“I didn’t dare interfere with your reading, but we have a few more hours to go. Might as well discuss the current events.”
“On a full stomach,” Tristan said, hoping he’d be able to glean something from the paper he’d stared at for five hours.
“Naturally,” his father said. “On a full stomach.”
Their quick meal of sandwiches wrapped in paper and hasty mugs of over-steeped and under-sugared tea was wildly unsatisfying. But the tea was warm, and that was something. Tristan stole glances at Eleanor, who seemed subdued. Was she nervous about climbing Ben Nevis? Was she sick from the rocking motion of the train? Or was she as aware of him as he was of her?
They boarded the train again, Tristan lingering to watch the last swish of wine-red disappear into the train car behind them. He turned to board the train, finding his father watching him.
“We are going to have a talk.” The tone of his father’s voice was clear; he would tolerate no arguments.
Tristan felt that same fear he’d had as a boy—the icy feeling of disapproval that seared him in ways he couldn’t explain. He trudged up the steep train steps, trying to ready himself for what could only be a searing set-down.
His father’s gaze had the weight of an iron anchor. The train lurched forward, trundling them towards Scotland. Tristan wondered how the machine could move when a force such as the Viscount Rascomb was onboard.
“You might as well come clean about it.”
Tristan did his best to keep all the clever barbs he had in his mouth. “About what?”
“Ophelia has told me already.”
“Really.” Tristan knew this tactic. He’d employed it several times himself with his friends over the years. Usually it had to do with winnings from card games or who nicked the best bottles from his liquor cabinet. “What all has she told you?”
“That you are very likely in love with Eleanor Piper.”
Oh, bollocks. She had told him. “I wouldn’t say love. That’s a bit extreme.”
“But you’d requested to court her.” His father narrowed his eyes.
Tristan shook his head, as if he could deny it. He wanted to deny it because he was embarrassed. It had been a foolish, impulsive desire, born out of an inappropriate passion. “Yes. I did.”
“Is she compromised?”
Tristan’s head snapped up. “Of course not! I would never!”
“You would never with Miss Turner, two years ago.”
“That was different. She was an actress.”
“And then the next one, I can’t remember her name.”
“Mrs. Fitzroy.”
“Ah, yes. And I do believe I paid a bill for emeralds at the end of that affair.” His father leaned back in the seat, still watching him closely. “Girls like Eleanor Piper won’t settle for a bauble. Fathers like Mr. Piper won’t settle for a bauble, either.”
“I know that,” Tristan said.
“And you understand that I cannot have you tomcatting around on this expedition. Your sister’s entire future is at stake.”
“I understand that. I was trying to do the proper thing, but—”
“But you cannot keep your hands in your own pockets? You know what will happen to every single drop of Ophelia’s dream to become a mountaineer if she gets branded a harlot? Even by association?”
“I do, yes.” Tristan had been trying very hard to protect that very thing, which is when everything went absolutely sideways.
“She’ll lose all credibility. Not just the marriage prospects, but all of her writings that she has promised. It all goes away.”
Tristan glared at his father. “I know.”
