Chapter Thirty-Four – Worthy
Staring out the window in his uncle’s study, Tristan wondered how it was that he had never noticed his cousin’s hostility. For it had to be a deep-seated hatred, considering his rash behaviour.
“I must say I am thoroughly disappointed in you both,” his uncle said, his voice low as he spoke. Seated behind his desk, he glanced from his son sitting in an armchair in front of him to Tristan, who met his gaze with a sense of disappointment, wondering if they could not have avoided such a confrontation. “After all, you are cousins. There ought to have been a more gentlemanly way to solve your issues.”
His shoulders slumped, Matthew stared at something at the back wall as his jaw clenched and unclenched. Although his hands lay calmly on the armrests of his chair, his fingers drummed nervously, and he kept his gaze averted, unwilling or unable to meet Tristan’s eyes.
“I do agree, Uncle.” Turning from the window, Tristan walked two steps toward his uncle’s desk, his eyes shifting from his father’s brother to his cousin. Maybe it was not yet too late. He took a deep breath. “I understand your anger, Matthew,” he finally said, hoping he could appease his cousin and save both of their lives, “and I admit I have not made it easy for you. However, we are family, and Uncle Randolph is correct, we should have acted better than we did.”
Slowly, Matthew’s head rose, and then his eyes met Tristan’s.
Tristan nodded. “It was the heat of the moment. Neither one of us meant what we said.”
Matthew exhaled, and Tristan thought to see a touch of relief in his gaze.
“Maybe we should−” Tristan began; however, before he could suggest they step back from the duel his cousin had so impulsively challenged him to that morning, his uncle interrupted.
“I’m relieved to hear that your animosities can be overcome.” Rising from his chair, Uncle Randolph leant forward, hands coming to rest on the top of his desk, his piercing eyes meeting his son’s gaze. “However, a challenge once issued and accepted cannot be taken back without loss of reputation. It is now a matter of honour, especially after all the whispers that have been circulating concerning our family ever since my brother’s unfortunate demise.” Straightening, his uncle looked at Tristan. “I shall act as both your seconds considering this is a family matter.”
Stunned at his uncle’s insistence, Tristan stepped forward. “Do you truly believe that necessary? After all, no one knows of the challenge but us. I haven’t even told my wife,” he admitted, cringing inwardly at the memory of her disappointed face.
His uncle snorted, “After the way you argued, I shall not be surprised if your duel is already the gossip of the day among the ton.”
Both cousins frowned.
“Servants talk,” Tristan’s uncle explained as he shook his head at their slowness to understand. “It’s what they do.” He turned to Tristan. “In addition, you have a peer currently residing under your roof, do you not?”
“Derek?” Tristan shook his head. “He would never−”
“Believe what you want,” his uncle interrupted, his face turning red as anger seized him. “But I will not be made a laughing stock because the both of you acted rashly and were then disinclined to honour your word, and I certainly shall not accept the word of a lowly soldier who never ought to have been accepted into the peerage to begin with.” His narrowed eyes shifted from Tristan to his son, who seemed to sink deeper into his chair. “Am I understood?”
Reluctantly, both men nodded.
“Good.” Dropping back into his chair, his uncle dabbed a handkerchief to the perspiration on his brows. “Then we shall meet tomorrow morning at dawn and settle this issue once and for all.”
After the meeting at his uncle’s house, Tristan had returned home in time for supper, which had passed in awkward silence as his wife as well as his friend had eyed him with a mixture of concern and suspicion. However, both had refrained from asking him directly what was going on, and so Tristan had once more left the house after supper and only returned when he had been certain that his wife was asleep.
All night he had lain awake, unable to banish the thoughts that would naturally come to one who found himself on the brink of death. Would he die the next day? Would his cousin? How could things have gone so awry?
Thinking of his wife, Tristan could not believe that now when he had finally found the one woman who could make him truly happy, that happiness was about to be snatched away. If only they could spend the remainder of their days together. If only they could have the children he had always dreamed of. If only they could both…live.
Never had his life meant much to him. Considering all the pain and regret that accompanied him daily, Tristan had sometimes wondered if it would not be better for everyone if one of the attacks he suffered so frequently would finally see him dead. It would not have been a great loss.
Now, it would be.
Rising from his bed in the middle of the night, Tristan went downstairs to his study and began to write a letter to his wife. Should he die or live, there were a few things he wanted her to know.
For better or for worse.
By the time he was finished, the sky already seemed to be greying, changing from the pitch-black of night to the early promise of dawn. Glancing at the clock on his desk, Tristan rose to his feet, then headed toward the foyer and placed his letter on the small silver tray reserved for the daily post. Grafton would see that she received it.
Then he glanced up the long staircase and wished he could simply rush up to his wife’s room and sneak into bed with her. How wonderful it would be to wake up together; to feel her in his arms.
Shaking his head, Tristan closed his eyes. There was no use dwelling on this. If everything went well, he would be home before breakfast was served. If not…
Walking down the front steps to the pavement where his carriage waited at the kerb, Tristan drew in a deep breath of early morning air, forcing his thoughts to remain focused. If he lost his nerve, he would be as good as dead.
“Where are you headed?”
Closing his eyes, Tristan shook his head, a soft smile coming to his face. “I should have known,” he mumbled, then turned and met his friend’s enquiring stare.
“I suppose you should.” Stepping out of the shadows, Derek slowly approached him, his eyes searching, studying as though to unravel a mystery. “It is far too early for someone of your standing to be up,” he observed, his gaze narrowing. “I ask you again: where are you headed?”
“That does not concern you,” Tristan replied, knowing that his friend would be thoroughly disappointed if he knew. Always had Derek reminded him that he was far too easy to kill. Despite the gravity of the situation, Tristan chuckled under his breath.
“You are wrong.” Taking a step closer, Derek came to stand before him, his dark eyes unwavering. “If you refuse to inform me of your intentions, I shall be forced to accompany you.”
Tristan sighed as he glanced at the sky, seeing the colourful streaks slowly stealing across the dark blue. “Do what you must,” he said, then turned and stepped into his carriage.
As they pulled away from the kerb, Tristan found his friend’s scrutinising gaze fixed on his face. “Do you have to stare at me like this?”
Derek shrugged. “If you insist on such foolish behaviour, I believe I do.”
Tristan sighed. Although he wanted to, he could not argue with his friend’s assessment.
After a while, Derek’s gaze occasionally wavered from Tristan’s face, and he glanced out the window, taking in the neighbourhoods they drove through. As they drew nearer to Hyde Park, his friend’s eyes narrowed, and a hard clench came to his jaw.
“You know, don’t you?” Tristan asked, strangely relieved to be ridden of the burden he carried. If only that would also put an end to this, indeed, foolish endeavour.
“I suspect.” Once more fixing his eyes to Tristan’s face, Derek shook his head. “How did he do it?”
Tristan frowned. “Who? What?”
“It was your cousin, was it not?” Derek spat, disgust in his voice as he leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Your uncle sent his own son to kill you.”
Staring at his friend, Tristan swallowed. “You’re mad,” he stammered, too shocked to make sense of the vile words flung at his head.
“And you’re naive.” Shaking his head, Derek leant back in his seat, the look on his face that of exhaustion. “Do you truly believe that this was not your uncle’s doing?”
“This?”
“The duel,” Derek prompted. “What else do men of the ton do in Hyde Park this early in the day? After all, we’ve been here before, haven’t we? Last time, you almost lost your life.”
Tristan swallowed. “I can see that you do not approve, and now, that you’ve voiced your objections, I’d be much obliged if you left.” He drew in a deep breath. “After all, this is a family matter.”
Despite his friend’s relatively impassive face, Tristan could see that the insult stung. If not Derek, then who else could be truly considered family. Had he not acted like a brother all these years? Had he not looked after him like a father would? Had he not always been at his side, selflessly doing whatever needed to be done to ensure Tristan’s well-being? As he was now?
“Well, I suppose I should leave,” Derek mumbled much to Tristan’s surprise. Then he rapped on the roof and bade the coachman to halt the carriage. As he stepped down onto the street, his gaze met Tristan’s. “Good luck,” he whispered, regret and disappointment resting in his dark eyes. Then he turned around and walked away.
As the carriage rumbled on, Tristan rested his head against the back wall and closed his eyes. That, he would not have seen coming! He would have expected Derek to fight him with everything he had. To argue and condemn. To reason and insist. Never had he given up. Why now?
As the gates to Hyde Park came into view, Tristan drew in a deep breath. Although he knew that he ought to turn back, that he ought to cancel the duel no matter the consequences−could they be truly worse than proceeding with such a foolish notion?−Tristan could not.
For in the back of his head, he still feared to be like his father.
It was irrational. Tristan knew that. And yet, he had spent his whole life, berated for deeds he never committed, his uncle’s eyes trained on him, waiting for him to fail, to prove that he was as worthless as his father.
Therefore, whenever his uncle had doubted him in the past, Tristan had risen to the challenge to prove him wrong, to prove to himself that he was indeed worthy.
Worthy to be alive.
Worthy to be respected.
Worthy to be loved.
Loved.
Again, his wife’s face appeared before his inner eye, and for a moment−barely a split second−Tristan wanted nothing more than to turn back and go home.
But he could not.