for an onslaught of visitors and invitations.” Victor commented.
“You are correct about the fierce part,” Marcus turned to look at Arabella, “Thank you for my eloquent defense, Arabella,” Marcus gave Arabella a smile.
“You are welcome; I don’t like bullies or having my friends insulted. And you are more than a friend, Marcus,” Arabella replied.
Before Marcus could reply, Penelope sailed back into the box, accompanied by the two peacocks, a wide smile on her face.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Penelope said with a smile and a nod.
“You are welcome, Lady Penelope. Hopefully we will see you again.” Lord Ramsforth stated.
“That would be very pleasant,” Penelope replied, extending her hand to Lord Ramsforth, who bowed over it. The theater lights dimmed, indicating the intermission was over.
“Good night, Gentleman,” Tristan stated with a glare. The two peacocks gave him a bow and then hurried from the box. Tristian turned back to Arabella to help her into her chair while Marcus held Penelope’s chair for her. Tristan settled back into his seat as the curtain rose again on the last half of the opera. Tristan sighed, the night was not going as planned, but at least it was not a boring night.
* * * *
Arabella settled into her padded seat as she looked around the pleasure gardens from the entrance of their supper box. Large round lamps hung in all the trees, creating a golden glow on all the paths. Music from a nearby orchestra filled the air and floated over the sound of voices and laughter. The pleasure garden was almost magical in appearance, and Arabella was filled with happiness. The night was magical, first the opera and now the pleasure garden, it was almost too good to be true.
“Oh, Tristan, it is like being in a fairy land,” Arabella gushed, looking about again as a waiter set plates of thinly sliced ham, steamed vegetables, and rolls onto the linen-covered round table before them.
Tristan laughed and, not caring who saw, leaned over to kiss Arabella on the cheek.
“Thank you, Victor, for a delightful evening,” Tristan said. Tristan was extremely grateful for Victor’s kindness in inviting them all to the opera and the pleasure garden. While he had some funds now, he didn’t have enough to treat Arabella to an evening such as they were not enjoying.
“My pleasure, you saved me from another evening alone at home or at Boodles listening to someone drone on about the Corn Laws,” Victor replied as a waiter appeared to pour them all champagne. Once the waiter slipped from the box, he leaned closer to Tristan, who was sitting beside him.
“So now that we are alone, tell me about what was said earlier?” Victor whispered.
Tristan looked over at Penelope, torn on whether or not to tell Victor what was happening before Penelope. With the recent death of her abusive husband, Tristan had yet worked up the courage to tell Penny what was happening.
Tristan leaned closer to Victor. “I have yet to tell my sister what is happening, but my friend from the army, Jules Burns, is an inspector at Scotland Yard. He believes my father and brothers may have been murdered by the man pretending to be me.”
“Good heavens,” Victor explained, blanching. “Is there anything I can do to help? Why don’t you and Marcus join me for lunch at Boodles tomorrow? We can discuss this and publishing more of your work.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Tristan nodded. He could use all the help he could get, and Victor had influential friends. In addition, he genuinely enjoyed Victor’s friendship; the man was jovial and friendly. Tristan looked across the large, round table to where Marcus was talking to Penelope.
“Marcus, Victor wants us to join him for lunch tomorrow at Boodles,” Tristan said loudly to be heard over the music.
“As long as the ham is sliced thicker than this?” Marcus replied, eliciting a giggle from Penelope. The ham slices were so thin you could practically see through them.
“The ham at the gardens is famed for being cut thinly,” Penelope said.
“There is thin and then there is this,” Marcus stated, stabbing a paper-thin slice of ham with a fork.
“You must forgive Marcus, he was ill in Malta and on the ship home and is now trying to regain it and more,” Tristan quipped, earning a glare from Marcus.
“I shall remember that remark when we have our next sparring practice, which is much overdue.” Marcus retorted. “In fact, I am thinking tomorrow morning before breakfast.”
“Not too early, Marcus,” Arabella said, “You forget Tristan does not sleep alone anymore.”
“For you, Arabella, he is reprieved till eight thirty, but not one minute later, we are both in jeopardy of getting soft,” Marcus replied.
“You both box, capital. Are you good?” Victor queried.
“Marcus was the regimental champion in both boxing and wrestling,” Tristan replied with a certain amount of pride.
“Oh, jolly good, would you be willing to coach me. I would pay you of course,” Victor asked excitedly.
“I would be happy to, but you need not pay me,” Marcus replied, reaching for another roll. “We can discuss it at lunch tomorrow.”
Be careful Victor, you make regret your asking. Marcus hits like a sledgehammer,” Tristan replied.
“But you have more speed than I do,” Marcus replied.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Tristan said, then turned to look over at Arabella, who was avidly watching the distant dancers through the open door in the supper box.
“Would you like to dance?” Tristan asked, pushing aside his plate of cold ham and overcooked vegetables.
“Oh, yes, please,” Arabella replied.
Tristan rose and extended his hand to Arabella as the strains of a polka could be heard. Arabella slipped her gloved hand into Tristan’s, letting him help her up. She carefully draped her shawl over the back of her chair before placing her hand on his forearm. They stepped out of the supper box and, after a few steps, were on the main path. The path had other couples strolling down it, some by their dress obviously members of the ton, others from the business class.
“Are you enjoying the evening? If you liked, we could go to the opera again, though our funds at the moment would not allow us to afford a private box,” Tristan asked.
Arabella eagerly nodded yes. “Oh yes, we could sit in the gallery for all I care, just as long as we are there together. The music was heavenly.”
Tristan nodded, “With what I shall be making from Victor and the War Department, we can afford more than the gallery.”
“Even better,” Arabella replied with a beaming smile.
They were nearing the dance area when two men in rough black clothing approached them, and Tristan tightened his hands on Arabella’s. The men obviously did not belong in the pleasure garden, and Tristan felt a great sense of unease.
“Stay close,” He whispered.
The shorter of the two men approached them and looked over Tristan.
“Are you Earl Sizemore?” He asked in a rough London accent.
Tristan frowned, pushing Arabella behind him. He didn’t like this, didn’t like this at all.
“What do you want?” Tristan demanded in alarm.
“I’m to deliver a message, you were never to have returned to England,” the shorter man said.
The taller man suddenly lunged forward, as he moved; Tristan caught a glint of steel in the lamp light. Tristan twisted to block the incoming thrust, as he did, the shorter man also lunged at Tristan with a short knife.
“Bella, run,” Tristan shouted.
Tristan heard Arabella take off behind him, and he concentrated on his attackers. Tristan dodged the taller man’s thrust again, feeling a stab of pain in his left arm, as he slammed his right fist into the tall man’s throat as hard as he could. The tall man gurgled, dropping to his knees as he wheezed loudly, gulping for breath as Tristan turned to face the smaller man, and he felt a stab of pain as he snapped out his left hand, catching the smaller man with a back fist to his face. Tristan felt the man’s node break beneath his knuckles and pressed his attack.
* * * *
Arabella picked up her skirts and raced down the path towards their supper box, passing startled people as she went. She burst into the supper box, startling the others.
“Two men are attacking Tristan, with knives,” Arabella gasped out.
“Bloody hell,” Marcus blurted out as he leapt to his feet. “Victor, stay with Penelope.” Then Marcus raced about the table and out the door, followed by Arabella.
* * * *
Tristan smashed his right fist into the smaller man’s face, dropping him to the ground, then he spun for the larger man, who was waving a knife about in the air while still wheezing and gulping for air. The big man saw Tristan lunge for him, his moaning friend and muttering a curse, he turned tail and ran, obviously not wishing to fight Tristan.
Tristan heard the sound of running feet and spun to see Marcus, followed by approaching him.
“Tris,” Marcus shouted as he slid to a stop on the gravel path before Tristan.
Seeing that Tristan’s attacker was moaning on the path, Marcus turned his attention to his attacker.
“Careful, he has a knife,” Tristan said.
Marcus looked at the prone and groaning man and placed his foot on his back, pressing him into the path. While he held him in place, Marcus began fumbling with his cravat, and after a moment, had it untied. Kneeling, Marcus jerked the man’s arms behind his back, and using his cravat, tied them behind his back.
“Are you all right?” Marcus asked, bending to jerk the man to his feet, one of Marcus’s huge hands grabbing the back of the man’s neck, none too gently.
“I think so,” Tristan replied, wincing as he moved.
Arabella looked Tristan up and down, checking for injury, and spotted blood running down the back of his left hand.
“Tristan, you are hurt!” Arabella exclaimed.
“Tis but a scratch,” Tristan replied, but his left side was now burning. “Marcus bring him. We can deliver him to Jules.”
“Sounds good to me, come along, filth,” Marcus drawled, half pushing, half dragging the small man down the path.
Around them, passersby’s were gawking, and Tristan could hear people whispering that Tristan had been attacked by a foot pad. We’ll let them think that he thought. Better that then the scandal of someone trying to kill him on a public path.
By the time they had walked the short distance back to the super box, Tristan was in considerable pain; both his left arm and his side felt like they were on fire. Arabella kept hovering by Tristan’s side; she couldn’t believe what had just happened. She had also heard what the man had said; the attack wasn’t a random attack by a cut purse; it was personal.
They reached the super box, and Arabella could see that Tristan was in pain from the way he held himself and how he walked. Her desire to fuss over him wared with her desire not to cause a scene in the public gardens.
Tristan staggered into the supper box, followed by Arabella and Marcus, who was now dragging Tristan’s attacker.
“Dear lord, Tristan, you’re bleeding,” Victor gasped, surging to his feet.
The waiter who was in the box pouring champagne looked up at Tristan’s appearance and let out a shocked gasp at the sight of the blood.
“Go find the manager tell him to call for the police, also bring a basin of hot water, soap and a clean tablecloth,” Marcus barked.
The older waiter gave a nod and then hurried from the box as Tristan eased into the nearest empty seat.
“Tristan, what happened?” Penelope asked in alarm, clutching her hands to her chest.
“A foot pad, I’m all right, Penny,” Tristan replied through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to ruin everyone’s night by telling Penelope that he’d just been attacked.
Marcus shoved Tristan’s attacker into the corner and forced him down onto the floor.
“If you move, I’ll snap your leg like a twig,” Marcus threatened, skewering the man with a glare.
The little man’s eyes widened, and he nodded. Blood was still oozing from his nose, and his left eye was swelling. “Let me go, governor, I was just doing what I was paid to do.” The man wheezed.
“I’d be quiet if I were you; attacking a peer gets you the noose.” Marcus barked, and the man seemed to shrink down upon himself.
“Come, Tristan, let’s get your jacket off so I can see the wounds,” Arabella said, kneeling before Tristan.
Tristan wanted to protest, but he could feel the blood running down his hand and his side, and with a nod, he began trying to ease out of his tight-fitting jacket, wincing as the sleeve rubbed over. Arabella rose to stand behind Tristan and helped ease his jacket off his shoulder and then down, as Tristan pulled his arms out, he hissed softly, obviously in pain as the jacket rubbed over his injury. Arabella dropped the jacket over the back of the chair and gasped aloud at the sight of Tristan’s left sleeve that was soaked with blood, and there was a visible slice in his sleeve.
Arabella reached for the sleeve to rip it apart and Tristan shook his head.
“Nay, let Marcus, do it,” Tristan stated, earning a frown from Arabella.
“But I’m a healer,” Arabella replied, hurt by Tristan’s refusal.
“I know and I trust your skill, but I don’t want you to get blood on your gown,” Tristan protested.
“Utter rubbish,” Arabella said and leaned forward to rip open Tristan’s sleeve, revealing a long, thin slice on his forearm.
“Good Lord, what can I do to help?” Victor asked as Penny, looking pale, settled into her chair again.
“Watch him, if he moves, hit him,” Marcus said, kneeling before Tristan to rip open his waistcoat revealing his shirt was soaked with blood.
“You could have just unbuttoned it. Roberts will be furious,” Tristan said through clenched teeth.
There was the sound of hurrying feet, and a tall, well-dressed middle aged man, followed by the waiter and two men in dark blue uniforms with a badge that said, guard pinned on their chests, stepped into the box.
“Mr. Waterhouse, Lawrence said there was some sort of accident to one of your guests?” The middle-aged man asked.
“My guest Lord Sizemore was attacked by that man while escorting his lady wife towards the dance floor, as you can see, he has been injured,” Vincent stated.
“Good heavens, nothing like this has ever happened here before,” The tall man protested as the waiter set a basin, a bar of soap, and a clean white tablecloth on the table beside Tristan.
“Are you the manager then?” Marcus demanded not looking up from Tristan.
“Yes, Sir, I’m Higgins, what can I do to help?” The thin man replied.
“Call the police, and when they get here, have them take this fellow to Inspector Jules Burns at Scotland Yard,” Marcus stated.
“Yes, Sir, at once.” The manager motioned for the two uniformed guards to grab the small man on the floor.
“Well, you heard the gentleman, remove him and take him to my office,” Higgins ordered, and the two guards stepped forward to grab the small man and begin to drag him away.
“Be sure that the officers know that he is to be sent to Scotland Yard, and get the officer’s names, as I will follow up to be sure that they did it,” Marcus ordered.
“Yes, sir,” The largest of the guards replied as they dragged the struggling little man away.
“Would you like me to call for a physician, Sir?” Higgins dithered, looking decidedly nervous and upset.
“No, no physician, I don’t want this to get around London,” Tristan replied.
Arabella, ignoring everything but Tristan, gently patted clean the slash on Trista’s arm clean with a napkin and some soapy water. When Arabella was finished, she used a table knife to help her rip a section of the tablecloth off and used it wrap around Tristan’s arm, staunching the flow of blood.
“This will need proper bandaging, perhaps even a few stitches,” Arabella said as she stepped back to examine her handiwork.
“No stitches,” Tristan replied through gritted teeth.
Marcus, meanwhile, had tugged up Tristan’s shirt to reveal the slice to his left side. Mumbling a curse, Marcus grabbed a napkin and pressed it against Tristan’s side, making him wince.
“This needs stitching,” Marcus said, looking up at his friend who was obviously in pain.
“Just wrap it for now,” Tristan replied.
“All right, you’re lucky it isn’t deep, but it’s long; the blade hit your rib otherwise, it would be worse,” Marcus replied. “Let’s get your shirt off so I can bandage you properly.”
“No, not here,” Tristan jerked his head towards Penelope and Victor. After a moment, Marcus nodded in understanding.
“Victor, I need your cravat,” Marcus said as he used a clean napkin to try to wash the oozing wound.
“Of course,” Victor replied and quickly unwound his cravat and handed it to Marcus.
“Arabella, please hold up his shirt while I wrap this up,” Marcus directed.
Arabella nodded and held up Tristan’s Shirt and waistcoat as Marcus wound the cravat around Tristan’s waist, then tied it in place as a makeshift bandage.
Tristan winced, grinding his teeth together as Marcus finished tending to his injury.
“I am so sorry about this, my lord, Mr. Waterhouse. Of course, there will be no bill for tonight,” Higgins stated, looking from Tristan to Victor.
“That is good of you, but I’m sure you can do more,” Victor stated, looking less than pleased. “I think you owe my friend some sort of compensation for this. The Pleasure Gardens are supposed to be safe. What if word got around that a nobleman was attacked here?”
“Oh no, that would not be good, Sir. I have a box that is free; it shall be his lordship’s for the rest of the season. I just need his lordship’s name,” Higgins stated, giving everyone a forced smile.
“Lord Tristan Sizemore,” Marcus replied for Tristan.
“It shall be for Lord Sizemore’s private use then for the rest of the season,” Higgins stated.
“And say one bottle of free champagne per visit. It would not be out of line considering how badly injured his lordship is,” Victor stated.
“Yes, yes of course, I shall make a note of it. I had better go and wait for the police to be sure that your attacker is properly taken care of. Again, my apologies, My Lord, Mr. Waterhouse,” Higgins gave a bow, then turned and hurried from the dinner box.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Victor asked.
“Aye, follow the manager and be sure that the police deliver Tristan’s attacker to Inspector Jules Burns,” Marcus replied.
“It shall be done, I shall stop by tomorrow morning to check on you, and I’m sorry, Tristan,” Victor replied.
“No, don’t it wasn’t your fault, and thank you for this evening.” Tristan grated out.
Victor nodded, then hurried from the box.
“Let’s get you home and into bed,” Marcus stated. He carefully placed Tristan’s jacket over his shoulders, then slipped his hand under Tristian’s right side to help him to his feet.
“Come, ladies, we had best go, and Arabella bring the bottle of champagne, I think Tristan shall need it for the ride home.” Marcus directed, moving slowly towards the door of the supper box, with Tristan leaning against him.
Arabella grabbed her shawl, throwing it about her shoulders, downed her half-filled glass of champagne to help steady her nerves, then grabbed the bottle of champagne.
“Penelope, come, we must go,” Arabella said, pulling her sister in law from the trance she appeared to be in.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Penelope replied, then hurried around the table to Arabella. Penelope grabbed Arabella’s arm, holding it tightly, much to Arabella’s surprise.
“Is he going to be all right? I can’t lose him now; he is the only brother I have left and he is the kindness.” Penelope asked, trembling violently.
“Yes, he will be fine. Tristan is strong and Marcus is a skilled healer, as am I. Now, hurry, we need to get him home.” Arabella replied, tugging Penelope along. This was not how their first foray into the ton was to have ended. They were to have danced several dances before Tristan took her home and made love to her.
Arabella had been angry before that someone had killed Tristan’s family, impersonated Tristan and stolen his family’s money, but attacking Tristan had infuriated her and more. There were no words to describe her feelings of rage at the faceless enemy who tried to take her friend, her lover, her husband from her. Whoever had made the mistake of hurting Tristan would rue the day they angered her.