He couldn’t very well say it was, in fact, all he’d been able to think about from the moment his eyes had opened this morning.
“Lady Amelia worked diligently for this night,” continued Ravensworth. “It’s almost a shame to miss her triumphant return.”
Tristan grunted, but the gears of his mind turned over a few times before a realization walloped him over the head.
He wanted to witness the moment of Amelia’s triumph.
He wanted to see her get what she wanted, even if it wasn’t him. Then perhaps he’d be able to move on from this inconvenient adoration he’d developed for her.
And he had the perfect excuse. Mother would be attending the Marchioness of Sutton’s ball as the two women had been bosom friends since their come-out. While he had no interest in putting himself in the line of sight of matchmaking mamas, his mother would likely appreciate the escort of her only son.
He shot to his feet. “Ravensworth, good seeing you made it back to England all in one piece, but I realize I’m late for an appointment.”
A knowing glint in his eye, Ravensworth gave a nod. The man might understand too much.
*
Not two hourslater, Tristan found himself entering the Marchioness of Sutton’s glittering season-end ball with his mother on his arm. As the ballroom opened before them, he began scanning the room for Amelia. She would be the brightest diamond in a room full of rhinestones.
Mother pulled his arm close. “Can you imagine my shock, Tristan,” she began, accepting a coupe of punch from a servant, “when you arrived at my front door to play the gallant escort tonight? To a ball, no less?”
He grunted. She was teasing, and he deserved it. “The marchioness is waving for your attention,” he said. He’d thought she would go her own way once they arrived.
“She can wait,” said Mother. “Take a turn about the ballroom with me first.”
Tristan had known that tone all his life. A capital ‘C’ conversation was coming. When he’d arrived home a week ago, they’d caught up on five years’ worth of business and dined together every evening since. So, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t spoken in all that time or lacked opportunity. But it was a different sort of conversation Mother was determined to have tonight, and in truth, it was the conversation he’d long needed to have with her, though he hadn’t known it until this very moment.
“I suppose you’ll tell me what this is all about?” she asked conversationally while they walked. Hers was the smile of a woman secure in her place in the world as she nodded at friends and acquaintances.
“A nice evening with my mother?” he asked, purposely evasive.
“Try again.”
A strange moment for him to ask of his mother the question he’d needed to ask her his entire adult life, but here they were. “I need to ask you something.” A beat. “About you and Father.”
“Ask anything.” She was ready.
“You never recovered.”
“That’s not a question.” She smiled, even though melancholy shone from her eyes. “But I understand what you’re not asking. The love your father and I shared was deep and true, but I did recover.”
He tried not to let his surprise show. “You never remarried.”
She met his gaze. “There are other ways to recover from the sort of loss that tries to devastate. I took to running the estates during your minority, and even these last five years.” She hesitated. “And while I might not have remarried or found another great love like the one I shared with your father, I did have lovers.”
Tristan only just didn’t groan. “I’m not sure I need to hear this.”
“I think you might,” she said. “I’ve had discreet companionship over the years. I’m neither a nun nor a saint. I’m merely human, and I’m not a martyr to my love for William.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “Though you were but a babe, your father’s untimely death affected the trajectory of both our lives, but I fear you’ve taken the wrong lesson from my adoration of William. It was the blessing of my life to have had him for five years. His memory is a blessing to me every single day.” She swiped away an errant tear. “But it is time, my son, that you open yourself to the blessing only true love can deliver. I thought perhaps—hoped, even—it would happen in Italy.”
Tristan grunted. The image of a face appeared in his mind—herface.
His mother gave him a quick buss on the cheek. “Think upon what I’ve said. Your happiness depends upon it.” With that, she left him, weaving her way through the crowded ballroom toward her friend, the Marchioness of Sutton.
Strangely, he felt as if a physical weight had been lifted off his shoulders, one he’d been carrying his entire life. Mother was content and fulfilled, and further she’d led a full life. Not the half life he’d always thought, but one where, unafraid, she’d sought and found her own happiness.
Now it was his turn to follow her lead. Though it did occur to him that he’d likely bungled his chance in Italy.
Again, he scanned the ballroom, his height allowing him an unimpeded view. No sign of unruly platinum curls anywhere.
