Chapter 19
“You did not have to do this, Tristan,” Cathy pleaded. “I can tell them you have an estate business to tend to. I could also tell them that you had to deal with serious matters. They would believe anything that has you working or being in a bit of trouble.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow at that. Was he truly like that in the eyes of her family?
He watched the nervous energy emanating from his wife, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her silk-and-lace wrap, frustrated that she could not pull it out without unraveling the whole thing.
Her eyes darted to the right as if she expected her maid to rush to her with a pair of scissors.
Or was she just too eager to escape him?
The scent of the crisp London air and the fencing club still lingered, but hers had begun to dominate his senses. His eyes were on her during her entire fidgety speech.
“I intend to be reasonable, Cathy. We have an arrangement. We are husband and wife, so it would be strange if I did not attend dinner with my wife’s family. Or have you created new rules that forbid me from doing so?”
“In the normal world, you are expected to visit with me,” she replied, her eyes full of warning.
“But my family is nothing short of chaotic. They may know how to behave in public, but at home, it is another matter entirely. I know you are used to precise seating arrangements and soft conversations. Believe me, Your Grace, you will feel quite uncomfortable there.”
Tristan straightened himself, a smile spreading on his face. There was no way he would stay away from such a dinner. She had just made it all the more interesting. He crowded her, the heat from her body so tangible. So close.
“What are you trying to do, Cathy?” he asked. “Are you truly trying to protect me, or are you perhaps hiding me from your family?”
A pretty blush spread from her cheeks to her chest. He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. He meant it to be a quick gesture, but he lingered.
“I believe you already have an idea what my family is like. I do not think you will like being there with us.”
“How do you know what I can or cannot handle?” Tristan asked jokingly. “I have survived quite a few catastrophes. I believe I can survive a family dinner.”
He did not mention that he had barely had family dinners growing up, and he was curious about how normal people actually behaved as a family.
“Well, you may come,” she said with a sigh. “But do not tell me that I did not warn you about them.”
And so, they did go together. The carriage had not even properly halted in front of the residence when the front door swung open wildly, and urgent footsteps followed.
“He is here! The Duke is here! I told you all he would come,” a voice called.
It sounded like Madeline, the second-oldest of the Quinten daughters.
She practically leaped down the steps, a whirlwind of ribbons and curls.
Her youthful energy was intoxicating, and perhaps a little concerning as she ran as if she had no way of stopping, skidding to a halt only inches from the arriving carriage.
Tristan stepped out first, assisting Cathy as she descended.
“Your Grace! You are much taller than the sketches in the papers suggest,” Madeline cried.
“That is not the way to greet your brother-in-law,” Cathy muttered, at the same time as Tristan said, slightly amused, “You have seen me many times before.”
“I know. I can tell just how tall you are when you are this close to Cathy,” the girl remarked.
“Ha! I knew it was something about my height,” Cathy said.
“Dukes are supposed to be stern, but you do not look too stern,” Madeline continued.
“Madeline, let the man breathe,” Cathy admonished, but there was no real anger in her voice. She did look at Tristan with sparkling eyes that seemed to say, “I told you so.” At least, she would be getting some enjoyment in proving herself right.
“I am not stern. I believe your sister holds that title,” he said with a grin, looking at Cathy, who gave him a mock glare.
“I have thousands more questions for you and my sister? Did you ever—”
“May you please invite us inside, dear sister?” Cathy interrupted, batting her lashes comically.
“Oh, apologies, Your Graces,” Madeline said softly, changing into a more respectful tone. “May you please join the rest of us inside?”
Cathy almost choked trying to stifle her laughter. So, they were ushered into the drawing room. Tristan had to adjust to the stark contrast between the polished grandeur of Baxter Hall and the lived-in atmosphere of Cathy’s humble home.
The room was elegant, a testament to Lady Marlow’s dominant personality. However, it also smelled of lavender blending with old books. There was also the faint scent of burnt cinnamon, giving it a homier feeling.
It took Portia a while to notice them. When she did, she stood up and gave a little curtsy.
“Good day. Watch out for the strip of rug closest to the hearth. It is a tripping hazard. My sisters can tell you based on experience. Napoleon is also somewhere nearby, possibly hiding in a cupboard, ready to pounce.”
“Napoleon?” asked Tristan with a grin.
He received a perfunctory nod as a response.
“What are you reading, Miss Portia?” he asked.
“Oh.” Portia looked pleased that the Duke noticed her book. “It is a book on the merits of stoicism.”
“She would talk all day long if you let her,” Cathy warned.
“Well, I am saving you from that,” Portia retorted, burying her nose in the page she was reading once more.
To complete the group of Quinten girls, Selina stepped forward. She smiled brightly, a smile so genuine that one would expect from the young, especially the baby sister of the family. She immediately approached Tristan and took his hand.
“Welcome to our home, Your Grace. Forgive the noise and conversation. We are happy that you have finally joined us for dinner,” she said softly. “Did you know that you have won the heart of someone who is always trying to run away from romance?”
Cathy’s face turned vividly red. “Selina, he did not win anything. Have you not been listening to the conversations among family?”
“Of course, I have,” Selina replied, tilting her chin up. “But I saw the two of you arrive, and how you look like next to each other.”
Tristan watched Cathy and saw the clear discomfort there. He felt protective toward her, but he also felt a twinge in his chest when she said that he had not won anything. It reminded him of what they were, as if he needed any more reminders.
“I am honored to be here, Miss Selina,” Tristan reassured his sister-in-law.
Cathy turned to him with wide eyes. Her lips were slightly parted.
“Let us head for the dining hall,” she managed to choke out.
The Duke and the Quinten girls walked together, chattering nonstop, but he was more focused on his wife. Her shoulders were stiff, indicating she had not yet relaxed.
“His Grace, the Duke of Baxter, and Her Grace, the Duchess,” the butler announced.
The baron and baroness quickly stood from their places at the table and gave polite bows. Tristan could not help but glance at his wife as if to say, “What was it that you were worried about?”
Everything seemed to be perfect until Selina shrieked, “Where is my ribbon? Did you take it again, Maddy?”
“I have told you time and time again that purple is not my color!”
“Girls! Do stop your squabbling at once, and sit down for dinner. We have a guest, so I need you to behave,” Lady Marlow said through a forced smile.
If the drawing room was chaotic, the dining hall was a battlefield where etiquette went to die.
Tristan sat impeccably straight and still, as he was used to.
Meanwhile, the rest of the family sat and ate in chaos.
Portia had brought her book to the table, while Selina was sneakily feeding Napoleon under the table.
Tristan’s eyes darted around the table in surprise, but he did not want to show it. He would be proving Cathy right.
“Portia, would you please pass me the salt?” Selina ordered impatiently, gripping her utensils. “I have been asking for some time now.”
“I am trying to read here, Selina! Use your own hands!”
Selina then stood from her chair and reached out as far as she could to get the salt. Cathy shook her head in disbelief and squeezed her eyes shut in dismay.
“Did you hear the latest gossip about the Stockton girl?” Madeline asked. “She was found near the brook with a mysterious gentleman, quite a distance from their house, and she was not with her maid.”
“Are you trying to find families with scandals that are worse than ours, Maddy?” Portia asked, her eyes not leaving her book even as she fed herself with one hand.
“Grandpapa, stop poking the peas.”
Tristan focused on his plate and wondered whether he should just eat and avoid getting into the conversation.
However, he knew that he insisted on coming and should be a good sport about it.
Cathy, sitting next to him, had her head slightly bowed.
Her hands were gripping her napkin under the table so hard that her knuckles had turned white.
He reached for her hand beneath the table linens and squeezed it.
“It is all right,” he mouthed, smiling at her with what he hoped was a comforting look.
“So, Your Grace,” Madeline began, leaning forward as if she had a secret to tell. “Cathy mentioned you have a grand library, and I imagine it must be larger than the Longroves’.”
Portia finally raised her head from her book, suddenly intent on listening to the main conversation. “I believe we are due for a visit, Maddy.”
“Of course, but... What I would like to know is whether...” Madeline prodded. “I mean... Do you have any of those forbidden French novels Grandmama tries to hide from me?”
“Maddy!” Cathy exclaimed, widening her eyes at her sister.