Chapter 29
Night had fallen by the time Tristan returned to his townhouse. The last several hours had been spent with Josephine. All the wounds of the past had not been completely healed. There was still much to do in that regard; Tristan’s father had dug his claws too deep into the both of them, had damaged them too much for it to be accomplished in one meeting. But the great chasm between Tristan and Josephine had begun to seal.
He felt lighter than ever. And utterly exhausted. In the end he’d asked her to come stay with him for the remainder of her time in London. She had declined, saying her friend needed her. But that she would be happy to extend her stay, to come visit with him after the wedding, for as long as he liked.
He could hardly believe it. Josephine, his stepmother, the woman he had spent so long hating, was coming to stay with him. And he was glad for it.
Would wonders ever cease?
His bedchamber was dark when he shut himself inside. He had not entered since his return, and now the bed beckoned. After a day and a half of travelling, the grief over finding Rosalind gone with Grace and the revisited heartache of the past hours, he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and the oblivion of sleep. Perhaps, he thought as he lit the lamp at his bedside, the light of day would bring a better understanding of the complete turn his life had taken. And a greater acceptance of what he had recently lost.
Sighing, for he knew the last would not be easy, he turned—and spied a lone figure seated by the cold hearth.
At first he could not make out who it was. But then the faint light from the lamp limned a pale cheek, glimmered in large brown eyes, threw shadows under the dark slash of brows drawn together in the middle.
“Rosalind?” he whispered.
A tentative smile flitted briefly over her face. “Hello, Tristan.”
He looked her over like a starving man peering through a window at a great feast laid out. The faint orange glow gave her an otherworldly appearance, as if she did not belong here with him, a mortal man with too many flaws to count. He longed to pull her into his arms. It had been his intention upon returning to London to tell her of his feelings and to see if she would accept him. But her cold words haunted him still, holding him back, keeping his feet rooted to the floor.
“Danielson told me you left with Grace for Scotland this morning,” he rasped.
“So I did.”
He shook his head. “Then…what…?”
She rose at his confusion. It was then he noticed the bag she was carrying, the outerwear that she was still bundled in.
“I made a mistake,” she whispered. “A horrible, stupid mistake. I believed it was too late to rectify, after the way I left things with you. But being in that carriage, knowing I was leaving you behind, I knew I had to at least try. And so I had Grace drop me off, came back.”
Her hands were wringing the handle of the bag, holding it before her like a shield. Taking a steadying breath, she lowered the bag to the floor, reached into the pocket of her travelling cloak, and held out her hand. He stared mutely at what she offered. There lay the special license and the ring he had chosen with such care.
“Why did you never show these to me, Tristan?”
The sapphire glinted at him. He kept his gaze fastened to it, unable to look in her eyes for fear of seeing that same coldness from before. “I was told that marriage was the last thing you expected from me.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I mucked everything up, didn’t I?”
His eyes flew to her face. Her lip was trembling.
“I didn’t mean a thing I said to you, Tristan, I swear it. But after Guinevere, and what she went through, and how love destroyed her, I had to protect myself. I had to…”
Her voice broke. He hurried to her then, took her face in his hands, his own hurt disappearing in the face of her own. “You silly, wonderful woman,” he whispered. “You never have to worry about protecting your heart from me. For I swear, if you let me, I will cherish it for the rest of my days.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You will?”
He smiled. “I will. I adore you, Miss Rosalind Merriweather, running at the mouth, bossy as can be, jumping to conclusions and all.”
She gasped in mock outrage and laughter and tears. She made to speak but he held a finger up to her lips.
“For once, let me do the talking,” he said with a chuckle, before his voice dipped low, thick with emotion. “I love you. So very much. I don’t know how it came about, that the one woman who made me confront the very darkest places in myself was the one to capture my heart, but I am so grateful you did.”
He reached for her hand, extracted the ring from her grip. And then, while she watched with huge eyes, he knelt before her.
“I should have done this before that night. If I had not been out of my mind with wanting you I would have, instead of leaving you in doubt as to my intentions. It is a week later than I wanted to, but now I ask, with all my heart, will you marry me, Rosalind?”
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