He said nothing.
Silence, he had long ago learned, was as powerful a deterrent as shouting and less strain on the vocal cords.
He stared at Lady Lavinia, finally noticing that she was wearing a morning gown, not a traveling dress.
“I do have a few words to say,” she continued, stepping fully into the room and making to shut the study door.
“You will leave the door to my study open,” he said, his tone taking on a sharp bite. Tristan could only imagine the wagging tongues if he were discovered closeted alone with Lady Lavinia—gossip that the lady herself would likely start.
He would never put Isolde in a situation where she had to hear rumors about his supposed indiscreet behavior.
Lady Lavinia paused, her thin lips pursing. “I do not wish others to overhear my personal business, Your Grace.”
“Byothers, I assume you mean my staff, Lady Lavinia. I am not sure what appalls me more. The insinuation that my servants are disloyal, poorly trained, and will therefore gossip if given the chance. Or your belief that I wish to be privy to anything of a personal nature from you. To be clear, I do not.”
This woman was definitely attempting to manage him in some way.
He would have none of it.
Unfortunately, Lady Lavinia was not the sort to be so easily dissuaded or intimidated.
She took another step into the room, her full skirts brushing against the armchair facing his desk.
“I sense that Your Grace is perhaps a bit overset with my husband and me.” She pitched her voice low and soothing as if crooning to a difficult stallion.
Tristan narrowed his eyes. Such cajoling might work in a stable, but not on him. “You sense correctly.”
“By coming as we did, we merely wished to ensure that Gilbert House and the affairs of the dukedom were managed properly in the wake of your supposed demise. Yes, there were rumors of your survival—”
“They were hardly rumors. Ledger informed you as much.”
“—but until we knew of a surety that Your Grace was recovered and ofcompos mentis, well, it seemed best to remain here.” Lady Lavinia spread her hands wide with a helpless flutter as if her behavior were so reasonable, it baffled the mind why Tristan would take issue.
He snorted. “Usurping my private spaces and pawing through my effects, you mean. Thieves on a battlefield show more restraint and decorum.”
Lady Lavinia blushed, likely the last gasp of propriety exiting her bones.
“We truly thought you dead, Your Grace.”
“I am not, as you see, and again, you were confidently informed of the fact. Your attempts to justify your mercenary behavior are ludicrous, at best. Good day, Lady Lavinia.”
Once more, Tristan looked down at his correspondence. Manners dictated he could not sit until she left. He could feel the dratted woman’s eyes boring into him.
Honestly, the sheer audacity of her to refuse his clear dismissal.
She cleared her throat.
He lifted his head, channeling every last ounce of his dead father’s autocratic personality into his gaze.
Silence.
The weight of Lady Lavinia’s rudeness and impropriety settled between them without Tristan needing to say a word.
“The thing is, Your Grace,” she began slowly, a finger tracing the leather on the armchair at her side, “we—Aubrey and I, that is—should like to stay in residence at Gilbert House.”
Still, Tristan said nothing, but he did roll his hand—get to the point.
Lady Lavinia rested her palm on the top of the chair. “My parents’ home in Belgravia is currently undergoing refurbishment. However, my mother, the Duchess, must attend to Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace as she is a Lady of the Bedchamber and Her Majesty’s particular favorite. Her Majesty has kindly condescended to allow my parents to reside at the palace until the refurbishment is complete. Given that Aubrey is your heir, my parents would consider it a kindness if he and I were permitted to remain here until we all quit London for the country.”
