“I’ll come by to see him tomorrow,” Henrietta added. “I miss him.”
“Of course.” Catherine nodded. She turned and left the room. John didn’t follow his wife. Instead, he just looked out at them. His face was a mask of dismay and rage. It made Trem want to say something, to tell his friend that he had the wrong measure of it. But he saw that such an effort would be futile.
Finally, John turned and left.
“Very pleasant.” Montaigne winced.
“Bloody hell,” Leith said, emptying his port.
Henrietta just looked up at him and shrugged.
Trem felt anger and dread flood his system. He didn’t want John to be upset with him—but the man was being impossible. They had both said things that they didn’t fully mean. Obviously, he wished that he had been able to proceed with Henrietta in a different manner…but it hadn’t been their fate.
Trem hoped that John could come around before the wedding. For everyone’s sake.
Obviously, he needed to talk some sense into his best friend.
Chapter Thirty
“Under no circumstances should you talk to him,” Henrietta hissed at her fiancé, as they readied themselves for bed. For them, of course, that meant a round of rather vigorous lovemaking, but his attentions to her lips and neck did not stop Henrietta from feeling annoyed at such a foolish idea.
“Perhaps from me he’ll hear reason,” Trem said, his hand threading over her stomach and into the thatch of curls between her legs. She laughed at his brazen attempt to mix the erotic with the business of peacemaking.
“No,” she countered, “I’ll speak to him.”
The next morning, when she awoke, she realized that something other than John’s disapproval tugged at her consciousness. Ever since she had been in Tremberley’s mother’s room and seen that miniature, she had been thinking about the lord and lady who had died when their son was so small. Even though he couldn’t remember them, they were his parents.
“Trem,” she said, as they were lying together, neither in a rush to leave their bed. “Do you have anything that belonged to your parents?”
He huffed a laugh at this query. “You mean anything other than this entire house and the one in London?”
She pushed his arm in protest. “I mean personal effects—jewelry, handkerchiefs, that sort of thing.”
He straightened a little in the bed. “Yes. A few things.”
“Well, I’m not sure what they are…but might we wear them during the wedding? So that they can be a part of it?”
Trem was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up and strode across the room.
She was worried she had upset him. She watched as he opened a small armoire and took out a box inlaid with ivory and set it on the bed.
“Take your pick.”
“Trem,” she said. “We don’t have to—”
“No. It’s only proper.”
She studied him. His look was intent, his eyes downcast on the box. She wondered why he could be so gruff about his parents but decided not to push him. His body held a kind of tension that made her think that he wasn’t really choosing to behave this way. He couldn’t help it. And that, maybe, underneath his exterior, he appreciated her effort.
She opened the top of the box and gasped at what lay there. Nestled into the fine felt lay a delicate diamond tiara, a ruby ring, and a pair of emerald earrings. They sat next to a signet ring and a worn penknife. She yearned to examine the items but she still held back.
“Please,” he said, gesturing downwards, “I want you to. Take any of them. They’re yours.”
“They’re yours,” she retorted. She picked up the tiara, which was constructed from fine filigree metal lined with shards of diamond and tiny pearls.
“I believe my mother wore that on her wedding day,” Trem supplied, his eyes on the floor.
“Would you like me to wear it?” She thought the piece was extraordinarily beautiful, but she didn’t want to wear it without his blessing.
