“A prince’s carriage is always in order.” The prince flared his nostrils. “I wanted to speak with you before we left. All the trunks are packed, but there is something of importance.”
Tristan braced himself for another diatribe about how Tristan had wasted the prince’s time and how, of course, he can never be entrusted with anything, much less the gaming hall.
“I was wrong,” the prince said stiffly, “And I apologize. I should not have insisted that you have a bride.”
Tristan widened his eyes. “What?”
“I do think you heard me,” the prince said, “I don’t make a point of apologizing multiple times. Once is quite enough. My time is precious, after all.”
Tristan nodded, his eyes still wide, still unsure if he’d actually heard correctly.
The prince sighed. “I will be happy to lend you the money,” he said. “The gaming hall is a valuable investment. It is in the center of Mayfair, and I have to say I have never met such a determined man. I should have seen it at once. I’m sorry I didn’t, but I do now.”
“That’s wonderful, and I’m grateful, but what caused the change?”
“Your wife—er—your first pretend wife made quite a case for you.”
Tristan blinked. Irene must have returned to the castle while Tristan was walking toward it. That was the reason for her delay.
“She’ll make you a good real wife,” the prince said. “I assume you are going to marry her?”
“If I can ever convince her.”
“I can imagine that somebody with your mind, someone with your determination, will make any problems vanish. I would be happy to be one of your first backers.”
“Thank you,” Tristan said.
The prince inclined his head. “So shall I sign the papers?”
Tristan hesitated. “Would it be horribly odd if I waited?”
The prince blinked. “Very well.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
TODAY WAS CHRISTMAS. As a child, it had been Irene’s favorite day of the year, but this was different.
How odd that she had only really known Tristan these past few days, but the thought now of not knowing him in the future seemed horrible.
Still, she’d done the correct thing.
Irene strolled downstairs reluctantly. Garlands hung from the ceiling, and she inhaled the lovely scent. Irene tried not to think about Christmas at Highedge Hall. She raised her chin and marched through the castle.
“There are presents in the drawing room,” the duke said. “We have food there, too.”
Irene sent him a wobbly smile. That was the height of communication she was capable of. Perhaps later, after a few weeks, she would be capable of more.
Tristan must have learned what she told the prince. No doubt he was celebrating, that was the one consolation. Perhaps one day things would feel normal again and the pain would subside.
She stepped into the drawing room. Evidently the pain had not subsided very much, for somehow her eyes had managed to conjure Tristan in front of her.
She stepped back.
The mirage looked very real. Evidently she was distressed. She stared at him, an odd scientific wonder, since it couldn’t be him.
Her rejection had been very forceful.
But the man’s face moved, and he had a worried look. He was still handsome, and he still made her heart ache.
“Irene,” the mirage said.
The mirage’s voice resembled Tristan’s.
“You’re not saying anything,” the mirage said.
But it was no mirage.
It was Tristan. He must have wandered inside.
“Look,” she said, “I thought that you would have spoken with Prince Radoslav, but—”
“I did speak with him. Thank you.”
“Good.” She frowned. “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas,” he said. “You have forgotten your gift though.”
“My gift?”
“The ring. I found it on the sideboard. You took it off.”
“It is yours now.”
“I’m afraid it belongs to you.” He kneeled again.
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said. “You don’t have to do this. It’s all very polite.”
“I am not being polite,” Tristan said, gritting his teeth. “I want you in my life forever and always.”
“But you don’t need me anymore,” Irene said. “Besides, I have my work. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course I need you, you silly thing. In fact, the thought of living life without you makes my heart ache, and I’m not fond of chest aches.”
“Well, I’m sorry. You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.” She turned away, conscious of the amused glances of others around her. They should realize the horribleness of this.
Some smiled, as if this were a romantic moment.
No.
This was a moment for Irene to be firm. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I would never say things I don’t mean.”
“You told everyone I was your pretend wife.”
“Well, yes. I did do that,” he admitted, “But I would never lie about my emotions to you. I love you.”
She stilled.
“I love you,” he repeated. “I love everything about you.”
“I’m too clumsy.”
“Then I’ll catch you.”
“I’m too short.”
“You’re the perfect size for me to lift you in my arms to kiss you.”
“Oh.” Perhaps it was somewhat nice to hear that.
“And your eyes have so much wisdom in them,” he said. “They’re so beautiful.”
“They’re dull,” she said flatly.
“They’re beautiful. Not too many people have eyes that shade of green,” he said. “Your lashes are long, and your nose—”
“Curves down?”
“Your nose is perfect. All of you is perfect.”
“Oh.”
“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please marry me, Irene.”
Everyone was quiet now in the room, looking at her.
“I should never have put you in that situation,” Tristan added, “but I can’t completely regret it, because I had such a good time getting to know you.”
“I had a good time too,” she admitted.
He smiled. “I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”
“This, my dear, is when you say that you will marry him,” Mama said.
She glanced at her mother, then at Arthur. “Did you put him up to this?”
“No. He entered the castle himself,” Arthur said casually. “Apparently he’s stubborn. Somewhat like you, Sister.”
“That’s right. I’m stubborn,” Tristan said. “Now, say yes.”
“Yes,” her voice squeaked. And then he leapt up and kissed her, even though there were other people in the room. They were all family and seemed just as happy for her.
“There’s just one thing,” Tristan said, drawing back from her.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“We’re not moving to London. I hope that’s fine.”
“But Hades’ Lair is in London, and I thought Prince Radoslav had agreed to invest... Were you not able to work out a deal with him after all?”
“Yes. He offered to invest in the property, but I said no.”
“You said no? After all that?” Irene widened her eyes.
“I had something better in mind. Why don’t we go to Cambridge?”
“Cambridge?” she squeaked.
“Cambridge. That’s where Dr. Irving lives. I thought we could set up a life there, at least for a while. We can move here later if we have a family.”
“Oh.” Her heart fluttered strangely. “But you would give up your dream to do that.”
He nodded. “It’s a wonderful opportunity, my dear. It’s what you’re passionate about.”
“But you’re passionate about gaming hells.”
He sh
ook his head. “It was just the business opportunity. And Prince Radoslav was right, it would take too much time away from family, and I don’t want that. There will be other opportunities, and I do have this estate.”
Then he kissed her hand, and then he kissed her cheek, and then he kissed her lips and then everything was quite wonderful indeed.
EPILOGUE
CAMBRIDGE
1825
“Irene, you’ll be late for your presentation.” Tristan looked around the room. “I think you have everything.”
She’d done this presentation multiple times: everyone wanted to know about Irene’s theory on weather patterns.
“I’m missing one thing.” Irene grabbed his hand. “You.”
A thrill moved through him, and he wondered how he’d ever thought he would ever want a pretend wife when a real one could be so marvelous.
“I was so foolish before,” he groaned.
She shrugged. “Well, only one of us needs to be intellectual. Good thing I’m giving the talk.”
He elbowed her. “That’s not what I meant. I’m plenty intelligent.”
“I know,” she said. “You are.”
He’d been very successful in forming a business, though it had been a normal gentleman’s club, nothing to do with gambling, and the nights had been far more regular and ended before dinner.
“Do you miss London?” she asked.
“Never.”
Cambridge agreed to both of them, even though Irene had had some doubts before and had suspected she might favor the countryside. Then she’d realized that had been before she’d met Tristan and realized more things were possible.
Life was meant to be lived, and Irene was doing that.
She grabbed hold of his arm, and he opened the door. They stepped out into the crisp Cambridge air, and Irene felt one thing: happiness.
They strolled over the cobbled streets. A carriage waited for them, and they entered it. They were soon swept through the streets, through the town they’d claimed for their own.
“There is a surprise waiting for you,” he said.
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be discussing it.”
“Well, I’m not so good with surprises now.” The last time he had tried to do a surprise, to lie, was when he’d hired her to be his pretend wife.
“Are any of my relatives here?” she asked.
He frowned. “Yes.”
She giggled.
“You can read me very well, my dear,” he said.
She smirked. “Perhaps because I dedicated much of my youth to reading.” Her face grew somber. “I always knew you were the very best of men.”
And then they kissed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Thank you for reading A Holiday Proposal. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Irene and Tristan. Have you read Celia’s story, A Wrong Heiress for Christmas? Tap here to order it now.
NEXT BOOK: How to Capture a Duke, about Fiona and Percival (Irene’s oldest brother), begins the Matchmaking for Wallflowers series. Tap here to order it now.
WEDDING TROUBLE
Don’t Tie the Knot
Dukes Prefer Bluestockings
The Earl’s Christmas Consultant
How to Train a Viscount
A Kiss for the Marquess
MATCHMAKING FOR WALLFLOWERS
How to Capture a Duke
A Rogue to Avoid
Runaway Wallflower
Mad About the Baron
A Marquess for Convenience
The Wrong Heiress for Christmas
THE SLEUTHING STARLET
Murder at the Manor House
Danger on the Downs
The Body in Bloomsbury
A Continental Murder
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BORN IN TEXAS, BIANCA Blythe spent four years in England. She worked in a fifteenth-century castle, though sadly that didn’t actually involve spotting dukes and earls strutting about in Hessians.
She credits British weather for forcing her into a library, where she discovered her first Julia Quinn novel. Thank goodness for blustery downpours.
Bianca now lives in California with her husband.
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HOW TO CAPTURE A DUKE
ALL SHE HAD TO DO WAS find a fiancé. In four days. In the middle of nowhere.
ONE RECLUSIVE BLUESTOCKING...
Fiona Amberly is more intrigued by the Roman ruins near her manor house than she is by balls. When her dying Grandmother worries about Fiona's future, Fiona stammers that she's secretly engaged. Soon she finds herself promising that she will introduce her husband-to-be by Christmas.
One dutiful duke...
Percival Carmichael, new Duke of Alfriston, is in a hurry. He's off to propose to London's most eligible debutante. After nearly dying at Waterloo, he's vowed to spend the rest of his life living up to the ton's expectations.
One fallen tree...
When Fiona tries to warn a passing coach about a tree in the road, the driver mistakes her for a highwaywoman. Evidently he's not used to seeing women attired in clothes only suitable for archaeology waving knives. After the driver flees, Fiona decides she may as well borrow the handsome passenger...
Tap here to order it now.
A Holiday Proposal (Wedding Trouble, #6) Page 13