Chapter 21
Tristan had been telling himself that Brandon had been right for three days.
The awkwardness that had settled over Baxter Hall was even worse than the first days of their marriage.
They had not spoken since that night. He had heard her leave early in the mornings and return late, and he had let her, because he did not yet know what he would say if he found her in a room and she looked at him the way she had that night.
He had told himself that this was for the best. That he had been right to say what he said. That a man in his position could not afford to want things that were not freely given.
But by the third evening, he was no longer certain of anything except that he could not sit across a dining table from her in silence and pretend that none of it had happened. That there had not been something growing between them.
He was not going back to the beginning.
‘I want you to want me.’
Cathy could not stop thinking about her husband’s words.
The trouble was that she did want him.
She had simply been too frightened to admit it.
But to tell her that she would beg? The anger his words had provoked sustained her enough for her to work furiously on her ledgers every single day.
Three days later, though, alone at her desk with ink on her fingers and figures that refused to cooperate, she was beginning to understand that the most infuriating thing about that particular promise was not that he had made it, but that he might be right.
“What you are working on must be so engrossing for you not to move from your seat for so many hours,” a voice commented from the doorway, “and not eat your midday meal.”
She did not have to look up to know who it was. Three days of carefully avoiding each other, and now here he was, standing in her doorway as if he had simply decided that was enough of that.
She looked up anyway.
He was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching her with an expression she could not immediately read.
Not angry. That was something, at least. The last time they had been in the same room, she had walked through an open door with her chin up and her eyes burning, and she had been certain they would never speak again.
She became aware, without meaning to, of how she must look. Her hair had long since given up any pretense of order. There was ink on her fingers, and if the slight coolness on her chin meant anything, her chin as well. The tray on the corner of the desk was untouched.
“It has to be done. The quarterly accounts are not balancing properly,” Cathy said, not able to hide the dismay in her voice. “If I do not deal with the discrepancy now, I will have a terrible time at the end of the year. The books should remain tidy, as well.”
Cathy did not expect Tristan to approach. He seemed to hate her after the failed seduction in his bedchambers. She stiffened, expecting an argument with the most confusing man she had ever met, but it never came. What changed?
To her surprise, Tristan sat next to her, adjusting the chair so he could see her work clearly. He was so close that his shoulder brushed against her sleeve. The touch was brief, but it made a shiver run down her spine.
“Do not tell me you have been working on these ledgers all that time, Cathy,” he murmured.
He was calling her Cathy again. Was he no longer angry? Somehow, she wondered if this was more dangerous than him being consumed by fury.
“It does not concern you, Your Grace,” she said, frustrated at seeing the ink blotting on one page. He was distracting her, making her heart beat faster.
“It does not concern me?” Tristan asked, leaning in further, his eyes scanning the numbers on her ledger. Everything was meticulously organized and neat, except for the blot of ink. “This is my estate. You are my wife. Of course, it concerns me. This should not be your responsibility.”
“I am quite capable of handling some accounts. A few discrepancies should not be a problem. I know what I am doing.”
“I know you are capable,” he replied, his eyes searching hers. She almost wavered at the intensity. “Show me what you are doing. Perhaps I can help. We are a married couple, after all.”
Cathy hesitated. The night she tried to do her duty as a wife, he had been offended. She was also trying to do what was expected of married couples. She had almost expected mockery, but there was no sign of it on his face. He looked genuinely interested in what she was doing.
She sighed, but acquiesced. She slid the book toward him, setting the ledger effectively between them.
“We were suffering a deficit because of...” she trailed off, not really wanting to reveal how much her father’s departure had cost her family.
“Well, things were difficult, but I have invested all the remaining money from Grandmama and have received some quick returns. I have also invested some of the allowance money you gave me. I hear that the outlook is good.”
Cathy saw the expression on Tristan’s face transform from deep concentration to something akin to awe.
“That is… extraordinary,” he murmured. For the first time, she saw genuine admiration from him for anything more than her appearance. “How long have you been doing this on your own?”
“After my mother died, I had to ration everything at home. It is common knowledge that Papa was hopeless in handling finances. I learned the value of every shilling and found ways to earn money. I needed to, or else we would have long been sent to the poorhouse.”
Tristan reached out, taking her smaller hand in his broad and warm one.
Cathy could not pull away. She did not want to.
It might be difficult for her to admit, but the last few days had been lonely.
It was easier to be with Tristan even when they were fighting than not to know what he was thinking at all.
The contact he offered now felt like an anchor.
“We can finish the audit together. If you have no issues and would rather work on it on your own, I can show you Baxter Hall’s ledgers. We can work on those together, instead. I would like your opinion on the estate’s current investments.”
“B-but I know you already have someone handling your accounts for you,” she protested weakly.
“That may be true, but I still review everything that he does afterward. I would like to hear the opinion of someone with a true stake in the estate. It is yours, too, after all. You know you can access the funds you need, right?”
“I... I only ask for assistance in providing my sisters a dowry each that they may marry well,” she reminded him. “I am used to not having many luxuries.”
“My wife will have the luxuries she requires, as much as she needs and wants. Most importantly, I want you to be able to do what you are efficient at, if it does not feel like a burden to you.”
“Of course it is not a burden, Your Grace. I have become used to it. It feels like a comfort to me now, to do something I know I am capable of doing.”
For the next few hours, it was as if the night in his chambers was forgotten.
The two worked on balancing the last few numbers in Cathy’s ledger before moving on to the Baxter Hall ledgers.
Working together fell into an easy rhythm, and Cathy was grateful for anything that would end this awkwardness.
“Please check these numbers, Cathy,” Tristan requested, as they began cross-referencing. “Do you see the same on your copy?”
He called out the numbers, and Cathy had to say “yes” or “no”. Fortunately, Tristan’s accountant had done a marvelous job, and the accuracy was impeccable. Cathy wondered if she was truly needed until they began discussing the merits of crop rotation and other concerns.
“What do you think of crop rotation, Cathy?”
“It is necessary, especially for the land beyond the southern fence. It is fertile now, but that may not be the case a few years from now.”
“I agree,” Tristan said thoughtfully, as he made notes on his leatherbound journal.
“I saw some repair costs for the tenants’ homes. Have we dealt with that already?”
“Yes, we have. However, a visit is long overdue. We need to keep their satisfaction and confidence in the estate.”
“I like that you thought of that,” Cathy approved. “My papa might be a landowner, but he never visited his tenants or asked what they needed.”
It was the unlikeliest of nights. She expected to spend it alone with ink, paper, and numbers. Now, it felt all too cozy with Tristan not only keeping her company but being an active planner in two estates. She peered at him as his face looked sharper in the shadows cast by candlelight.
“My father would be terrified to meet a woman like you,” he commented.
“Why? Is it because I am too tall for a woman?”
Tristan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. It was approaching midnight, and he sounded both amused and tired. He rubbed his eyes.
“Who told you that you were too tall?”
“Everyone mocks me for it. It is unbecoming for a woman.”
“I find that utter nonsense. It is more likely that they are jealous. Well, my father believed that women of the ton should only concern themselves with the guest list. Women should only be focused on arranging balls and decorating homes.”
“Am I a novelty, then? A horror?” she asked, teasingly. “My own mother was dismayed when she had me learn how to play the piano. I was not as gentle as she would have wished. Numbers were my true calling, not anything that would be alluded to as social graces.”
Tristan’s expression softened. He looked at her as if he were studying her, and it was making her feel self-conscious.
“You have always reminded me that you are pragmatic, Cathy,” he noted. “You trust numbers and rules. They are, after all, reliable.”
She thought there was something a little sad about how he said those words. The simple observation felt like a compliment.
Cathy felt the air grow heavy between them.
“Yes, numbers do not lie. They do not leave in the middle of the night with a mountain of debt to weigh upon those that were abandoned.”
She did not like how she choked on her words, almost in tears. She breathed deeply and exhaled audibly.
“I know it may not be the same, but I have experienced what it was like to rely on myself,” he volunteered.
“I grew up here in this large house, surrounded by an even larger estate that only felt like a tomb. My father and mother were the ghosts that inhabited it, barely there for me. They were only interested in what I could do. What I am good at.”
It was Cathy’s turn to reach out, squeezing the callused hands of a duke who would never be content with having someone else do all the labor.
“I know that I did not suffer as much as you did,” he continued. “I had never lacked for wealth.”
Cathy thought of all their struggles to keep food on the table and pay the servants, at least the ones they had left. She shook her head, then.
“It is not only the poverty of finances and material belongings that can scar a person. Even the lack of affection could.”
Silence followed that statement, as they continued working on the remaining pages. After they closed the final ledger for the night, Cathy felt a strange kind of loss. She realized that she did not want the night to end.
“Thank you, Your Grace. It was easier to work with them when someone who truly knows how they work is there to provide support and additional knowledge.”
Tristan stood up, and it felt like goodbye. Cathy felt a twinge of pain in her chest. What could she do? It looked like they worked well together, but physical intimacy might be a different matter altogether. He did not trust her there. Not after everything that happened.
“You do not have to do this alone anymore, Cathy,” he said, breaking into her reverie. “I am going to hire a steward for you to handle all of this for you. He is very meticulous. You do not have to spend your nights struggling.”
“I like doing it, I have done it for so long that—”
“I have no doubt that you can do it. I have seen it with my own two eyes,” he interrupted.
“But let him do the tiring work for you. You will still give him your final say. The reports will require your signature, of course. You have worked too hard all your life. It is time that you have some help. I want you to know that you can depend on me.”
Tristan leaned down to her, his face so close she could not breathe.
“But... Why do you want to help me? After everything that happened, I thought that you hated me.”
“I never said I hated you, Cathy. I just never want you to pretend again,” he said softly. “I want the woman I was with tonight. The real you.”
“I...” she stammered, her voice too weak.
I was not pretending.
She did not know how to handle the wild feelings she had for her own husband. “It is because...”
“Get some rest, Cathy.”
Tristan simply smiled at her before leaving the room.