Chapter Eight – Talk of Marriage
“It is the perfect opportunity,” Tristan insisted, seeing doubt as well
as apprehension on his friend’s face. “You cannot deny that. Not only because as a baron, it is your duty to mingle with the upper class, but also because it is a masked ball, and, therefore, it is expected that you hide your face.” Tristan grinned as Derek rolled his eyes,
“I don’t hide,” Derek insisted, stepping up to the window of the drawing room in Tristan’s townhouse. Linking his hands behind his back, he stood eyes shifting over the darkening sky, his shoulders tense, alert as though he expected a threat at any moment.
Tristan couldn’t help but wonder how his friend had become the man he was today. Had it only been the war that had sharpened his senses? Or had it merely enhanced the caution that was simply a part of Derek’s nature?
“I did not mean to insult you,” Tristan assured his friend. “I hope you know that.” Derek gave a barely perceptible nod of the head. “I merely thought to point out that being a peer is new territory for you, but not for me. Although I do not always do as expected,” his uncle’s disapproving countenance appeared before his inner eye, “I know how to navigate the rather treacherous sea that is the ton. I’ve grown up a viscount, including all the expectations that go with this title. You, however, are new at this game, and I merely thought to offer my assistance.”
Not turning around, Derek drew in a slow breath, his shoulders tensing even more. “I have no desire to attend events. My intention is to return to Huntington House as soon as possible.”
Now, it was Tristan’s turn to tense as he knew that the only reason his friend had stayed in Town all this time was his concern for Tristan’s life. Would he stay forever if the issue of the curse could not be resolved? Would he never return to his own life?
Tristan knew the answer to those questions beyond the shadow of a doubt. Above all else, Derek McKnight, Baron Ainsworth was honest and loyal to a fault even if it often came at a disadvantage to himself.
“The estate is run-down,” Tristan said, once more approaching a subject they had battled over many times before. “You’ll never be able to restore it on your own. Allow me to assist you.”
Again, Derek drew in a slow breath. “I would not hesitate if you were to offer to take work into your own hands.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned from the window, and his dark eyes, almost black in the dim room, met Tristan’s. “However, I have to refuse any other means you offer for I believe that a man has to make his own way in this world by his own hands’ work.” His gaze held Tristan’s, their intensity almost frightening. “As I believe you know.”
Sighing, Tristan smiled. “I had to try. I believe you know that as well.” It would be so much easier if Derek would accept financial support. Maybe then Tristan would feel less guilty for slowly ruining the man’s life a little more with every day that passed.
More than once, Tristan had tried to sway his friend from his side, knowing only too well that he did not deserve such loyalty nor did he understand why Derek harboured it toward him, but to no avail. Nothing had ever worked. Still, Derek followed him, always watching, always aware, ready to step in at a moment’s notice.
Tristan was grateful for it, and yet, it pained him.
“Well, about the ball,” Tristan said, returning to the subject they had been discussing since supper. “Maybe you were not aware of it at the time, but part of being a baron is attending events and socialising with your peers.”
“My peers?” Derek scoffed, slowly shaking his head at such an absurd thought.
“Yes, your peers,” Tristan insisted. “Whether you like it or not, you are now one of them, and that means that it is your responsibility not only to take care of your estate−financially speaking,” Derek’s eyes narrowed at the reminder, “but also about your lineage.”
A low almost inaudible growl escaped Derek’s lips, and a spark of anger came to his gaze.
Undeterred, Tristan went on. “You need to find a wife and produce an heir who will one day inherit your title and continue to look after your dependents,” Tristan leant forward, holding his friend’s rather furious gaze, “the tenants that place their trust in you.”
Born into a simple farmer’s family, Derek had gained fame and glory in the war, working his way up to the rank of a baron. However, never had he forgotten the simple origins he had come from, constantly striving to assist those less fortunate. Below his stern exterior beat a very compassionate heart. It was his Achilles’ heel, and if Tristan had to, he would exploit it to help his friend. “Your tenants need you to put the estate back on its feet,” he continued, ignoring the daggers that shot from Derek’s eyes. “They have been left to fend for themselves for far too long. They need your help.”
“And they will receive it,” Derek grumbled, dark shadows hanging over his head.
“And yet, you stay,” Tristan observed, a question ringing in his voice. “Is there nothing that can persuade you to return to the place that is now rightfully yours?”
Stepping closer, Derek met his eyes openly, a calm serenity resting in them. “Not until I’ve discovered who seeks to harm you.”
“Who seeks to harm me?” Tristan repeated, staring at his friend, a deepening frown on his face. “What are you talking about? You truly believe that−”
“It does not matter what I believe,” Derek interrupted, hands once more linked behind his back, shoulders tense. Like a wall of defiance, he towered in front of Tristan, completely impenetrable.
Tristan sighed. He knew that look on his friend’s face. He knew that if Derek had made up his mind not to say more, nothing could sway him. “Then I assume you will attend the masked ball.”
“Why would you assume that?”
Tristan grinned. “To look after me, of course.”
Derek’s brows drew down in disapproval of his friend’s open manipulation. “I’ll not dress like a peacock.”
Tristan couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, but then quickly turned it into a respectful cough, hoping he hadn’t offended his friend. “I assure you that won’t be necessary.” Then he frowned. “I’ve never had a reason to ask you this, but do you dance?”
Derek’s jaw tensed, and he rolled his eyes.
“I mean, do you know how?”
“I learnt,” Derek finally forced out through gritted teeth. “Though I never excelled at it.”
The thought that there was an area that his friend was not a master in was a strange one indeed. No one had ever seemed more capable. “I’m certain it’ll do. Maybe you’ll even catch the eye of a suitable lady.”
“I’d rather−”
“I understand some people have a hard time seeing past your background as well as your estate’s financial issues,” Tristan quickly added before Derek could growl at him once more−this truly was a sore topic for him!−“however, I am certain that your charms will tip the scales in your favour…once you’ve found the woman of your dreams.”
Derek scoffed, a look of incredulity on his face. “And what about your own matrimonial endeavours? Do you truly hope to find your future wife at the masked ball? Would that be wise?”
“Wise?” Tristan asked. “What do you mean? Are you saying I ought not to marry?” That thought terrified Tristan to no ends as it was a fear he had been harbouring for a while now. What if he never found a woman he could love? A woman who would love him? Would he enter into a marriage of convenience? Or would he remain alone for the rest of his days?
Alone.
It was the one word that seemed to echo through most of his life, especially since he had reached maturity. With each year, he had grown more and more distant from the people around him, even his beloved sister, until he now found himself almost isolated from every amicable emotion he held dear. What did it feel like to be loved?
“I simply meant to suggest caution,” his friend explained, a touch of regret in his dark eyes as he surveyed Tristan’s solemn face. “I never questioned your qualities as a husband, but merely the timing. Do you believe it wise to introduce a wife into your life while your misfortunes continue to haunt you? Would that endanger her as well, I wonder?” Derek’s forehead crinkled in thought.
Tristan blinked. In all honesty, that thought had never occurred to him. However, he had never contemplated that his misfortunes weren’t indeed misfortunes, but rather…
No. He shook his head. That couldn’t be true? Why would anyone want to harm him? He might be obnoxious in his ways sometimes, but that was hardly a reason to take his life.
Pushing that thought away, Tristan forced himself to return to the feeling of anticipation that had coursed through his body before when he had thought of the ball. It was a chance! Another chance! And he would not allow it to slip through his fingers!
Smiling at Derek, Tristan stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Whatever your objections or concerns, my friend, we must not allow them to interfere with the good that surely awaits us. Your outlook at life is a bit bleak at times, you must admit, and I dare you to see it for its possibilities alone…at least for one night. Who knows? Maybe we’ll both find the woman of our dreams in the ballroom that night.”
Once more, Derek rolled his eyes.
And once more, Tristan chose to ignore him.