He blew out a breath. “London is a far cry from what you’re used to, Grace. You have lived nearly half of your life quietly at Manderly, surrounded by picturesque moors. Before that you lived with your parents, an uneventful life in the country.”
Her smile became strained. “And you know full well that was not a life I would have chosen. I have always wished for the vibrancy of a big city, the life and noise and excitement.”
“What we want and what we need are often two very different things,” he replied quietly.
She cut a hand through the air, her lips pressing in a thin, unforgiving line. “Enough. Where did this come from, Tristan? For something must have spurred on this particular concern.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “We know each other better than anyone, cousin. And I know you have not seemed entirely happy since your arrival.”
She arched one inky eyebrow. “I would remind you that I am a widow now, and thus have a perfectly good reason for being melancholy at times, but you are fully aware of that fact.”
“And I would remind you that your husband, who you barely tolerated, died over a year ago.” He peered closely at her. “But it is more than that. Over the course of the last two nights it has become more pronounced. What is it, Grace?”
She seemed to deflate before his eyes. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her elegant fingers plucked mercilessly at her dressing gown. “Mayhap it was remembering Scotland and Manderly so clearly,” she mumbled.
He frowned, thinking back, before lighting on her meaning. “You refer to the Weetons?”
She shrugged, her eyes still on her hands. “As you said, I’ve lived there half of my life. Talking of it with them, remembering all that was good about it, made me a touch homesick.”
He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She gripped his fingers tight, her knuckles going white.
“I admit I did not give a thought to how difficult such a move must be to you. I know you went about in society as often as you could. Yet it cannot compare to what you have been thrown into since you arrived.”
She frowned. “That’s not it at all. It’s just…different, is all.”
He watched her for a time before asking quietly, “Do you want to return?”
Her eyes did meet his then, the surprise in them evident. “To Manderly?” She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “No, Tristan, I do not want to return there.”
“Perhaps there is a part of you that truly wishes to.” When she opened her mouth, no doubt to give him a proper set down for being so pig-headed, he held up a hand. “Will you promise to thinkon it at least? I have no wish to lose you back to the North, but I also want you to be happy, Grace. Consider it, will you?”
For a moment she tensed, and he thought she might give him a blistering set-down for presuming so much. But then she blew out a long breath and slumped in her seat. “Very well, I will think on it. I know you only want what’s best for me. Though you can be assured I will not change my mind. You are stuck with me, you know.”
He grinned. “I would not mind that in the least.” But as he kissed her on the cheek and rose to leave, he thought about Rosalind. If Grace remained, so would her companion.
Panic filled him at the very thought of being forced into company with Rosalind for weeks, months…years, even. But liberally laced with that panic was an acute pleasure.
He had to find Grace a home of her own. And the sooner the better.
