“Tristan,” Louisa said, shaking her head, “don’t give up. If you love her, fight for her. I would not be married to your brother if he had given up on me so easily.”
“Same here,” Trey added as he gazed into Judith’s eyes and smiled. “I don’t know what kind of man I would be right now if Judith had given up on our love.”
Judith returned the tender smile and grasped Trey’s hand. “We certainly would not be here and starting a family together.”
Everyone around the table chuckled and nodded. Except for Tristan. Once again, all he could manage was a weak smile. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was just that there were too many obstacles keeping him from love.
Perhaps what his family said was true. After all, they had all been through trials in their lives, and they were now all very happy.Blissfullyhappy, which was what he wanted to be.
After dinner, he returned to his room. His mind was churning with ideas. Between Hawthorne and himself, they would find Lord Elliot’s servants and question them all, even if they had to bribe them with money. One way another, they’d find something to use that could lead them in the killer’s direction.
From the corner of the small table near his bed, his attention caught something different. A letter sealed with Lady Dashwood’s crest embedded in the wax. He snatched the letter and broke it open, his heart beating with anticipation.
“Dear Tristan. Something dreadful has happened. Earlier today the magistrate arrested Tabitha and took her to Newgate Prison. We are beside ourselves and don’t know what to do. Please meet me late tonight in Lady Dashwood’s stable so that we can discuss what to do next. My heart is broken for this terrible injustice that has happened, and I pray that you and I can figure a way out of this mess. Please burn this letter once you have read it so that Sir Felix doesn’t think we are planning something. Most affectionately yours, Diana.”
Tristan groaned and sank on the edge of his bed.Poor Tabitha.Indeed, she was not guilty, so what made the magistrate think she was? Surely Diana could speak to the man and assure him of Tabitha’s location during both murders. Tristan could even attest to being in the cottage when Tabitha was there. Even if he had to stretch the truth a bit, he could explain to Sir Felix that he’d been sick and Tabitha was nursing him back to health. At this point, he’d say anything to get her released.
Yet, would that bring more suspicion on Diana?
He growled and hit his fist into the mattress. This would drive him insane! He definitely needed to be with Diana, because that put him in better spirits. He could think better around her as well.
Turning his head, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was only thirty minutes past eight. Still too early to meet her, and if he left now, he’d surely get caught by someone.
He took the letter to the fireplace and threw it inside. The flames licked the paper quickly, turning it to ashes.
As he stared in the fire, his mind wandered to Hawthorne. What in the devil was that man doing, and would he be able to help Tristan find the killer? When they had left Diana’s cottage that morning over a week ago, Nic hadn’t been talkative, which wasn’t like him. By the faraway look in Nic’s eyes, Tristan could see something bothered him greatly, but the man never said anything.
Tristan decided to pen a note to Hawthorne to have him come to the house tomorrow so they could plan a way to contact all of Elliot’s servants. They needed to get on this posthaste.
It didn’t take very long to write the note, seal it, and have the servant take it to be delivered. Tristan left his room to go in search of something to do that would keep his mind occupied until it was time to go to see his Diana. Unfortunately, his brothers had left and his mother had already retired to her chamber.
Grumbling, Tristan marched into his study and straight to his decanter of rum. It had been a while since the drink had become his best friend, before his kidnapping, in fact. Still, he needed something to settle his nerves, so he poured a generous amount into a glass and sat in front of the small fire.
No matter how often he tried to think back over everything Diana had told him about her husband’s death and Elliot’s, there was something that niggled in the back of his head. Something he should know, or at least figure out.
He took a drink, and then grimaced. What was that nasty taste? True, it had been a little while since he had used the bottle to help calm his nerves, but it had never tasted this bitter before. Or had it?
“Pardon me, milord, but will you be needing any more rum tonight?”
The servant’s voice startled him and he swung toward the door. “Oh, Gibbs. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Forgive me, milord.” The older footman bowed. “I thought to check in on you before you retire.”
“I thank you, Gibbs, but I am fine.”
“Will you need more rum?”
Tristan couldn’t help but grin. This servant knew him well, but why hadn’t he noticed that Tristan wasn’t a roaring drunk any longer? Didn’t servants know things like this? “No, Gibbs, I’m fine—”
Suddenly, an idea struck him and he quickly stood. “Gibbs, would you like to join me?” He held up his glass.
The older man chuckled. “What humor you have, milord. You know me by now, and know I can’t refuse a good drink.”
Tristan motioned his hand. “Then please come in and I’ll pour you a glass.” He moved to the liquor tray. “I fear I’m quite bored this evening and I need someone to talk to. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, milord.” Mr. Gibbs shuffled in and to the chair nearest to the fireplace. The older man had been with the family since Tristan was a young boy. Gibbs was like part of the family.
Tristan poured Gibbs a healthy dose of rum and brought it back to him. The servant mumbled his thanks and took the glass. Both men tipped back their drinks at the same time, and Tristan studied the servant over the rim of his glass. Bushy white eyebrows arched over tired, withered eyes. The man was always smiling and willing to please the family.
