What might happen if she knocked upon his door?
She needed a witness to her actions; someone to keep her honest. Someone who already knew the depths of her feelings.
Or at least suspected them.
Mirrie paused for a moment, one hand on her closet door. If she wished to keep her virtue, nay, her sanity, she must act quickly.
She crossed to her writing desk, took up the quill and began to pen a message to Jonah.
Chapter Fourteen
The lady wasabout to retire early, once again.
Tristan took a napkin from the Seneschal and cleaned his fingers, but all the while, his eyes were fixed on Mirrie, rising from her seat at the end of the table on the dais.
For almost a sennight now, she had done this. Arriving in the great hall just moments before his mother—almost as if she lay in wait behind a pillar. And leaving, just as soon as the sweetmeats were cleared away.
Mirrie curtsied to his parents and inclined her head towards him. Tristan nodded to her with equal dignity and a display of patience which cost his temper dearly. On the first night of this charade, Tristan had pushed back his own chair and courteously offered to escort her from the hall, but Mirrie had refused him.
Hadrefusedhim!
With impeccable politeness.
Tristan had always been a quick study. He did not believe in making the same mistake twice.
And so he sat and watched as Miss Mirabel walked graciously through the creeping tide of men-at-arms and disappeared through the high arched doorway. Just as she had for several nights now.
’Twas not even dark outside. God’s bones, there was still at least an hour of daylight left to them. They could have walked in the gardens or played a game of cards. Trivial pastimes, the likesof which he had taken for granted all these years, along with Mirrie’s ready smile and bubbling laugh.
All now denied to him.
His mother, dressed in a finely-embroidered gown of green silk, leaned towards him. “Mirrie denies there is aught wrong, so now I must ask the same question of you. Have you two exchanged cross words?” Her blonde eyebrows were raised towards Mirrie’s departing back.
“We’ve exchanged no words at all,” he growled.
Morwenna’s look became severe. “What of your actions, then? Has aught occurred between you that should not have?”
“Of course not, Mother.” He closed his mind to memories of their passionate embrace in the school room. After all, eye-opening as it was, he had done no more than kiss her. And they had spoken quite comfortably after, so it could not have been that which troubled her.
Looking puzzled, his mother sat back in her chair. She glanced sideways at his father, who was deep in conversation with the steward, then turned back to Tristan. “Mayhap she is anxious about the ball.”
He threw her a look, just as the trio of musicians piped into a lively jig that could not have been more at odds with his mood. “Mirrie always looked forward to the Wolvesley balls.” He drummed his fingers on the wooden trestle table. “Why should this one be any different?”
“Because of you,” she replied softly. “’Tis one thing to desire the son and heir. Quite another to get him.”
“Get him?” he echoed, his own eyebrows now shooting up beneath his thatch of hair. “What am I, Mother? A prize pig?” As if spurred on by his frustration, the musicians played faster, until Tristan wanted to roar at them to stop.
Morwenna hid her smile behind a napkin. “Oh, Tris, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” She dabbed at her lips,recovering her composure. “In any case, Esme and Jonah should be with us before dark. Hopefully they will bring Mirrie out of herself again.”
Tristan made a non-committal noise. Jonah and Mirrie had always been close friends, although until that day in the schoolroom, Tristan had never suspected the two of them shared secrets behind his back. ’Twas ridiculous to experience envy towards his afflicted younger brother, but that was exactly the emotion surging through his veins.
It could not be borne.
He stood up abruptly, scraping back his chair and causing his father’s conversation to cease. The earl glanced up towards him.
“Are you well, Tris?”
Tristan bowed. “I must take some air, Father. Is there aught I can do for you before I depart?”
