Page 21 of The Duke’s Last Love

Breakfast began late. Sunlight lay across the long table in bars, catching on silver and the rims of coffee cups, and the room smelled of toast, of candle smoke carried down from the night before, and of flowers already beginning to drop their petals. The guests who had stayed overnight appeared at uneven intervals, some ready to discuss every dance and others interested only in coffee. Tristan arrived to find his mother speaking to a woman who had declared that she had never slept so well in an unfamiliar bed. He greeted them, answered a question about the morning’s arrangements, and accepted a cup from the footman.

Lydia sat near the far end of the table with Clara and Anne Bellamy. They were examining a rough seating plan on the back of a folded card. Clara pointed; Lydia shook her head, laughing, and turned the card around. Harrington sat several places away beside Edmund. Tristan watched him glance toward Lydia, then return to his conversation without attempting to move closer. He ought to have been pleased that the gentleman was showing restraint. Instead, he found himself wondering whether he was responsible for it.

There were empty seats nearer her. Another gentleman stopped to greet the sisters. Lydia looked up as he approached, but after a few words he moved on. Tristan set down his cup. “Are the Pembrokes leaving this morning?” he asked his mother.

“Tomorrow.”

“Then Harrington will have another opportunity to speak to Lady Lydia.”

His mother looked at him over her coffee. “I imagine he is uncertain whether he ought.”

“Why?”

She lowered the cup. “You interrupted Dunhaven, quarreled with Lydia, and returned from the dark garden together. What conclusion would you draw?”

Harrington’s hesitation made the damage plain. Tristan could withdraw now; the room would still remember that he had crossed it to take Lydia from another man. “That we had settled the quarrel.”

“And wished to be left alone together.”

“We agreed to be friends.”

“How useful. Shall I announce it before the next gentleman risks himself?”

Tristan glanced at Harrington again. The man was speaking to Edmund, apparently content to remain where he was.

“Other gentlemen are waiting to see what you intend,” his mother said. “You can hardly blame them.”

He had believed that leaving Lydia free to dance afterward would undo what the room had seen. It had not. At the far end of the table, she folded the card and returned it to Clara. When a footman came round with fresh bread, Tristan left his mother and took the empty chair on Lydia’s other side. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.” She inclined her head while the footman moved on.

“Is the drawing yours?” he asked.

“No. We were trying to recall where everyone sat at supper. Apparently two people have been given the same chair.”

“I hope they managed.”

She smiled. Another footman offered Tristan coffee, and he waved it away. “My mother tells me there is some speculation about us.”

“Yes. I have been asked whether I expect to spend much time in Hampshire.”

“What did you say?”

“That I had not arranged my summer.”

“Would you like me to speak to anyone?”

Lydia considered the offer, then shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips despite her exasperation. “That would give them something else to discuss.”

He could see the truth of it. A footman offered Lydia the breadbasket, and she took a small piece. Across the table, Harrington looked up, saw Tristan seated beside her, and turned back to Edmund. Lydia saw it happen. So did Tristan.

“I might ask Henry to bring Mr. Harrington to speak to me later,” she said.

“Yes. Of course.”

“You need not mourn him while he is still in the room.”

“I would not have your prospects affected.”