“A penniless earl of a father, I take it. A noble in the family. Think of that.”
That was news to Tristan. The penniless part. No dowry, he suspected, though it would not necessarily deter him. He’d not made inquiries, and he said nothing in reply.
“Pleasing to look at, so I’m given to understand.”
She is, Tristan thought, but it wasn’t Lady Felicia’s face that arose in his thoughts.
He thought of the moment they’d collided, the softness of Hyacinth Bridewell’s skin.
Why had she been on that side path that evening?
“Will you marry her then?”
Tristan frowned at his father, pushing thoughts of debutantes aside. “I do not know, Father. I have danced with Lady Felicia once.”
“Mmm,” his father murmured. “Then this house party will prove useful, rather than being merely a foolish whim of Emma’s.”
Tristan clenched his jaw. He wanted to point out that Emma had gone most of her life without being able to entertain guests at Oakhill because their father preferred quiet. He wanted to say that Emma was quite brilliant at strategizing and planning and this house party had given her an opportunity to prove it.
Instead, he bit his tongue, as if he often did when he yearned to snap back at his father. He was the only parent they had, and he and Emma were both loath to upset him, especially now that his health seemed fragile.
“It is why I agreed to it,” his father added.
“Yes, Father.” Tristan knew, of course. Emma told him how their father had requested that several unmarried young ladies be invited. He understood that his father had allowed the expense of a house party because he expected Tristan to offer for one of the eligible ladies who attended.
His father eyed him a moment. Thoughtful. Assessing. “I shall let you return to your”—he waved a hand in Tristan’s direction—“work.”
Without another word, his father departed the half of the conservatory that Tristan had turned into his laboratory.
Tristan’s shoulders dropped an inch and he released a sigh the moment he was alone again.
He took up his pen, returning to his notations. And unbidden, one lady’s voice echoed in his mind.
Hyacinth.She’d asked him to call her by her first name, and the way she’d looked at him in that moment had made his breath tangle in his chest. He’d told himself it was a play of the light, or his own guilt assailing him. But now he couldn’t get that look out of his head. It had been full of heat. Full of yearning.
“Oh,” he said aloud.
A mad hypothesis took hold in his mind. Perhaps she hadn't just been out wandering in the garden that night. She had taken that left-handed path, the same as he had. Perhaps she had simply heard Lady Felicia’s laughter and been curious. She admitted curiosity was in her nature.
But was it more than that? Had she followed him out into the garden?
He shook his head and chuckled. The thought was full of ego and presumption, but hehadseen a glimmer of something in her eyes when she looked at him. An admiration that had made his chest feel warm even as he sat beside her on that cold stone bench.
Regardless of why she’d come out to the garden and why fate had brought them face to face, it had been easy to talk to her. Enjoyable. She had been understanding. Funny. Charming.
And now, he couldn't seem to get her out of his head.
Yet she was Emma’s friend and it somehow felt as odd as him as trying to pair Emma with Collier would be. And she was the sister-in-law of a duke, who likely had high expectations for the sort of man who’d court her. A noble title, for certain. A long and storied bloodline. Wealth and estate far beyond the modest comfort of Oakhill.
But he couldn't deny that he felt anticipation at the thought of seeing her again, even if they could only ever be nothing more than friends.
And, he had to admit, he liked the idea of having her here in his laboratory.
Footsteps, quick and even, heralded Emma’s arrival, and he turned to greet her.
“There you are,” she said breathlessly.
“Here I am.”
