The Dowager's Wager (26 page)

When Alain left, she took up her vigil on the side of the big
bed, eschewing the chair for Tristan’s side. She took his limp
hand in her own, amazed at how hot his skin burned. It was
almost uncomfortable to hold on to him, but she did not flinch.
She began to talk of their summers at Summer Hill, of the river
and the horses and the picnics. She imagined his brow relaxed
and became peaceful as the stories of their picnics and river
walks wove their magic around him. Unmistakably, she felt
the hand in her own grow increasingly slack and anger welled
up inside her. He would not cheat her again!

“Tristan! Wake up. I did not give you permission to
leave.” She raised her voice. “You will not break my heart a
third time. I will not allow it. I love you and I will not give
you up to this. Come back and give us a chance, Tristan.
Don’t leave me, Tristan!”

She cupped his face between her hands and put her face
close to his and began reciting the first thing that came to
mind. “I take thee, Tristan Alexander Moreland, fourth
Viscount Gresham, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to
have and hold in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, until death do us part.” She sobbed openly as the words
tumbled out in disorder, begging and pledging all at once as
she repeated her litany in anger, in desperation.

He was dying and it was lovely, Tristan thought as he
floated through peaceful memories. At first it had been very
painful. Middleton’s bullet had wrought a terrible amount of
damage when it struck him. He had fallen, finding in the
chaos Isabella’s piercing, healthy screams. She was safe.
Then the burning in his chest had claimed all of his attention
as he struggled for consciousness. Chatham was there, tearing at his clothes and Isabella was there, far more terrified
than he’d ever seen her, which had to be a good sign. At the
end, she loved him at least a little and that was something.
After the pain, there had been peace. He heard Alain’s voice
calling to him and the five of them were all together at the
estate at the lakes, running and riding and laughing. They
were younger and happy. They were picnicking and Isabella
had made him a crown of daisies to wear on his head while
the others laughed affectionately.

Ah, God had been good to him after all, to give him this
paradise for all eternity, the one place where he’d felt at
home, the one time in his life when his soul hadn’t been so
dark, with the people he’d loved most in his life. Isabella was
laughing up at him now, her topaz eyes alight with the joy of
being with him as they walked down by the river, the other
boys off in the distance.

Up ahead the boys were calling to him to join them. He
would go to them and stay in this blessed place forever, but
Isabella would not let go of his arm. He tugged gently but
her hold tightened and she was pleading with him,
mouthing words he could not understand at first.
Realization dawned. They were the words of the marriage
ceremony and she was repeating them over and over as she
begged him to stay.

He resisted her, his desire to go with the boys growing. In
exasperation, he pulled once more and he felt all her
strength go into her arms as she held onto him. He heard the
words her mouth formed, “I love you. Do not leave me” At
last, he relented. A sense of happiness flooded him now that
he’d made his decision to stay. But the boys had run up to him, and were tugging now at him, forcing him to join them
in their play. He cried out to Isabella, “Don’t let them have
me. I will stay.” He felt her lend him the strength he’d fought
against moments ago. A new sense of power infused him
and Tristan felt the boys fall back vanquished. Isabella gathered him into her arms murmuring a litany of words he
could not make out. Then his paradise disappeared and there
was nothing but darkness and peace.

“There is much to hope for if he has lasted the night,” the
surgeon declared to Tristan’s friends the next morning after
checking on the patient. “His fever is diminished. He is
breathing deeply and his wound has not bled. He is not safe
yet, but we may hope°”

His friends kept their vigil three more days, each day
bringing with it renewed hope that Tristan would survive
the ordeal. On the fourth day, he awoke to find Isabella sitting next to him. She jumped in surprise as his eyes opened.
“I’ll get the others,” she cried, rising from her chair. Tristan
gave a weak shake of his head and said one hoarse word,
“sit”

Isabella sat and lifted a glass of water to his lips. His
voice was stronger after the drink. “Are you well?” he asked,
his brown eyes searching her tired face. “Do you love me?
Do you still wish to marry me?”

“Yes. You heard me?” Isabella’s eyes filled with tears as
she was overcome by emotion. She grasped his hand and
knelt by the bed. “You nearly left us. Oh, Tristan, I couldn’t
bear you dying. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been so
foolish about loving you”

“We’ve both been foolish,” Tristan said, reveling in the
feel of her hand around his own. “At the wedding, I wondered what would happen if I crossed the dais, carried you
out to my coach and simply drove off. I was so close to
doing just that. What would you have done, Isabella?”

“Need you ask?” Isabella said. “I am beyond caring about
scandal and reputations. I would have gone with you. I was wondering much the same thing. I wanted to cross the dais
and confess the truth to you, that I loved you”

Tristan smiled weakly and turned somber. “How is
Caroline? And the others?”

“Everyone is doing well. Caroline’s parents have packed
her off to London. The events of the wedding have been portrayed quite sympathetically. She’ll be little harmed by the
gossip, I think. If anything, it will increase her cache this
Season. We’ve all stayed on to look after you, even Avery.
He’s ridden over daily from his stables to help.” She added
for clarification, “he knows that our engagement is null.”
She and Avery had not discussed it, but one night she’d simply taken the engagement sapphire off her finger and slipped
it wordlessly into his palm. He had looked at her, tightlipped and drawn and nodded in acceptance.

“Then there are no impediments to our marriage?”
Tristan asked.

“No.”

“I wish us to marry as soon as possible.”

Framed by the rays of a sunny mid-May morning,
Isabella stood in the archway of the stone church at
Summer Hill, savoring the scent of spring wild flowers
mixed with the best roses Tristan’s greenhouses had to
offer. Vicar Hurley looked regal in his black robes at the
front of the little church. Beside him, Tristan stood rigidly,
the white of his sling stark against the dark blue of his
morning coat. He was otherwise impeccably turned out. His
face was slightly pale from the journey to Summer Hill.
She had tried to counsel rest and patience but Tristan had
been adamant that they wait no longer to begin their life
together.

The three musicians they’d hired from the village began
to play a soft country tune. Tears welled in Isabella’s eyes.
This was the wedding she’d always dreamed of: the friendly
old vicar presiding over a small service among her friends as she pledged herself to the man she loved. She cast a quick
look down at the unpretentious rose muslin gown she wore,
adorned with the simplest of gros grain ribbon trim and
Nottingham lace at the neck. The gown was much different
than the one she’d worn when she wedded Westbrooke. She
was much different.

Alain appeared at her side to usher her down the aisle
before taking his place next to Tristan. “Tristan is holding up
well. Don’t let his paleness alarm you. I think it’s just bridegroom nerves,” he whispered. “Are you ready?”

Isabella could only nod.

She shed tears as Tristan spoke his vows to her and
slipped the simple gold band on her finger. Her hands shook
as she put her own ring on Tristan’s scarred hand. Tristan
covered her hands with his own until the shaking abated. In
no time, the ceremony was complete. The vicar pronounced
them man and wife. Tristan bent to kiss her, a honest offering of his love.

Isabella smiled up at him as they walked down the aisle.
They stole a moment for themselves in the church anteroom
before going out into the sunlight and the throngs of villagers who awaited them.

“It is done, at last. You’re mine, for always,” Tristan said
reverently, helping her drape a light rose patterned shawl
about her shoulders.

“I never dreamed I’d win so much when I wagered with
Alain,” Isabella beamed.

“To win much, much must be risked,” Tristan pointed out
sagely.

“I agree with that! I thought I was only pitting my matchmaking skills against a silly fortune. It took me awhile to realize I had wagered my heart,” Isabella admitted shyly. She
pressed close to Tristan and gazed up at him, a mischievous
smile playing about her lips. “I am glad you married me,
Tristan, only you can save me now.”

Tristan started to laugh as he recalled her words from years ago. “It is only fitting that our story ends as it began,
isn’t it, Bella?”

“You’re wrong, Tristan. This is not the end,” Isabella said
softly, rising slightly on her toes to plant a promising kiss on
his lips.

The Meadows, February 14, 1817

ccalud!” glasses clinked as the five friends gathered
around the fireplace where roaring fire crackled in the
hearth. It was only seven o’clock in the evening. Valentine’s
evening was still young by London standards. There would
be time to toast the day of love later. This toast was for the
new one in their midst. “Our circle has grown larger by one.
To little Alain Alexander!” Giles led them in his toast. They
all raised their glasses in tribute to the month old infant that
snuggled contently in Isabella’s arms.

Tristan reached out a finger for the baby to grab and
smiled at Isabella, his whole heart etched on his face as he
did so. He was a man well contented. This Valentine’s Day
he had so much to celebrate. Isabella was his wife, at last.
The Meadows was thriving under his direction and Isabella’s
dedication. His stables blossomed with two promising new
foals sired by Hellion. In the fall, Isabella’s pregnancy provided a brilliant excuse to forego the little Season in
London. They spent Christmas and New Year’s surrounded
by their friends at The Meadows as they anticipated the
arrival of their child. Alain Alexander made his appearance
early, January tenth.

If he never set foot in London again, he’d be content. All
he truly needed in life was here at The Meadows.

The nurse came to take the sleeping baby and Tristan
reluctantly gave up his son’s hand as Isabella turned her
wide eyes in his direction, full of an overwhelming love for
him. She wore a magnificent gown in deep carnelian velvet
that reminded him of both fire and the sun, the two images
he most closely associated with her. He bent to kiss her hand
while Giles called for attention.

“Everyone, for our Valentine’s Day together, I’ve planned
something special,” he began as the others laughed.

“No, not after last year!” Chatham pleaded goodnaturedly.
“Look where your antics landed poor Tristan!”

Giles made a great show of puzzling over the thought and
then said in mockingly playful tones, “Ah yes, Tristan ended
up married to his best friend’s lovely sister. Poor Tristan
indeed! We should all wish ourselves to be so lucky!”

“You could not be luckier than I,” Tristan said with great
humor. He lifted his glass to salute himself. “It’s Isabella
who must have your pity. All she got out of the deal was a
wild stallion.” The group laughed.

Isabella rose and placed her hands saucily on her hips and
tossed her head. “I beg your pardon, I got two wild stallions
and I tamed them both.” She reached up and put her arms
around Tristan’s neck, drawing him close for a kiss that held
the promise of more while the others clinked their glasses
and roared their approval.