Chapter 4 #2
"The very notion of Miss Fairchild behaving improperly is absurd," Tristan said evenly. "I hope, as a sensible gentleman, you will reserve your judgement until the truth of the matter is known, rather than allowing yourself to be persuaded by the first scandal that happens to present itself."
The gentleman lifted his head. "Indeed. There do appear to be a great many conclusions drawn from remarkably little evidence."
"Lord Blackmere!"
Nathaniel crossed the room with his usual cheerful smile. "My apologies," he said, extending his hand. "I have once again managed to lose all sense of the hour."
Tristan laughed as they shook hands.
"I had begun to suspect as much. If you will excuse me," he said, turning back to the acquaintance, "I hope we shall meet again while I am in town."
After the gentleman had departed, Nathaniel took his seat opposite Tristan.
"It is good to see you again."
"And you." Nathaniel settled comfortably into the leather armchair. "Now tell me everything. Though I warn you, after eighteen months on the continent, your news may struggle to compete with mine."
"Quite possibly," Tristan replied with a smile. "You appear remarkably well."
"The Italian sun deserves much of the credit." Nathaniel grinned. "As does the food. I confess I am already mourning my return to English cooking."
"I shall not dispute that," Tristan laughed.
As the conversation drifted on, the name Miss Fairchild reached Tristan's ears from a pair of gentlemen seated only a short distance away.
"I dare say Lord Ravenscroft has escaped a very troublesome wife," one declared. "To jilt a gentleman in such a fashion is most unbecoming."
His companion chuckled and added. "And at twenty-four, no less. She has thrown away what may well have been her last respectable offer. I cannot imagine what she hopes to gain."
The two laughed together.
Tristan slowly turned in his chair until he faced them. Stretching out his long legs before him, he regarded the pair with such composed attention that their laughter faltered almost immediately.
"Tell me, Nathaniel," he said conversationally, though his voice carried perfectly across the room, "during your travels, did you happen upon a gentleman's club where members devoted themselves to discussing ladies who were not present to defend themselves?"
Nathaniel looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling. "I cannot say that I did," he replied. "Though I did once overhear such conversation among a household's servants. They seemed to enjoy speculation every bit as much."
"How fortunate," Tristan observed, "that we find ourselves among gentlemen instead."
Silence followed.
When Tristan glanced back toward the two gentlemen, neither appeared inclined to continue the discussion.
Nathaniel rose smoothly to his feet. "Shall we walk?"
"I believe we shall." Tristan agreed.
Together they left the room, while behind them the conversation concerning Miss Fairchild had abruptly come to an end.
As they walked at an unhurried pace through the park, Tristan listened while Nathaniel recounted his travels upon the continent.
There were stories of Florence, Venice, and Rome, of artists whose work had exceeded every expectation, and of meals so memorable that Nathaniel declared England ought to be ashamed of its own cuisine.
Tristan found himself laughing more than once, grateful to have his oldest friend beside him once again.
Eventually they came upon an empty bench overlooking an open stretch of lawn.
Once they had taken their seats, Nathaniel regarded Tristan with an amused smile.
"I believe I have spoken enough of myself," he said.
"Now it is your turn. There is something troubling you, and I should like to know what it is. "
Tristan looked across the park for a moment before replying. "You remember the Fairchild family."
Nathaniel nodded. "Very well, you have told me your family and theirs are old friends."
"Helena Fairchild ended her engagement to Lord Ravenscroft this morning." Tristan explained.
"I had heard something of it before I found you at the club." Nathaniel folded his arms. "Though I suspect there is considerably more to the story than the drawing rooms presently believe."
"I think so too." For a few moments Tristan remained silent, collecting his thoughts. "I know Helena," he said at last. "She is thoughtful and rational; she never acts without reason. If she has ended an engagement after nearly a year, then something of consequence must have occurred."
Nathaniel nodded his head slowly but said nothing.
"What troubles me," Tristan continued, "is that Lord Ravenscroft appears determined to ensure his account reaches society first. Whenever a gentleman is so eager to shape the narrative, I cannot help wondering what he wishes everyone else to overlook."
Nathaniel rested an arm along the back of the bench. "What do you know of the engagement?"
"Very little." Tristan frowned thoughtfully. "Only that it lasted nearly a year, which strikes me as unusually long. I have also heard Sir Benedict repeatedly delayed the marriage settlement. Knowing the man as I do, I cannot imagine he would have done so without good reason."
"That is interesting." Nathaniel responded thoughtfully.
Tristan drew a slow breath. "Then, last night, at Lord Ravenscroft's ball, Helena seemed perfectly herself until she disappeared with Lord Ravenscroft's butler. She was absent for some time, and when she returned, she looked... different, almost out of sorts."
Nathaniel glanced toward his friend, waiting for him to continue.
"I found her upon the terrace shortly afterward. She admitted something was wrong but said it was not something to be discussed there. This morning, she ended the engagement. Something must have happened or been discovered."
Nathaniel was quiet for a moment. "What do you make of it?"
"I do not know." Tristan shook his head. "Lord Ravenscroft never left the ballroom while she was absent, so whatever occurred, it was not at his hand directly. Yet I cannot persuade myself that the two events are unrelated."