The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Tristan felt the truth of it settle like a stone in his stomach. “No,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think I can.”
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted as Cecilia burst back into the room. Her expression was a storm of determination. “Alright, that’s it! I’ve had enough of your - ”
Before she could finish, Tristan stepped forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. The suddenness of it caught her off guard, and for a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading into insignificance. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away.”
Cecilia pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. “Tristan, you don’t have to shoulder this alone. We are a family. We can work through this together.”
But he knew, deep down, that this was a burden he had to bear on his own. The chaos of his heart, the conflicting emotions that raged within him, were not something he could share - not yet. “I need to think,” he said, stepping back, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. But as soon as he had said the words out loud, he knew that the time for thinking was over.
“Actually, I need to go!” he declared, then without waiting for a response, he turned and fled from the room.
CHAPTER 27
“Perhaps we could move that chair by the window, My Lady?”
Diana’s reverie was broken by the voice of her maid, Clara, and she looked up to see which chair that she meant.
“Yes, indeed,” Diana said, a little absently. “It would allow more light to come in.”
She got up from her seat and crossed the room, to help Clara with the task, then stood back and surveyed the scene. They were in the sitting room at the front of the house – Arlington Court, a small but cozy house that belonged to her father, which had not been much used in recent years. Grace and Diana had spent some time there during their childhood, but now, those times felt like a distant memory. The house had once been filled with warmth and joy, but that had all faded now, and Diana had to start again, rebuilding the house and its surroundings from scratch.
But rebuild it she would, she thought, as she stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips. The walls, painted a dull cream, needed freshening, and the old furniture, though sturdy, had seen better days. She had spent the past few days trying to settle in, to make this estate feel like home again, but each corner seemed to echo with the absence of the life she once knew. She was resolute, though; this is where her future lay, and she would not allow herself to dwell on the past.
She turned to Clara and forced a smile, determined to be cheerful. “What other changes do you think we should make?”
They chatted and set about the task in hand. Diana wanted to immerse herself in the changes she was making. It was a small house, but it could be transformed into a cozy refuge, a sanctuary where she could find peace away from the chaos of her recent life.
As they rearranged the furniture and dusted off the surfaces, Diana tried hard not to think about Tristan. It was a futile effort, however. His image lingered in her mind: the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the warmth of his smile. It seemed that no matter what she did, he popped into her thoughts with an annoying regularity, even when there was nothing specific to remind her of him. But she knew that she had to forget him. He had made his choice, and she had to learn to live with it, even though every memory of him was laced with heartache.
“My Lady, are you quite well?” Clara asked, her gentle voice breaking through Diana’s thoughts. “You seem far away.”
“I am well, Clara,” Diana replied, forcing cheer into her tone. “Just…thinking.”
“About Lord Silvermere?” Clara ventured cautiously, glancing at her mistress with concern. Clara had been with Diana for many years, and was more of a companion than a maid at times, so she knew some of what had happened between them over the last weeks and months, although she did not know every detail.
Diana felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of his name. “No,” she insisted, though even she could hear the tremor in her own voice. “I’m not thinking about him. I’m just trying to make this place feel like home again.”
Clara nodded but remained silent. Diana knew that her turmoil was probably visible, despite her attempts to remain composed on the outside, and she was grateful to Clara for not asking any more questions. They continued their work, and as midday approached and the sun rose high in the sky, casting a golden hue through the windows, Diana felt a strange mix of hope and sadness.
Just as Diana was placing a vase of freshly picked wildflowers which Clara had gathered from the garden on the mantelpiece, a firm knock echoed through the hallway, causing her heart to leap into her throat. She froze, exchanging a worried glance with Clara.
“Who could that be?” Diana whispered, her pulse quickening. “I was not expecting anyone. In fact, I did not think that anyone even knew I was here.”
“I will go and see, My Lady,” Clara replied, moving to the door. As she opened it, Diana’s heart raced, an instinctive sense of dread washing over her.
“Lady Diana,” came an unmistakable voice from the other side of the door. The voice was rich and warm, and Diana could not help but respond to it, her heart racing as she realized who it was. “It’s Tristan.”
Diana’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since the day they left the house party. And in fact, she had thought that she might never see him again. But here he was, and she did not know what to do. Should she send him away? It was overwhelming. “I…I’m not ready to see anyone,” she called back, her voice trembling slightly.
“Please,” he implored, his tone earnest. “Just let me in for a moment. I need to speak with you.”
“Tristan, I - ” she hesitated, torn between her longing for him and the rational part of her that warned against opening that door. If she let him into the room, she was letting him into her heart again, and she could not take that risk.
“Please, Diana,” he said again, and this time his voice was laced with desperation. “I cannot leave without speaking to you. Not now.”
Diana exchanged a glance with Clara, who looked equally apprehensive. “My Lady,” Clara whispered, “perhaps you shouldlet him in. What harm could it do? Do you not want to hear what he has to say?”
With a shaky breath, Diana opened the door, bracing herself for the flood of emotions that would undoubtedly wash over her. Tristan stood there, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably handsome, his dark hair tousled by the wind and his eyes ablaze with determination.
