A familiar, bespectacled form separated from the crowd, walking toward Tristan, a leather briefbag in hand.
“Your Grace.” Ledger, his secretary, bowed.
“Ledger,” Tristan nodded.
“I am pleased to see the reports of your demise have been inaccurate.” Words said with characteristic English reserve.
“As am I.”
They both turned as Hadley’s voice sailed over the crowd once more.
“I cannae believe ye live.Och, my Izzy.” The earl swiped at his eyes. “They said ye were dead! I feared my heart would break at the thought of ye gone forever.”
“I’m alive, Papa.” Isolde cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I am well.”
The crowd sighed, fishwives clinging to each other, faces wet with joy and relief.
Several grizzled sailors took turns using the same bit of muslin to wipe their tears.
Tristan turned back to Ledger.
Only to find his secretary reaching for his own handkerchief.
Oh, for the love of . . .
“You, as well, Ledger?”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but it is simply so beautiful.” Ledger lifted his spectacles to dab at his eyes. “Lord Hadley was overcome with grief on our voyage north. I cannot say that I have ever seen a man so devastated. His keening at night . . .” The secretary drifted off, eyes glossy. “His lordship collapsed when I told him of Lady Isolde’s demise. As I’m sure you know, Captain Woodbury sent the telegraph reporting your deaths to Gilbert House, so someone had to inform Hadley. His lordship immediately hired the fastest ship in London to take us north. Said he refused to accept his daughter’s death until her body was found and vowed to search the deep if need be. And then to arrive, and find Lady Isolde is well—”
Lady Isolde.
Not Tristan’s duchess or his wife.
A woman who was still identified by her connection to Lord Hadley.
Ledger sniffled and dabbed again with his handkerchief.
The man’s tears were certainly not for Tristan himself.
That spare fact should not sting, and yet.
The truth was stark.
No one would be devastated at Tristan’s loss.
No one would send up a keening lament over his funeral pyre.
He recognized the thought for the self-pitying one it was.
But that made it no less true.
And Tristan’s next question rather confirmed his thinking. “I know why Hadley is here, Ledger. But why did you accompany him?”
“Oh, well, someone needed to see to your body, Your Grace. Ensure you were taken to Hawthorn and interred with your ancestors.” The secretary straightened. “It seemed fitting for it to be myself. The last entry in your daily diary, as it were.”
Of course.
Duty.
