They had spent many a night up late, drinking and discussing philosophy until they laughed so hard they cried.
Huffing, Tristan shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ashcombe. Any of you would have done it.”
“But we didn’t. You did,” Ronan pointed out. “What is she like? An ancient crone?”
“Certainly not,” Tristan bit out. His grip tightened on his stick. “The Duchess is a lady of quality. The daughter of a marquess. She managed her own estate before our union.”
His friends exchanged looks before Ronan spoke for them. “She sounds very pretty and charming.”
Though he sounded sincere, and appeared that way, it felt like a jest more than anything.
Tristan scowled at him. The game was forgotten as he imagined throwing the stick at his friends to knock sense into them. How dare they mock her?
Clapping a hand on his shoulder as if he sensed the tension, Julian spoke up. “Indeed, she is. Lady Verity is one of the finest ladies I’ve met so far. A charming soul, and rather witty. Her sharp tongue will keep Northcott here in line, I’m sure. You should have seen her eyes. A dark, mystical blue. She has little need for paltry fashions when her natural beauty attracts every living thing to her like a moth to a flame. A very fine duchess, indeed. I could hardly believe Tristan had found himself such a superior match.”
“That’s enough,” Tristan growled. “I’m the one married to her.”
His friend laughed before moving toward the table. “Then perhaps you should have said that.”
“Is it true?” Sebastian asked flatly.
Everyone turned to Tristan.
Feeling heat creep up his neck, he forced himself to speak the truth, though he was discomfited. He felt tightly wound as he defended his wife and marriage.
“It is. I find her very intelligent, lovely, and a proper young lady. I could not have found a better wife. Perhaps you will get to meet her very soon.”
And I haven’t said a word to her about any of this. How odd if I do. What if she uses it against me? No, dash such a notion. Perhaps she isn’t like Cassandra at all.
“Splendid!” Ronan clapped his hands, nearly dropping his stick. “I should like that very much.”
“And you will be respectful toward her,” Tristan warned.
Julian moved so Sebastian could take his turn, before crossing to the table and snatching his drink. “Are we ever anything else?”
“I mean it,” Tristan insisted. “She is…”Not like Cassandra.“She is a good person.”
She was trying to make their marriage work, whereas he would forget about her and everyone else if given the right distraction.
Feeling uncomfortable upon realizing how little he had tried to support her, he rocked back on his heels. “I suppose I’m quite fortunate.”
“We’ll be waiting for the invitation,” Sebastian told him.
“Perhaps I shall bring a lady of my own. Has anyone seen the newest soprano at the Crown House Opera?” Julian asked, his smile growing as he found a new distraction. “She’s already sent me a note, though we have yet to meet.”
Everyone groaned at the mention of another one of his conquests.
The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they began to playfully argue whether or not the singer was seeking a protector merely for money or because of Julian’s reputation. Either way, Tristan felt the tension slowly leaving his body.
How he could forget the fun they had together, he didn’t know. Life was filled with so many mundane troubles that he never felt like he could focus on pleasure because of how rarely it appeared in his life.
He was pondering this on his way back home several hours later, just as dusk was falling. His butler welcomed him in, letting him know that there was a young man in his study waiting for him.
“Good evening,” Tristan greeted as he stepped inside. “I wasn’t informed I had a visitor.”
Standing, the stranger promptly dropped the papers in his lap. “Your Grace! Er, beg your pardon.”
He scrabbled for the papers on one knee before awkwardly pulling himself up. His clothes had been resewn to somewhat fit him, and his hair needed a decent trimming, as it fell into his eyes.
