“So what you’re effectively saying,” Tristan gritted, his own anger rising, “is that I am good enough to be your friend just not good enough to become your relation.”
“You have the audacity to speak of marriage? With Lilliana?” Henry took a step closer to Tristan and leaned in, his features tight. “You are a servant.Myservant, to be exact. You have no fortune, no house, no funds I’m aware of beyond what I’ve paid you, and no connections besides me and my family. So what, pray tell, can you offer an earl’s daughter, besides a worse existence?”
It took every ounce of self–control Tristan possessed for him to maintain anonymity – to not reveal he was gentry and thus a more suitable match than Henry suspected. But what good would that do? He still wouldn’t have the fortune Henry demanded, and the only house he could claim as one day becoming his own might be lost to the debt collectors unless he provided more funds.
As for connections, there was an aunt who’d married a baron, but she and her family kept their distance from Tristan’s because of his father’s financial misconduct. Tristan hadn’t seen her since he was a child.
In short, there was nothing worth mentioning, nothing that might improve upon his situation. Indeed, confiding the truth could make matters worse since all it would do was prove he’d deceived Henry too, lied to him for months. It certainly wouldn’t improve his chance of winning Lilli. If he’d had the tiniest inkling it might, he’d have done it.
Instead he said, “All I can offer is myself and the assurance that I will honor and protect Lilliana until my dying breath.”
Henry held his gaze for a long, drawn out moment. Tristan’s heart thumped so hard it actually pained him. And then Henry stepped back and spoke, his voice flat, “That’s not enough.”
Tristan knew this and yet it still felt like a punch to the gut.
“As distasteful as this is,” Henry added, “I have to know if you’ve taken her innocence.”
It was a reasonable question, given the circumstances, but it still made Tristan’s insides twist with disgust. That Henry’s opinion of him had fallen so low he imagined he’d ruin his sister thus, before she was married gutted him.
Somehow, he managed to hold Henry’s gaze as he gave his answer. “I have not.”
Henry expelled a heavy breath, the relief he showed like a boulder upon Tristan’s shoulders. He slumped a little beneath the weight.
“Then there is nothing further for us to discuss,” Henry said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “Go to your quarters and pack your belongings. A carriage will be parked outside the servants’ entrance within half an hour, ready to take you wherever you wish.”
With that blunt statement, Henry turned and walked back to the house, leaving Tristan with a hollow sensation inside his chest. And as the darkness closed in around him, he cursed his heart for what it had caused him to lose.
Seven
If there was one thing Lilli detested, it was being treated as though she were an incompetent child. And yet, that was precisely what was happening. After leaving Tristan behind to face Henry’s scolding alone, Papa had deposited her in her bedchamber, locking the door behind him to, as he’d put it, prevent her from making matters worse.
So much for her plan to seek Tristan out so they could discuss their elopement. Sitting on her bed with her arms crossed, she huffed a breath for the millionth time. This washerlife,herfuture. She ought to be the one to decide with whom she spent it. And she intended on making that point very clear to both Henry and Papa once she had the chance to speak with them.
She glared at the locked door and muttered a curse. How long had it been? An hour? Possibly two? Frustrated, she reached for the rose quartz at her neck and allowed its cool presence to soothe her. Only Grandmama would understand that this was about more than some passing attraction. This was about her destiny and somehow, some way–
A scraping sound drew her attention. There was a click and then her bedchamber door opened. Henry appeared, looking more worn out than a pair of old stockings. He stared at her with a dull expression that had the unpleasant effect of making her feel completely rotten.
She stood, uncrossed her arms, took a step forward and raised her chin in an effort to look stronger than she felt. “Where is he?”
“Lilli,” Henry began, his voice confirming his exhaustion. He swung the door wide and stepped aside, offering her a glimpse of the hallway beyond. “Papa and I would like to talk to you. If you’d please come with me.”
“Not before you tell me where Tristan is.”
Her comment, a near shout, seemed to reinvigorate her brother. He drew himself up, transforming into a pillar of pure rigidity. “He’s gone. Back to wherever the hell he came from.”
The harsh remark was like a slap to the face. It took the wind out of Lilli’s sails. She stared at her brother as every hope and dream she’d had of spending her life with Tristan began to crumble. “You sent him away?”
“Of course I did.”
“Do you at least have an address? Some means by which to find him?”
“My coachman will take him to a coaching inn from which he’ll continue his onward journey tomorrow.” He gestured toward the hallway once more. “Just be thankful I did not challenge him to a duel, or he’d have been dead in the morning.”
“I hate you,” she said, her defenses cracking. Her eyes began to sting but she’d be damned if she’d let Henry watch her cry. So she took a fortifying breath and forced the tears away. Ignoring his wounded expression, she swept past him with as much regality as she could muster.
Neither spoke as they made their way to the parlor. The only sounds Lilli heard came from servants tidying up, which had to mean the ball was over.
Without permitting Henry to open the parlor door for her, Lilli did it herself and entered the room where she sensed a battle was ready to be waged. It was one she had every intention of winning.
