Chapter Thirty-Three – A Looming Threat
“My lord.”
Looking up from his desk, Tristan found his butler standing in the doorway, his usual frown darker than most days. “Yes, Grafton, what is it?”
“Mr. Turner is here to see you.”
“My uncle?” Rising from his chair, Tristan brushed his hands down the front of his jacket. What was he doing here? In the past weeks since Tristan’s wedding, he had only come to the house three times, and it had been on his wife’s urgings.
“I beg your pardon,” Grafton mumbled, casting a weary glance over his shoulder. “Mr. Matthew Turner.”
“Oh.” Yet another surprise. “Send him in.”
Bowing his head, Grafton disappeared, his old feet shuffling back to the foyer. Moments later, a stampede of thundering boots approached Tristan’s study, and his brows drew down in confusion. Was something wrong?
The moment his cousin burst through the door, throwing the same shut with a loud bang, it became unmistakable that his visit did not bide well. “I need to speak with you,” he snapped, long strides carrying him to Tristan’s desk.
“So, it would appear,” Tristan mumbled, trying to make sense of the change in his cousin’s attitude. Always had he known him to be a calm and rather collected man. This sudden outburst was indeed troubling. “What is the matter? Is something wrong?”
Matthew scoffed, “Do not act as though you do not know what is happening.” He shook his head, a snarl distorting his kind face. “After all, it was your doing. Your careless and reckless behaviour is what brought our family to the brink of ruination.”
Flabbergasted by his cousin’s vague accusations, Tristan rounded the desk. “What on earth are you talking about? What has happened?” Then an all too familiar feeling rose in his chest, and his eyes narrowed. “What affront−according to your judgement− have I committed now? What are you laying at my door today?”
“Do not act as though you’re the innocent victim in all of this,” his cousin retorted, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the hat in his hands. “Father is beside himself with grief and disappointment. We had to call the doctor to the house. I assure you the situation is quite grave.”
Shaking his head, Tristan stared at his cousin, confusion rather than anger hardening his features. “Would you please tell me what you’re talking about? Why is Uncle Randolph beside himself? What happened?”
“Do not act as though you don’t k−”
“But, I don’t!”
His cousin drew in a deep breath, then carefully set his hat down on Tristan’s desk. “This is about your wife’s rude and incredibly disrespectful behaviour at the ball. A ball that my father held in your honour to show his support. Even after everything you’ve done, he was still willing to put the past behind him, and this is how you thank him.”
Gritting his teeth, Tristan fumed. “Although I have no notion of what specifically you’re referring to, I am certain that it is a misunderstanding. My wife was perfectly polite and respectful at the ball. I’ve never known her to be anything less.”
His cousin snorted, “How long have you known her? A few months? Barely an hour before you proposed?” He shook his head in disapproval, his nostrils flaring as he regarded Tristan with derision.
“That,” Tristan forced out through gritted teeth, “is none of your concern.” He swallowed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Now, if you do not wish to inform me what exactly you’re accusing my wife of, then I’d appreciate it if you would kindly leave my house.”
For a moment, Matthew’s eyes remained fixed on Tristan’s face, slightly narrowing as his gaze seemed to try and see below the words Tristan had spoken. “I cannot believe you’re not aware of her duplicity.”
“Matthew!”
“Father overheard her speaking to a maid,” his cousin snapped, his brows raising as though that statement alone should have been enough.
“So?”
His cousin’s jaw tensed. “She was laughing when she told her how easily she managed to deceive you. She spoke of how she trapped you into marriage and made you believe every word she said, even against your own family. In fact, she pointed out that all she had left to do was to estrange you from us so that she could manipulate you more easily.”
Tristan’s teeth ground together, and the muscles in his jaw were ready to snap as he stared at his cousin, his words buzzing in his ears. “He said that?” he forced out, his own voice sounding strangled. Although in his heart, Tristan knew that Beth had not lied to him, a tiny spark of doubt sprang to life, whispering that he was not worthy of her love…or anyone else’s. Did she truly love him? Could that be?
“Of course, Father’s suspicions work against her,” Matthew pointed out, his own anger slowly building as he regarded his cousin with apprehension. “How could you allow this to happen? We’re your family. Is it truly so easy for you to disregard us?”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “Did Uncle Randolph truly say that?” he demanded as a dark suspicion formed in his mind. “Or do you merely seek to drive a wedge between us? Have you not always been jealous because you had to share your father with me?”
Shocked into silence, Matthew was rooted to the spot as steam rose from his ears. “How dare you?” he hissed. “After everything we have done. After everything I have done to pull you out of one scrape after the other. Choosing such−”
“You?” Tristan snapped, his mind boggling. “How exactly did you help me? You merely berated me!”
Ignoring his cousin’s objection, Matthew droned on. “Choosing such a wife is the ultimate insult. You’re ruining the only family you have left. A family who’s worked tirelessly to help you. Time and time again.” Gritting his teeth, Matthew shook his head, his eyes burning with rage. “You do not deserve a better fate than your father’s.”
Tristan almost toppled over.
***
Returning home, Beth found her fingers still trembling with the scene she had witnessed that morning. Again and again, she saw her father’s angry face and her half-sister’s wide eyes, and although her grandmother’s courage filled her with pride, she knew that there was little the dowager could do to protect Adelaide. They had to find her a husband. Someone who would love her, consider himself lucky to have her as his wife and never hurt her.
But where did one find such a man? After all, her grandmother was not wrong. At least half the gentlemen of the ton were pompous halfwits.
A soft smile came to Beth’s lips as she crossed the foyer on her way to her husband’s study. How fortunate she was to have found a man she could love and who loved her back! If only Adelaide could be so fortunate as well.
As Beth reached out a hand for the doorknob, the heavy door was flung open and her husband’s cousin stormed out, his face dark-red with rage. When he saw her, he pulled up short and his eyes narrowed into slits as he regarded her, his lips twisted into a snarl.
“Mr. Turner,” Beth greeted him, surprised to see him so enraged. Whenever they had met before, he had always been polite, only a soft echo of his father’s hostility edged into his eyes.
Now, however, the murderous gleam in his gaze nearly stole her breath. “My lady,” he growled out, and Beth had no trouble detecting the insult as he brushed past her.
Looking after him, Beth tried to collect her thoughts before she entered her husband’s study and found him slumped in his chair, head resting in his hands. “Is something wrong?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
At the sound of her voice, her husband’s head snapped up, and for a moment, he stared at her as though he had forgotten her existence. Then he cleared his throat and began shuffling through some papers on his desk. “Not at all,” he mumbled, his voice distant. “Merely a disagreement.”
“A disagreement?” Beth repeated, her voice doubtful, as she eyed the paling bruise on her husband’s jaw with concern. “What kind of disagreement?”
He drew in a long breath, and she could see that he was weighing his words. Then he lifted his head and smiled at her. “It is nothing,” he insisted, his shoulders tense. “Listen, I have an appointment for which I cannot afford to be late, but I shall see you tonight for supper.”
“Will you not tell me what is going on?” Beth asked, approaching him slowly, her eyes fixed on his face. “You seem rather shaken.”
A strained laugh emerged from his lips. “Truly, it is nothing,” he insisted yet again and made for the door.
“Don’t lie to me!” Beth snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
He stopped mid-stride, and his shoulders slumped. Then he slowly turned to face her, regret clouding his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his feet planted firmly on the floor as though he had to force himself not to approach her. “I did not mean to lie to you; however, I cannot speak about…this at present.”
“Then tell me that,” Beth demanded. “I’m not a child you need to coddle. I can bear whatever you can bear. Lies do not protect. They inflict pain.” She held his gaze. “You ought to know that.”
“You’re right,” he said, nodding his head. “I’m sorry. I shall not do it again.”
“Thank you.”
“But I must go,” her husband said, the look in his eyes betraying how conflicted he felt.
What had happened between the two cousins? Beth wondered as she watched her husband walk out the door. Then with no more than a moment’s hesitation, she hurried along the corridor. Crossing the foyer, Beth gestured to Grafton. “Is Lord Ainsworth in the house?” she asked, a dark sense of foreboding claiming her heart. Had Matthew acted on his father’s behalf?
“I believe he’s in the library, my lady,” the elderly butler answered. “He returned shortly after yourself.”
“Thank you.” Hurrying her step, Beth slipped into the library, her eyes searching for her husband’s best friend.
Seated in an armchair by the large stone fireplace at the back wall, Lord Ainsworth had a book opened on his lap, his finger tapping on the right page, lips moving as though he was trying to commit something to memory. When he heard her approach, he immediately rose to his feet. “My lady.”
“I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you,” Beth apologised, but he waved her concerns way, his eyes narrowing as they regarded her flushed face. “Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly.” Gesturing to one of the armchairs, he waited until she had taken a seat before reclaiming the one he had vacated only moments earlier. “Is something wrong?” Again, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “Tristan?”
“I’m afraid so.” Not knowing how to explain the fear that grew in her heart with each minute that passed, Beth gestured wildly, her mouth opening and closing randomly. Annoyed with herself, she curled her hands into her skirts and drew in a deep breath. Then she looked up and met Lord Ainsworth’s eyes. “Something is very wrong.”
In answer, he leant forward, listening intently.
“To tell you the truth,” Beth admitted, “I do not have the slightest inkling what, but I know that something happened this morning. My husband’s cousin paid him a visit, and when he left, he was…,” she shook her head, searching for the right word, “enraged. I’ve never seen him like this. And Tristan, he was evasive. He wouldn’t tell me what had happened. But from the look in his eyes, I could tell that it had shaken him to his core.” Drawing in a deep breath, Beth felt her hands still now that her thoughts were out in the open. “Do you think his uncle could have anything to do with that?”
“Quite possibly,” Lord Ainsworth confirmed, his voice harsh as his mind worked to make sense of Beth’s observations. “However misguided by his father’s influence, I do believe Matthew Turner to be a decent man, a man of honour and loyalty. Nevertheless, even the noblest of intentions can be misused for evil deeds.” He drew in a slow breath as his elbows came to rest on his knees, his hands folded, fingers drumming.
For a long moment, he remained silent, and Beth wondered if this would ever end or if they were doomed to evade Mr. Turner’s schemes for the rest of their lives.
“As far as I’ve observed,” Lord Ainsworth said, his eyes distant as he recalled instances of the past, “the two cousins have always had a rather strained relationship. Since Mr. Turner’s attention has been mostly focused on Tristan−although in a negative way−his son has grown to resent Tristan for stealing his father’s attention. However, I do not believe that to be sufficient motivation for the younger Mr. Turner to do something rash. After all, he never has. Not in all these years. So, what is different now?”
Beth swallowed. “Maybe his father influenced him.”
“To do what?” Lord Ainsworth asked, his brows rising. “Tristan said nothing to give any indication?”
Beth shook her head, cursing herself for not insisting he tell her what had happened.
“Do not worry yourself, my lady,” Lord Ainsworth said as he rose from his chair. “I shall find out.”