“Until tomorrow.” He inclined his head, grateful that his mask concealed any evidence of his chaotic emotions.
“Until tomorrow.” She sat back against the squab and gave a curt nod.
Tristan closed the door firmly, called up to the coachman to convey her destination. The carriage lunged forward, picked up a gentle pace. He removed his mask, stood and watched as it turned the corner and disappeared from view. But he continued to stare at nothing for a few moments longer.
The friendly pat on his shoulder jolted him back to the present.
“I must say I did expect you to leave with her.” Chandler stood at his side and stared into the distance, too. “You are both free to conduct a discreet liaison.”
In truth, he could think of nothing he would rather do. Things would have been so different had they only just met.
“We are friends, nothing more.” It hurt to say the words. He wanted to believe them. But something inside refused to acknowledge all hope was lost, refused to accept that was the extent of their relationship. “Everything else is in the past.”
“Is it? I’m not so certain.”
Tristan whipped around to face him. “She married another man,” he said through gritted teeth. He had to unleash his pent up anger on someone.
Chandler shrugged, unaffected by his volatile mood. “But he is dead, and you are very much alive.”
“Am I?” He had been dead inside for five years.
Chandler appeared confused by his reply. “You’re letting resentment cloud your judgement.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t feel the same way if you were in my position?”
“I have no notion how I would react. I have never loved a woman the way you love her.”
Chandler’s words were like a barbed arrow to his heart. Amidst the bedlam of the emotional battle raging inside he tried to make sense of his feelings. He had loved Isabella for as long as he could remember. Whilst bitterness had forced him to suppress the feeling, love still flourished deep within.
“Is it so obvious?” he asked with some amusement. To laugh was just another way of coping.
“You had the opportunity to dally with a shepherdess whose wicked tongue can bring any lost lamb to heel.” Chandler raised his hand as a means of preventing any interruption. “Don’t say you were only thinking of my interests. There are plenty of ladies here eager to spend time in my company.”
“Plenty?” Tristan snorted, although he knew Chandler was never short of female companionship. “You always were a conceited devil.”
“There is a vast difference between conceit and confidence.” Chandler smiled as he raised a brow. “I am confident in my ability to please. Now, shall I give you some advice?”
Tristan waved for him to continue. “Please do.”
“Look beyond what you believe to be true. Ask yourself why a woman would turn her back on the man she loves in order to marry a cold-hearted blackguard.”
Was that to be the extent of his friend’s wisdom? Tristan had thought about nothing else for the last five years. The permanent pounding in his head was testament to that. “The answer is obvious. She married for money and status. At the time, I was but the second son of a viscount.”
“You make it sound as though you were a pauper.” Chandler frowned. “Do you truly believe Isabella would have chosen a title and money over love?”
?
??No. I do not.” Tristan closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the moment he learnt of her duplicity. “That is what shocked me most of all.”
“I fear not all is as it seems. When a person’s actions appear illogical, there is always a vital piece of information that has been overlooked.”
Suspicion caused his heart to race. “Do you know something more? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Chandler shook his head. “Of course not. But I excel in observing people and their habits. I know the face of a woman capable of deceit. I know greed. I know the actions of a woman whose interests are purely self-serving.”
“But you do not know the face of a woman in love,” Tristan countered. “Perhaps I misread her affections. Perhaps she realised it was not love she felt.”
Chandler gave a mischievous grin. “I don’t want you to think my debauched antics in any way have affected my preferences in the bedchamber, but you are a remarkably handsome man.” Chandler gripped Tristan’s shoulder and squeezed. “I do not know what you have been doing in France, but I imagine your body resembles the marble statues of Greek gods so often displayed in museums. You’re kind and generous, loyal to a fault. What is not to love?”