Chapter 3
Over the next fortnight, Sir Tristan was not the only male who haunted the Gladstows’ drawing room. But he was by far the most palatable. Rosalind should be nothing but happy for Miss Gladstow, that she had a suitor who treated her with such respect, who made the shy girl laugh.
But she found she could not be. For despite his protestations that first night that he was not up to nefarious purposes, Rosalind could not trust him. Not one bit.
A better woman would have taken a gentleman at his word, of course. Especially after that gentleman had been so kind as to save her from the terror that was Mrs. Gladstow. But even with him coming gallantly to her rescue like a knight of old—granted one wearing a cravat and embroidered waistcoat instead of a shining suit of armor—she had a deep mistrust in the veracity of his words.
That mistrust had grown considerably in the two weeks since.
Rosalind swatted at a bug that was buzzing about her ear, returning her gaze to the back of Sir Tristan’s gilded head. He was twenty paces in front of her, Miss Gladstow’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm as they meandered down a shaded path in Hyde Park. As she watched he said something to the girl, causing her to give a quiet laugh.
Miss Gladstow was never so relaxed as when she was in Sir Tristan’s presence. Rosalind might have thought the girl was falling in love with him.
Except there was nothing remotely romantic about their interactions.
As if to prove her point, Miss Gladstow gave Sir Tristan a playful swat on the arm. It was something a sister would do to a brother. Certainly not the actions of an infatuated woman, a woman hoping to be wooed and wed.
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed as Sir Tristan chuckled, then turned to greet a couple passing by. The baronet seemed an open book, friendly and engaging with everyone he came across. Yet to Rosalind he was an enigma. For why was the most popular man in town—truly, he was Society’s darling—pursuing Miss Gladstow, who could easily be the shyest girl in the kingdom?
It could be Miss Gladstow’s dowry, of course. Her parents had put it about that she would come with a tidy sum upon her marriage. Rosalind may have been ignorant of most of Society’s quirks, but she was fully aware of one glaring fact: men born into great houses were not necessarily born into the wealth required to keep up their lifestyles. More often than not a sacrifice had to be made, in the form of some poor bait of a girl who was dangled with her father’s money like a lure about her neck. If Sir Tristan was in dire straits and after the girl for a relief from his financial woes, he would certainly not be the first.
But something deep inside Rosalind told her this was not the case now. If he was so desperate he surely would be pulling out every trick in his arsenal to secure Miss Gladstow. He would be courting her, not sharing this strange, platonic friendship with her. And as men of his ilk did not have mere friendships with girls like Miss Gladstow, and he did not look as if he was planning to marry her, she was back to her original assumption regarding his unexpected interest in the girl, the only other assumption she could fathom.
He meant to ruin her.
Well, she’d be damned if she would let him take advantage of Miss Gladstow in such a way. Yes, Rosalind had been ordered by Mrs. Gladstow to keep her distance from the couple, all the better to promote Sir Tristan’s interest.
But when had Rosalind ever been good at following orders?
Her legs, though short, quickly ate up the space between her and the couple. “Pardon me for intruding,” she said as she pushed between the pair, effectively separating them. “But it has gotten quite lonesome back there. I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to let me join you?”
Miss Gladstow looked thoroughly startled, though she quickly acquiesced. Sir Tristan, however, appeared suspicious. Amused, yes, but suspicious all the same. And no wonder. For she hadn’t exactly hid her dislike of him over the past two weeks, yet here she was, practically begging to be in his presence.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said with a small bow. “We would, of course, be delighted if you joined us.”
She bobbed a quick curtsy of thanks. But instead of going around him to take his other arm, as he no doubt intended, she grabbed onto the arm closest to her, then proceeded to link her other arm through Miss Gladstow’s. If the girl’s mother ever caught wind of this, Rosalind would surely be let go on the spot. But Miss Gladstow would not be bringing home tales, that she knew. The girl barely spoke a word to her mother as it was. She was certainly not about to incur the woman’s wrath herself by letting it be known she’d let their companion run roughshod over her.
“So,” Rosalind said brightly when they started down the path again, now tucked safely between them, “what was it you were discussing when I interrupted you?”
“Miss Gladstow was just telling me of some of the places she would like to visit while here in town.”
“Such as?”
Sir Tristan smiled across Rosalind to Miss Gladstow. “May I?”
The girl gave a shy nod, her cheeks flaming, stuck back in the painful shyness that she was typically mired in now that Rosalind had intruded.
“Miss Gladstow is quite anxious to see Madame Catalini perform at the King’s Concert.”
“Really?” Rosalind looked to Miss Gladstow. This was the first she’d heard of this very particular desire. The girl had never given any indication of having interest in a select performer before, much less in music in general.
To her surprise Miss Gladstow was nodding away, her eyes bright on Sir Tristan. “Oh yes. I have heard such incredible things about her performance. Did you know, they completely exclude all modern music there? It is quite intriguing, don’t you agree?”
“Certainly,” Sir Tristan replied, leaning farther over Rosalind. “And, as you are such a lover of music, you really must not miss hearing the new Philharmonic Society play in the Queen’s Concert Rooms. They have only recently begun putting on performances, yet already their talent is remarked upon.”
And once again Rosalind was ignored, as effectively as if she’d remained twenty paces behind. The two continued to converse, one on either side of her. Frustrated, Rosalind cut in again.
“That sounds lovely. You are kind to tell her of it. Miss Gladstow, you must tell your mother about your wishes.”
