He had promised Isolde that he would be different once they left the island. That he would not return to his Kendall ways.
And yet, his querulous mood insisted,sheneeded to change, too. If she wanted him to remain Tristan where she was concerned, then she needed totreathim like Tristan. As if he were a person who mattered to her.
If their marriage were to become a true one, they both needed to focus more fully on one another.
But for now . . .
He consulted his watch. There were still many hours in the day to fill.
“Come, Ledger.” Tristan motioned to his secretary while pivoting for theSS Statesman. “Tell me all that has occurred in London over the past two weeks. Leave out no detail, particularly as it relates to Lord Hadley and his impeachment.”
Hours later, Tristan’smood had not improved.
Ledger had come amply prepared with information from Parliament and the goings-on there.
As Tristan already knew, Commons had voted to impeach Hadley. The Articles of Impeachment had then been delivered to Lords, and the House of Lords had granted Hadley bail until the trial.
“They are still mulling over a date for the trial, as Parliament is set to adjourn at the end of July,” Ledger said over a luncheon of fluffy Scottish baps and ham. “They may well wait until next spring to bring the trial. As we both know, Hadley is generally well-liked, and the faction supporting him is pushing for a delay.”
“Hoping that support for the prosecution will die now that I have married Hadley’s daughter.”
“That is my assumption, Your Grace.”
The familiar acrimony rose in Tristan’s chest—the frustration and rancor that had initially spurred his dogged pursuit of Hadley.
Why should Hadley be permitted to use money and friendships to buy his way out of accountability on this matter? There were legitimate questions regarding his activities—incriminating letters between Hadley, his solicitors, and Jarvis—that required answers. The sort of information that a trial would bring to light.
Granted, the morning’s events had not endeared Tristan to his father-in-law. The earl’s knowing gaze—that he was deliberately thwarting Isolde’s affections for her husband—still rankled. A glance out the porthole of the ship toward the Oban Inn showed the festivities to be ongoing.
But Tristan also recognized that destroying Hadley would not spur Isolde to transfer her loyalties to himself.
No, it would almost assuredly do the opposite.
So what were Tristan’s options?
He could publicly ally himself with Hadley and glean whatever droplets of affection Isolde sent his way.
His soul shrank from the idea. That he would permit love for his wife to own him to such a degree. To supplant all integrity.
What should he do?
He reached for the cup of ale beside his plate.
Ledger cleared his throat, toying with his fork. “I did receive a letter earlier this week from Lord John Russell, passing along a request from the committee in Commons overseeing Hadley’s impeachment. They asked for additional corroborating evidence of certain pertinent facts, particularly relating to the incriminating letters from Hadley’s solicitors. The provenance of the letters isn’t crystal clear, so the committee wishes to use Your Grace’s sterling reputation as a guarantee of veracity. Lord John indicated that Your Grace should likely recuse yourself given the new familial tenor of your relationship with Hadley. Lord John stated he would support you in not providing incriminating evidence against your father-in-law.”
Tristan paused, mid-swallow. He slowly lowered his tankard.
“How did you reply?”
“I was unsure what to do.” Ledger pushed his glasses up his nose. “And then news of Your Grace’s supposed death arrived.”
“I see.”
“So the issue remains outstanding. How would Your Grace like me to respond?”
A faint twist of something—dread? anticipation?—curled in Tristan’s stomach.
Yes, what was he to do?
