Chapter 2
Tristan was working through the quarterly accounts at his desk in the study.
Ledgers lay open before him, several letters awaiting reply beside them, while the shelves behind his chair held more volumes on estate management and agriculture than novels.
The room was comfortably used rather than fashionable, its furnishings chosen by successive earls for durability instead of display.
He reached for another report, absently pushing a lock of dark hair back from his forehead as the door opened.
Georgiana stepped inside and seated herself, into the armchair opposite him, without waiting for an invitation. He knew she and Beatrice had gone to the shops that morning, and as he laid the report aside, he looked up with the faintest hint of amusement.
"How was your morning?"
"Wonderful!" Georgiana exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement. "I adore London. There is simply so much more on offer. The modiste showed me the fabrics she had received from France only this morning, and, oh, Tristan, the most beautiful lace imaginable."
"I gather, then, that your visit to the modiste was a success?" he asked, a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth.
"In every possible way. She is extraordinarily skilled, and my gown will be ready tomorrow." Georgiana leaned forward conspiratorially. "But I have far more interesting news than that. Beatrice allowed me to go on ahead while she purchased a book for Oliver, and you will never believe whom I met."
"Do tell." Tristan leaned back in his chair, waiting for Georgiana to share her exciting news.
"Helena Fairchild and her mother." Georgiana smiled with satisfaction as she watched her brother straighten almost imperceptibly.
Tristan had not heard the name spoken aloud in years.
For a moment, his thoughts slipped unbidden to long summers at Blackmere.
He remembered, too, the brief letter Helena had written after his late-wife, Elinor's, death.
It had been sincere, unembellished, and perhaps the only letter of condolence that had offered comfort rather than obligation.
He still kept it somewhere in the back of his correspondence drawer.
"I have not heard her name in some time," he said at last. "Are she and Lady Fairchild well?"
"Very well indeed. Helena looks exactly as I remembered her, only rather prettier, though I suspect she would dislike hearing me say so.
" Georgiana laughed. "She asked after all of us and was delighted to hear we had returned to London.
It was like seeing an old friend after only a fortnight instead of several years. "
Tristan found himself smiling despite himself. "I am glad to hear it."
"Oh, and she is engaged," Georgiana added.
The words were delivered almost as an afterthought, yet they seemed to hang in the air. Tristan's smile faded by the smallest degree. "Is she?"
"To Lord Ravenscroft. They have been engaged for nearly a year, apparently. After I mentioned that Helena and I were childhood friends, the modiste told me she had heard it was considered an excellent match." Georgiana smiled cheerfully.
"Another name I have not heard in some time," Tristan replied.
Before Georgiana could say more, Beatrice entered the room. After greeting her brother, she turned to Georgiana to inquire whether she had seen the wooden horse Oliver had adamantly declared he could not live without and had since misplaced.
Tristan drew the ledger back toward him, though his thoughts remained elsewhere. Helena Fairchild was engaged. The news ought not to have surprised him. If anything, it was remarkable that she had remained unattached for so long.
Helena had never lacked admirers, even before she had come out into society. Lord Ravenscroft possessed an old title, a respectable estate and, by all outward appearances, every quality expected of a suitable husband. It was easy enough to understand why the Fairchilds had approved of the match.
He turned the page and studied the figures before him. After a moment, he frowned faintly and went back to the beginning of the column. He had read the same line twice without taking in a single number.
“Brother, will you join us for tea?” Beatrice asked.
“Indeed, I shall, especially if there is cake involved,” Tristan replied, looking up from his ledger. “I shall join you shortly.”
Once his sisters had left the study, the room fell quiet again.
Tristan set the ledger aside.
Helena Fairchild was in London.
He had always enjoyed her company. She possessed an observant mind, was never afraid to disagree with him, and had a habit of noticing the things other people overlooked.
He believed Georgiana could not hope for a better friend during her first Season.
Helena knew society well enough to guide her through it without encouraging every passing folly.
His thoughts drifted instead to the other name Georgiana had mentioned. Lord Ravenscroft. Helena being matched made sense, especially as Tristan realized that it must have been her fifth Season out in society. That it was to Lord Ravenscroft, however, gave him pause.
He glanced back at the ledger and decided the accounts could wait. Beatrice had promised cake with tea, and there was little use giving further thought to a lady he had not seen in years.
Oliver had been persuaded by his nurse to spend the afternoon in the nursery after an energetic morning in the park, leaving the drawing room unusually peaceful, as well as allowing Beatrice to enjoy a peaceful cup of tea with her brother and sister.
As Tristan helped himself to a rather generous slice, Beatrice turned the conversation to the first major entertainment of the Season.
“Well, Georgiana, I am sorry I missed Helena this morning, though we shall soon have another opportunity.
Lord Ravenscroft's ball is later this week, and I am quite looking forward to seeing her again and offering my congratulations on her engagement.” She took a sip of tea before looking thoughtfully at her younger sister.
“You have acquitted yourself admirably at the dinner parties, the morning calls, and Lady Henshaw's musicale, but this will be your first truly large gathering. I think your green silk would suit the occasion perfectly, with your pearls. What do you think?”
Georgiana looked thoroughly delighted by the suggestion. "I have been longing for an occasion to wear it! I had not realized it was Lord Ravenscroft's ball. I am quite eager to meet him."
"Lord Ravenscroft is hosting the ball?" Tristan asked, setting down his fork.
Beatrice's eyes flickered briefly to the slice of cake he was neglecting before she answered. "Indeed. The invitation arrived last week, though I had no idea until this morning that he was engaged to Helena."
"Which evening is it?" Tristan inquired.
"Thursday." Beatrice smiled.
He nodded slowly and reached for his teacup. "Yes... I remember you mentioning a ball."
Georgiana smiled across the table. "You seem rather interested, brother."
"Naturally," Tristan replied without looking up. "It will be your first proper ball. I should like to know as the one responsible for introducing my youngest sister to society."
Georgiana laughed. "How kind of you, brother!”
Beatrice hid a smile behind her teacup, and a reluctant smile touched Tristan's mouth as he picked up his fork once more.
After tea, Tristan devoted himself to the business of the estate.
By late afternoon, he had worked his way through almost all of the correspondence awaiting his attention when his butler entered with another letter.
He reached for it at once, recognizing the familiar hand before he had even broken the seal.
Nathaniel Ashcombe, one of his oldest friends, wrote with the news Tristan had long hoped to receive.
After eighteen months traveling on the continent, he had at last begun his journey home and expected to reach London within the week.
He looked forward to renewing his acquaintance with the Wycliffe family and discovering how Georgiana had taken to her first Season.
The news brought an immediate smile to Tristan's face. Nathaniel's company had always been easy, and he found himself looking forward to conversations that did not revolve quite so frequently around ribbons, gowns, silks, and lace.
He drew a fresh sheet of paper toward him and began his reply. Only after laying down the quill did he realize he had devoted an entire paragraph to the news that Helena Fairchild was in London, instead of the brief mention he had intended.
After blotting the ink, he folded and sealed the letter before ringing for Mr. Blake.
The butler entered a moment later. "My Lord?"
"Would you see that this is posted, please?" Tristan asked and handed him the sealed letter.
"Certainly, My Lord." As Mr. Blake bowed and turned toward the door, Tristan spoke again.
"Mr. Blake... what do you know of Lord Ravenscroft? I have heard very little of him these past few years."
The butler paused. "There has been some talk of him among the servants since our arrival in London, My Lord. Ordinarily I should have paid it no attention, but I listened more closely when I learned the family is to attend his ball."
Tristan regarded him for a moment. "And?"
Mr. Blake continued cautiously. "It is said he has spent much of his inheritance and carries considerable debts. The servants believe that is the reason he sought a wealthy bride, though I cannot speak to the truth of the matter."
Tristan frowned. "Is any of this generally known?"
"I do not believe so, My Lord. If it were, I imagine society would not speak so favorably of the match," Mr. Blake responded thoughtfully.
"Very well," Tristan said at last. "See whether there is anything more to be learned."
"Of course, My Lord."
Once the butler had withdrawn, Tristan remained where he was, his thoughts returning once more to Helena. He hoped, for her sake, that London's servants had embroidered nothing more than an ordinary rumor.