.
Blythe had barely gotten three hours of sleep when there was a knock on her door and a nervous maid telling her that Tristan wanted to see her. She almost growled at the poor girl before stalking back to brush out her hair and to wash her face at the basin. Unbidden, the maid entered to pull out a gown from her wardrobe.
“Damn him, he could just come and knock instead of sending for me like a servant.”
The maid flinched at her vitriol.
She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Mavis. I'm only tired.”
The maid hesitated, apparently aware that silence was the far safer course, but then she said, “I think he wants to know where you went last night, Miss Dennings.”
Blythe froze, turning toward the girl. “You know that I left the house last night?”
“All the servants know. We've known about your leaving the house at nights for a while.”
Blythe blinked. “So, you kept my secret all this time? Why would you do that?”
It wasn't that she thought she was all that well-liked. She was kind to the servants. She was never too demanding, and she was never abusive. More to the point, if the master of the house thought the servants were doing anything that even helped someone break his rules, he might let the entire staff go. It was something that happened often enough in the ton. No one on the staff, from the butler to the lowliest pot scrubber, could afford to be sent out without a reference.
“Because you helped Dickey's sister all those years ago, Miss Dennings. He said we had to keep your secret, that you must have been doing something important.”
Dickey was one of the footmen, a popular young man who, she now remembered, had a sister who had gotten pregnant. The father of the child proved intractable to the entire situation, and so Blythe had arranged for the girl to go north to deliver the child. She went to Leeds as a young widow with a little child and a glowing reference from Blythe.
“I'm surprised Dickey still remembers me well for that.”
The maid smiled. “It was more than we below stairs ever expected one of the quality to do.”
Blythe smiled at her faintly. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
As she made the familiar trek to the library, she wondered when something in her had changed. She had started acting the missionary to go have adventures, but somewhere along the way, she had gotten involved with the people of London, with the Abeggs, with their friends, with other men and women in London who saw the pain all around them and found themselves desperate to do something to fix it, or to at least alleviate it.
She wasn't the girl she had been before, and there was a wonder to it. Everything was changing so fast, and to have this one piece change as well, the part that had always been something of a guiding star for her, that was alarming and pleasurable at once. Blythe felt somehow as if she were becoming more herself, and she thought back with a smile to what Thomas had said last night. She might have changed him, but she was changing herself as well.
Tristan was behind the desk, a spread of papers in front of him. When she entered, he glanced up with a grim look in his eyes. “Shall I even bother to ask where you were last night?”
Blythe felt an inexplicable moment of freedom fall over her. There was no longer a need for lies. As far as she could tell, the worst had already happened, and now she had to survive it. However, survival or not, she had never really been all that good at holding her tongue.
Blythe lifted her chin. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. You are going to do precisely as you please, and it is all I can do to stop you.”
I would like to see you try, Blythe thought darkly, but it would be pushing Tristan too far to hear her say it. Instead, she stayed silent, her chin lifted up defiantly, and Tristan shook his head. The disgust in his gaze was hard to bear, but she was going to give up mourning her cousin if it killed her.
She thought he would lecture her or tell her there was another ball she was going to be required to attend, but the next words out of his mouth shocked her. “I have an offer for your hand. It is from a Gerald Forth, Lord Cottering.”
Blythe stared at him. “Lord Cottering? I've only met him a few times.”
“I suppose that is why he is so eager to seek your hand.”
“Tristan!”
“Do not expect me to be civil and kind when you insist on running all over the whole of creation at night! What is your relation to Lord Cottering?”
“Tristan, I have none! I have only met this man a few times, and each time, we barely exchanged twenty words. You cannot believe that I will willingly engage myself to some stranger.”
Tristan shot her a sardonic look. “Why not? From a cursory look, Lord Cottering is well-off, belongs to the right clubs, and has been looking for a wife to adorn his estate for some time. He's young but not too young, and he's popular. I fail to see a reason why you would say no.”
Blythe wanted to tug her own hair out in frustration. “You cannot be serious. I don't know him. You cannot simply marry me off like this as if it were the Middle Ages! This is barbaric!”
“It's nothing of the sort. May I remind you that when my father died, I became your guardian. That gives me certain rights and privileges, and I find myself damned tired of looking out for your best interests when you refuse to do the same.”
“What are you talking about?”
Tristan slammed his hand against the desk, standing to his full height and glaring at her.
“I'm talking about the fact that you do not give a damn about your reputation and that you are close to leaving it in shambles. I'm talking about the fact that you run roughshod over all of London, and with a single slip of the tongue, you could destroy any chance you have of a decent home and a decent husband. Do you know what the hell happens to women who run around in the night without protection?”
“I know better than you do,” Blythe snarled.
To her surprise, Tristan pulled back, eyes wide. “Blythe...?”
“What?”
“Did someone hurt you while you were out?”
Blythe blinked. That was not the response she had been expecting. Tristan came around the desk toward her, and he approached her with a kind of caution, almost as if she were some kind of animal he was afraid he might startle off.
The tentativeness of his motion stilled the fuming rage she had become almost accustomed to. He reached out to touch her shoulder before pulling back. "Blythe... if something has happened to you, if someone has hurt you in any way, I need to know."
Blythe shook him off, standing and pacing away. She didn't know if she could stand his sympathy and misplaced worry any more than she could stand his rage.
"No. Nothing has happened to me. If you stopped and asked me, you might realize that I am far more competent than you might fear. I'm fine. I always have been." A thought occurred to her, and she turned to glare at Tristan. "Are you asking because you do not want to sell Lord Cottering a bill of used goods? Are you worried about the family reputation again, Lord Parrington?"
Tristan returned her glare with a stony expression, the sympathy and concern draining from it like water. "I think I liked you better years ago, when you were still happy and quiet. No. I wanted to make sure you were safe, but as you say that you are and that nothing terrible has happened to you, I see no reason to prevent your marriage to Lord Cottering. I think you two will make a fine match, so long as you remember your place and your temper."
"No! Tristan, I utterly refuse! I will not marry the man!"
"You don't have a say in the matter! You will marry him, before God and country, and that will be the end of it."
She knew with a chilling certainty that he could enforce this terrible edict. It was well within his power to force her hand. She had known girls who had gone through this same ordeal.
She opened her mouth to argue, and then she shook her head. "No, I will not waste more of my breath on you."
Blythe heard Tristan call her name, once almost softly, and then again more angrily, but she was already running toward her room.
If Tristan thought she was running back to her room to sulk, all the better. Let him think she was a foolish girl without a plan or without resources. She refused to be his prisoner, and soon enough, he would realize that for himself.