She didn’t want to believe it of Andrew but in her heart knew Tristan spoke the truth. “You have given a possible motive for Andrew’s treachery, but what is your mother’s excuse for such diabolical behaviour?”
He drained his glass, placed it on the octagonal mahogany table next to him before taking her hand in his. “She thought that my father was in love with your mother. She knew it was a purely platonic relationship, but bitterness taints my mother’s thoughts and feelings. Even now, she feels justified in her methods to keep us apart.”
The truth was like a knife to her heart.
Surely it amounted to more than an act of jealousy.
“Your father visited both my parents many times over the years,” she said in an attempt to make sense of it all. “He gave my mother support when my father died, promised to care for me if ever I was left alone. Never once did I think there was anything more to their relationship.”
Tristan patted her hand gently. “My father was a loyal husband by all accounts. I think that is what hurts my mother the most. True love is rare, precious. She craved it, avoided anything that reminded her of her failings.”
“Please tell me you do not pity her.” The sudden surge of anger caught her by surprise. “There is no justification for what she did to us.”
He gripped her hand tightly. “You mistake me. I am merely trying to establish her thought process. I will never forgive her for her meddling.”
A light tap on the door announced Mrs. Taylor’s arrival with the tea tray. The housekeeper placed it carefully on the side table.
“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” Isabella said. “You may leave us. I shall pour.”
My mother’s actions did not bring her the peace she so desperately sought,” Tristan said as Mrs. Taylor closed the door behind her. “Indeed, it pains her to think of what I did whilst in France.”
“She drove you away. What did she expect you to do?”
Tristan shrugged. “No doubt she assumed I would find someone else to marry.”
Isabella’s heart lurched at the thought. “Then I am grateful you decided to work for a living instead.”
“You know, with my penchant for work, perhaps we should go into business together.”
“A viscount in business?” She chuckled, relieved to have moved on to another subject. All talk of ghosts, murder, and deception, made her heart feel heavy. “What sort of business?”
His wicked grin caused her stomach to flip. “Wouldn’t you like to spend your days working with me? We could open an agency that deals in the solving of mysteries. Of course, the working hours would be long.”
“Don’t tell me, we would be required to spend our nights together, too,” she said, eager to respond to his playful tone.
He moistened his lips. “Ghosts rarely appear during the daylight hours. I thought you would know that.”
As ridiculous as the idea sounded, she welcomed any opportunity to spend more time with him. “I suppose we would have premises where we would greet prospective clients, rooms above to rest when we cannot keep our eyes open after a hectic night.”
“A hectic night,” he repeated, his voice silky smooth. “You make work sound so appealing.”
It did sound wonderful and exciting. “Well, we have one more mystery of our own to solve before we can even begin to think of doing so in a professional capacity,” she said in a bid to quash all unrealistic thoughts. Daydreams, whilst entertaining, only served to bring disappointment. “But I have been thinking. Now we know the haunting has nothing to do with Samuel’s death, and that I was never in any real danger, there is a part of me that wonders if his falling down the stairs was an accident after all.”
“On the surface, that is what it would seem.” He nodded when she gestured to the tea tray. “I am inclined to think the same about Andrew’s accident, too. However, we have nothing to lose by asking a few questions, or by prying a little into Lord Fernall’s affairs.”
With a firm grip on the china saucer, she handed him his tea. “So you still agree we should be seen out togeth
er?” There was a nervous hitch in her voice that she could not suppress. “You do not care what people think?”
“There is no need to sound so terrified at the prospect. You’re a widow. I am not beholden to anyone. We may do as we please. By God, we have waited long enough to spend time in each other’s company.”
“Whilst no one knows of our attempted elopement, there will be gossip. People will assume I am your mistress.” The thought caused a sensual beat between her thighs. It had been so long since she had felt the intoxicating thrum of desire. The last time was in her youth. In her innocence, the feeling had not burned with the same intensity.
“Does the thought offend you?” His heated gaze drifted slowly over her face, scanned her grey dress as though it was made from the finest gossamer and proved utterly scandalous.
“I am used to sly whispers as I walk by, used to turned up noses and direct cuts. To be thought your mistress carries more prestige than to be known as the wife who tolerated her husband’s obscene parties, or a wife capable of murder.”
“Whilst I recognise the compliment infused within your words, know that I could never demean you in such a way.”