“Perhaps,” Tristan muttered. His brow furrowed. “And Lady Vale…how do you think she’s taking it? I told her of the invitation. She seemed calm enough, but I cannot say she is thrilled.”
“That is not the impression I had,” Gideon replied, a wave of amusement crossing his face.
Tristan turned to him, one brow raised. “And what impression did you have?”
Before Gideon could answer, a knock came at the door. Tristan exhaled, gesturing for him to see to it.
Gideon crossed the room and opened the door. A footman bowed low in the doorway. “A letter for Lord Vale, delivered this morning, sir.”
“Give it here,” Gideon said, taking the sealed envelope. He shut the door behind him and returned to Tristan, holding out the letter.
Tristan broke the seal and unfolded the page. His eyes scanned the words, his jaw tightening as he read.
“It’s from Harwood,” he said after a pause.
“Lady Vale’s brother,” Gideon said carefully. “Is this about the Berkeley Project?”
Tristan nodded faintly and read further. “Apparently, he is suggesting a meeting. A gathering of all interested parties. He writes that he hopes I will attend.”
“And will you?” Gideon asked.
Tristan lowered the paper, thinking. “My mind is not settled about the project itself. It smells too much like an overreach. But attending a meeting to hear the others—” He shrugged. “It can do no harm. I will consider it.”
“That seems wise, my lord.”
Tristan looked down at the letter again, and his eyes lingered on one line. “Hmm. Surprising.”
Gideon, who was fitting cufflinks at his wrists, glanced up. “What is, my lord?”
Tristan read aloud, his tone clipped. “‘The duke’s interest in swift alliances is what brought us together in the first place. It can work again.’” He let the words hang before folding the paper.
“Well,” Gideon said after a moment, “we know one thing for certain. Mr. Harwood has a talent for persuasion.”
“Persuasion or manipulation,” Tristan muttered. He set the folded letter on his desk.
Gideon uncorked a small glass vial and dabbed cologne at Tristan’s neck and wrists. The sharp scent cut through the closed room.
“There,” Gideon said quietly. “Now you look and smell every inch the gentleman for society’s eyes.”
Tristan looked into the mirror as Gideon stepped away. His reflection stared back, composed and immaculate, though his mind felt far from calm.
“What would I ever do without you, Gideon?” he asked lightly.
Gideon chuckled. “Best not to think about that, my lord. And do not thank me. It is my work.”
“Even so,” Tristan said under his breath.
Gideon straightened the final fold of his coat. “Shall I call on Lady Vale? She may wish to prepare alongside you for the event.”
Tristan shook his head. “No. Leave her be. She should be down soon enough on her own.”
Gideon lowered his chin in understanding and stepped back. Tristan stood tall in the mirror, the weight of Harwood’s words still pressing in the back of his mind.
***
A short while later, Tristan stood at the bottom of the stairs, his heart pounding hard in his chest for some reason. This was the first formal outing where he and Eliza would appear hand in hand as husband and wife. He had gone through the motions before and done a thousand of these events.
So why was his heart beating this hard?
