They were disturbed by a footman carrying a silver tray.
“My lord,” he said bowing to both gentlemen but focusing his attention on Tristan. “I have been instructed to deliver a missive.”
Tristan glanced at the folded paper on the tray with some curiosity. “Thank you.” The footman waited while Tristan scanned the short message. “You may leave us. There will be no reply.”
The footman offered a graceful bow and made a discreet exit.
“There is somewhere I need to be,” Tristan said, smiling to himself at the thought of meeting Isabella by the fountain. “But I’m a little reluctant to leave you here alone.”
Chandler chuckled. “We are not at school now. I shall manage perfectly well. Besides, I need to find a way to distract my mind.”
“Am I to assume you mean a distraction of the feminine persuasion?”
“What else is there?” He gestured to the folded paper in Tristan’s hand. “By all accounts, I am not the only one eager to partake in an amorous liaison. I suggest you make haste before your lady grows tired of waiting.”
Tristan cast him a huge grin. “I hope your night proves rewarding. I shall call on you tomorrow.”
“Make sure it is after two. I hope to be thoroughly spent and exhausted and doubt I shall see my bed before dawn.”
They parted ways.
Chandler returned to the ballroom whilst Tristan hurried down the steps and into the garden. Having never been to the Holbrooks’ house before, he had no idea where to find the damn fountain. It was dark. A grey mist still hung in the air. He imagined it would be in a prominent place. Yet after a few minutes searching behind various hedges, he located it tucked away in a discreet corner.
As he approached, he could hear a soft whimpering sound. Had it not been for Isabella’s note he would have made a hasty retreat. But he felt a sudden tightness in his abdomen that told him something was wrong.
“Isabella?” he whispered. If Henry Fernall had harmed her in any way, he would call the gentleman out and to hell with the consequences. “Isabella.”
He heard the lady’s sob before she appeared from a shadowed corner of the hedgerow.
“Miss Smythe?” He blinked rapidly in a bid to recover from his initial surprise. “What on earth are you doing out here?” He glanced past her shoulder, sagged with relief when he realised she was alone.
The lady stepped forward, squinted as she peered at him in the darkness. “Lord … Lord Morford?” She took another hesitant step towards him. “Oh, my lord, I am so relieved it is you.”
Tristan scanned the long golden curls hanging loosely from her coiffure. He questioned why she was clutching the shoulder of her ivory gown until he realised it was torn, the left half of the bodice ripped, hanging down.
“What has happened to your gown?”
Miss Smythe grasped his arm, forgetting that it was the same hand she had used to cover her modesty, and consequently revealing more of her person than expected. “Your mother told Miss Hamilton that she wanted to speak to me privately out on the terrace.”
His mother?
“I decided to avoid her, as I know how determined she can be.” Miss Smythe gave a weary sigh. “But then I thought it was better to speak to her, to make my intentions clear.”
“And what did she say?” Tristan was still struggling with the notion that his mother insisted on using manipulative tricks to get her way.
“That is what is so strange.” Miss Smythe sniffed. “I waited, but she never came. Then I thought I saw her waving at me from the bottom of the garden and so I followed her out here.”
“Did you speak to her?” When he returned to Bedford Square, he would arrange for his mother’s trunks to be packed a
nd inform the coachman not to stop until he reached Ripon.
“No. I looked for her but—” she broke off and gave an odd growl of frustration. “Perhaps I am losing my mind. None of it makes any sense.”
Tristan considered the lady’s dishevelled state. “You must try and remain calm. How did your gown come to be in such a state of disrepair?”
Miss Smythe sucked in a breath as she glanced at the ripped bodice. “This is going to sound ridiculous, I know, but as I approached the fountain a figure pounced from behind the shrubbery. He grabbed the sleeve of my gown and tugged at it until I heard the material tear. And then he simply ran off into the night.”
Tristan rubbed his aching temple. He had never encountered so many tangled mysteries, not even whilst working for the Crown. “Did you recognise this man who attacked you?”