Chapter 4 #2
Hyacinth did as he bid her and let out a quiet breath of relief at being off her foot.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he told her, then he dashed off.
She knew he was too much of a gentleman to abandon her in a darkened garden, but she had a few seconds of worrying he might.
He reappeared soon after carrying one of the garden lanterns. He brought it closer to her, settling it on the ground near her feet.
To her shock, he knelt down before her in the dim light.
“May I see your foot, Miss Bridewell?”
“You want to see my foot?” It was as if her mind could not fathom the request. Either that or she was too distracted by the way his green eyes shone in the lantern light.
“Yes, I want to assess your injury, if I may.” He reached down, waiting for her consent.
When Hyacinth nodded, he wrapped his fingers around her ankle. She bit her lip to keep back her reaction. But oh how lovely his warm palm felt against her stockinged leg.
With gentleness and care, he lifted her foot and rested it on his thigh.
“I’m so sorry,” he said with a quiet earnestness that made her chest ache. “I’ve ruined your shoe.”
Hyacinth looked down and could discern that her slipper was a bit dirty where his boot had swiped across it.
He had only put his weight down onto her foot for a fleeting moment, but she had felt the impact.
It had shocked her more than anything, but now, sitting down, the pain was already beginning to ease.
Tristan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, swiping it gently across her foot.
“It didn’t do much good, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured, awestruck at having him kneeling before her, touching her, looking so eager to make amends.
“I would be happy to recompense you for a new pair of slippers.”
Hyacinth chuckled, and he looked up at her, serious at first before his face softened into a smile.
With a light grip, he lifted her foot and placed it back on the ground, then took a seat on the bench next to her. Bracing his elbows on his thighs, he leaned forward, eyes still focused on her foot.
“I truly am sorry,” he said again. “Did I injure you any place else?”
His gaze met hers and then he assessed, her gaze taking her in slowly. Hyacinth repressed a shudder at how intimate it felt to be so close to him and have his gaze drinking her in.
“I promise you didn’t,” she said quietly.
They both fell silent, and she feared he’d soon wish to escort her back inside, but he remained next to her. His thigh just a hairsbreadth from hers, his arm almost pressed to her own.
He sat staring out at the garden, his brow furrowed. His eyes had been so full of light and his expression so carefree when they’d dance. Now he looked trouble, and she doubted it had anything to bumping into her.
“Is something troubling you?” Hyacinth said the words softly, hoping he’d confide in her just a little.
“Is it so terribly obvious?”
“A bit, yes. You look unhappy.”
“I’m conflicted,” he said, then reached up and scrubbed a hand across his face. I've been. “And I’ve been a fool.”
“Have you?”
He nodded, then dipped his head, looking at her. “Have you ever spotted someone across a room, and they smiled, and you smiled back, only to turn and realize they were actually waving at the person next to you and not at you at all?”
“I can't say that's ever happened to me.” Goodness, they were so close. She could reach out and smooth her fingertip across the furrow between his dark brows. She resisted.
“Is that what happened to you?” she asked instead.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“You followed someone into the garden. Someone you thought wanted you to follow.”
He looked away, then back at her, full lips curved. “I was supposed to dance with her, but I thought perhaps she wished to speak to me privately first.”
Hyacinth pushed the jealous twinge inside her down. “But she didn’t wish to speak to you.”
A low, rumble of laughter echoed in the night. “Very much not. She wished to speak to another gentleman, it seems.”
“Ah.” The two over by the fountain.
Tristan stretched out his legs, hands braced on the bench. His left hand gripped the fabric of her gown, but he seemed not to notice.
“Now, I’m faced with a dilemma.”
“Which is?”
“Do I tell her cousin, my friend, how I found her with a gentleman, alone, in the gardens?” He tipped his head, gaze fixed on hers again. “What would you suggest?”
“Does my opinion matter so much?”
He smiled at that. “As a debutante, you must have opinions on debutantes.”
Hyacinth lifted the ribbon at the neck her gown, smoothing the velvet between her fingers as she considered.
“We don’t know more than that she was speaking to a gentleman.” She glanced at him. “Just as we are now. I wouldn’t like anyone making assumptions about me or tattling on me.”
He dipped his head, but she could see that he was smiling again.
“That is precisely what Emma would say.” Gaze on her again, he added, “I can see why you’re friends.”
As he glanced down at her foot again, Hyacinth bit her lip, considering a bold question.
“Were you hoping to court her?”
Tristan snapped his gaze to her at that. “I hardly know her, but yes. Her cousin thinks we might suit and asked me to dance with her.”
“Ah, I see.” She saw too well, and she tried not to feel downhearted at the revelation.
“Perhaps it was a lesson I needed to learn. Never assume too much from a lady’s glance across a crowded room.”
They both chuckled at that.
“You're too kind, Miss Bridewell.”
“Am I?”
“To be sitting here commiserating with me when I trounced on your poor toes.” He looked up at the moon, then frowned. “What were you doing out in the garden?” he asked, turning to face her again.
Hyacinth’s cheeks flamed and she trusted the darkness to conceal her blush. “Just getting a bit of fresh air.”
“You were quite far down the path and had veered off onto another,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you heard them.”
“Yes.” She seized on the explanation. “I heard a lady’s laughter and was curious. My curiosity is persistent, and I give into it more often than not.”
He assessed her a moment, and the smile that lifted his lips came slowly. “You do seem a curious sort.”
“May I take that as a compliment, Sir Tristan?”
“You should. You must. It is a compliment.”
The heat is Hyacinth’s cheeks spread to her chest, warming her heart.
“Forgiving and curious.” He stared up at the night sky again. “Perhaps I should have remained in the ballroom and asked you to dance again.”
“You still could.” The words were out before she could take them back.
He shot her an arched brow look. “I'm not sure your injured foot would agree.”
Without another word, he scooted off the stone bench and knelt again. He glanced up, as if seeking permission once more, then clasped her ankle in his palm again. A spiral of heat wound up her leg from the spot where his fingers lingered before he placed her foot on the plane of his thigh again.
Pulling the lantern closer, he took a long look.
“It’s swollen.” He let out a sound of irritation. “Good God, Miss Bridewell, I hope I have not truly done you harm. If anything's broken, I shall never forgive myself.”
“Nothing’s broken.”
“How can you be certain?”
“My father was a doctor. I’m familiar with breaks.”
He studied her a moment, then gently lowered her foot to the ground and murmured. “Then I shall trust your judgement.”
In one elegant movement, he rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “Let’s see how your foot fairs now.”
Hyacinth slid her palm against his and he tightened his hold on her as she stood, wobbling a bit. “It’s better,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Shall I carry you?”
Hyacinth wanted it. So much that a shiver chased down her back, but something in her wouldn’t allow herself that.
“That won't be necessary.”
“Well, then you're going to have to lean on me and hobble.” He gathered her closer with an arm around her back, and they took a few steps on the gravel path.
The pain had subsided, and they made it up onto the veranda a few moments later.
Hyacinth hesitated as the crossed the stones. “I don’t wish to go back in there.” Perhaps it was prideful, but she didn’t wish to hobble through the crush.
Tristan pulled her a bit closer and led her to the stone bench that edged the veranda.
“If you wait here, I'll go inside and speak to Edgerton.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“If they're not prepared to leave,” he said, forestalling her worry about cutting short their evening.
“If they’re not prepared to depart, I’ll have our carriage brought round to drive you home.”
His jaw had hardened into a determined set that was unfairly appealing.
“Thank you,” she told him with a smile. “You're being very kind.”
Tristan shrugged. “I'm being what any gentleman should be when they've caused another harm.” His mouth twitched into a flash of a smile. “You're being far too forgiving. I shall add that to your list of merits.”
“Please do.”
One of those deep rumbling chuckles made him dip his head. “At some point, perhaps I'll have the opportunity to add some to my list. Or at least remove the smear of being a man who steps on a lady's foot.”
“If I've forgiven you, then the smear has been removed.”
“You’re too kind by half, Miss Bridewell.”
“Hyacinth.” She ached to hear him say her name.
“Hyacinth,” he murmured, almost as if he was savoring the sound of it.
Or perhaps she was so enamored that she hoped that he had.
“Then you must call me Tristan.”
“Tristan.” Said a thousand times in her mind but never to the man himself, and it felt so achingly right to do so.
“Will you be warm enough?”
The day had been warm, but the night had turned cool.
Before she could answer, he shrugged out of his tailcoat, approached, and settled it around her shoulders.
Her mouth watered at the heady scent of him that surrounded her.
“Stay there and I shall returned quickly,” he commanded.
Hyacinth nodded, and then he was striding back inside.
She drew off her glove so that she could draw her bare fingers along the fabric of his coat. So deliciously warm. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his spice and juniper scent.
He’d been so kind, so attentive, and yet she understood he behaving as he thought a gentleman ought to.
Yet she couldn’t resist hoping that one day, he might treat her with such care for quite different reasons.