SEVENTEEN
17
T ristan still had a full head of steam when he alighted from his carriage before Buckingham Palace the next morning.
He had meant every word he had said to Isolde—
Protecting her and their life together was his purpose.
He would reduce the entire kingdom to ash in order to ensure her safety and wellbeing.
Thankfully, he had left her curled on a chaise in her private sitting room with instructions to do nothing but rest for the day. He had even sent a footman to the local bookstore to purchase a stack of titles he thought she would enjoy. Hopefully, when he returned later, he could sit beside her and listen as she recounted the worlds she had traveled through words.
Between now and then, he had business to address. His first inclination had been to confront Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia, demand answers for their assault on Isolde and Ledger, decide if he wished to summon the magistrate, and if so, bring criminal charges.
But his cold, calculating Kendall self—the ruthless part of him that plotted enemies’ downfall and silenced opposition—instantly pointed out potential problems with that course of action.
First and foremost, it would pit him against the Duke and Duchess of Andover, and by extension, possibly Queen Victoria herself. Granted, as Kendall, Tristan was not without power and clout, and surely Hadley would add the weight of his political and economic arm to assist Tristan and Isolde in their fight. Even so, openly accusing the daughter of a high-ranking Peer of murder, or even attempted murder, would invite scandal.
Therefore, a modicum of diplomacy might better serve his aims and perhaps avoid steep societal repercussions for himself and Isolde.
Hence his unannounced arrival at the palace.
Mounting the stairs, he handed his hat and calling card to the waiting butler, requesting to speak with the Duchess of Andover.
“I know Her Grace is in residence at the moment,” Tristan said.
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall inquire if Her Grace is at home to visitors.”
For the woman’s sake, Tristan certainly hoped she was.
A few minutes later, the butler returned and led Tristan through a series of staterooms that terminated in a luxurious, but cozy, sitting room.
Two women already occupied an armchair and the sofa—the Duchess of Andover and Queen Victoria herself.
“Kendall.” Queen Victoria inclined her head.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed.
“It is our understanding you wish to speak with Her Grace.” The Queen motioned to the duchess seated opposite.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Silence.
“Well.” The Queen flicked a hand. “Get on with it. I haven’t all day.”
Tristan’s gaze moved to the Duchess of Andover. The glint in her eye said she knew Tristan had come to discuss her daughter’s behavior toward Isolde, and she had no intention of making the conversation easy for him.
Ah, yes.
But did Victoria know about the incident with the Serpentine? And did either lady know about the attack against Ledger?
It scarcely mattered.
Tristan had wanted a battle, and God bless the duchess for providing one.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He turned to the duchess. “Your Grace, I am here to notify you of my intention to evict my cousin and your daughter from my home. They will no longer be welcome at any property owned by the Dukedom of Kendall. I will also be reducing my cousin’s allowance to the barest pittance permissible.”
Tristan would have removed it entirely, but his father’s will had stipulated that some allowance must be given. Unfortunate, but legally binding just the same.
The duchess bore the news with a slow blink of her eyes. “And why, pray tell, are you tossing your own heir from your home and behaving in such an ungentlemanly manner, Kendall?”
Foolish woman.
She was taunting him, assuming that he would have the delicacy to avoid directly besmirching a lady’s honor—detailing Lady Lavinia’s perfidy, for example—in front of the Queen.
Hah!
“Yesterday, as I am sure you are aware,” he said, “Lady Lavinia deliberately pushed my wife, the Duchess of Kendall, into the Serpentine.”
Queen Victoria gasped, her brows drawing into a fine line.
The duchess’s chin dropped and her eyes widened in outrage.
Excellent. So the duchess had not told the queen her version of what had occurred. The lady was not as skilled an opponent as he had supposed.
“Kendall!” Her Majesty said in scandalized tones. “To speak of a lady in such a manner . . .” She fanned her face.
The duchess’s expression morphed into a smirk.
Tristan’s resolve didn’t falter.
“I apologize if the directness of my manner offends, Your Majesty, but I will not be silent when the lives of those I love are placed in jeopardy.”
“Lives were hardly in jeopardy, Kendall. You are being hysterical,” The duchess snorted. “By all accounts, it was a simple accident, and the Duchess of Kendall was unharmed. Her life was certainly never at risk. She swam to the shore and walked home. You forget yourself, Kendall. I was there.”
“My wife is with child, Your Grace,” he spat. “I was speaking primarily of the life of my unborn heir.”
“Oh!” The Queen placed a hand over her heart.
The Duchess of Andover blanched, taking in a sharp breath.
“Furthermore,” Tristan continued, “Lady Lavinia had no understanding that my duchess knows how to swim. She pushed my wife off to a watery grave. Your daughter, Duchess, has much to gain if my wife dies, miscarries our child, or suffers an accident that renders her unable to bear children. So I do not take physical attacks on Isolde’s person lightly. At the moment, I have decided not to bring charges of assault or attempted murder against Lady Lavinia, but that could easily change.”
“Bah!” The duchess waved a careless hand. “Again, you are being histrionic, Kendall. Lady Lavinia assured me that she did not cause the duchess’s fall. It was the children racing around who—”
“Nonsense!” he interrupted. “Two children plus their nurse witnessed what transpired—Lady Lavinia braced both hands on my wife’s upper back and shoved. My sister, as well as Mr. Penn-Leith, were also there, Duchess, and heard the whole of it. And Isolde herself distinctly felt two adult hands push her between the shoulder blades, far higher on her back and with more force than a child could manage. I would tread carefully when questioning the honor of my wife or that of my twin sister.”
“This is all merely hearsay and prattle,” the duchess sniffed. “You can prove nothing against my daughter.”
“Indeed? Shall I file charges of attempted murder against Lady Lavinia then—summon witnesses and let a jury decide her guilt?”
“Kendall!” Victoria admonished. “Cease this crass behavior. I fear your wife’s manner of speech has begun rubbing off on you.”
He bowed to the Queen. “I apologize, Your Majesty, if the manner of my address is distressing, but I will not apologize for its content. I love my wife. I love our unborn child. I will not stand idly by and permit either to be threatened, abused, or harmed. I certainly will no longer house those who wish my duchess and our unborn child ill.”
Both women stared at him.
“Additionally,” he bit out, “it has recently come to my attention that this is not the first time Lady Lavinia has attempted to drown those she perceives as a threat. I learned just yesterday that a lady matching Lady Lavinia’s description hired a street ruffian to push my former secretary into the Thames.”
“Kendall!” Victoria gasped. “This truly is ludicrous! I begin to doubt you are fully in charge of your mental capacities.”
“Hear, hear!” the duchess harrumphed. “Perhaps we should summon a physician.”
“Your Majesty, you know me to be a gentleman of the strictest decorum. I have never once stooped to falsehoods or exaggeration.”
Queen Victoria’s lips pursed as if remembering every past instant of Tristan’s sanctimonious behavior.
“If you doubt my word now,” he continued, “again I say we call a jury and witnesses and let the courts decide this matter. It is my belief that, after reports of my demise, my secretary uncovered proof that Lady Lavinia and my cousin were meddling in my private affairs, likely hatching some plan to declare themselves regents of the duchy, pending my appearance and proof of my sound mental state. Given that they have your ear, Your Majesty, the plan might have worked had I not returned to Town unexpectedly as I did. Regardless, as even temporary regents, they could have plundered the family coffers. My secretary stood between them and that goal, and therefore, they had him sacked and further silenced before he could sound the alarm.”
Victoria stirred in her chair. “Our summons was designed to flush you out, as it were. To verify the true status of your wellbeing. The Dukedom of Kendall is too powerful an entity to permit rumors regarding your health to run rampant. You should have returned to Town much sooner than you did. Such a lack of oversight was badly done on your part, Duke.”
Tristan acknowledged the blow with a nod of his head. “I agree, Your Majesty. Please accept my apologies. I offer no excuse, only that with my private secretary dismissed, no one remained in Town to inform me of the rumors . . . as was my cousin and Lady Lavinia’s plan. Unfortunately, my secretary is still missing, so I may have to open a criminal investigation, regardless. If he is found dead, I will hunt down his murderers, make no mistake. He was a good man and did not deserve such cruelty.”
Glancing at the Duchess of Andover, Tristan noted the color had drained from her face, leaving her skin ashen. Her gaze flitted to his.
She knew.
The lady knew that her daughter had done these things, that Lady Lavinia’s scheming had gone too far. Even Victoria had been concerned for the dukedom, it seemed. The duchess also recognized the dire legal quagmire that she and her family now faced.
Those in upper aristocracy might have their differences, but a conspiracy against a sitting Peer and attempts to kill his lady and unborn heir would be viewed with horror. If Kendall went public with his accusations, even if there were only a thread of proof, the court of public opinion would excoriate Aubrey and Lady Lavinia, and by extension, her parents and family.
Queen Victoria pinched her lips together, her gaze darting between the Duchess of Andover and Kendall, clearly reading the duchess’s concern over her daughter’s guilt.
Tristan continued to hold the duchess’s gaze. “As of yet, I have taken no legal action. It is my hope that my secretary will be found well and whole, and with Lady Lavinia’s dismissal from my presence, these malicious attacks will cease. However, I do not wish to see hide nor hair of Mr. Gilbert and Lady Lavinia for the rest of my days. I have come here today as a courtesy to inform Your Grace that your daughter and son-in-law will soon be homeless. They are no longer welcome at Gilbert House or to set foot on any property owned by the Duchy of Kendall. I suggest removing them to the country post-haste.”
With that, Tristan gave both women a clipped bow and, at the Queen’s flicking hand of dismissal, exited the room.
An hour later , Tristan strode into Gilbert House, his mood greatly improved.
Now, all that remained was clearing his home of vermin.
The voices of Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia wafted out from the breakfast room.
Excellent.
Straightening, he channeled his father’s ghost—gaze steely, mouth a tight slash, jaw stiff. Only one positive had come of his brutal father’s legacy—Tristan’s ability to instantly morph into a cold monster in defense of those he loved.
He paused in the doorway. Aubrey and Lady Lavinia were seated comfortably at the table, enjoying a luncheon of ham, bread, and stewed fruits and quarreling over something in the newspaper before them.
Absorbed, they didn’t notice Tristan at first.
He cleared his throat.
They both paused and looked up at him. Slowly, Aubrey lowered his fork. Lady Lavinia blinked.
Tristan continued to survey them with calculating indifference. The key, he knew, was to speak terrifying things as conversationally and unemotionally as possible.
“Aubrey, Lady Lavinia, there you are. A couple of items. I have reduced your allowance to one-fourth of what it has been. When my heir is born, it will be severed entirely. I never wish to see either of you again. That also means you will never again set foot on property owned by the Duchy of Kendall. Therefore, you have—” Tristan tugged his pocket watch from his waistcoat and made a show of casually studying it. “—precisely fifty-nine minutes to permanently remove yourselves and your belongings from my home.”
He pivoted to leave.
Behind him, chairs screeched and clothing rustled as his cousin and wife stumbled to their feet.
“P-pardon,” Aubrey stammered.
“Your Grace!” Lady Lavinia called.
Tristan turned around, expression blank and indifferent.
Both Aubrey and Lady Lavinia stared at him, their eyes flared and rather wild looking.
Perfect.
“Was anything I said unclear?” Tristan asked. “Your funds have been reduced and you have been banished. You will leave. Now.”
Aubrey spluttered, his cheeks turning a florid shade of red, mouth agape like a carp.
As usual, Lady Lavinia recovered first. “Your Grace, I am at a loss as to understand why this has come about?”
Tristan blinked. “Truly, Lady Lavinia, I did not realize you were so lack-witted. You plotted with your husband to remove myself as paterfamilias , including hiring a ruffian to silence my poor secretary, Mr. Adam Ledger, who I presume had uncovered your scheme. From there, you similarly attempted to drown my duchess and our unborn child by pushing my wife into the Serpentine. Naturally, such unlawful and unsavory behavior would incur consequences.”
“Kendall!” Aubrey recoiled. “Those are most shocking allegations.”
“Truly, Your Grace,” Lady Lavinia agreed, “I do wonder about your mental soundness. I fear I shall have to say something to my parents about your delusional accusations. Perhaps a doctor should be summoned to assess your intellectual fitness.”
Tristan nearly smiled. Their scheming was so transparent now that he understood the depth of their plotting.
“Yes,” he said, voice still emotionless, “Her Majesty expressed a similar sentiment this morning. However, being a woman of sound judgment, Her Majesty immediately changed her opinion as I outlined the evidence and witnesses I have collected of your perfidy, Lady Lavinia. Of course, if you prefer, I would be more than happy to summon the constabulary and accuse you both of attempting to murder my wife, our unborn child, as well as Mr. Adam Ledger. I am content to let a judge and jury decide your fates, if that is your wish.”
Now it was Lady Lavinia’s turn to go deathly white.
Tristan studied his watch again. “You are now down to fifty-five minutes. Every minute that you are here beyond your allotted time, I will reduce Aubrey’s allowance by another half.”
“Y-you can’t do that!” Aubrey shouted.
“I can and I have. I actually wished to discontinue your funds altogether, but my duchess—wet and shivering from her swim in the Serpentine—begged me to reconsider.” This was a small falsehood, but Tristan didn’t care. He speared Lady Lavinia with a sharp look. “So know that every mouthful of food you eat, every bit of coal that keeps you warm, each stitch of clothing on your body comes from her largesse and forbearance.”
Lady Lavinia pressed a hand to her waist.
“But . . . b-but where shall we go?” Aubrey asked.
“To Hell, if you wish. I do not care. But rest assured, you are no longer welcome here.” Tristan consulted his watch once more. “Fifty-three minutes and counting. You may want to start packing.”
Turning, he left the room, ignoring their shouts of protest.
In the end, Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia were three minutes late in exiting Gilbert House.
Lady Lavinia’s angry screeching and the elated smiles of Tristan’s staff were a balm to his soul. As was the blessed silence after Fredericks slammed the front door behind them with a muttered, “Good riddance.”
“Thank you, Fredericks.” Tristan nodded.
“I assure Your Grace, it was my pleasure.”
Finally, Tristan permitted himself a broad smile and a low chuckle.
Fredericks followed suit.
“If you need me, Fredericks, I shall be with my duchess.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
And with that, Tristan took the stairs two at a time.
This , he vowed.
This was how he would spend his days—
Cherishing and defending those he loved.