Page 85 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
He inclined his head. “I will try to make a habit of it, my lady.”
Selina laughed. “You must come in at once. Dominic is away inspecting the northern farms; he will be wretched to have missed you. He has been positively unbearable since you told us of your betrothal. Keeps muttering that no man deserves his sister-in-law.”
Christine flushed. “Selina, please…”
But her sister’s smile only widened. “You may spare me modesty, dearest. I know a contented woman when I see one.”
Inside, Birchfield was all warmth and light. It was a stark contrast to Duskwood. The air was filled with the scent of beeswax and roses, the faint sound of a clock ticking somewhere down the corridor. The house had always felt like Selina, graceful but unpretentious, welcoming as a hearth. Christine felt a pang as she stepped inside. That her own new home was not so welcoming. That she might not have the time to remedy that. Or the right.
As they were led into the drawing room, Christine caught sight of a cradle half-shrouded in muslin by the fire, a soft reminder of the child soon to come.
“You are sure that you are up to this?” Christine asked, “I do not want to be a burden if…”
Selina took her sister’s hands in her own. “I am far better than…you have believed.”
She paused, a shadow crossing her face. Her smile slipped but returned quickly.
“Selina?”
“A momentary twinge. Nothing at all to worry about,” Selina said, “I should have written sooner myself, but Tristan’s letter was, well…disarmingly frank.”
Christine’s cheeks burned. “Was it?”
“It was. He made it clear he thought a visit was essential to your well-being. I could hardly deny such concern.”
Christine looked at Tristan, who was watching quietly.
A wolf at bay.
“He and I shall have words about impositions,” Christine promised.
“Not a bit of it, Christine. I have been looking forward to seeing you,” Selina replied.
She lowered her voice, for Christine’s ears alone.
“He is a very handsome fellow. Almost on a par with my Dominic. You are a lucky woman, Christine.”
“Appearances are not everything, and you are too quick to believe in happy endings,” Christine replied.
“Nonsense. I have lived one.”
Tristan stood looking out of the window, pretending to be alone in the room. His posture was relaxed, his gaze on the gardens beyond. Christine, watching him, felt a pang, an ache that mingled tenderness with guilt. She wished she could tell Selina the truth, but could not bring herself to do it.
If I did, Selina would want me here with her, and I cannot allow that until I am positive she is well enough.
Despite her protestations, it did not take long before Selina’s eyes became heavy, and even holding her head up looked like an effort. Christine sent her to bed for a nap, brooking no resistance and recruiting the butler as her ally. Later, while Selina rested, Christine joined Tristan on the terrace overlooking the lawn. The air smelled of lavender and warm stone.
“You did this for me,” she said softly, “you knew how much I wished to see her.”
“I thought you would prefer a morning without worry,” he said simply.
She hesitated. “Tristan… she does not know the truth. About us.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t tell her.”
He looked down at her, eyes shadowed by sunlight. “I had no intention of doing so.”
