“I don’t think she intended to eavesdrop or spread gossip. She just happened to overhear you, and her feelings were hurt. Naturally, she would want to talk to someone about it.”
“You’re defending her?”
“In this case, I am.”
“Am I really at fault… for injuring some girl’s pride, even though I didn’t mean to?”
“Injured her pride? I’d say that’s an understatement,” Tristan responded coldly. “You said she was ghastly, Andrew. You said she was so unattractive, you couldn’t bear to look at her if you were to--”
“You don’t have to remind me! I know what I said!” Andrew shouted at his friend. In truth, he felt awful for raising his voice at Tristan, considering the status of his friend’s health. And he felt even worse for having insulted Mary who, not long ago, had blushed at his compliments more than any woman had. Even though she wasn’t pretty—or even handsome—there was something about her that interested him. He would have enjoyed flirting with her, but now he had ruined all chances of that. “I… I feel awful, alright? I don’t know if I can apologize, though. It would injure my pride!”
“I don’t know how you do it, Andrew.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know how you manage to be the perfect friend, and yet… you always find ways to lose my respect.”
“I’ve lost your respect? Because of something I said to a maid?”
“Not exactly.” Tristan headed for the door. There was nothing more he could say. Andrew would either apologize—or he wouldn’t. There was no forcing Andrew Lamb. He was the sort of man who always did what he wanted, regardless of what others thought.
“So why have I lost your respect? Do you care to explain yourself before you leave?”
“You think about yourself before you think about anyone else. You’ve made a woman cry, and yet you refuse to admit you’ve done anything wrong. You’d just as soon ignore anything that doesn’t benefit you in some way.”
Andrew let out an enormous sigh. He wasn’t accustomed to being lectured, unless it was by a jealous husband. Or a jilted lover. “If you’ve come to kick me out of your house, Tristan… by all means… do so. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.”
“Of course I don’t want you to go.”
“I’ll apologize to her! I will!” he vowed. “At least… I’ll try to. I can’t guarantee she’ll listen.”
“I’m glad you decided to come around, Andrew. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire to my room. All this bickering’s made me exhausted.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Leona hovered outside Tristan’s bedroom for nearly ten minutes. She didn’t know why she always hesitated to speak to him. It wasn’t as if she felt awkward around him anymore. In fact, she’d been feeling more comfortable around him than any man she could remember, her father included. Nevertheless, there was something about him that made her… nervous.
Maybe it was the fact that she was trying to decide between seducing him or inviting him to breakfast. Those were very different ways to begin the day, to be sure. Leona kept studying herself in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, wondering if her “condition” was showing. Every time she thought of her predicament, she felt dizzy. In her head, she tried to imagine telling Tristan the truth. Every time she did, she nearly passed out. She didn’t want him to hate her, but she was afraid it would come to that. Either Tristan would hate her, or she would hate herself for lying to him.
Hating herself was a preferable fate. Her father already hated her. She didn’t escape from one man’s hatred, only to land in the company of another man who couldn’t stand the sight of her. So she made her choice. She had to seduce him and follow her father’s plan.
Did she not?
Even more concerning, Tristan didn’t show any signs of wanting to be seduced. He seemed perfectly content with having her as a companion and a friend. What if he desired companionship over intimacy? As more and more time went by, Leona was starting to realize it was very possible her efforts to lure him into bed would be entirely fruitless. Any other man would have had her by now, would he not? Tristan’s interest in physical closeness just didn’t seem to be there.
Either way, Leona had to try.
Leona raised her hand and tapped on Tristan’s door. When he answered, he was wearing a pair of black breeches, and nothing else. The sight of her half-naked husband might have made her want to seduce him even more, if not for the fact that he had the darkest circles under his eyes she’d ever seen on a person. It was a reminder of his health—which made her feel worse.
“Uh… good m-morning,” she stammered.
“Good morning to you, Leona. I apologize for my state of undress,” he said with a chuckle. “I suppose I’m feeling a bit lazy this morning… not to mention, under the weather.”
“You’re feeling ill?” The thought of Tristan’s health declining made Leona feel as if her heart was sinking into her stomach. “I-I was going to invite you to have breakfast with me.”
Well, it wasn’t as if she could seduce him now, could she?
“I’m just feeling a bit tired… and breathless,” he answered. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in a couple of hours. Then, if the weather is decent… perhaps you and I could go for a picnic?”
“That would be lovely,” Leona replied, a bit discouraged by the platonic tone of their conversation. Every conversation they had was like that—terse and companionable. It wasn’t that she wished for a grand romance with Tristan. She didn’t even know if that was possible. However, if he showed any signs of wanting her in a physical way, she would have felt infinitely less disheartened.
“I’ll have Dubois fetch you when I’m ready… if that is alright with you?”
“Yes… fine.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll see you soon, my lord.”
Leona curtsied and backed out of Tristan’s room. When she did, she nearly ran into Andrew Lamb. She staggered a little, having been caught by surprise. Fortunately, he was there to steady her.
“Oh… Lady Randall. How are you this morning?”
After what he said about Mary the other day, Leona wasn’t sure she wanted to give him the satisfaction of a response. She raised her nose to the ceiling and said, “It would be unladylike to tell you how I really feel, Mr. Lamb, but I will say this… my bad mood as of late has much to do with you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Goodbye, sir.” With that, she stomped down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Andrew wondered if Tristan heard any of that. After all, they were standing outside his door. The fact that all the women in Randall Hall seemed to hate him was bad enough. It was a devastating blow to his ego, considering how much success he’d had with women in the past.
“I need to get back to London…” Andrew said with a sigh, “where women love me.”
“Well, that’s a vain thing to say,” Tristan’s voice answered him. Seconds later, the viscount emerged from his bedroom. “But I guess you can’t help it if it’s true. I told you I wouldn’t mind if you went back to London. I won’t think any less of you if you do.”
“If I go to London, it’ll only be for a short time.”
“Long enough to immerse yourself in the attentions of the fairer sex?”
“Long enough to restore my confidence,” Andrew answered despondently. “I wish your wife didn't hate me. She was very cold to me just now. Did you hear it?”
“Well… now you know what most men feel like. Most men can’t weasel their way into a lady’s heart with the a mere smile or petty compliment.”
“Are you saying I’m a weasel?”
“A petty weasel, no less,” Tristan answered with a chuckle. “Oh… look. Here comes Mary. Now’s your chance to apologize… best of luck to you. I’m going to lie down.”
When Tristan closed the door, Andrew’s head swiveled in the di
rection indicated by his friend. Sure enough, the mousey little maid was heading toward him. He thought she would make eye contact with him as she drew closer, but she kept her gaze on the ground.
“Mary.”
He said her name, but she didn’t stop.
“Mary!”
“I’m very busy, Mr. Lamb.” She kept charging down the hallway, trying to get away from him as quickly as she could.
Grumbling a curse under his breath, Andrew chased after her. “I’d like a word with you, Mary… if you don’t mind.”
“Her Ladyship gave me an important task,” Mary insisted. “I’m afraid I cannot stop.”
“Well then, would you mind if I followed you?”
He thought he could see her shoulders tense up, and her hands clenched the bundle she was carrying. “I would rather you didn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Your company would be a distraction,” she answered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lamb, if I sound like I’m being rude.”
“No… I believe I was rude,” he protested. “I assume you know what I am referring to?”
Mary’s footsteps stopped. When Andrew caught up to her, he saw her eyes were closed. “Lady Randall must have spoken to you.”
“Not quite. Perhaps I overheard a conversation between Miss Lennox and the viscount. What would you say to that?”
“Did you?”
“No, actually… Tristan spoke to me,” Andrew said with a chuckle. “But I know you overheard something, Mary. You heard something rude that was not meant to be heard. But I won’t try to make excuses for myself. A rude comment is a rude comment, no matter to whom it was spoken.”
“I’d rather not discuss it, sir.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m not worthy of your apologies,” she said. “Besides, you didn’t mean for me to hear what I heard. If my feelings were hurt, it should be no concern of yours. I should watch where I eavesdrop.”
“No, I should watch what I say,” he corrected her. “What I said was cruel and thoughtless, and I hope you can forgive me for it. When I gave you the flower and invited on a walk, I had the best intentions. Not a single bad thought about you ever crossed my mind. I think you’re a very sweet girl, and I am a vile, terrible man.”
“Please don’t insult yourself on my behalf.”
Mary shifted the bundle in her hands, tucking it beneath her arm. It was similar to the bundle she had yesterday—was she still removing dirty bedsheets from unused rooms? Whatever her bundle was, Andrew reached out and snatched it from her. “Please, allow me…”
“Mr. Lamb, please don’t steal my work from me again!” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I like to keep busy.”
“But I insist. You shouldn’t force yourself to carry such heavy things,” he said. “I’ll carry it wherever you need to go.”
“But--”
“There’s no sense in protesting when I’ve already made up my mind.”
Mary grabbed the soiled sheets and yanked them away from him. “It’s not heavy,” she insisted. “Leave me to my work, and go about your day!”
“What if I want to spend my day with you?” he asked, trying to tug the bundle away from her again. She’d tightened her grip this time, so he didn’t have much success. For such a small girl, she was surprisingly strong.
“A gentleman should not concern himself with the work of a maid, especially when the maid in question is too ghastly to behold!” Mary scowled at him as she spoke. She didn’t care if he was Lord Randall’s friend. He had no right to grab her things and force his company on her. She wanted to stand her ground.
“Ooh. I didn’t expect you to say something so harsh!” Andrew said with a chuckle, a bit impressed by her snappy retort. “You always seemed so meek. I didn’t expect you to have such fire in you!”
Mary turned away and started hurrying down the hallway, doubling her speed. She hoped he did not follow her.
But he did.
“I’m not leaving you alone until you forgive me!”
“I forgive you,” Mary blurted, hoping to get rid of him. The other day, he gave her butterflies when he spoke to her. Now he made her nauseous, and not in a good way.
“I’m not leaving you alone until you mean it.”
“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to say it and mean it, so you’re just going to end up wasting your time.”
“Never?” Andrew whimpered. “Surely you don’t mean that. You’re only saying that because you think it’ll make me go away. But it's just going to make me want to try harder!”
“Good day, Mr. Lamb.”
“I’m not leaving. Besides, I don’t think it’s proper for you to speak to me like that. It could put you in a precarious situation.”
“You would have me lose my job?”
“No. You’d be in a precarious situation because… well, I like a challenge.”
With her hip, Mary pushed open the door to the washroom, where a large, sudsy tub was waiting for her. “You can’t fool me anymore, Mr. Lamb. I already know what you really think of me.”
“Opinions can change. I’ll get you to change yours too.”
Mary stared at him a few seconds. There was disbelief in her eyes, as well as vexation. She looked like she wanted to box his ears, which she might have done, if she didn't fear for her job.
“I forgive you, Mr. Lamb,” Mary insisted. “You can go to London with a clean conscience, knowing I bear no ill feelings toward you. I don’t know what else I can say to get you to believe that.”
“You know I’m going back to London?”
“I overheard that as well,” Mary answered. “At least, I overheard you considering it.”
“You’re quite the little eavesdropper.”
“I have very good ears.”
` Andrew rested his shoulder against the wall, leaned toward her, and flashed his most disarming smile. And yet, she didn’t show any sign of interest—only disgust. The other day, she looked like she was seconds away from melting into a puddle in front of him. Today, she seemed repulsed by the sight of him. The contrast in her reaction was depressing, to say the least. Andrew tried to remember a time when another woman disliked him so much, but nothing came to mind. Was there anything he could say to undo the damage? “I really do apologize.”
“As I said before, an apology isn’t necessary.”
“Will you miss me when I’m in London?”
Mary didn’t say anything; she just gave him the strangest look a woman ever gave him.
“Well, I guess I have my answer.” When he reached out to take her hand, Mary tucked it into her bundle, hiding it from view. “Goodbye, Mary.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Lamb,” she said, closing the door to the washroom.
As soon as the door was closed, Mary dropped her bundle and rested her head against the door. She’d never felt more embarrassed—or unsettled—by anyone. She was glad he was going to London. Mary hoped that was the last she would see of Andrew Lamb.
If only she was so lucky.
Chapter Nineteen
As they headed off in search of the perfect picnic spot, Leona reached over and grabbed Tristan’s hand. It was such a simple gesture, but she wondered how he would react. Judging from the look on his face, he didn’t seem to mind.
“So, Lady Randall,” Tristan began, his smile crooked, “which way should we depart?”
“Well… I’m sure you know the area better than I do, Lord Randall,” she answered playfully.
“I’m afraid that’s not the case, Lady Randall. You can ask Andrew. I wasn’t the sort to wander off and go exploring. Well… not since I was a child, anyway,” Tristan said. “These past few years, I’ve just been wallowing in my bed in London, wasting life. It’s a miracle you get me out of the house so often.”
“What about the abandoned abbey? Couldn’t we go back there?”
“With these clouds looming over us, I don’t think it would be a good idea to wander so far
,” he answered. “I’m afraid, my dear, we haven’t picked the best day for outdoor dining.”
“Well, how about that hill over there?” Leona asked, using her free hand to point to a nearby slope. “From there, I bet there’s a nice view of Randall Hall.”
“The hill it is, then. Let’s go,” Tristan said, raising their picnic basket like a soldier brandishing a sword.
A few minutes later, when they reached the top of the hill, Leona asked, “So… how are you feeling? You’re not feeling ill, are you?”
“I feel fine,” he assured her.
“But… earlier you said you were feeling under the weather. Are you sure you’re alright? What does it feel like when you get sick?”
Tristan laid the basket on the ground and assisted Leona in spreading a blanket across the grass. “I feel a bit weak sometimes… or I feel like someone’s sitting on my chest. When I’m at my worse, I have a hard time catching a breath.”
“So…” Leona sat down on the blanket and grabbed the picnic basket. “Does the doctor have any specific name for what ails you? To say you have a heart condition is somewhat vague.”
“Most doctors are vague,” Tristan answered. His health wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss on their pleasant outing, but Leona deserved some answers. She was, after all, his wife. And they’d been getting along so well lately.
Leona dug into the basket and pulled out a puffy croissant, which she proceeded to cover in strawberry jam. “I think doctors are vague when they don’t know what they’re talking about. Is it possible he could be completely mistaken? That is to say… what are the odds that you’ll live to be an old man? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, is it?”
“I thought I was already an old man.”
“Don’t make jokes! Of course you’re not old!” his wife countered. Squaring her shoulders, she added, “I’d like to go on believing you’ll live for years and years, and who cares what the doctor says? You should get a second opinion. Maybe he’s wrong?”
“I have gotten a second opinion, and both doctors said the same thing. They both heard an irregularity, and they came to the same conclusion.”
The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) Page 12