Page 78 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
She thought of the notices on his knee, the hinge of his mouth when she’d called him hunter, the candlelight caught in the threads of ribbon Flora had tied around his wrist. He contained multitudes that did not speak to one another; wolf and uncle, judge and accompanist.
I know almost nothing about him. Not really. I know of the tragedy he has experienced, but not how he is likely to react in a given situation. Or what to expect of him here, in his home.
At last, she drew the curtains, as if that could erase the fact of his absence, and climbed into the bed. She lay looking up at the ceiling, her hands folded like a supplicant’s on the sheet. If he meant to harm Charles, she would have to choose. If he meant only to hear him and then decide, she would still have to choose. Courage looked different, depending on which man you loved. She closed her eyes and prayed the choice would not be asked of her.
Below, the house shifted on its old bones. Somewhere, a latch settled. Somewhere, a board remembered the weight of footsteps. The woods at the edge of the lawn held their breath, and Christine, listening for the return she desperately wanted and stubbornly doubted, did not hear it. Not that hour. Nor the next. Sleep finally took her.
Twenty-Three
Morning light came early to Duskwood. The house faced the east and, from its height, caught the first slivers of sunlight over the horizon. When Christine entered the breakfast room, the fire was already burning and the silver domes on the sideboard gleamed faintly in the dimness.
Tristan stood by the window, coffee in hand, the collar of his shirt open, and the morning paper folded beneath one arm. He looked more awake than she felt.
“You are an early riser,” she said, taking her seat.
“I am a man who cannot sleep past dawn,” he replied. “Duskwood teaches the habit. The crows outside will not let a man lie idle.”
“I did not hear them at all. I must have been tired,” Christine said.
“Your rooms are one floor below mine, so you will hear them,” Tristan said.
This is a different side to him. Another different side. I have seen the solitary wolf. I have seen the kindly Uncle. Now I see the Lord in his castle. Utterly in command.
“I have been considering,” he said, “that Duskwood has not seen a proper gathering in years. We shall need to correct that, particularly in light of the news we are sharing.”
She blinked. “A gathering?”
“A ball. An engagement ball.” He leaned back slightly, watching her face, “If the notices in London were bait, then a grand celebration here will be the hook. Every gossip in the city will repeat our names. If Charles is alive, he will not resist curiosity for long.”
Christine placed her napkin on her lap and folded it carefully. “You mean to lure him with music and supper.”
“Better than pistols and debt collectors,” he said, “and it will give you what is rightly yours, the freedom to preside as the future Duchess of Duskwood.”
It was an unexpected gesture, and it landed somewhere between compliment and command. The freedom of a duchess. For a girl who had been forbidden even a candle in her room afterdark, the idea of deciding how a ballroom would look was both thrilling and bewildering.
“You mean for me to arrange it?” she asked.
“It is your job,” he said, “Mrs. Fogarty will attend to the practicalities, but the design, the invitations, they will be yours. Let the world see your taste.”
She watched the morning strengthen beyond the window and thought again of the woods. When the silence grew too heavy, she said. “I have something to ask of you.”
He looked up, wary. “Yes?”
“Two people. Constance, the maid at Greystone, and James, the coachman. I have given them positions here.”
The pause that followed was small but noticeable. “Have you indeed?”
“She was desperate,” Christine continued, “the Dowager would have dismissed them both if she learned they meant to marry. It would have ruined them. Here they will work honestly and safely.”
Tristan’s jaw tightened. “You fill my household faster than the steward can count them.”
“You object?”
“I object to surprise,” he pushed his plate aside, “but you do it out of kindness, and I have little defense against that.”
“Then you will let them stay?”
He exhaled slowly. “I will. When is this wedding of theirs to be?”
