“It is such a wonderful gift,” Alistair slurred, holding it up, “And a pointed reminder.”
Tristan raised a curious brow.
“A reminder of what, old boy?” He asked.
“That time is constantly running out,” Alistair said with a heavy sigh, “And that this is the only way we can truly hold it.”
He wrapped his large fingers around the pocket watch slowly, pressing it tightly to his palm as they all fell silent for a moment. They all knew of how Alistair had lost his family at a fairly young age, and that both he and Theo struggled with the reality of mortality.
“Ease away, old boy,” Dominic insisted, clapping Alistair on the back. “Tonight is for celebration, not mourning.”
“Indeed,” Everett added, lightly tapping his knuckles against Alistair’s chin, “And there is much to celebrate. Your birthday. Our business. The news of your new babe.”
“No tears tonight, my friend,” Hugo encouraged. “Save them for later, when Tristan beats you in a round of boxing.”
Emphatic laughter burst out of the five of them, and Alistair nodded.
“Ye are all right, of course,” he agreed, gathering himself. “There is much life to live. Much happiness to experience. Theo wants to announce her our second child tonight, and I should be focusing on that.”
“Agreed,” Tristan said, “And speaking of, she told me I was to bring you to the parlor. She says that it is time for your cake. Perfect timing, too. I believe some sweets would be good to soak up some of that whiskey in your belly.”
They all laughed again and nodded in agreement. A moment later Alistair made the announcement, and the men began to filter out toward the parlor. As the room began to empty though, Tristan caught sight of the only person that wasn’t dressed in a suit, and the familiar blue of her dress had a jolt moving through Tristan’s body. There in the corner of the smoke room, betraying all of society’s rules, stood Ophelia, deep in conversation with the man that had made Tristan bristle at the ball. The man he’d questioned Alistair about.
There, standing in front of Ophelia, was Abraham Blackwood- and his hand was firmly planted on his shoulder.
“Tristan? Tristan!” Hugo’s voice boomed in Tristan’s ear, making him jump.
“God’s teeth, what are you shouting for?” Tristan demanded.
He’d watched intently, his anger simmering as Abraham nodded toward the leaving crowd. His eyes remained fixed on them when the man had placed his hand on Ophelia’s lower back to lead her out of the room. Even still a moment later, when he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Something that had her laugh and look back at him with a dazzling smile.
“Well, you have been standing here like a statue for the last several minutes, and everyone else has left,” Hugo explained. “Are you well?”
“Fine,” Tristan grit out, then blew out a breath. “Just did not expect to see Weavington here.”
“Ah,” Hugo said, walking with Tristan toward the parlor, “I believe Theo had invited him for Ophelia. Since they seemed to get along so well at the ball and all. I am assuming that your sister is trying her hand at matchmaker.”
“Wonderful,” Tristan said dryly.
In the parlor, Tristan tried to keep his attention on his sister and brother-in-law as they sang a birthday song and made speeches of thanks and announcements of an expected child. Try as he might though, Tristan’s focus stayed steadily on Ophelia and Weavington. He caught every one of her smiles. Every laugh. And with each one, his mood grew worse.
She seemed to grow a little more beautiful every time he saw her now. He’d never noticed before how well blue complimented her complexion and eyes. The gown she’d chosen for the evening was in a damask pattern of cobalt blue. It’s modest design had a high collar and long sleeves, but it fit her figure perfectly, and flared at the precise place on her hips that would show off an alluring hint of her curves. Her hair was twisted up in a sophisticated updo, with a single, long curl tumbling down the left side of her pink cheek.
His fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear. His lips tingled to brush over her blush-filled cheek, her jawline, her throat…The memory of her taste exploded on his tongue, and he was suddenly hungry for her again.
“You were right about the cake,” Alistair said, appearing at his side.
Tristan forced his gaze away from Ophelia and looked over at his brother-in-law, who was attacking a slice of white cake with gusto.
When had the speeches stopped? When had they moved on to cutting the cake?
“Glad to hear it,” Tristan replied, ignoring the questions filling his mind. “How are you feeling now?”
“Still foxed,” Alistair admitted between bites, “But I have a better hold of my wits now. Apologies for the horrid display earlier. It is a wonderful watch, though.”
Tristan forced all of his focus on his brother-in-law and offered an understanding smile. It was hard on all of them at times, being a well-known aristocrat. One could only be one of two things: Jolly or Enraged. There was no room for other feelings for men of their society. No fear or sadness was permitted to be shown.
“Do not think twice about it,” Tristan encouraged, “I am glad you enjoy the watch. And that you are having such a splendid time at your party.”
