Page 51 of Wed By Proxy

“It is! And she’s to dog her every step, mind!”

Tristan laughed again softly as Firmin departed, vibrating with disapproval. “Julia will hate that, you know. She heartily despises the company of women.” Guy shot a startled glance at him. She did? “She won’t put it that way of course,” Tristan yawned. “She’ll simply tell you, oh so sadly, that other women are unkind to her, and she has no idea why.” He pulled a face. “That’s your cue to explain it’s all down to jealousy on their behalf.”

Guy regarded Tristan uncertainly. “How long are you staying?” he asked in an abrupt change of subject.

Tristan grinned lazily. “She mentioned a month, but who knows? Last spring we stayed with the Earl of Strethneal for three. His wife was practically tearing her hair out by the time we left.” Guy struggled not to utter an expletive. “Alas,” sighed Tristan. “I am wholly dependent on my brother-in-law’s purse-strings, and must dance to my sister’s tune. Luckily, for some considerable time now I have been dead to all shame. Otherwise the life I live would be quite simply unbearable.”

Guy regarded him sourly. “Why does Allworthy not accompany her this time?” he demanded.

Tristan’s eyebrows rose. “He’s practically on his deathbed, poor old sod. Why else do you think Julia’s so keen to do a headcount of her old suitors?”

“I’m married,” Guy pointed out abruptly. He had never been grateful for the fact before.

“Well yes,” admitted Tristan, inspecting his nails. “But you’ve never abided under the same roof as your marchioness, now have you? Likely, my dear sister is thinking that after four years, you may be able to petition for an annulment.” Hells. Tristan smiled. “Quite so, my dear Guy,” he murmured. “Quite so.”

He did not find Tristan so easy to shake off as his sister, and ended up in his company for the next hour before dinner, catching each other up with news of mutual acquaintances. Guy bade a vintage, full-bodied wine to be opened, which the two men cordially shared. When they went in to their supper, they found Julia awaiting them with her most gracious smile. Guy noticed that the table had been set up informally, so they were all up the one end of its vast expanse. A lavish arrangement of hard-boiled eggs covered in saffron and flavored with cloves was set down in the center of the table. No doubt this was in honor of their guests, as usually only plain food was served from their kitchen.

Guy frowned, and set himself at the head of the table, Julia sat at his right and Tristan at his left. There seemed only three covers laid.

“Cruel creatures,” Julia pouted. “You have been neglecting me as a mere female, while you talk of your horrid men’s business.”

Guy eyed her with surprise. Had Julia always been so coquettish in manner? She was thirty-one now and he thought such behavior ill suited her.

“Guy has been bringing me up to date with our old neighbors,” Tristan said mildly, as they were served the first course of sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar.

Guy turned to Jankin who was hovering nearby. “Where is Firmin?” he demanded. “Tell him to come and be seated. He always takes his meals in here of an evening.” Jankin ran off to find the steward.

Julia cleared her throat. “Perhaps he thought the occasion demanded a more intimate setting for the reunion of childhood friends?” she suggested sweetly.

Guy did not deign to answer this, just looked up at Firmin’s approaching footsteps. “Sit down, man!” he bade him sternly, and Firmin made haste to do so. “From tomorrow night see to it that Temur, his wife, and Waldon are also seated here for dinner.”

Firmin bobbed his head, though he looked a little taken-aback. “Yes my lord, I merely thought—”

“Well don’t,” Guy interrupted him. “I don’t pay you to anticipate my wishes.” Which wasn’t strictly speaking true, but he did not trouble himself too much about that. “Inform the kitchen,” he ordered over his shoulder. “We are four of us dining.” Jankin made haste to fetch another setting.

“I was thinking,” Julia began, reopening conversation. “Of taking a ride tomorrow afternoon.” She threw him an ingratiating smile. “I remember that pretty bay mare you lent me the use of last time. I feel sure she will remember me.”

“I no longer have her,” Guy answered shortly. “I gave her away.” He thought of the bay mare stabled next to Destrian at the hunting lodge currently. What was the name Mathilde had called her? Sabrina.

Julia’s face fell. “Oh, what a shame! Whatever induced you to part with her? She was a beauty.”

“You should not be so indiscreet sister,” Tristan drawled, setting down his goblet. At her questioning look, he elaborated. “Clearly Guy has bestowed the mare upon a lady he thought worthy of her.”

“Nonsense!” she said with confidence, and threw a look at Guy to corroborate. When he merely cleared his throat, Tristan, laughed and Julia looked extremely taken aback.

“You see?” said Tristan. “You must allow my knowledge of men to be far superior to yours, Julia.”

“Well, if she was there for the taking, I wish you had given her to me,” she complained. “She was far superior to the mounts Cecil keeps for my use at Allworthy.” Guy said nothing, but Julia was clearly not going to let the matter pass. “I feel sure,” she said with a superior smile. “That this mysterious lady cannot be as good a rider as I.”

Guy considered this a moment. “From what I have seen, she is easily your equal,” he said, remembering how recklessly Julia would set a horse at a hedge.

Tristan laughed again, but Julia’s expression grew tight. “You cannot be speaking of the Countess of Strethneal at any event,” she said with determined lightness. “For I well remember his grace telling me that I have far better hands than she.” Guy refused to rise to the bait, and gestured for his ale to be refilled.

“For some reason,” Julia carried on plaintively when no one spoke, “the countess is quite cold toward me these days, I find. I wonder why that could be?” She looked around the table. Tristan rolled his eyes, and Guy took a hearty draught of ale.

“Did you trouble to write to her since we stayed with them last?” Tristan asked lazily. “People tend to find it quite rude when you do not formally thank your host.”

Julia tossed her auburn hair. “’Twas the earl who was our host and not his wife who is not even a true northerner,” she said with a curl of her lip.