Chapter 43
forty-three
Effie observed her father sitting on the armchair, reading the London Financial Guide. His shoulders were rigid, and his face was stern. He hadn’t talked to her much, aside from a few civil words.
She couldn’t read his mood. The new attack had stopped. Mr. Fleet had repaired some of the damage he’d done, and Tristan should be here any minute to talk to them. Papa had many reasons to be happy, but his flat attitude didn’t reveal any emotion.
She lowered the latest issue of The Veterinary Record. “Aren’t you happy about your situation now?”
He lowered the newspaper. “No. Between Montcrest and his henchman, I lost a few important assets, just because they played a game with me.”
“Assets that Lord Montcrest promised to restore.”
“Montcrest promised a great many things.”
“We’re lucky he’s a man of his word.”
He angled towards her. “Lucky isn’t the word I have in mind.”
“Lord Montcrest,” Doyle announced, interrupting yet another pointless argument with her father.
She beamed when Tristan entered the room. His freshly pressed dark suit and white shirt gave him an air of authority suiting him. But when he smiled back at her, he simply looked like a dashing gentleman in love.
“Effie.” He kissed her hand, his eyes like blue flames. “I’ve missed you.”
“As I have you.”
“I hope we can spend some time together this afternoon. I would like to take a drive through the park.”
“It would be lovely.”
Papa cleared his throat. “Montcrest, we’re starting this meeting on the wrong foot.”
“I beg to differ.” She sat on the armchair, and Papa and Tristan sat down as well.
“Mr. Fleet stopped his financial moves,” Tristan said, all businesslike. “I didn’t participate in his latest attack, nor did I know about it, as I wrote in the letter I sent you yesterday. I trust your finances are recovering, Winchester.”
“Slowly.” Papa’s tone matched Tristan’s. “Destroying takes a moment. Rebuilding is a slow process.”
He didn’t flinch. “It is, but I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Thank you, but you’ll forgive me if I find it difficult to trust you,” Papa said.
“Papa.” She gave a shake of her head. “Can we go past this quarrel?”
Papa scoffed. “This quarrel almost bankrupted me.”
“Maybe next time you’ll remember not to meddle with the anarchists,” Tristan said through his teeth.
“Gentlemen, please.” She held up a hand when her father opened his mouth to reply. “We’re here not to discuss who did what, but because I want to marry Tristan, and I hope you two will leave behind any animosity for each other for my sake. I love you both. Don’t put me in a difficult place.”
A murmur that could mean anything rippled through the room.
“I’m not happy to have Montcrest as a member of our family,” Papa said. “And quite frankly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”
“Papa, whatever your opinion, it won’t change the fact I want to be Tristan’s wife.” She blew out a nervous puff of air.
Tristan sucked in a deep breath, his chest rising. “And I want to be your husband.”
“But.” Papa pinned her with a glare. “I admit Montcrest helped stop Mr. Fleet from causing further damage, and that warrants some gratitude. Not much, but some.”
Tristan’s eyes became two slits. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Please.” She touched his hand. “Let Papa talk.”
But Papa didn’t go on. He drummed his fingers on the armrest.
“Papa? I’m sure there’s a ‘but’ coming.” She pressed her lips hard.
He was pushing her to elope. She would do it if he didn’t leave her any choice.
Papa cleared his throat. Once, twice. He started to talk, then stopped, then started again. “If marrying Montcrest makes you happy, then I won’t oppose the union, only and exclusively because I love you, Effie. There isn’t any other reason.”
She shot up and hugged him. “Thank you.”
Papa patted her back. “But don’t expect me to become his best friend or sit with him in the drawing room at Christmas and smoke cigars.”
“As if I would ever want that,” Tristan muttered.
“Please,” she mouthed, shaking her head. “Would you shake hands now? Like two businessmen,” she said loudly.
She’d seen rival cats less belligerent than them. At first, neither of them moved, and she feared they might shout at each other.
“Please,” she said again, glancing from Tristan to Papa. “For me.”
Tristan’s jaw clenched as he shook Papa’s hand. Papa stared at him as if he were ready for a duel.
“Make her happy,” Papa said.
“I will make her very happy,” Tristan said in a steely tone.
They stood in front of each other for a moment too long, and the handshake became a tug-of-war with them squeezing each other’s hand too tightly.
She slid between them, separating them. “Excellent. So all is well.”
They both muttered under their breaths, and she chose not to bother understanding what they were saying. Besides, she didn’t care.
She was more than happy. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?”
Papa’s expression said he didn’t approve. “Effie.”
“Please?”
He shook his head and took her hand before he looked at Tristan.
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek, aware she was pushing her luck.
Tristan said nothing, which was a good thing.
“We don’t have anything else to say for now.” Papa squared his shoulders. “Montcrest.”
“Winchester.”
If she paid attention, she could hear the noise of frost growing between them.
The moment Papa left, she jumped into Tristan’s arms. “I’m going to be Lady Montcrest.”
“And I’m going to be happy.” He kissed her almost savagely, causing her toes to curl. But what made her heart soar was knowing that feeling wasn’t going to end.