Eleanor smiled in return. “I agree completely. The expectations of the world seem far away, and the stars seem so close.”
“Exactly,” he said.
Their connection was real, and they smiled at one another, an acknowledgment of a moment shared. Eleanor wondered if she’d allowed the wrong brother to kiss her.
Chapter Eight
Tristan accidently tightenedhis grip on Lady Emily’s hands, only realizing it when the lady made a squeak of pain.
“My apologies,” he said, glancing back at her for a moment. It was difficult to tear his attention away from Herringbone and Eleanor, dancing. Dancing andsmiling. He didn’t like that one bit.
It was bad enough that Ophelia had all but painted him as the worst kind of villain in front of Eleanor, but now Arthur was out there charming the woman? It wasn’t exactly fair to have his family conspire against him.
“Are you quite all right?” Lady Emily asked.
She was the human equivalent of plain porridge. She was the color of dishwater, all over. Her hair, her skin—even her gowns were the most tepid and sober colors. Really, her only recommendation was her status—the daughter of a marquis. That kind of pedigree was excellent, even if their family had no money. “Fine,” he bit out.
“Ouch!” she yelped. “Sir, please pay attention. I’m afraid my toes cannot support us both.”
Tristan winced. This was the behavior that Ophelia was complaining about, wasn’t it? His single-minded focus on his own wants and needs? “My sincere apologies, Lady Emily, I am distracted.”
“I can see that well enough, and my toes can feel it.”
That was a bit sharper than he expected from plain porridge. “I will make an effort to do better. You deserve my attention as my dance partner.”
Lady Emily narrowed her eyes at him in contemplation. “You know, you’d be quite handsome if you’d stop being such an arse.”
Tristan missed a step, and barely missed Lady Emily’s toes. “I beg your pardon?”
“If I wasn’t well-acquainted with your personality, I would mistake you as the better-looking brother. But as it is, Arthur has you soundly beat.”
“Arthur?” he asked. When did this woman get leave to speak of his brother so intimately?
“He’s very kind, and if I may say so, much funnier than you.”
Tristan didn’t like this conversation at all. “My jokes are excellent, I’ll have you know.”
She looked at him with something like pity. “If you want to win the heart of the girl Arthur is dancing with, which is what I assume has you so preoccupied, I think you’d better rehabilitate yourself.”
“I need no such thing,” Tristan said, his pride doubly insulted.
Lady Emily shrugged. “Then you will love to have the attentions of my cousin, Miss Perkins. She’s very pretty, but I will tell you from childhood experience, she is as mean and selfish as they come. I have the scars to prove it.”
Tristan scoffed and let his mouth open and close as if he had any reasonable comeback of his own. He did not wish to be seduced by the beautiful and mean Miss Perkins. Part of why he liked Eleanor so much was that she wasn’t mean. She was nice. “Oh,” he said, when he began to realize what Lady Emily was really saying. “Ohhhhh.”
She was sayinghewas mean and selfish. And if he pursued Eleanor, she would either reject him outright, or he might scarher for life. Or would she turn mean and selfish too? None of those outcomes were acceptable. But wait. “When did you start calling my brother Arthur?”
Lady Emily gave him another pitying smile. “Many years ago. I had hoped we would marry, but alas, my family hasn’t the money.”
“Hasn’t the money?” Tristan repeated. Hang on, wasn’t that what he had been thinking to himself earlier? When was his cynicism remotely acceptable?
“Arthur made it clear that he needed to marry a woman with a good dowry, which is something I cannot promise. We decided to wait, as my father had some investments he thought might come to fruition. But sadly, they did not. My dowry is virtually non-existent.”
“But we don’t need money,” Tristan sputtered. Did they? He knew nothing of the family finances because it wasn’t his business. He was the spare, off to do the lofty business of finding himself.
Lady Emily raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you? I can’t name a single aristocratic family that is flourishing. Owning land worked before the industrial revolution. Now what do we do? Give parties to fundraise? Sell our homes? The modern world is not built for the system created.”
Tristan winced. He hadn’t ever bothered thinking about any of this. Because he’d been busy feeling sorry for himself, and about how limited his choices were. When in fact, his father had the right of it: he had the most freedom out of all of them. Wasn’t that an awful realization to have in public?
