She had no choice.
Better to face a stranger than the wrath of her brother.
Chapter 3
Tristan had always cherished the early hours of the morning. The fragile quietness that came with it and the way it often let him get his mind in order. It was also the time he managed to get the most sleep, at least when he was still at the hunting lodge.
He would find that the situation was no longer the same, and perhaps in a rather harsh manner at Evermere.
The knock on his door was firm and jarring enough to throw the remainder of his sleep from his eyes. He groaned and wiped his hands over his face.
“My Lord? It’s Stanley.”
Wonderful,he thought.
“Enter,” he said, his voice rough.
The door opened and Stanley, one of the manor’s footmen stepped in, his uniform neat, though his collar sat slightly slant. Perhaps it was still the sleep making him see things.
“My lord,” he said with a bow, “His Grace requests your presence after breakfast this morning.”
“Does he?” Tristan raised a brow as he swung his legs from the bed. His eyes then caught the faintest hesitation in the footman’s expression and gave a dry smile. “And by after breakfast, does my grandfather by any chance mean during breakfast?”
Stanley’s ears turned pink. “So it would seem, my lord.”
Tristan pushed to his feet and reached for his coat. “A clever little scheme to force me out of this chamber and into the dining room.” He shook his head, pulling his waistcoat into place. “My grandfather cannot abide anyone who eats alone. It has always been his campaign against me.”
Stanley said nothing, wisely keeping his gaze lowered.
Tristan dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Go on, then. Tell His Grace I shall be there soon.”
The door closed behind the footman, and Tristan gave a small sigh. His appetite was thin, but there was no avoiding the duke once he had summoned him. He dressed quickly, tugging his cravat into place, and stepped into the hallway, his eyes studying the clean carpet and bright walls.
The scent of toast and coffee filled his nostrils the instant he stepped into the dining hall. His gaze immediately found his grandfather seated at the head of the long table, rigid andcommanding as always. But it was not the duke who caught Tristan’s attention next.
It was the figure to his left.
“Aunt Evelyn?” Tristan said, his eyes wide and his lips curving faintly. He leaned down to embrace the older woman, the perfume of lavender clinging to her gown.
“When did you arrive?”
Evelyn patted his cheek with gloved fingers. “Very late, my dear. I am certain the clock had already struck one.”
“That is quite late indeed.” Tristan settled himself across from her, his eyes still focused on her. Aunt Evelyn was his father’s immediate sister. She was also one of Tristan’s favorite family members because, well, there was never a dull moment with Aunt Evelyn around.
“Do not look at me as though I were guilty,” Evelyn said, lifting her chin. “Blame the carriage driver. His daughter had the influenza, so he delayed my journey for hours to take her to the physician.”
Tristan’s brows lifted. “Truly? That was his reason?”
“Yes,” she said, as though affronted. “That was quite insensitive, was it not? It was only influenza, not dropsy or anything of significance.”
A low chuckle escaped Tristan, and he shook his head. “You are merciless.”
“Honest,” Evelyn corrected, reaching for her napkin.
The duke cleared his throat, the sound commanding silence. He gestured, and the butler gave a nod to the footmen. Plates of eggs, fresh bread, and a steaming dish of ham began to appear upon the table.
Tristan accepted a plate, watching as Evelyn poured herself tea. “What brings you here, Aunt? You do not often come without Lord Howard at your side. How is he?”
