The Dowager's Wager (16 page)

They were silent as Tristan drove them deeper into the
park where the gatherings of people were thinner. In a few
weeks, the park would be full of the beau monde, but with
March barely underway, it was still manageable to find some
privacy. Occasionally, Isabella would wave to an acquaintance or exchange smiles with those they passed in carriages
pulled to the verge to visit with others. Isabella was glad for
the silence and for the relatively few social niceties she was
expected to perform as they drove. She was busy pondering what decisions Tristan might have made. The decision she
feared most was that he had somehow settled on a bride.

“Here we are,” Tristan exclaimed, throwing his reins to
his young tiger that ran to hold the horses’ heads. He came
around to Isabella’s side and swung her down. In an easy
motion that belied their years of friendship, he tucked her
arm through his.

Isabella laughed up at him. “I have not seen you in such
good spirits since you’ve returned home. I am glad for it,
although I am excessively curious for the reason”

Tristan patted her hand. “Come down to the pond with
me, Bella, so we can talk without being overheard. I have
much to tell you. Truth be told, I am amazed myself that I
am in such high spirits after what happened last night.”

Last night? Warnings sounded in her head. Did he know?
Had he guessed so easily? Cautiously, Isabella ventured her
question. “What happened last night?”

“I returned home to find that I’d received a nasty visit
from a burglar.”

“How awful, was anything taken? Was anyone hurt?”
Questions flowed in a torrent from Isabella. Impulsively, she
pressed his sleeve. “Tristan, you weren’t harmed were you?”

“A few small things of interest to only the burglar were
taken, Bella. Nothing was damaged beyond a few shattered
vases. My butler sports a bruised face but all is well. The
good that came out of the robbery is that I spent the night
thinking. I am a man of action and I’ve done little of that
since my return. I have made myself a target and I mean to
put a stop to it. I am home to stay. It is time I start acting
like it.”

Isabella looked at him expectantly. The energy coursing
through Tristan was contagious. It was powerful enough to
momentarily sweep away her doubts about the man she’d
seen in him at the winter fete. She wanted to be part of whatever it was he proposed. He had made her feel this way
countless times in their youth. “I will do whatever you need done, although I am sure I’ll regret it. I seem to recall several past instances when you and Alain convinced me to do
some absolutely insane things that landed me in near-run
situations.”

Tristan stopped them at the pond’s edge and turned to
face her. “Bella, don’t pretend you’ve given up taking risks.
Remember, I heard you take the Valentine’s wager with
Alain to see me wed by June and I know you are set on
acquiring Middleton’s wild stallion. Assisting me in taking
charge of my new life is a minimal risk for you when all is
said and done”

“So far, you’ve managed to land me in the middle of your
little scandal about a murky past. I’d hardly call that minimal, Tristan,” Isabella reminded him.

He laughed it off. “That will pass once the Season is in
full swing. Within a month, no one will care about Viscount
Gresham’s outlandish entertainments on the Continent over
a year ago. I am surprised they cared at all. No one would
have thought twice if Beatrix hadn’t made such a display.”

“Parents will care when you decide to marry their daughter,” Isabella chided. “By your own admission, you want to
marry quickly. If I am successful, and I will be, you’ll be
leg-shackled by June. That’s three short months away.
People will remember the rumors”

Tristan’s dark eyes turned thoughtful. “It is good to talk
with you like this, Bella. I missed our quiet walks and conversations while I was away.” He ran his hands up and down
Isabella’s arms in a languorous motion. “Did you know,
while I was gone I’d talk to you in my head? When things
were at their worst, I’d lie in my bed at night and talk them
all through with you. I could close my eyes and imagine we
were at Summer Hill, at your father’s place, walking the
meadows”

“Those days were long ago,” Isabella hedged. The conversation was taking a decidedly uncomfortable turn. She
shivered in spite of the warmth of his hands on her arms.
Who was this enigma who had kissed her with the expertise of a rogue last night and now stood before her in the guise
of her one-time best friend? When he was like this, she had
no doubt who he was. But the rumors and the first hand
demonstration were sharp reminders that Tristan was not all
he seemed. A brown wren chirped from its nest, its warble
piercing the quietness around them, reminding Isabella of
the prolonged silence which had sprung up between them.
Tristan was looking at her intently, apparently not as
unnerved as she by the dearth of conversation between
them.

“You still haven’t told me about the decisions you’ve
made,” Isabella prompted.

Tristan smiled softly. “So I haven’t. I want to give a house
party at The Meadows. I want you to act as hostess. You’ll
know who to invite and what kinds of suitable entertainments to offer. I want to do it at the end of March. I know it
is short notice, only a few weeks. I haven’t seen the place in
years but I believe it is in good shape. Say you’ll do it.”

A house party? All this intimacy for a house party? It took
Isabella a moment to adjust her thoughts. What a silly goose
she was. What had she thought he was going to say?

She heard herself agreeing. “Of course I’ll do it, Tristan.
But tell me why you want to give a house party?”

“Because I am a man of action, as I said earlier. I have
made myself a target by waiting for Society to introduce
itself to me. Here in London, I must rely on the hostesses’
invitations. My house party will be my chance to introduce
myself to Society. At my place in the country, I am in
charge” He winked at Isabella. “I believe you know a thing
or two about the desirable nature of being in control.”

“Touche! A gentleman does not remind a lady of her
brash words” Isabella paced in the grass, her long fingers
tapping her chin while she thought out loud. “At any rate, it’s
a splendid idea. People will be clamoring for invitations
simply to meet you. Everyone will want to have a chance to
confirm for themselves the truth of the conjectures being
made about you. We’ll keep the party short, just four days”

Tristan fell into step beside her. “I definitely want a ball
one evening.”

“That’s ambitious. A ball requires at least two hundred
people in attendance or it will be termed a dismal failure. We
can have dancing, Tristan. Perhaps something more informal would be better.”

“No,” Tristan insisted. “I want a ball. We can invite the
neighbors. We can invite the entire village if that’s what it
takes to make up the numbers” Determination fired his
countenance. Isabella thought he looked magnificent in his
buff trousers and fitted green jacket as he stood there arguing for his ball. No wonder Napoleon had been defeated.
Tristan would brook no dispute from anyone.

“What is your attachment to having a ball?” Isabella
queried, “Such an adamant demand must have a motive
behind it.”

Tristan grabbed her hands and looked at her in all seriousness. “That’s the second decision I made last night. I
mean to announce my betrothal.”

Isabella barely suppressed a gasp. She was entirely
unsure what emotion to display. Surprise? Happiness?
“Who is she, Tristan?” Her voice shook.

“It’s you” Tristan sank to a knee in the damp reeds by the
pond, capturing her gloved hands in his. “Marry me,
Isabella.”

“Tristan, you can’t be serious.” She tried to pull her hands
away but Tristan held them resolutely.

“I confess I have not done much proposing, Bella, but I
assure you I am in earnest. It is the only match that makes
sense” He rose and brushed at his breeches. “You’re obligated to accept since I’ve muddied my pants on your behalf.
It would be bad form not to.” He jested weakly.

Isabella heard the desperation in his voice. “I am sorry,
Tristan. I have handled this badly. I am overwhelmed. I did
not expect this.”

“You did not? How could you not know how I feel about
you? How I have always felt about you?” Tristan argued. “All those years away, my love did not falter. I left England
because I could not stay knowing you were the wife of
another. My feelings for you have not changed since the day
we parted” Tristan poured out his confession in a torrent of
heartfelt passion. His face paled suddenly. “Isabella, my
feelings have not changed. Have yours? Is it Driscoll?”
There was panic in his voice.

If the situation had not seemed so absurd, Isabella would
have found Tristan’s earnest school boy nature highly amusing compared to the worldly performance he’d given in the
conservatory.

“Avery Driscoll has no claim on my affections beyond
friendship.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No. There’s no one else.”

“Then why do you resist?” Tristan asked, utterly perplexed.

“Tristan, we do not know each other. We are not the same
people we were years ago. I behaved impetuously the day I
asked you to marry me. I should not have done it. I have
regretted it a thousand times over. You went away because of
me. You could have been killed. I am not that same impulsive girl.” It was the kindest way she could think of to voice
her objections to the match, although her heart still pounded
rapidly at the prospect. Tristan had proposed!

His face became thunderous. Isabella knew he’d understood the message. “You say you are not the same impulsive
girl. Does that mean you believe I am not the same honorable man you once knew?”

She hated herself for the pain she caused him. “You go
too far, Tristan. It means only that I don’t know you anymore” She held up her gloved hand in a stalling motion
when he made to protest. “You’ve come home with your
hand scarred to near destruction and you won’t tell me why.
Rumors, which you will neither deny nor confirm, abound
about the nature of your military service. The vulgar Beatrix
Smallwood’s association with you does you no credit. A
secret admirer lurks in the background, sending you flowers. Your home is burglarized and someone tosses a planter off a
roof at you”

Isabella gave an unladylike bark. “You say you’re tired of
not taking action, but I think that’s plenty of action for the
mere three weeks you’ve been home.” Isabella broke off her
tirade. She felt a bit sheepish in the wake of her vented
spleen. Only Tristan roused her temper like this. She hadn’t
had such a row in ages. Tristan’s eyes were uncharacteristically misty. Were those tears he fought so vainly to hide?
Unable to look at his achingly handsome face any longer,
she stared at the ground, suddenly engrossed in the half
boots that poked out from beneath her carriage dress. When
Tristan spoke, she’d get the tongue lashing she deserved for
speaking too freely. Then, he’d recant his proposal, glad that
he’d escaped marrying such a forthright shrew.

“You’ve always had a knack for helping me see issues
clearly.” Tristan spoke quietly.

Isabella hazarded an upward glance. She was surprised to
notice that he too had developed a penchant for gazing at his
boots. “Don’t be angry with me for stating the truth”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” Tristan stripped
off his gloves and tucked them into a coat pocket. “This is
the truth” He cupped her face between his bare hands and
gently pulled her to him.

His kiss was all tenderness and longing when their lips
met. There was none of the force or manipulation that had
been present in the conservatory. This kiss tasted of sweet
honesty. Isabella sighed beneath his mouth. She whispered
his name when they parted. “Tristan”

“I want to do more than kiss you, Isabella. But I would
have marriage between us first. Say you’ll reconsider.”

“I don’t recall actually refusing you,” Isabella said somewhat saucily as she recovered her breath.

Tristan growled low in his throat. “Vixen! Perhaps you
need more persuading?” He bent to kiss her again. Isabella
laid a hand against his chest, calling a halt to his actions. A fleeting recollection of another woman who had made such
a gesture flashed through his mind before being discarded.

“Tristan, one sweet kiss does not change what lies
between us. Persuade me by answering my questions.”

Tristan nodded. He captured the hand that lay against his
chest in his own. “I ask for your trust and your time. I will
tell you all when I can but that time is not yet”

“Then I must tell you that I will hold your marriage offer
in trust against that day,” Isabella replied with all the
strength she could muster. She wanted nothing more than to
accept Tristan’s proposal. She was not foolish. She knew
herself well enough to know that she wanted to marry the
Tristan of her youth. She did not know the man who stood
before her well enough yet to entrust him with her heart.

“Is that the best you can do, Isabella?” Tristan whispered.

“Yes, Tristan, it is the best I can do. I think you should
take me home now.”

The drive home was accomplished in silence, their moods
decidedly more somber than when they had set out two
hours ago. When they arrived at Westbrooke House, Tristan
handed Isabella down from the high seat and bowed politely
over her hand. “Shall I see you and Alain tonight at the
Fillmore soiree?”

“I have not yet made up my mind if I’ll attend. Alain left
a note earlier this morning saying that he’d be at The Refuge
for a few days checking on some of his pet projects”

“Then I shall hope for the best. Until tonight,” Tristan
said gallantly before climbing up and clucking to his
horses. It was too bad Alain would not be present, he
thought as he steered the rig towards home. He would have
liked to have cleared Alain of any suspicions once and for
all by seeing that Alain did not bear the marks of a scuffle
with Sommes on his face. By the time Alain returned to
town, a black eye would have faded. His assignment was
getting deuced complicated.