Perhaps Lady Verity, whose name and status as the sole child of the disgraced Marquess he had since learned, didn’t hear them.
She set down the stay. “Please, sit. It will be a simple evening with a simple fare, Your Grace. But I assure you that you shall not go hungry.”
That was certainly true.
They were soon seated and dishing out portions. Tristan tasted everything, discovering that she had meant her words, as all of the dishes were delicious.
“Our groom returned with news,” Lady Verity said after a pause, then turned to him. “Ernest was inquiring after the tenants. The rain has eased off, but I’m afraid the bridge leading back to Halewood is flooded.”
Tristan froze. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Verity nodded, seeming just as cheerful as he felt. “It is most unfortunate.” She even looked him in the eye, the cheeky lady. “Returning home may be dangerous.”
“Which is why he will remain here,” her aunt interjected, which made her pause.
They’d all known this, though no one said a word since the storm had begun. Tristan had clung to the hope of an escape as long as he could. But now, he could no longer ignore the inevitable.
“I understand the concern, but surely…” Lady Verity hesitated, looking between them.
She’s just as uncomfortable as I am about my remaining here. This is hardly proper. There may be folks talking already about the local Duke gadding about. I do not need people talking, just as I do not need to spend more time in her presence. Having my name tossed about is not something I wish to entertain.
Still, there was no way to avoid the situation now. At least for tonight, Tristan was trapped at Redcliff Manor.
He would be given a guest room in the old wing. The space echoed, Lady Wetherby warned him, but he would be safe and warm.
Nodding along, Tristan considered the evening ahead of him. The comforting food. The uncomfortable hosts. The unfamiliar walls.
It was strange being here. He had rarely stayed the night in an unfamiliar space. Traveling farther north, he visited the same inns. He never even stayed with friends.
“Very well,” Lady Verity said at last in a huff. “Then you shall stay the night. The old wing will have to do. Come morning…”
“You needn’t worry,” he told her. “I shall take my leave as soon as the storm passes.”
“I’m not worried at all,” she said with a frown.
Earlier, he had tried to discern the color of her eyes. Now, he knew they were the color of the storm.
Had she called it herself?
Her grey-blue eyes were bright and sharp and bold. The gray matched the flowers on her dress, and the blue matched a summer sky they should have enjoyed today.
But they didn’t. Now, neither of them enjoyed each other’s company.
She blinked those expressive eyes of hers. So big like a little creature staring boldly into the world. Or rather, right into his soul.
Tristan found he couldn’t look away. His gut clenched. Slowly, he reached for some bread. He needed a distraction, and the bowl was the closest thing to him. Until he felt another’s fingers, and he jerked.
Hot tingles raced across his skin. His bones. It felt like lightning in his soul. Something had happened.
Lady Verity jumped at the same time. Tearing his gaze away from hers, he found that they had reached for the same loaf of bread. His breath stuttered. Realizing they were staring at each other’s fingers, he averted his gaze to the wall instead.
The rest of supper was uneventful; no one was interested in talking or drinking afterward. He excused himself to go to his chamber.
Though he meant to sleep through the night, the rain would not let up, pelting the windows mercilessly. Restless, he put on the borrowed nightrobe and decided to wander the manor in search of someplace quiet.
He wandered the dark and quiet until he found the library. The door was cracked, and a sliver of light spilled into the corridor, beckoning him.
Tristan stepped inside, turning left to follow the warm glow of firelight. Further inside he went until he came upon whomever the fire was lit for.
