Chapter Twenty-Two
Inside the London study of the Duke of Suttenberg, Tristan shook the duke’s hand. “I thank you, Your Grace, for your guidance, and will give that serious thought.”
“My pleasure.” Grinning, the duke eyed him. “I must say, I am a bit surprised you are considering serving in Parliament. I admit, I don’t know you well, but your reputation does not paint you as that sort.”
Tristan winced. “I admit I had a few wild years, but I have grown dissatisfied with the emptiness of it all. I had a rather eye-opening experience that has given me reason to consider my purpose. I wish to do something that matters. This may be what I seek.”
The duke regarded him with thoughtful eyes. “Serving king and country is a great place to start. There are other ways one can find meaning—small and simple ways.”
“Like the school my sister-in-law and Leticia Wentworth have funded.”
“Yes, a worthy cause to be sure. Also, simply placing another’s wishes ahead of your own can be strangely gratifying.”
Tristan considered. Aware of a hovering servant who no doubt bore a message for His Grace, Tristan bowed, thanked him again, and left the ducal residence with clearer goals and a knowledge of requirements he must meet in order to serve as a Member of Parliament. He had only to decide now if he should take this path.
Wordsworth said:
“…And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows…”
Leticia would, no doubt, approve if he went into Parliament. However, he refused to take a position simply to impress her or prove to her he’d changed. No, he must be certain he wished to serve in order to make a meaningful contribution.
“Barrett!” Armand Palmer called and waved.
Tristan looked up at the familiar voice. “Good afternoon, Palmer.”
“I haven’t seen you in an age. Where’ve you been?”
Did he not know? “Recovering from the accident.” Not that Palmer or any of his friends had paid him a call.
Palmer sobered. “Oh right. Bad luck, that. Appleton was a good egg—miss the bloke. Miss you, too. Good to see you up and about. You looked half dead when they carried you off. Do join me. Catch up, and all that rot.”
“Where are you bound?”
“The White Stag.” Palmer launched into a favorite drinking song.
Tristan glanced around in the event anyone might have overheard the bawdy song, but no one of polite company seemed to be nearby. “Thank you, but I have another engagement. Perhaps another time.”
“As you wish. Good to see you. Truly.”
“You, as well.”
They bade farewell and parted. Odd, but Tristan hadn’t missed his old friends. He’d been so involved in finding prospects for Leticia, then recovering from his accident, he had failed to notice their absence. Still, he should have jumped at the opportunity to enjoy the comfortable familiarity of their friendship. Time in their presence held little appeal at the moment, however. Perhaps the group held less interest without Appleton.
How sad that he didn’t remember those last few moments of Appleton’s life. It seemed too cruel that fate snatched away their last moment as friends.
Or perhaps fate had given him a gift. Memories of Appleton’s laughing face as they steeple chased, their outrageous dares, bets and other tomfoolery, remained untainted by the scene of his death.
Tristan rode through the streets under a cloudless sky, passing St. James Park as a balloon rose from the trees like a silvery sunrise. As a child, he’d ridden a gas balloon, a rare, cherished memory with his father and brother. His mother had declined, choosing to wave at them from the ground. She’d been happy then, giving no indication she would one day leave.
Richard had hung on to the basket with one hand and to the back of Tristan’s coat with the other—always protecting Tristan. Tristan had laughed and leaned out as far as he could, exhilarated at the sensation of flight. As he grew, he considered such past times mundane. Still, racing and drinking and carousing had not eclipsed sweet family moments such as balloon rides.
He arrived at Mrs. Tallier’s house, but paused at the front steps. Was today their at-home hours? Did it matter? He and Leticia had been friends so long that they never used to stand on ceremony, but now that he sought to be respectable, should he observe social niceties such as a lady’s at-home hours?
If Tristan were to win Leticia’s heart away from either Captain Kensington or Lord Bradbury, he must use any advantage. Moreover, he was already here.
Leticia, Isabella, and Mrs. Tallier greeted him in the parlor. Tristan’s focus narrowed on Leticia.
She eyed him. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, yes, no need to worry. I am feeling quite the thing.”
She smiled and all seemed right with the world. If only that smile could greet him every morning and be the last thing he’d see at night.
She approached him. “Are you sure you’re well?”
He grinned and took her hand. “Never better. It’s a sunny day. Come enjoy it with me. We could ride to the park. Go on the balloon, if you so desire.”
“The gas balloon?”
“Have you ever done it?”
She faltered, cast a glance in the direction of her sister and aunt. “No, but I can’t today.”
“No? You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?” he teased.
“I can’t go today. I…already have plans.”
“Oh? It’s too late for shopping. What are these plans?” He gave her his most charming smile.
She hesitated again. “I’m going riding with Captain Kensington.”
He deflated. Kensington. Curse the man. He had claimed no interest in marriage, so why take Leticia riding?
Tristan mustered on and collected his smile. “No matter. How about the theater tomorrow? Richard and Elizabeth will be there, too. You are all welcome.” He spread his arms to encompass the other two ladies.
A pained expression overcame Leticia. “We are already going with Lord Bradbury.”
He swallowed. His brilliant plan to find her a respectable husband appeared to be paying off…too well.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I can go with you Friday afternoon, if you wish.”
He clawed at his composure and summoned a savoir faire expression. “Of course, Tish. No matter. The weather may dictate our actions. If the weather is clear again, we shall brave the gas balloon. If not, perhaps…” he had no clear social calendar and could think of nothing to suggest.
“I have yet to view the Parthenon Sculptures,” she suggested.
He raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you were a connoisseur of art.”
“Not necessarily, but I do enjoy seeing items of historical interest and taking in sights unique to London.”
“Your wish is my command, fair lady. We shall view the marble sculptures at the British Museum.” He released her hand, stepped back, and made a low, flourishing bow. Turning to Leticia’s aunt and sister, he bade them all good day and left.
Outside, Tristan let out a huff. So much for his plan. At least he had Friday. He toyed with the idea of joining Palmer and his other friends at the White Stag and drinking away his cares. The lure of mind-numbing drink and laughing with his old friends called to him like a siren’s song.
That would put him back on that same path leading to the same dead end where he’d wallowed far too long. People counted on him. Cared about him. He had a reason to live—not exist for the next mindless pleasure.
Taking advantage of the clear, cloudless day, he walked, not paying attention to his direction as he scrambled to find his own place in the world. Richard had always known his place; as a child, he’d been groomed to be the next earl and he excelled at his duties. When they were younger, Richard had taught Tristan some matters of estate as a side-thought in the unlikely event something happened to Richard, but Tristan had never paid much attention to the instruction, instead studying literature and poetry for his own enjoyment. He got his degree at Cambridge almost by accident.
But now, now he wanted—needed—more. An identity. A purpose. Perhaps he could help Richard by taking over the management of one or two of the properties. It would have the dual purpose of lightening Richard’s heavy load so he could focus on his wife. Helping Richard could be a gesture of gratitude for all the years that he’d watched over Tristan, and it might help in Tristan’s search for his own purpose.
He sent a note to Richard, asking to meet him outside of Parliament tomorrow after the next session. Richard’s reply came promptly.
The following afternoon, he dressed in fashionable yet understated clothing and set out for Parliament. Outside, he gazed up at the timeless structure that had helped shape British history and law. To be a part of that felt a sobering responsibility.
Members of Parliament left the building in small groups and Tristan wandered up the long sidewalk to the front steps, staring like a gawking child at the graceful spires pointing heavenward. He felt small. Yet, to be connected with something that grand, that important appealed to him.
Richard strode down the steps between the Duke of Suttenberg and Lord Bradbury, their expressions light. Richard’s laugh rang out and he shook his head. Tristan grinned at the contagious sound. Since his marriage, Richard smiled and laughed more often. He gave all the credit to Elizabeth.
The moment Richard caught sight of Tristan, his posture changed—not tense, but…what? Wary? Expectant?
“Tristan,” he called. “Come to White’s?”
Tristan nodded and waited for them to approach. They exchanged greetings, the other two lords declining an invitation to accompany them, and Tristan joined his brother in Richard’s waiting coach.
Seated across from Tristan, Richard eyed him. “What is on your mind?”
Tristan clasped his hands together. “Don’t laugh. And don’t faint. But I am here to ask you if I can help with the estate. Or anything.”
Richard’s eyebrows shot up.
Tristan added, “I could take over some small detail. Perhaps manage one of the properties, or help with a specific aspect that affects all of them. I don’t know much about crops, but I have a passing knowledge of structures, bridges…” He shrugged. It had all sounded better in his head. Now that he had voiced it, it seemed paltry.
Richard cocked his head to one side. “You want to help? Why?”
“I want to do something to pay you back for all the times you’ve been there for me. I’d like to try to ease your burdens. To be honest, I don’t know what to suggest, except…” an idea came to him as he spoke. “I could visit some of the properties, inspect the house and the tenants. Speak with the stewards. You wouldn’t have to travel as much. You could spend more time with your wife.”
Richard’s disbelief transformed to speculation and then serious consideration. “I could have you view the property in Northumbria—I haven’t been there in years. And I have never visited the property in Cornwall that came as part of Mama’s dowry. It’s fallen into a fair state of disrepair with only an aged caretaker.”
Tristan nodded. “I’d be happy to see what it needs. I could go to both places.”
Richard studied him. “What’s on your mind?”
Spreading his hands out, Tristan searched for an answer. He shook his head, rejecting every poetic phrase that entered his mind. Richard hated when Tristan waxed poetic. Finally, he settled with, “I owe you much, so I thought you were the one I should try to help first.”
A pause. A long one. Richard went still, a sign of deep thought. At last, he shifted and gave a loose wave. “Very well, I welcome the assistance. Cornwall is a higher priority. It will take you at least a week to get there, and this time of year, the roads could be bad. Perhaps visit this summer, but in the meantime, open a correspondence with the caretaker?”
A week. If he left town to oversee that property, he’d be gone two and a half to three weeks, which would take him away from Leticia for far too long. But if that’s what Richard needed, Tristan would see to it.
He nodded. “I’ll begin at once.”
Richard’s mouth quirked to one side. “You’re serious about this.”
“I am.” Tristan looked him straight in the eye.
As if realizing the reason for Tristan’s change in behavior, Richard sobered. “You don’t have to do this as penance, you know.”
Tristan studied his hands before spreading them wide. “I want to do more. I want to be more.”
Richard leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s help you find more.”
“Thank you.”
For the first time in who knew how long, Tristan had goals; learn all he could about the possibility of running in the next election for the House of Commons, ease some of Richard’s burdens, help Elizabeth and Leticia with their school, and become a man who could hold up his head in polite company, the kind of man Leticia deserved.
If he were to crowd out Kensington and Bradbury, he must get more creative. No matter. He excelled at creativity. He looked forward to the challenge of winning the heart and hand of his dearest friend, whom he could never let out of his life.