The Baron's Betrayal Page 12

  “How was your walk, my lord?” Ellis greeted him as he and the dog entered the house.

  “Not successful. I am afraid I am destined to be confined to the house.”

  “What happened?”

  “I do not wish to discuss this. I am resigned to my fate, and that is the end of it.” He brushed passed the valet and headed to the library. “Please have Mrs. O’Rourke send a lunch tray into the library.”

  Ellis followed him into the room. “It is not like you to give up so suddenly.”

  “Some things are destined to be, and must be accepted.”

  “Why are you holding your arm in that strange position? Did you hurt yourself?”

  Tristan sat behind his desk and sighed. The man was exceedingly annoying. Why must he be continually reminded of his blunders? “If you must know, I tripped over Argos and fell on my arm. Merely a bruise. Nothing to get all into a dither over.”

  “Nevertheless, I wish to take a look at it.”

  “No need. You can easily see my arm from there.”

  Ellis snorted. “At least your recent mishap hasn’t dimmed your strange humor.”

  “My lord, the Duke of Manchester has arrived and requests an audience.” Carson’s voice intruded on the upcoming argument.

  Drake? What the devil does he want?

  Fear shot through him at the thought of Marion being ill or injured. “Send him in.” He turned to Ellis. “You may leave us.”

  “I will attend to your arm when His Grace leaves.”

  Tristan waved him away with his good arm, concerned about what brought the Duke of Manchester to his front door.

  Within minutes Tristan sensed Drake’s arrival. “Your Grace,” he said.

  “I am always amazed at how much you can do without your sight, Tunstall. How did you know I entered the room?”

  “When you are short one of your senses, the others tend to make up for the loss.” Tristan shrugged. “Though not completely.”

  Once he discerned that Drake had settled himself, Tristan leaned forward. “What brings you to Town? Is everything all right with Marion? She is not ill, is she?”

  “No. Marion is fine. Well, not entirely fine, of course. She still doesn’t understand why she is living at home with her family while her husband resides in London.”

  “It is not my desire to discuss my marriage with you, Manchester. If that is the reason for your visit, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

  “Settle down, Tunstall. I am not here to chastise you. I had to make the journey to London to take care of some personal matters. I thought while I was here, I would stop in and visit with you. Determine for myself how you are getting on, and when I can expect to send my sister to you.”

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. “And that is how you do not chastise someone?”

  “I watched my sister almost wither and die during the more than two years she thought you dead. There is absolutely no reason why she should not be here with you, receiving me, sending for tea so we can have a nice visit.”

  Tristan stood. “It is not your concern. And furthermore, I will not continue this conversation.”

  Neither man spoke as two powerful personalities warred in the room.

  “Very well,” Drake said at last.

  “Thank you.” Tristan returned to his seat and cleared his throat. “How is Marion getting on? Is she well?”

  “Yes. All things considered. She is working with the children’s choir for the Harvest Festival we have each year at the Manor. Mrs. Fox injured her ankle in a fall and asked for one of my sisters to step in. Mother convinced Marion it would be good for her to work with them.”

  Tristan nodded, imagining his Marion working with small children, teaching them songs, singing along with the little urchins in her clear, beautiful voice. An ache started near his heart and soon encompassed his entire body. How he would love to hear her. He shook his head, pushing the thought far away. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  “Thank you, but no. Since the festival is in two days, I am expected home by tomorrow evening, so I will begin the journey back as soon as I leave you.”

  “Despite everything, I appreciate your visit, Manchester. And—please give my regards to your family.”

  “And Marion?”

  He swallowed several times. “Send her my love.”

  Drake grunted and took his leave.

  Tristan sat for a while, his thoughts muddled. He leaned back, absently petting the dog’s head as it rested on his thigh. “What should we do, Argos?”

  The dog whimpered, but didn’t provide any answers. Several minutes later Tristan shouted for Ellis.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Prepare for a journey to Donridge Heath.”

  The valet hesitated for a beat. “Indeed? And when will we be taking this trip?”

  “As soon as you can pack.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marion herded the children into a group and assembled them on the makeshift stage in the large field behind Manchester Manor.

  The day of the festival had arrived. The tenants looked forward to the event all year. The harvest was in, the weather was still pleasant, and winter was far enough away that outdoor activities could yet be enjoyed.

  Women, young and old, greeted each other, hugging as if they’d been separated for months, instead of the few days since they’d all gathered in the church for Sunday service. The men slapped each other on the back, another successful year of crops to celebrate.

  A general sense of fellowship and affection for these people, who lived on her family’s land, warmed her. They’d been tenants all their lives, their parents and grandparents before them. It was a continuity that her family shared with them, despite the difference in their stations.

  “Elizabeth, please stop pinching Mary,” Marion said.

  “She is standing where I am supposed to be standing,” the young girl whined.

  “No, we changed your positions yesterday, remember?”

  The blue-eyed blond little girl placed her fingers into her tiny mouth and shook her head. “No. I don’t ’member.”

  “We did, sweeting. You stand next to Robert now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it looks better this way.”

  “I don’t like Robert. He always tries to kiss me.”

  Marion frowned at the lad with the freckles and curly red hair. “Robert, you know better than that.”

  The boy ducked his head as Elizabeth tossed her golden curls over her shoulder in a gesture that she was sure to perfect before she reached young womanhood.

  “All right, everyone. This is not a practice. We have a real audience here, and your parents will be pleased to see you all do so well.”

  A tall girl in the last row with spectacles and tight braids wrapped around her head raised her hand.

  “Yes, Matilda?”

  “I need to use the privy, Lady Tunstall.” She emphasized her distress by hopping up and down on one foot.

  Marion groaned inwardly. They didn’t have much time before their performance. “Very well.” She looked around and spotted Sybil chatting with one of the young mothers. After waving both arms to gain her attention, her sister hurried over.

  “What?”

  “Matilda needs to use the privy. Can you escort her, and try to have her back here as quickly as possible? We’re due to start in only a few minutes.”

  “Of course. But I wouldn’t worry too much since there are still a lot of people chatting as they find their seats.”

  “Thank you.”

  A quick movement caught her eye. “David, please don’t shove Melvin. He will fall and dirty his clothing.” She frowned and eyed each child, one at a time. “I expect you all to do your very best to make this a successful musicale. Now, there will be no pushing or behaving in a manner that is not fitting for the wonderful choir that you are. Is that clear?”

  Twenty heads bobbed up and down, with a lot of “Yes, Lady Tunstal
l,” accompanying them. Marion took a deep breath. Despite Mrs. Fox’s recovery, the rector’s wife had insisted Marion continue on with the children’s choir. As much as she enjoyed working with the little ones, she would be very glad when this was finished. Although, she was forced to admit that the project had kept her from dwelling too much on Tristan and fretting over the lack of contact she’d had from him.

  Drake had told her of his visit with Tristan yesterday. It seemed the man had not budged from his position. At least, he hadn’t led her brother to believe anything had changed. She rested her palm on her stomach. Something needed to change, and soon. If what she suspected was true, he would have to face fatherhood.

  Whether he liked it or not.

  …

  “My lord, I don’t understand this rush across country to make a festival when there are plenty of such events much closer to London.” Ellis shifted on the carriage seat, causing Argos to leave his spot next to the valet and settle on the floor, his head resting on Tristan’s feet.

  “I don’t intend to explain my actions to you.”

  “I can’t help but believe all this madness has something to do with the visit from the Duke of Manchester.” He paused. “Your brother-in-law, I believe?”

  “You know very well the man is Lady Tunstall’s brother, and therefore my brother by law. There is no need for diffidence.”

  “I am merely attempting to keep my employer’s various relationships straight in my weary brain, my lord.”

  Tristan snorted.

  “There is a lovely festival in Shillard, I understand. Mrs. O’Rourke is joining her brother at the event this evening, if you feel the need to hobnob with the farmers.”

  “Not that it is any of your concern, impertinent man, but it just so happens my wife is conducting the children’s choir at the festival in Donridge Heath.”

  “Indeed? Your wife? I foolishly believed you wished to pretend there was no Lady Tunstall.” When Tristan remained stubbornly quiet, refusing to rise to the man’s bait, Ellis continued, “And will we join her afterward to congratulate her on a job well done, and to share a cup of cider, or a piece of award-winning pie?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. So we will flee back to London once we’ve heard the lovely voices of children conducted by your charming wife.”

  “We will spend tomorrow in my Donridge Heath home. I’ve already told Mrs. O’Rourke she need not hurry back from her festivities since we will not return to London until the day after next.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes before Ellis spoke in a soft, pensive tone. “Why do you insist on punishing yourself, my lord?”

  As there was no answer to that question, Tristan closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

  Muddy roads, and a stop to switch out one of the horses who’d lost a shoe, put them at Manchester Manor at midafternoon.

  “There is quite a crowd gathering in front of a small stage that appears to have children ready to perform, my lord.”

  “Please see that we remain at the rear of the assembly. I do not wish to converse with Marion’s family. I prefer they notice me not at all.”

  “Of course, my lord. Why in heaven’s name would we want to wish your relatives a good day?”

  Tristan bristled. “Just follow my instructions.”

  Argos began to whine as they left the carriage. “Sorry, old boy, you cannot come along with us. I will give you a nice treat when we return home. Mrs. Downs will no doubt have some meat scraps for you.”

  Low murmurs greeted them as they made their way from the carriage to the back of the crowd. “We should have brought a rug from the carriage. That is what most are sitting on.”

  “No matter. We shall stand until the performance is over. It feels good to stretch my legs. Just be certain that we are far enough away so we will not be seen.”

  “Perhaps it might be wise to find a bush to crawl under, my lord.”

  “You will find yourself living under a bush when you are dismissed with no reference.”

  “I shall begin my search for a cozy spot first thing, my lord.”

  Within minutes the soft hum of conversation had faded to silence, and a man’s deep voice welcomed all to the children’s performance which would begin the celebrations. “Lady Tunstall has done a wonderful job working with our children’s choir. I know you will all enjoy her efforts.”

  A talented musician began playing a flute, and sweet young voices filled the air. But above all the youthful singing, Marion’s clear soprano rang out. Tristan held his breath as the mellow sound engulfed him with memories. All the times he had turned the music sheets for her while she had played. The rapt expression on her face as she had sung one lovely piece after another. How proud he’d been to be her husband.

  How much he had loved her.

  Back then, they’d expected to spend the rest of their lives together, having children, seeing them grown, and then watching proudly as they left for lives of their own. He and Marion would grow old together, holding hands as the first of them left this earth. His chest ached with remorse.

  What had he been thinking? He should not have come here. As much as he hated to admit it, Ellis was most likely correct. He was punishing himself.

  Isn’t my blindness punishment enough?

  …

  Marion smiled as the last notes of the children’s voices filled the air. They had performed remarkably well. She was so proud of their accomplishment, and, truth be told, quite pleased with herself.

  Turning to face their audience, she sought out her family, basking in their approval. Her gaze slid from them to the packed crowd, wandering over both well-known and unknown visitors. Her heart came to a stop, then started up again, beating so loudly, she was sure the entire assembly heard it. Tristan stood at the back of the gathering, next to Ellis.

  He’d come! Her heart sang as euphonically as the concert the little ones had just given. As she watched, Ellis leaned in close to Tristan, whispering, and they both turned, leaving the area. She frowned. Where were they going? Perhaps back to Manchester Manor to surprise her?

  Marion took her place in the front row along with her charges. She fidgeted and twitched the entire time speeches were made and praise heaped upon her family for hosting the event each year. Would this ordeal never come to an end? How impolite would it be if she bolted from her seat and hurried back to the Manor?

  “Lady Tunstall?” Little Elizabeth tugged on Marion’s gown.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Do you have to use the privy now?”

  Despite her anxiety to be free of the never-ending celebration, a grin broke out on her face as she regarded Elizabeth’s serious countenance. “No, sweeting. I don’t have to use the privy.”

  Eventually, her brother finished his speech, thanking all the tenants for a fruitful year, and encouraging them to go forth and enjoy themselves. Marion breathed a sigh of relief as she hugged each of the children, then joined her family. “Tristan is here.” She hated how breathless she sounded.

  “Indeed?” Her mother’s brows rose. “Where is he now? Shall we invite him to join us for the afternoon?”

  “I don’t know where he is. He and his valet left after the children sang. Perhaps he is waiting for me at home.”

  Her mother and Drake shared a quick glance before her brother said, “We will undoubtedly learn that soon.”

  “I didn’t see Tristan,” Sybil said as she took her sister’s arm protectively.

  “No. You wouldn’t have. He and Ellis were at the very back of the crowd. You would have had to crane your neck to see them.”

  “Are you certain it was Tristan?” Her mother’s soft words and compassionate look annoyed her. Did they think her daft? That she was so unhinged by his rejection that she was seeing him in places where he was not?

  She nodded briskly. “Yes. It was him.” She released herself from Sybil’s grip. “I will return soon.”

  “Drake, go with her,” the duchess said as
Marion hurried off.

  Placing a comforting hand on her still very flat belly, she smiled to herself. Oh, if only he had indeed returned to her!

  Marion hurried up the stairs, bursting through the front door before the butler, Everleigh, could even open it. “Is he here?”

  “Who, my lady?” Everleigh stepped back to avoid a collision, his eyes wide with surprise at her boisterous entrance.

  “My husband. Lord Tunstall. Is he here?”

  “No, my lady. Was he expected?”

  “I just saw him, back at the festivities. Are you sure he isn’t here?”

  “No, my lady. No one has arrived since you and the others left the house earlier.”

  Marion slumped as if all the air had left her body. She shook her head, now unsure if she had actually seen Tristan. Was she becoming so obsessed with the man that she had begun seeing things?

  “Is he here?” Drake came up behind her, concern written on his face.

  “No.” Marion shrugged out of her pelisse, Everleigh barely catching it as it almost hit the floor.

  “Perhaps he went to his own home. I’ll send for the carriage,” Drake said.

  Marion shook her head. “No. I won’t chase him. If he wanted to see me, he would have come here.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’ll be in my room.”

  Fisting her skirts by her sides, she trudged up the stairs, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

  …

  Marion hugged the wall, watching her sisters and other guests swirling around the ballroom to the music from the small orchestra. Abigail looked especially fetching in a dark green velvet gown that did well to hide her increasing waistline. She and her husband Joseph spun by, his hand protectively on her back, pulling her closer as they made a turn.

  Penelope and Drake stood chatting with Lord and Lady Foxtail, whose youngest daughter attended with them. Betsy would make her come-out next Season. Penelope’s arm was tucked securely against Drake’s side, his hand covering hers. Every once in a while they would glance at each other, the love in their eyes making Marion physically sick.

  If Tristan were here with her, they would not be able to partake of the dances, but she’d never been overly fond of dancing. Her preference had always been watching the other dancers and speaking with the guests. A stroll around the ballroom with her arm tucked tightly into Tristan’s would make the evening as enjoyable for her as any young miss with a swirl of suitors at her beck and call.