Smiling, Tristan met Hadley’s gaze over Isolde’s head, pressing an affectionate kiss to her hair.
Isolde stepped back, but Tristan kept one arm wrapped around her, snugging her to his side.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tristan said, “why are you here at Dunhelm Castle, Hadley? Did Lords decide to hold the trial in the spring then? I’ll do what I can to assist you in—”
“Och, that’s a braw thought, lad.” Hadley waved his arm. “But I have hopes that the whole matter will be resolved soon. Before leaving London last week, I provided the committee with evidence of my innocence. Fortunately, I received word earlier today that, in light of the evidence, the committee have recommended dropping the charges against me. Hopefully, the affair is just a matter of bureaucracy from this point onward. I have already recompensed other investors for what was lost. Those that wanted out, at least. The rest stayed with me, as I have taken over Jarvis’s business interests. Truthfully, Jarvis had a good idea. He simply mismanaged it. The lot should turn a profit next year.”
Isolde looked at her father. “The trial is no more? ’Tis all finished?!”
Hadley shrugged. “’Tisn’t done and dusted yet, but I have hopes it will all be sorted soon. I told ye from the start it wasn’t anything tae worry upon.” The earl clapped his hands. “I think I shall leave ye both here.”
Tristan and Isolde watched Hadley walk away, a bounce in his step.
Shaking his head, Tristan looked down at her. “Your father’s endless resilience and bonhomiecanbe annoying, Wife.”
Isolde elbowed his ribs. “Ye like him. Say nice things.”
“I like his daughter even more.” Tristan pulled Isolde closer.
“Go on,” she said.
“I adore the joy and happiness that bubbles effortlessly from your heart.”
“Oh, I very much like that.”
“Shall I keep going?”
“Aye. Can ye mention my eyes next?”
“Shall I say they are the color of an August sky on a cloudless day? Or that I adore seeing my love for you reflected there?”
“Like this?” She leaned back in his arms, her summer-blue gaze radiant with adoration.
“Yes, precisely like that.”
“I love you, Tristan.”
“I love you, too.”
And to prove it, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her.
Epilogue
1853
Wiltshire, England
Hawthorn, primary seat of the Duke of Kendall
Four Years Later
Tristan was rather sure his heart would crack from theterrorworryanticipationconstricting his lungs.
He paced from the fireplace to the window and then back again, long strides across the blue drawing room of Hawthorn. The lush furnishings—the extravagant rococo mirror over the fireplace, the Rembrandt and Gainsborough on the wall, the Venetian crystal of the chandelier—were invisible to his distracted eyes.
A floor above, Isolde writhed in agony in the large ducal bed, laboring to bring their child into the world.
What heartless fiend had decided that a husband could not hold his wife at such a moment?
