“Pardon?”
“You!” She poked his shoulder. “You mope about this house and only perk up when Isolde returns from calls with Lady Hadley.”
Tristan set down his book, a mind-numbing tome on the mechanics of modern farm management. “I would spend every moment with my wife, if possible. That is nothing new.”
Just that morning, he had grasped Isolde’s hand under the breakfast table and threaded their fingers together, holding her tight. Aubrey and Lady Lavinia had nattered on about some soirée they had attended the night before to which Tristan and Isolde had not been invited. Tristan was sure his cousin meantit as a slight—a reminder of Tristan and Isolde’s precarious social position. But Tristan was so focused on the warm clutch of Isolde’s fingers around his—the slide of her thumb across the back of his hand—that he had scarcely heard a word of what was said.
“Yes, but you don’t need to be so . . . pouty about it,” Allie said.
Pouty? Again?
He glared. “Your point, Sister?”
Allie bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m concerned about you. Shouldn’t you be bonding with Hadley?”
Tristan heaved a long sigh. “As delightful as my father-in-law can be, you of all people would understand how his relentless high spirits can feel suffocating after prolonged exposure. The amount of time I currently spend with the man is more than sufficient.”
“Mmm.” Allie tapped her lips with a forefinger. “Well, don’t you have scathing letters to write to recalcitrant managers or neglectful stewards to chastise?”
“Those would be matters for Mr. Eliason, my man-of-business.”
Allie moved to stand before the fire, warming her hands. An autumnal chill had gripped the London air. “What about correspondence with the fancy scientific journals you subscribe to?”
Tristan sighed. “I don’t think I enjoy writing as much as you assume I do.”
“Well, get one of your scores of secretaries to help you, then.”
Truly, he loved his twin, but she could be decidedly vexing. “I have no secretary, at the moment. Ledger has vanished, remember?”
“He still hasn’t surfaced?”
“No.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. Would I be here in this library, reading and . . .”—he waved a hand—“. . . whatever if Ledger were here?”
“Bored, you mean. When you saywhatever, you mean bored. You’re bored.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “You don’t say? Did your twin sense tell you that?”
“Ha, ha,” Allie said without inflection. “No, I have eyes in my head. I don’t remember you suffering boredom a day in your life.”
“Yes, well, that was before my political ambitions imploded.”
Allie’s chin rose, understanding lighting in her eyes. “Ah. You have lost your hobby.”
He stared at her. “I do believe that any gentleman in Her Majesty’s government would be appalled to hear their efforts to govern and guide this realm described as ahobby.”
His twin shrugged. “But in a sense, it is. Gentlemen don’t sully their hands with the task of earning money. They oversee their lands from a distance and therefore have nothing to occupy their days. What is a hobby if not a pleasant way to pass one’s spare time? Some turn to gambling and hedonism. Some to study or philanthropy. But most find respite in politics. You need a new hobby.”
Heaven spare him from his sister’s meddling. “I am well aware that my life has no real focus anymore.”
For once, his sister pondered his comment instead of immediately jumping in to reply.
“I see your point.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Though, might I say, you are the Duke of Kendall. I suppose you could forge any path you wish and a certain portion of thetonwould follow your example.”
“The impertinent, social-climbing portion, you mean.”
