Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Ah, Tristan!” Theo exclaimed as she threw her arms around his shoulders, “Where have you been?”
Tristan had only just stepped into the festively decorated and well attended abode of his sister and brother-in-law when his Theo appeared from the crowd with her gentle chastisement.
“Apologies, sister,” Tristan offered, returning her hug. “I did not mean to be so late. I had some business to attend to.”
Theo pulled back, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“And pray tell, what was such business that kept you from your only brother-in-law’s birthday celebration?” She inquired.
Tristan pressed his lips together, barely able to manage the smile on his face.
In truth he had been with Christopher at the gaming hell.
His investigation had turned up very little when his men went to question William Boyle.
The man’s mind had been addled before he’d been sent to prison, and his stay there, it turned out, had only addled him further.
He was of little to no help in getting closer to Perley and the investigation had come to an annoyingly dead end.
“What matters is that I made it,” he replied in a gentle, do not argue with me tone. “Now, where is the man we are celebrating? I have a gift for him.”
Tristan lifted his eyes to the crowded parlor to search for Alistair, but did not see the giant Scot anywhere.
“Oh, pray tell it is not another bottle of whiskey,” Theo groaned, moving to Tristan’s side. “The man owns dozens of breweries yet bottles are all that he has received thus far.”
Tristan chuckled, appreciating the irony.
“It is a pocket watch,” he assured her.
“Oh, how lovely,” Theo sighed, patting his shoulder. “He is in the smoke room with Dominic and the rest of your merry band of brothers. Go, give him your gift, and while you are at it, tell him and the others to join us. It is nearly time to cut the cake.”
“I will,” Tristan agreed.
After kissing Theo on the cheek, he moved out of the busy parlor and toward the smoke room. As he opened the door, his nostrils were quickly filled with the scent of expensive tobacco and whiskey as his ears were assaulted by the loud, raucous laughter of foxed noblemen.
“Tristan!” Alistair roared, his deep voice booming through the smoke room.
Tristan smirked as he easily spotted Alistair, Dominic, Everett, and Hugo gathered together, as per usual, through the crowd of tailored suits. Everyone turned to him, their smiles wide and tad bit lopsided as Tristan made his way toward his friends.
“Many happy returns of your birthday, old boy,” Tristan greeted.
He barely got the words out before the behemoth man wrapped his large arms around Tristan and hugged him so tight that his feet left the floor. The moment before his breath was squeezed from his lungs he caught the heavy scent of whiskey emanating from Alistair’s breath, and wheezed out a laugh.
“Someone opened up their birthday presents, I see,” he choked out.
Alistair’s laughter, along with that of the rest of their friends, was loud and raucous as Tristan was put back on his feet.
“Well it would have been rude, you see,” Alistair said, slurring slightly as he picked up a nearly empty bottle and a clean glass, “To not sample a tipple from each gift.”
“Very rude,” Dominic added, swaying a bit as he raised his glass. “You must catch up, though. I believe it is mandatory.”
“We cannot offend anyone,” Hugo added, his dark eyes glassy.
“Our wives would be most displeased if we were not well-mannered,” Everett added through a lopsided grin.
Tristan rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine. It had been a long time since he and his friends had let a little loose and after all of their success, they certainly deserved it. Alistair swayed a little as he emptied the bottle into the new glass, nearly filling it to brim.
Under most circumstances Tristan would make a jest about the amount in the glass, but tonight, he simply took it. After the lack of progress in their investigation, he could do with getting a little foxed himself.
“To Alistair’s birth,” Tristan said, raising his glass in a toast, “And the many years he may have left.”
His four friends clinked their glasses to his.
“To Alistair’s birth!” His friends shouted in unison.
Their cheers were so loud that the rest of the room caught on, and in the next moment, the room erupted with shouts of congratulations.
Tristan chuckled at the sight around him, and threw back half of the glass down his throat.
His head spun delightfully as the whiskey burned down his throat and into his stomach.
Dominic was right, he did need to catch up.
He held out his empty glass and someone immediately filled it. He knocked it back after lifting it toward his friends, this time without a toast.
“Here, old boy,” Tristan said, taking the small box from his inner jacket pocket, “Take this before I become too foxed to give it to you.”
Alistair took the gift and opened it quickly with fumbling fingers, and again Tristan smirked at how inebriated his friends were. When Alistair managed the silver pocket watch from the box though, Tristan was caught off guard when the giant Scotsman’s eyes misted.
“All right there, old boy?” Tristan asked, half-jesting, half-serious.
“It is such a wonderful gift,” Alistair slurred, holding it up, “And a pointed reminder.”
Tristan raised a curious brow.
“A reminder of what, old boy?” He asked.
“That time is constantly running out,” Alistair said with a heavy sigh, “And that this is the only way we can truly hold it.”
He wrapped his large fingers around the pocket watch slowly, pressing it tightly to his palm as they all fell silent for a moment. They all knew of how Alistair had lost his family at a fairly young age, and that both he and Theo struggled with the reality of mortality.
“Ease away, old boy,” Dominic insisted, clapping Alistair on the back. “Tonight is for celebration, not mourning.”
“Indeed,” Everett added, lightly tapping his knuckles against Alistair’s chin, “And there is much to celebrate. Your birthday. Our business. The news of your new babe.”
“No tears tonight, my friend,” Hugo encouraged. “Save them for later, when Tristan beats you in a round of boxing.”
Emphatic laughter burst out of the five of them, and Alistair nodded.
“Ye are all right, of course,” he agreed, gathering himself. “There is much life to live. Much happiness to experience. Theo wants to announce her our second child tonight, and I should be focusing on that.”
“Agreed,” Tristan said, “And speaking of, she told me I was to bring you to the parlor. She says that it is time for your cake. Perfect timing, too. I believe some sweets would be good to soak up some of that whiskey in your belly.”
They all laughed again and nodded in agreement.
A moment later Alistair made the announcement, and the men began to filter out toward the parlor.
As the room began to empty though, Tristan caught sight of the only person that wasn’t dressed in a suit, and the familiar blue of her dress had a jolt moving through Tristan’s body.
There in the corner of the smoke room, betraying all of society’s rules, stood Ophelia, deep in conversation with the man that had made Tristan bristle at the ball. The man he’d questioned Alistair about.
There, standing in front of Ophelia, was Abraham Blackwood- and his hand was firmly planted on his shoulder.
“Tristan? Tristan!” Hugo’s voice boomed in Tristan’s ear, making him jump.
“God’s teeth, what are you shouting for?” Tristan demanded.
He’d watched intently, his anger simmering as Abraham nodded toward the leaving crowd.
His eyes remained fixed on them when the man had placed his hand on Ophelia’s lower back to lead her out of the room.
Even still a moment later, when he leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
Something that had her laugh and look back at him with a dazzling smile.
“Well, you have been standing here like a statue for the last several minutes, and everyone else has left,” Hugo explained. “Are you well?”
“Fine,” Tristan grit out, then blew out a breath. “Just did not expect to see Weavington here.”
“Ah,” Hugo said, walking with Tristan toward the parlor, “I believe Theo had invited him for Ophelia. Since they seemed to get along so well at the ball and all. I am assuming that your sister is trying her hand at matchmaker.”
“Wonderful,” Tristan said dryly.
In the parlor, Tristan tried to keep his attention on his sister and brother-in-law as they sang a birthday song and made speeches of thanks and announcements of an expected child.
Try as he might though, Tristan’s focus stayed steadily on Ophelia and Weavington.
He caught every one of her smiles. Every laugh. And with each one, his mood grew worse.
She seemed to grow a little more beautiful every time he saw her now.
He’d never noticed before how well blue complimented her complexion and eyes.
The gown she’d chosen for the evening was in a damask pattern of cobalt blue.
It’s modest design had a high collar and long sleeves, but it fit her figure perfectly, and flared at the precise place on her hips that would show off an alluring hint of her curves.
Her hair was twisted up in a sophisticated updo, with a single, long curl tumbling down the left side of her pink cheek.
His fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear. His lips tingled to brush over her blush-filled cheek, her jawline, her throat…The memory of her taste exploded on his tongue, and he was suddenly hungry for her again.
“You were right about the cake,” Alistair said, appearing at his side.
Tristan forced his gaze away from Ophelia and looked over at his brother-in-law, who was attacking a slice of white cake with gusto.
When had the speeches stopped? When had they moved on to cutting the cake?