The Baron's Betrayal (13 page)

“Perhaps I’ve injured my ankle.” She waved her fan over her face.

He grinned. “Have you?”

“No.”

“Then may I request the next dance, my lady?”

Opening her mouth to refuse, she was surprised to hear herself say, “Yes. I would enjoy that, my lord.”

Why should she not enjoy herself? It was obvious her husband didn’t want her, and she was here, and Lord Meyrick was here and, after all, there was nothing at all wrong with dancing with a man other than one’s husband. She’d never had the desire to dance with anyone else, but since Tristan continued to remain stubborn and foolish, she might as well have some fun.

The orchestra had no sooner started the number than Marion regretted her decision. These were not Tristan’s hands reaching out for her, or Tristan’s eyes smiling at her in appreciation. She fought the tears that threatened, not wanting to make a cake of herself in the middle of the ballroom. But nothing felt right.

Would anything ever be right again? She thought she’d paid her price by mourning Tristan for two years. And yet, with him being alive, she was still mourning him. Or at least mourning what she would never have with him.

After managing to get through the dance without mishap, she excused herself and hurried away, avoiding all those who called to her as she stumbled out of the room. She rang for Jane to assist her out of her gown, then dismissed the girl as soon as she’d braided her hair.

Marion climbed into bed and placed her hands on her stomach, entwining her fingers. This morning she’d begun the day by vomiting into the chamber pot. It was time to face the fact that she was carrying a child. Tristan’s child. She could no longer continue to hide herself. She would be a mother in a few months. And Tristan would be a father.

They needed to get their relationship resolved. Tomorrow she would pack up once more and follow her husband to London.

Chapter Fourteen

“Am I doing the right thing, Mother?” Marion chewed her lip as she studied the trunks scattered around her room. It was two days after the festival. She had spent the entire day before packing for her departure. The carriage was being made ready for her trip to London, and soon the footmen would arrive to load her luggage.

The dowager duchess took Marion’s hands and drew her to the settee. “It would be most helpful if new parents were given some type of an instruction book when their babe is born. Unfortunately, we must all feel our way and hope whatever advice we give our child will make him or her happy. This is one of those times, sweeting.”

Her mother hesitated for a moment, most likely gathering her thoughts. “I know I advised you to wait, and give Tristan time. However, since you now believe yourself to be with child, nothing in your marriage will be resolved with you living here and Tristan in London. Frankly, I had thought by now he would come around.

“My inclination is to urge you to go to him. I think you have given him enough time to ponder what it means to be a husband once again. And even if enough time has not passed, now that you are
enceinte
, the situation has changed considerably.”

“He will not be happy about this. He made it perfectly clear that one of the reasons he wanted to set me free was because he didn’t want the responsibility of fatherhood.”

Her mother smiled and patted her hand. “Nevertheless, we all know how children come about, and if he was truly adamant about that, there would be no babe on the way.”

Marion felt the heat rise to her face. She couldn’t believe she was discussing this with her mother. She shifted uneasily on the settee. “It was, sort of—not exactly planned.”

“When two people love each other, those things rarely are, my dear.” She smoothed back the hair from Marion’s forehead. “The man has the right to know he is to be a father in several months. And it would be best for the child if all is well between the parents when he or she is born.”

Marion stood and wandered to the window, anxious to have the confrontation with Tristan over. “What if he sends me back here? Or suppose he leaves again in the middle of the night?” She turned to her mother. “Am I to chain myself to him for the rest of my life?”

“It is only my motherly instinct, but I believe that will not be necessary. Tristan is a proud man. I remember him as a child, and then as a young man, lost in the world without his family. Even at his young age, he resented accepting help. Your father often spoke to me about Tristan’s reluctance to rely on anyone but himself. He oftentimes said what a fine man he would one day become. I believe he was right.”

“And now he has to rely on others for even his daily care.”

“Precisely.”

Marion dragged her fingers over the windowsill. “I guess I never thought about how difficult it would be for a proud man to have others view him as weak.”

“Believe me, Marion, Tristan is anything but weak.”

“I know that. But the dilemma lies in having him believe that.”

“That is your role, sweeting. You must not push him, but at the same time you must convince him that he would make a fine husband and father. I’m afraid it will not be an easy task.”

Her mother stood and embraced her. “But if anyone is up to the challenge it is you, my dear. You love him enough to fight him on this.”

“Milady, we are ready to load the carriage now.”

Both women turned toward the door when two footmen entered.

Marion nodded in their direction and took her mother’s hands once more. “This is it. I shan’t return this time. Well, at least not to take up residence. If I have to chase Tristan from place to place as if following the drum, I will not give up.”

“With that attitude, I am sure things will work out. Just remember to give—”

“Yes, I know. Give it time.” She hugged her mother and hurried from the room, wiping the tears blurring her eyes.

After dispatching a note to Tristan at his Donridge Heath home the day after the Harvest Festival, Marion had discovered that her husband had left once more for Town earlier that day. Along with the warm response to her inquiry, Mrs. Downs had sent the directions to the London house, with her best wishes for a safe journey. It seemed everyone wanted her and Tristan together except Tristan.

She was hardly able to keep down the breakfast she’d forced herself to eat the next day after spending the night at an inn on the road. Her delicate condition required several stops along the way, so she hadn’t tried to hurry the trip.

The closer they came to London, the more nervous she became. What if he ordered her to turn around immediately and return home? Well, she wouldn’t do it, that’s all. She was here and here was where she intended to stay. Perhaps she should have brought a tent to set up in his garden if he refused her entrance. She smiled at the image of her and the babe living out their lives in a tent in Tristan’s garden like characters in a mournful play.

The carriage came to a rolling stop in front of a small townhouse on the fringes of Mayfair. The outside of the dwelling was cream-colored with a design that looked like large marble stones etched into the walls. Both the wrought iron railings and door were painted a muted teal shade, which must have been a popular color, since she’d seen several before they’d arrived at this one.

She no sooner stepped out of the carriage than the front door opened. An older butler stood on the steps, bowing as he took note of the Manchester crest. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Marion proceeded up the steps, Jane on her heels. True to a townhouse, the entrance was small, with a black and white marble square floor. Marion glanced at the dining room that opened into the entrance hall as the butler removed her pelisse and took her gloves and bonnet. “Is my husband at home?”

“No milady, he is out for the afternoon and not expected for dinner. I will be happy to have Mrs. O’Rourke, our housekeeper, attend you to get you and your maid settled.”

“Thank you. And your name is?”

“Carson, milady.”

“Thank you, Carson.”

“If you will follow me to the drawing room, I will have tea sent while you wait for Mrs. O’Rourke.”

A short walk led them to the drawing room that was darker than Marion would have liked. Since Tristan couldn’t see, anyway, it probably made no difference to him. However, if they were to make this their permanent residence, redecorating was definitely needed.

Truth be told, she was grateful that Tristan was not at home. She needed time to get settled and restore her confidence. Last night she’d spent hours tossing and turning in her bed at the inn, unsure if she was doing the right thing.

However, this morning when she had hung her head over the chamber pot, she remembered why this trip was necessary. She had no intention of raising her child on her own.

“Lady Tunstall, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you.” A middle-aged, somewhat stout woman entered the room, her smile as wide as her body. She stopped in front of where Marion and Jane sat on a settee in front of a comfortable fire.

“I assume you are Mrs. O’Rourke?”

The woman did a quick curtsy. “Yes, milady. I am both housekeeper and cook. Right now little Bessie is preparing a tea tray for you. If your maid would like to follow me, I will see that she gets refreshment in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. O’Rourke, you can be sure both Jane and I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

Marion’s attention was drawn to the doorway where Carson stood. “Mrs. O’Rourke, milady’s trunks are being unloaded. Where should they be placed?”

“Why, in the master suite, of course.” Mrs. O’Rourke turned to Marion. “The room adjoining Lord Tunstall’s has not been used since his lordship has been in residence. I’m afraid you will find it a bit gloomy, but I’m sure given time, you will have it redecorated nice and bright.”

She immediately liked the housekeeper. Apparently someone had notified the staff that Lord Tunstall was married since no one seemed surprised to find her here. If Marion were to take a guess, Ellis came to mind. He seemed to have more to say than most valets.

As soon as Carson departed, a footman entered, carrying a tea tray. A young girl, who Marion assumed must be Bessie, fluttered around, trying to decide where to put the tray.

“You may return to the kitchen, Bessie. I’ll see that her ladyship is settled.”

Bessie bobbed, her young face a bright red. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Rourke.” She walked about two steps before she uttered an exclamation and turned around. She bobbed once more and said, “Excuse me, milady. Welcome to London. Or to here. Or…” She cast a frantic glance at the housekeeper, who motioned with her head for the girl to leave. With another bob, she raced from the room.

“I’m sorry about that, milady. Bessie is new, this being her first job in service. I will speak with her and, if you wish to dismiss her, I will let her know.”

“Heavens, no!” Marion sat up straight in her seat. “Not at all. She’s a lovely girl. Her only fault is being young and inexperienced.” She smiled at Mrs. O’Rourke. “It is a condition we all had at one time.”

“You are most gracious, my lady. Now I will leave you to your refreshment. Just ring for me when you are finished, and I will conduct you to your rooms. I am three pulls on the cord.”

Since it had been hours since her luncheon, Marion enjoyed the cucumber and cheese sandwiches as well as the scones and clotted cream. With a final sip of her tea, she wiped her mouth and sat back, satisfied.

With Tristan away until after dinner, she had plenty of time to assist Jane with the unpacking and get settled in.

…

“You do know you are treating you wife abominably,” Lord Steevers said to the sound of his brandy glass hitting the table between his chair and Tristan’s.

“I do not wish to speak of my wife.”

“Of course you don’t. Because you know you are wrong, and I am prepared to tell you so.”

Tristan had spent the greater part of the afternoon at White’s. Although he had told Mrs. O’Rourke not to expect him for dinner, all he wanted at this point was to return home. Being miserable at White’s was no better than being miserable at home. Only louder and more annoying with Steevers deciding to plant himself alongside him and offer unwanted and unsolicited advice.

As in all things
ton
, shortly after the debacle at the assembly room when Lorelei had arranged his little “reunion” with Marion, word had spread rapidly that the Duke of Manchester’s sister was not a widow after all. When Tristan had arrived back at his London house several weeks ago, he had found cards and letters welcoming him back.

Soon the invitations to various social events had begun to arrive. Since October was months from the Season, most of the gatherings were small, informal affairs. Something for which Tristan would rather shoot himself in the foot than attend. Of course, he knew most of the invitations were merely a way for the gossips to discover why he was in London and Marion was not.

He’d never been a darling of the
ton,
because he hadn’t been a peer until he’d been awarded his title for service to the Crown. Once he and Marion had married, however, the lack of his title hadn’t prevented them from being involved in the social whirl before he was called back to sea. But his limited contact with the
ton,
along with his rare trips from home, helped make his two years of seclusion right in the middle of London a success.

“If she is willing to take you on, I don’t see why you object,” Steevers continued.

Take you on.

If Steevers was trying to encourage a reunion between him and Marion, he had certainly used a strange turn of phrase. Tristan didn’t want anyone
taking him on
, especially the woman he loved with his entire being. She deserved more than that. Which was precisely why he’d left her.

That and the fact that I am a coward.

An unexpected slap on his back almost had Tristan tumbling to the floor. “I am headed home for dinner. Once you come to your senses and invite your wife to join you, I’m sure Lady Steevers would be delighted to host a dinner in honor of your return.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tristan mumbled to the sound of footsteps walking away. He leaned his head back against the softness of the leather chair and closed his eyes.

Being close to the dinner hour, the club felt empty. There seemed to be more rattling of newspapers than conversation. Tristan reached for his brandy glass, gripping it firmly. The last thing he wanted to do was appear to be an invalid while in public.

“Shall I call for the carriage, my lord?” Ellis asked.

“Yes. We might as well return home. I’m sure Mrs. O’Rourke can find something to feed me. Perhaps Argos hasn’t finished his dinner and I can have those scraps.”

“Enough, my lord.” A firm hand slid under Tristan’s elbow and hoisted him up. “You have become as sorry as a wallflower miss in a ballroom.”

Tristan yanked his elbow from Ellis and grabbed his cane, stiffening his spine. “You are correct, my dear valet. As I am sure you will tell me is the usual case. I think a round of boxing when we return is just the thing. I need to remind myself that life goes on.”

“Well. I am pleased at your change in manner, my lord.” Ellis helped him on with his greatcoat and they headed to the waiting carriage.

As soon as Tristan entered the house, he sensed a change.

She’s here.

The familiar scent of rosemary and chamomile surrounded him. The air felt different, more vibrant and alive. He absently stroked Argos, who had come bounding up to him as Tristan listened for the sound of Marion’s footsteps. The animal whined and lapped at him as if he’d been gone for days. Tristan went down on one knee and spoke to the dog. “Is your mistress here?”

“Yes. His mistress is here.” Her soft words covered him like a mantle of sunshine. He attempted to tamp down his happiness, but only managed to swallow several times. He slowly rose, his muscles clenched.

“Why are you here?”

“Because this is where my husband chooses to be.”