He gritted his teeth. “I don’t care what it is you desire, but it will not happen. We will not host in this house.”
“Then we could host something out on the grounds. No one would step inside the house. Would that assuage your concern? I cannot understand your objection, especially since you are a duke,” she pointed out.
“A duke with responsibilities of land management and such. There is nothing in the description about hosting events.”
She frowned in protest. “That’s hogwash.”
“Call it what you like, but we’re not hosting. That is the end of the discussion, Verity,” he added. He couldn’t resist trying out her name as she had his.
While it brought him a certain measure of satisfaction, it only deepened her frown.
She crossed her arms and looked away. As silence settled between them, he began to relax, relieved that she had given up. Perhaps the rest of their ride would be silent.
Not that we have much further to go. We’re nearly at the drive already. Thank the Lord, I need some peace and quiet.
For a short while, there was peace and quiet.
Just as they were approaching the mews, where stable hands milled about, Verity twisted to face him. She fiddled with her skirts and cleared her throat, clearly wishing to speak.
Tristan had expected her confidence from earlier, but her voice came out as a mere whisper. Uncertain, she asked him, “Will we ever go to London?”
There wasn’t enough light for him to be certain whether or not she wished to go to the city. He frowned, wishing the moonlight was back on her face. But it was too late; the carriage had come to a stop.
Nor does it matter. Never again will I take a wife of mine to the city, where she can cause mischief.
“No,” Tristan uttered. “I have no intention to go to London.”
It was with that answer that his wife withdrew from him that evening, giving him the silence he craved. Yet, as he stepped intohis room, he found it too large and empty. He paced for a good while before finally settling down just as dawn broke.
A week passed by seamlessly. No more migraines or smoke or cigars for Tristan. He enjoyed his daily rides, paperwork, and regular visits to his tenants to confirm that all was well.
But then a letter arrived, saying that his steward had a bad fall.
Mr. Henry needed time to recover, his wife wrote in the letter. She sent along a sheaf of papers regarding three deals that were in the works. Only, one of them seemed unrelated. A will, from the looks of it.
Tristan took one glance at the papers and set them aside in frustration.
Though he stewed over the matter for the evening and into the morning, there was only one option. Mr. Henry was on the mend, so he could not help clean up this mess. His wife could not be trusted either. Hiring another steward blindly in the middle of this chaos would only bring further ruin.
I have to go to London.
“Blast it all.” He scowled at the window before bolting from his chair and stomping down the hall.
That third deal, the missing files, was important to manage a tenement. A very particular situation he couldn’t risk beinghandled by the wrong hands. He worried it was already done, the files lost somewhere in London. This was not a risk he cared for and knew would have to be eliminated quickly.
Isn’t this why I have a steward? Perhaps I need more of them. If I hire another, I might as well hire another dozen. Then perhaps I should enjoy that life of lounging about the other lords always mention.
Tristan knew in the back of his mind that was unlikely, since he didn’t particularly care for leisure time. A morning ride was refreshing. A daily walk was important for clarity. And he enjoyed reading the newspaper or essays and assorted books to broaden his knowledge. Anything beyond that tended to bore him. It was all a waste of time.
“Philipson,” he called, spotting his butler at the end of the hall. The older man dismissed a footman before turning to him. “We must speak at once.”
“I am all ears, of course. What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
He gestured back toward his study. “The package delivered this morning is an absolute mess. I need my papers, and they’re back in London.”
“Shall I send a messenger to fetch them?”
“It would be a waste of time. Alert the servants and my valet to begin packing. I would like to leave tomorrow. There isn’ttime for more mistakes, so I will have to attend to the matter in person,” he added grimly.
