“Mr. Bridewell, I would normally be a bit more circumspect, but your mouth is hanging open.”
Tristan shook himself out of his reflective stupor. “My deep apologies, Lady Emily. I only now realized the absolute depth of my selfishness. It can be troublesome at times to find the correctperspective, since we cannot see outside ourselves. We only see our own hardships, and not the hardships of others.”
Lady Emily’s eyes seemed to soften. “I believe they call it maturity.”
“Rarely has anyone accused me of such a state.”
Lady Emily said nothing, but continued to watch him as they danced.
“I assure you this is a painful realization for me.” Tristan became aware of how absurd it might be to say such a thing while dancing, as it did not seem to show it as painful. But he hoped Lady Emily would understand.
“I imagine.” Lady Emily’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, no doubt to where Herringbone and Eleanor danced.
“Are you in love with him?” Tristan asked, blurting out the words before he could think better of it. He hadn’t meant to be so forward, but then, so much of his life was happenstance and reactions, and not the product of thought and intention.
Lady Emily gave him another assessing look. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“I rather think it does.”
“Are you in love with her?” she challenged right back.
Tristan turned them so he could once more gaze at Eleanor, and her regimental posture, the beautiful dark tresses braided and tucked and curled this way and that. “No, but I think I could be.”
“That’s quite an admission.”
“Is it?” It felt nowhere near enough. He wasn’t in love with her—for that seemed too large of an idea for how he felt. But he respected her, thought her beautiful, and if he were to marry any woman, she would seem a good personal match, even if they weren’t a terribly good social one.
“Your reputation has never been one of a poet, prone to flights of fancy.”
Tristan chuckled. “Yes, my love affairs have all been very transactional.”
They danced on, each smile on Eleanor’s face a stab in Tristan’s stomach. Every interested raised eyebrow of Herringbone’s felt like a blow to the head. They shouldn’t be getting along so well.
Lady Emily sighed. “To answer your question, yes.”
Tristan’s attention drew back to his dance partner. “Yes?”
“Have you already forgotten your question?” Lady Emily chastised.
Also, yes. He had forgotten. He’d forgotten because Herringbone’s hand was on Eleanor’s waist. Because they spoke and conversed and enjoyed polite conversation. Because Herringbone could smell her perfume and Tristan could not.
“I am in love with him,” Lady Emily confessed. “I have been for years.”
“Oh,” Tristan missed a step, ruining the dance. “I hadn’t realized.”
“Why would you? What is the point of mytendre? I can pine all I like, but it will bring us no closer.”
“Does he feel the same about you?” Tristan asked. It wasn’t as if Herringbone shared his feelings with him. Or anyone, for that matter.
“I used to believe he did. I’m not so sure, anymore.”
“It doesn’t seem that impossible of a situation to me,” Tristan said. “You are both titled, of the same class, and we are not in need of money, so what would be the difficulty?”
“Spoken like a second son,” Lady Emily said with a dark laugh.
Tristan bristled. “It isn’t as if you are a merchant’s daughter.”
Lady Emily’s eyes narrowed. “No, rather, the other way ’round. Why should a daughter of a marquis marry down? Whymarry a viscount when I could marry an earl, or a marquis, or a duke? They have money also.”
