Heavy regret weighed upon him as he recalled the tears Iris had bravely tried to hide when they’d parted. Although she’d reached her sixteenth year, Tristan still thought of her as a child when compared to his own age of five and twenty. Yet she was the eldest now living at home and as such, Emma would look to her for guidance and for protection against their father’s frustrated outbursts.
Unfortunately, neither she nor Iris had been the spares Papa had hoped for. And he wasted no time informing them of the fact that they were a burden.
From what Tristan gathered, conceiving had been no simple task for Mama. There had been numerous miscarriages. Tristan’s own birth had been difficult. But then, nine years after he’d entered the world, he’d been blessed with a sister.
He’d never forget Papa’s reaction when he’d learned he’d fathered a daughter instead of a son.
“She'll bleed us dry, that one.”
Tristan had stared at Papa with incomprehension. “What do you mean?”
A snort had preceded a swift swig of brandy. “Expectations must be met.”
Tristan hadn't understood at the time. Six years later, when Emma was born, he’d been old enough to comprehend the weight a daughter could place on a family. But he'd not realized his father struggled to balance the books or that the need to produce not one but two dowries after paying for Eton and Oxford kept him up most nights.
During his childhood and adolescence, Tristan had lived with the illusion of being well–off. But with more money exiting the family account than being added to it, poverty was an eventuality he'd not been aware of until suspicion had prompted him to check Papa's ledgers.
When he'd been caught, a massive row had ensued. It had led to Tristan’s departure, though not without the assurance that he would find a way to solve the family's financial dilemma and that funds would soon follow.
Papa had told him he didn't need assistance, but according to the letters Tristan received from Mama, the money he provided was put to good use.
The sound of crunching gravel scattered his thoughts and drew his attention to the left. His heart jolted at the sight of Lady Lilliana strolling toward him with her grandmother.
A series of conflicting emotions assailed him. On one hand, he was ridiculously pleased to have her intrude upon his solitude. On the other, he was frustrated to no end.
He'd come here to escape her and the fierce desire he felt at her nearness. She caused his every nerve to stand on end and made his heart trip over. Even something as simple as breathing became a problem he was sure only she could solve by pressing her mouth to his.
Madness.
Feeling and thinking this way was sure to drive him insane.
He stood, ready to greet her and the dowager countess.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Henley” said the countess. “I see you've had the same idea as us in coming here. I hope we're not intruding.”
“Not at all.” Unable to resist, Tristan looked directly at Lady Lilliana and experienced an immediate surge of pleasure when he noted her blush. “Your company is greatly appreciated.”
“Indeed,” the countess murmured while the color in Lady Lilliana's cheeks deepened. “You won't mind if I sit then? I fear these old legs of mine won't carry me back to the house unless they rest for a while first.”
The old woman followed this remark by visibly slumping as though she might fall at any second. Tristan rushed forward and wound one arm around her waist in an effort to hold her upright. Which, he belatedly realized, wasn’t the thing to do when assisting an elderly peeress one wasn’t well acquainted with.
Too late to worry about that now he decided, guiding her to the bench. She sank onto the stone seat with surprisingly little aid from him.
Hmm…
“Are you all right?” Lady Lilliana asked the countess with marked concern. She’d crossed to where she sat and was now holding her hand. A mixture of affection and concern crinkled the edges of her eyes and filled Tristan’s heart with warmth. This woman was so much more than a boisterous hoyden. She was also extremely caring.
“Perfectly so, my dear. Please don’t trouble yourself about me. Instead, you should let Mr. Henley show you the roses.”
Lady Lilliana frowned. “You look very pale, Grandmama. I’m really not sure I should leave your side.”
Tristan’s heart dropped. The countess seemed perfectly fine with plenty of color in her cheeks as far as he could tell. Which had to mean that Lady Lilliana was trying to find an excuse not to spend time alone with him.
It was the wise course of action he supposed, not entirely dissimilar to the excuses he’d been employing since he’d met her. But damn it all, this opportunity her grandmother was creating for only heaven knew what reason was not to be squandered.
Squaring his shoulders, he took a step forward and offered Lady Lilliana his arm. “Come, take a walk with me while her ladyship recovers.”
Lady Lilliana stared at him, then at her grandmother. “But–”
