What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

Her golden locks shimmered when caught by the sun’s rays; her pleasant smile made her appear pure, angelic. “I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you too, hence the reason for Miss Hamilton’s eagerness to hurry on ahead.”

Tristan swallowed. He hoped his intuition proved correct, and that the lady had no desire to hear a declaration of love fall from his lips. As a gentleman, he would allow the lady to address him first.

“You have my full attention,” he said, aware that he should be courteous enough to intimate as to the nature of his thoughts. Should his observations prove wrong, it would save the lady any undue embarrassment. “But first, let me apologise for my mother’s interference. She is often determined to get her way despite the odds.”

Miss Smythe smiled. “Well, I am sure there is no harm done. Since making your acquaintance, I have found you to be rather astute. As such, I do not think it will surprise you to learn that I believe we are far too similar to make a good match.”

Relief shot through him like a lightning bolt and he suppressed a satisfied grin.

“Too similar?” he asked purely as a means of clarification. To his mind, they did not share any commonalities.

“We are both far too amiable,” she said. “You are kind and considerate, and I fear we would soon tire of one another.”

He had struggled to be himself in her company. His impeccable manners made him nauseous. Perhaps she had no desire to discuss sewing and instead wanted a gentleman who did not nod and agree with everything she said.

How ironic.

“I know my aunt and uncle will be terribly disappointed,” she continued, “but I must follow my heart.”

“I fear you are right,” he said in the same affable way. It would not do to let her know he was far removed from the man she believed him to be. “My mother will be disappointed, too, of course. But we shall remain friends. Know that should you ever need assistance my door will always be open.”

He had no idea why the words left his lips. He could only surmise that it had something to do with Isabella. Had there been someone else to offer her support she might never have married Lord Fernall.

“That is generous of you, my lord. One never knows what fate has in store for us. And while I doubt such a need should arise, I shall take comfort in the knowledge that I may approach you for advice.”

Tristan considered mentioning Mr. Fellows, but he did not want to pry. Besides, Mr. Fellows was the epitome of amiable, and now he doubted they would suit at all. “Well, I suppose I should go and break the news to my mother.”

“Then I shall bid you a good day, my lord, and quickly take my leave.” Miss Smythe inclined her head. “I find your mother does not take disappointment well. Indeed, she can be rather persuasive in her methods when she is of a mind to get her way.”

Tristan smiled. Miss Smythe was far more perceptive than he had given her credit.

Tristan waited for Miss Smythe to depart before returning to the terrace room. Miss Smythe’s placid temperament had served to mellow his mood, albeit somewhat temporarily. One wrong word from his mother and he would struggle to keep his anger at bay.

“Well?” His mother sat forward, gripping the padded arms of her favourite chair. “Did you find her agreeable?”

Tristan sat down in the chair opposite. He wanted to rant and rage, but experience had taught him that the element of surprise, coupled with a calm reserve, worked to unnerve one’s quarry.

“She is a delight,” he said honestly.

“I knew if you would only give her a little time you would soon see the merits of her character.”

“Indeed. I am confident Miss Smythe has the necessary attributes any gentleman would admire.”

His mother gave a contented sigh. “I am truly thrilled, and what a marvellous stroke of luck you were able to return home so promptly. I hope Mr. Henderson showed some remorse for wasting your time.”

He straightened, stared at the woman he knew was responsible for five years of pain and misery. “Albeit short, my trip was not a complete waste.” His time at Highley Grange had proved enlightening. “But urgent business brought me back to town.”

“Oh, Tristan,” she said chuckling weakly. “You may be honest with me. You came back to see Miss Smythe. I often find tiresome journeys give one the opportunity to think without distraction. I have made many wise decisions whilst rattling about the countryside in a carriage.”

Wise decisions? Was that the term she used for ruining lives. “Have you ever made a decision you have later come to regret?”

She seemed a little surprised by the question. Her head wobbled as she nodded and shook it at the same time. “One must have the courage to stand by one’s principles. Regret is for the weak, for those who like to wallow in sentiment.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He gave a mocking snort. “My time in France taught me to fight for justice, to fight for those downtrodden and mistreated. A mind plagued by excessive bouts of sentimentality is of no use in the field.”

She flapped her hand in the air and squeezed her eyes shut. “Let us not talk of your terrible time abroad. I cannot bear to think of you running about with those heathens.”

“The point I am making is that I do not regret my time there. And you know why I left, why I had no choice but to leave Kempston, to leave England.”