“And who would those women be?” Eleanor sagged against them.
“Us, of course,” Miss Brewer answered. “Come, let’s go raise some money.”
*
“Would you introduceme to Miss Brewer?” Blakely asked Tristan. He’d been in America too long and didn’t know what he was asking. The other men in the group chuckled.
“Not if you value your time,” Jacobs chirped.
“Or your immortal soul,” said DeWitt.
“Wasting your breath, but I will if you’d like me to,” Tristan said to him. He liked the man, mostly because he generally liked everyone. Blakely lost too frequently at cards, but that was another reason that Justine would eat the man alive. Justine didn’t like losers. Or really, winners, for that matter. JustineBrewer disliked about every man she encountered, which was fine by Tristan.
He’d given her a wide berth since childhood, when she’d climbed up to the slate roof of their townhome and performed a jig because he’d dared her to. He didn’t expect her to do it, which was the entire reason he’d said it; any reasonable person would have seen the risk of breaking one’s neck. The girl was patently insane, and he wanted no part of her antics.
“Oh, hello there, who’s that other one on Miss Brewer’s arm? Haven’t seen her before,” Jacobs said, peering over Tristan’s shoulder.
Tristan glanced, expecting to see another one of Ophelia’s constantly changing chums. But no, it was that young miss he’d bumped into earlier. It was entirely his fault. He’d been charging towards the card tables, hoping to catch Francis, Justine’s older brother, who was just back from the Continent, when he’d stepped right into the woman’s path. He was such an oaf at times—of which Ophelia had no compunction reminding him. His height and width had sprung out of nowhere at the ripe age of eighteen, and in the years since, he’d spent most of his time outside. He still had trouble remembering just how far his stride carried him when inside a building.
“I don’t know her name,” Tristan confessed. There was a softness about her that he liked. Where his sister’s friends were typically impetuous and bold, this woman didn’t seem like she would run him over.
He glanced at his mates, all standing around gawping at the trio of women making their way through the ballroom. He wasn’t about to let any of those idiots get the upper hand on a pretty girl. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
They booed as he walked away, a grin on his face. Blakely caught up. “Introduce me?”
“It’s not worth it, mate,” Tristan said, a grin on his face.
“What do you care? Aren’t you seeing Mrs. Fitzroy?”
Tristan’s step faltered. “We’ve parted company.” Mrs. Vera Fitzroy was an actress whose greatest joy seemed to be torturing him. She’d been nothing but sweetness when he first courted her, but she’d grown more acerbic as they spent time together. Finally, he realized that he’d not known her at all. He gave her an emerald brooch to commemorate their time together, and she’d been seen in the company of an older man the very next night. Tristan had felt insulted, though he knew he had no right to begrudge Vera her happiness—or her livelihood.
Finally they reached the trio: his sister, Justine, and the mysterious young miss.
“How is your evening thus far?” Tristan asked Justine.
“I haven’t yet gotten a sponsor for the Scotland expedition, if that’s what you’re asking,” Justine said curtly. She was all business with him, which suited him fine.
“Quite,” he said. “May I introduce my friend Mr. Terrance Blakely? Blakely, this is my sister’s bosom companion, Miss Justine Brewer.” He didn’t add her nickname,Bad News, which admittedly, he’d given her. It wasn’t his fault he knew the editor of a few papers.
Justine gave Blakely a tepid smile, but Blakely was all aflutter. Maybe she could wheedle more money out of him for the expedition, just as the rest of his money had been relieved from his pockets at the card tables.
“Since we are introducing everyone,” Ophelia announced, “may I present Miss Eleanor Piper, the newest member of the Ladies’ Alpine Society.”
Tristan’s brows shot up. He had not pegged this young lady as an adventurer. Miss Eleanor Piper blushed furiously, which he enjoyed watching. So she was as timid as she seemed. He hoped she could keep up, otherwise Ophelia and Bad Newswould chew her up and spit her out. Not to mention what the mountain would do to her.
“And this is my brother,” Ophelia continued. “Mr. Tristan Bridewell.”
“I’m not truly a member,” Miss Piper stammered. “In fact, I’ve only just heard of it.”
“Nonsense.” Justine said. “She’s coming. And that’s final.”
Tristan caught Miss Piper’s gaze. Her brown eyes were deep and velvety, carrying a softness that melted him. “You must have shown some kind of acumen that makes Miss Brewer so adamant.”
“She’s an absolute genius with knots,” Ophelia said. “You should have seen how quick she was, too. Look at my dress. Look at this!” His sister turned to show off the side of her dress, where a perfectly tidy double figure eight knot was dressed out to perfection. Their father could not have done half so well with a ribbon that thick.
“That’s impressive,” Tristan admitted.
“See? We must have her,” Justine said.
