Don’t Be Gentle with Lord Tristan (Victorian Outcasts #11)

Chapter 1

one

Being called Euphemia Calpurnia and being the thirteenth child of the Earl of Winchester did mean bad luck.

For an hour, Effie had searched for a quiet place to read her book and found none. If she couldn’t find a nice spot for herself in a house with more than twenty bedrooms, then she should move to Grandmama’s dower house and forget London.

Her elder brothers and sisters were either bickering or playing loud games while she wanted to finish the chapter on the muscles of a horse’s back before going to bed.

Her governess thought studying veterinary medicine was a waste of time for an earl’s daughter, but Effie found it fascinating. Women could become physicians and surgeons. It was only a matter of time before they would be veterinary doctors as well. No wasted time at all.

Carrying her precious book, she entered the piano room, but Mary was playing a fast-paced piece of music while James and Lena danced and jumped around.

The big library was taken over by Colin and his rowdy college friends—as if there weren’t enough people in the house already—the small library was occupied by Papa, who was working.

And the sitting room on the ground floor was too close to the street; the noises from the carriages and people passing by thundered.

Now she understood why Mama hated London. Their house in Bedfordshire had more than two hundred rooms, and the birds chirping was the only sound she would hear in her bedroom. She could go an entire day without seeing any of her siblings.

But in London, everything was cramped together, and the house didn’t have enough space for her noisy brothers and sisters and their friends.

Thank goodness she would soon return to Bedfordshire to her horses and dogs.

She had to be content with a small nook next to the window overlooking the garden, in the middle of the corridor. The glass was frosted, and not much light filtered in from the streetlamps. But the glow coming from the hallway was enough to allow her to read.

She barely finished a paragraph when footsteps came from the other side of the hallway. Voices followed. She lowered the book, resigned to being interrupted. Could she have a moment of peace to read?

The butler rushed to knock on the door of the small library.

She kept reading until Papa came out and a new pair of footsteps distracted her. The butler looked flustered. Papa frowned. She put aside the book. The universe had decided she couldn’t study now.

A young man her age walked out of the servants’ door.

His chin was up, but the fear on his tense face belied his confidence.

His dark suit had seen better days if the threadbare fabric at the hems was any indication.

Stopping in front of Papa, the young man removed his worn hat, letting a mop of blond hair fall to his jaw.

She remained still in her corner, lest Papa tell her to leave. The young man couldn’t be one of Colin’s friends.

There was a quick exchange between the butler and Papa, but she didn’t catch any words while the young man nodded several times.

Papa eyed him with concern. “So you are the son of the Marquess of Montcrest.”

“I am, my lord. I’m Lord Tristan.” He gave another nod.

That surprised her.

Lord Tristan didn’t exactly look like a poor man but not like the son of a marquess either, and not just because of his clothes. His face was gaunt, and his hands were bony. Even from her spot, she could see his protruding knuckles.

Living in Bedfordshire for most of the year, she wasn’t informed of everything that happened in London, but she’d heard about the Montcrest family’s fall from grace.

Papa and Lord Tristan spoke in a low tone with the butler who was seemingly shocked by whatever Lord Tristan was saying.

Papa shook his head. “I’m sorry for your situation, but I’m afraid we can’t give you any food.”

Lord Tristan didn’t protest or beg, but the way his shoulders stooped showed his defeat. He didn’t even ask for a reason why Papa had refused to offer help.

Lord Tristan swallowed hard. “My lord.”

He seemed about to say something, but then he headed for the servants’ door and was gone in the darkness of the stairs.

She remained still, in shock. They couldn’t give any food to a young man who was obviously starving? They had plenty of food. Her family was big, and the pantry was always well supplied.

She waited for the butler to leave before knocking on Papa’s door.

“Come in.” He sounded annoyed.

She entered the warm room that smelled of old wood and freshly brewed tea.

He smiled. “Darling. Let me guess. The house is too noisy for you.” He laughed. “Heaven knows you’re just like your mother.”

“Yes, the house is noisy, but I’m not here for that reason.” She stepped deeper into the room. “Don’t be angry, but I happened to have heard the conversation between you and Lord Tristan.”

He leant back in his chair, sighing. “I’m sorry that you heard that. Nasty business.”

“He asked for food. Surely, we can give him some.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple, and I understand the scene looked concerning, but Montcrest is in a terrible situation.”

“Of course, he is if his son begs for food.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Lord Tristan’s grandfather was a suspected traitor to the crown. He also squandered the family’s fortune due to some bad investments, and now his father, the current Marquess of Montcrest, is involved in who knows what scheme to regain his family’s money.”

Lord Tristan’s dejected face haunted her. Who cared about schemes?

“But they’re starving.”

He held up a hand. “The point is, I don’t want to get involved in whatever they’re doing.”

She walked closer. Arguing openly with Papa was never a good strategy. Finesse was required. “Why did Lord Tristan come here? Why did he choose you to ask for help?”

He straightened a few documents on the desk.

“I was with his father at Eton, and we used to be friends before the tragedy struck the Montcrests. First, their financial disaster. Then the supposed high treason. Montcrest and I fell out when he was at the centre of a huge scandal. I guess Montcrest exhausted the list of people to ask for favours.”

“But Lord Tristan has nothing to do with his grandfather’s and father’s problems. He’s a young man who needs food. Please. Help him.”

He scowled. “I won’t be dragged into a scandal. I won’t help a family accused of high treason.”

“Almost accused, and it was Lord Tristan’s grandfather.”

“Effie, darling. These are delicate things you shouldn’t be troubled with.”

“I won’t let someone, who asked for our help, starve when we have the means to help them. I know you have a good heart. You taught me we must be compassionate and help others whenever we can. Were you lying?”

“No, of course not. But this is different.”

She folded her arms over her chest. When diplomacy failed, then a little threat was advised. “I will never take a walk in the woods with you again if you don’t send help to the marquess, and if you refuse to help them, I’ll do it. And if you try to stop me, I’ll tell Mama and Grandmama.”

He stopped tidying his desk. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. I’ll send Grandmama a wire if I have to.”

He waved her away. “Please, darling, leave this matter to me.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Papa, I’m serious. We’ll be as discreet as you want, but we will help them. Because I trust you to do what’s good and right, as you taught me. As you taught all of us. If you don’t do something, I will have trouble trusting you again.”

When he rested his forehead on his hand, she smelled victory.