The Dowager's Wager (22 page)

Regis nodded, dour faced and closed the door. Endless
minutes later, he returned. “I am sorry, Lady Westbrooke is
not at home”

“Where did she go? When will she be back? I must speak
with her. I know she will see me,” Tristan protested.

Regis gave him a pointed look. “I am sorry, my lord. She
is not at home to you.”

The door shut and Tristan stared at it in shock. Isabella would not receive him. The enormity of her rejection flooded him, overwhelmed him so that he stumbled down the
steps to his horse. Short of yelling up at her from the streets,
there was nothing more he could do that day. Surely after
she had some time to put events into perspective, she would
agree to see him. The thought brought him a bit of hope. He
would go to Whitehall, then to sleep. Everything would look
better in the morning.

The offices at Whitehall were mostly deserted, the clerks
and aides having gone home hours ago to warm suppers. But
a light still glowed from under the door of the man Tristan
wanted to see. He had suspected as much. Halsey worked
alone and late. He rapped on the door and called out, “It’s
Moreland.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” Halsey said after Tristan had
taken a seat in a battered leather chair.

The small office in the bowels of Whitehall was crowded
with stacks of papers and files. Tristan marveled that Halsey
could find anything there. Then again, it wouldn’t be unlikely that a spy would not be able to find anything either.

“The mission is complete,” Tristan said in terse tones,
holding Halsey’s gaze.

“I heard it ended messily. Are you all right?”

“I am well enough. I have a goose egg on the back of my
head and my left hand is temporarily useless, but I am whole
otherwise.” Tristan leaned back in the chair and crossed his
legs. He wasn’t surprised Halsey had heard rumors of the
house party already. Some of his houseguests had left at
daybreak, eager to be the first back to Town with the latest
gossip and Halsey had ears everywhere. What he didn’t have
were the facts. That was why Tristan came.

“The double agent was really a duo, Beatrix and her
brother. Her brother was the third assailant I faced on the
Paris wharf. The wound I inflicted on him was indeed fatal,
although we had no way of verifying that. Beatrix knew though. She knew her brother was dead and she knew we
were unsure of who he was or whether or not he lived.
Hence, her need for Middleton.” Tristan laid out the convoluted plan.

“Ah, another man ensnared by Beatrix’s wiles,” Halsey
mused.

“Middleton isn’t quite as innocent as that,” Tristan corrected. “He has dabbled in petty espionage to line his purse
before. But Beatrix and her offer are by far the largest opportunities he’s had. Beatrix asked him to pose as the double
agent since she knew we had a vague description of the man:
tall, blond, athletic in build. She also convinced him to steal
the cards from my town house.”

“I see how it falls into place now.” Halsey steepled his
hands. “Beatrix almost succeeded on both levels. She almost
got away with her plan to steal information and she almost
succeeded in exacting her vengeance against you”

Tristan nodded. “I was very close to believing the culprit
was Alain Hartsfield, my dear friend. I was convinced the
Home Office wanted me on the assignment because they
already suspected Alain and wanted to use me to get close to
him. Beatrix had set up so many different layers to her plan,
it is mind boggling. I regret that she escaped, but we have the
knowledge we set out to find. We know who the double agent
is and that renders her powerless.”

A slow smile spread across Halsey’s face. “You’re partly wrong. We have the information and we have Beatrix.
She was apprehended in Southhampton just a few hours
ago. Luckily for us, there were no boats sailing until the
evening tide. Once I heard the rumors trickling back into
the city about your house party, I sent my fastest riders
out”

“That is the best news I’ve heard today,” Tristan said honestly. Knowing that Beatrix had been apprehended relieved
his worry that Isabella would still be threatened. “What
about Middleton?”

“He is still at large, but as you said, he’s a petty player in intrigue. I expect we won’t hear from him again. He’ll be too
worried about his own safety to surface any time soon”

Tristan had to agree. From all accounts, Middleton had
been Beatrix’s stooge. He rose. “Then I give you good night.
I have ridden hard and slept little. I will see to it that you
have a full written report shortly, followed by my official
resignation as planned.”

Tristan departed Whitehall feeling lighter of step. True,
there were still several items to work out with Isabella, but
knowing the assignment was over helped lighten his burden
considerably. Tomorrow, he would try again.

He did not succeed the next day nor the day after that or
the day after that. Each day he went to Isabella’s home and
found himself denied access. He plagued her with messages
and errand boys bearing bouquets of flowers and boxes of
bonbons. His frustration grew. After a week, he tried a new
tack and attended any ball or event she might possibly be at
even though it meant attending three events a night on some
evenings.

He allied himself with people connected to Isabella, in
hopes of catching news of her. He spent evenings with
groups including Lady Briarton, the overly perfect Avery
Driscoll and Isabella’s protege, Caroline Danvers. But none
of the associations brought him closer to Isabella. She was
absent from their ranks, although Caroline valiantly tried to
fill the void so that he didn’t feel the odd man out.

Indeed, Tristan appreciated her efforts. It was somewhat
unnerving to move in Isabella’s circles without her. He had
not realized how much she had paved his way back into
Society upon his return. Now, with the news about the house
party and his true role in the event being revealed, he was
something of a hero. Mothers beat a path to him with their
daughters in tow and Tristan was happy to let Caroline act as
a buffer.

He danced with her often at the events since it precluded having to dance with debutantes he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Caroline was a companionable ally,
ready to make conversation as they danced and just as ready
to give him silence if he needed it. When they did talk, they
talked of horses and the countryside.

Tristan saw nothing untoward in their association.
Perhaps that was why the rumors startled him so much.
Matrons began to comment on the time he and Caroline
spent in one another’s company, how regularly he danced
with her, the mere daughter of a simple country gentleman.
It came as a surprise to him that speculation was growing
among both genders in regards to him and Caroline. Most
people expected he would offer for her.

At first he ignored the rumors. But Isabella,s continued
absence and rejection weighed heavily on him. She had
washed her hands of him and it was time to realize he was
facing life without her a second time. His hope in tatters,
Tristan was desperate to assuage the hurt left by Isabella’s
desertion. If he remained alone and unattached, he would
always yearn for her. The torture would be exquisite if she
became the wife of another and he was left alone. The torture would be unbearable if she chose to remain unmarried,
choosing a single life over a life with him. Either way,
Tristan knew he would burn in the deepest levels of hell if
either of those scenarios came to pass.

In the darkest watches of the night, he convinced himself
the only way to repair his heart would be to put himself
beyond Isabella’s reach forever and marry another; someone
who expected only companionship from him; someone who
might not guess his motives for marriage. Armed with
resolve, Tristan watched the sun rise on another sleepless
night.

When the shops opened, he went to a jeweler of good
repute and purchased a ring sure to impress even the most
reluctant fathers and went to pay his call. The moment the
ring was in his hand, he felt a certain numbness start to claim
him. Isabella was slipping away and with her, the fire of his
being. She had been his purpose for so long, he was at a loss.

He reminded himself numbness was good. It dulled the
pain and eventually, it would overcome the ache. He turned
down Brook Street and climbed the steps to the Danvers’
residence. Caroline was as good a choice as any and better
than most.

London, mid-May

It had been six weeks since Tristan’s house party and
Isabella could put Avery Driscoll off no longer. He had
patiently waited the two weeks she’d originally requested for
an answer regarding his proposal. Then he had politely waited without pressing her, believing that her ordeal at
Gresham’s house party had overset her more than she let on.

Tonight, he would wait no longer. Avery had very specifically asked her to attend his Aunt Elizabeth’s ball that evening in hopes of resolving their relationship. Isabella knew
she owed him that courtesy in return for the numerous courtesies he had shown her throughout the tenure of their
friendship.

She looked at her pale face in the mirror as she sat listlessly holding her hairbrush at her vanity. Tristan had left
her ravaged. She promised herself that she would not leave
Avery in the same condition. She did not want this miserable
half life for him. She knew Avery hoped that she would
accept him and that the ball could become an occasion for
announcing their betrothal. In all fairness, she could not
accept his honest proposal. She could not burden him with
her broken heart. Avery would spend his life devoting him self to the impossible task of making her happy, of making
her forget Tristan Moreland. She would not see him become
the victim of unrequited love.

Since the house party, she had neither been out to any of
the usual routs or musicales nor had she received any callers
since her return to town. She had shopped a few times with
Amy to keep up some semblance of appearances and ridden
in the park with Alain. Beyond that, she relied on Regis and
Betty for information. Tristan had called several times the
first two weeks of her reclusivity. But she could not bring
herself to see him. She would most likely have to face him
tonight and that would be hard enough. She hoped seeing
him in public would give her the strength she needed to get
through the evening. If she could get through the evening,
she could get through the next evening and the next when
they would all inevitably be together.

And they would be together unless she chose to shun all
society forever. According to Alain’s news, Tristan was
doing well. He was a hero these days since his part in the
mission to catch Beatrix and Middleton became public.
Everyone forgave his supposed behavior with Beatrix,
understanding that it had all been a role played for the
greater good.

Amy brought similar tidings as well. Tristan was a hero
and the reticence any doting fathers might have had about
letting Tristan court their daughters had vanished. He was
the most eligible bachelor on the dance floors these days.
Unlike Isabella, who sequestered herself away, Tristan was
at every function, even two or three a night. He danced with
everyone, but particularly with Caroline Danvers. Amy’s
eyes had sparkled at the mention, saying, “Isabella, you
might win that wager yet. There’s still three weeks until
June. Speculation is rife that he will offer for the lovely
Caroline.”

She had listened to the news dispassionately, telling herself
she cared not a whit who Tristan danced with or who he might
propose to. She was doubly glad that she had not shared Tristan’s proposal with anyone. She would have looked foolish now that his affections were engaged elsewhere.

Isabella stood and rang for Betty. It was time to dress and
Avery deserved to have her looking her best. She selected
one of her favorite gowns of sage-colored velvet trimmed in
a deep forest green that she’d worn only one other time.

She arrived at the ball alone, but Avery had been on the
watch for her and promptly left his aunt’s side in the receiving line when he spotted her in the queue. He was impeccably dressed as usual and he graciously stayed at her side
until they reached his aunt, keeping up an excellent stream
of small talk that succeeded in putting her at ease. Whatever
his hopes were for the evening, Avery was clearly dedicated
to her happiness first and foremost.

“Please, don’t let me keep you from your hosting duties,”
Isabella offered after Avery introduced her to his Aunt
Elizabeth, Lady Sizemore.

“You are my hosting duty, Isabella,” Avery whispered
confidentially, covering her gloved hand with his. “My
cousin is filling in for me admirably.” He nodded to where a
dark-haired gentleman had taken up residence next to Lady
Sizemore. “The dancing will begin in a few minutes. I’d
hoped to claim the first dance?”