“Of course. Don’t worry your pretty head over me, my dear.”
“Well, I must say I’m relieved.” She gave him a smile. “And now I may express my joy that Miss Gladstow is settled, and with a man who appears to love her deeply. She is a sweet girl and deserves every happiness.”
“Meaning,” her husband said, reaching for her hand and linking fingers with her, “you are glad to see another woman escape the nefarious clutches of a scheming, overbearing mother, such as you did.”
“Hush,” she said to Willbridge, a smile nonetheless lighting her eyes behind the lenses of her spectacles. She turned back to Tristan. “You are too late for breakfast, I’m afraid, though I’m sure there’s something we can offer you. Would you like me to have a tray brought up?”
Tristan grinned. “You positively spoil me, Imogen.”
She made to rise. Daphne sprang forward. “I’ll do it,” she declared as she hurried across the room to the bell pull.
Imogen heaved a sigh and settled back. “I’m having a baby, not made of glass,” she grumbled. “I am not even far enough along to make rising a difficulty yet. Besides, people do this every day.”
“We don’t care about other people,” Willbridge declared. “We care about you.”
Imogen tried to remain bland to his comment. Tristan could see it in the way her brows drew together, as if she were trying mightily to hide whatever it was she was thinking. Yet the faint flush that stained her cheeks, the way her lips twitched told him everything he needed to know. She was pleased. Ridiculously so.
Not for the first time Tristan felt a spurt of envy for Willbridge’s great luck. Imogen was a glittering diamond amongst paste gems. Thank God his friend had the good sense to see it and snap her up. Women like them should not be overlooked. For they had much more heart to them than the great majority of those in society.
He looked to Daphne as she settled back down into her seat. “Not out with Mariah this afternoon?” he teased, referring to Imogen’s younger sister and Daphne’s closest friend. “I must say, I’m surprised. You two have been fairly joined at the hip since your arrival in London nearly a month ago.”
“We’re meeting later this afternoon for a bit of shopping,” she replied, tucking her legs beneath her. She flashed him an arch smile. “And so the hip joining commences.”
“And what are you shopping for today? New gowns? Bonnets? Husbands?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just for that, I shall not tell you what we received in the post this morning.”
“As you think I would care about what came in the post, I am going to assume it is from Emily. And as there is more than one way to skin a cat…” He turned to Imogen, who was in quiet conversation with her husband. “What news from Emily and Morley?”
Beside him Daphne let loose a growl of frustration. He grinned.
Imogen smiled in delight. “Emily is doing splendidly. You may read her letter for yourself if you like.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“You would have known earlier had you been here for breakfast,” Daphne piped up.
“Quiet, you virago,” Tristan said good-naturedly before reaching for the letter. He quickly unfolded it, more excited than he would have realized he could be for word from his friends.
He smiled as he read over Emily’s neat, precise scrawl. “She sounds as if she is settling into her home nicely,” he commented. Shooting a sly look at Willbridge, he added, “I daresay she has never been happier. What a fortuitous turn of events that she should marry someone who loves her so well.”
As expected, Willbridge’s smile fell. “Fortuitous my foot,” he grumbled. Yet the glimmer of pleasure in his eyes told Tristan all he needed to know: the man was holding on to the illusion of anger over his dearest friend marrying his younger sister, but he could not be happier that she was so well-settled.
Fighting back a knowing chuckle, Tristan returned the letter to Imogen. “She mentions a visit you plan to make. Surely that will wait until after the Season is through?”
“Not according to my husband,” she answered.
Tristan shot Willbridge a questioning look.
“Imogen and I plan to leave within the sennight,” his friend said. “Imogen has a mind to visit with Emily to see her new home.”
“Translation: he is being protective and wants me out of London,” Imogen whispered in a loud aside.
“Well, there is that as well,” Willbridge said somewhat sheepishly, not at all put out by his wife’s teasing. “London puts too much of a strain on you, my love. Besides, Daphne is settling into London life. There’s no reason for us to remain any longer.”
“Don’t tell me you want me to help keep an eye on Daphne for you?” Tristan asked in mock horror.
Willbridge’s horror, however, was not feigned. “Gad, no. For one, you’re an absolute libertine, and would only influence her in the worst way.” He smirked before sobering. “Secondly, I’ve no wish to see another sister married off to a friend who was only supposed to be looking out for her best interests.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tristan mused, “I think Emily is more than happy with the outcome.” He chuckled as Willbridge’s expression turned stormy. “Oh, very well. I shan’t tease you any more about it. Would it help if I tell you that the idea of marrying Daphne is completely repugnant to me?” He looked to Daphne and dipped his head. “No offense, of course.”
