Marguerite had filled his life with magic. How else to explain how little he’d thought of the government’s puzzles these last months. They had become a hobby rather than the reason for his being.
And his mother, he had actually spoken to Felicity. He had invited her to his home and promised to be there to greet her. That was nothing less than enchantment.
He turned and looked up at the portrait of his father that hung above the fireplace. He would have expected to rapprochement, instead the deep brown eyes of the portrait shone with the kindness he so well remembered.
Kindness. Perhaps that was the key. He would go to Marguerite not thinking what he wanted, what would gain him the prize, rather he would approach her with the sole goal of determining what it was she wanted, she needed. He would do what was necessary to ensure that she received what she desired. He would make that his only ambition.
He took the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Eighteen
Marguerite gazed around the room. When she had invited Felicity and Violet to call on her this morning she had assumed that she would first have a chance to straighten out matters with her husband. That had not proved the case.
She had fallen asleep again before her dinner tray was removed. She was not sure if it was the accident, the medicine, or her condition, but she seemed endlessly tired. At least, she wasn’t sick. That symptom seemed to have escaped her entirely. Perhaps the surgeon had been correct and it had been the tension of her situation that had caused the nausea and stomach upset previously.
Strangely, she did not feel tense now. She still felt anger at Tristan for his blatant disregard of both her feelings and reality. She felt sadness for how close they had come to something wonderful. And she felt frustration, all encompassing frustration. How could such a smart man be so stupid?
She turned to Violet with a smile. “Yes, I am feeling much better this day. I am still sore, but in general I believe I am well, if still tired.”
Violet nodded, but Felicity spoke up. “I remember how exhausting it was to carry a child, particularly in the early months. Nobody appreciates how difficult it is before it even shows. I think it is actually easier as you grow closer to confinement and everybody around you becomes so solicitous. Don’t you agree?” She turned to Violet.
“I am afraid I wouldn’t know.” She looked down at her hands, but Marguerite could not mistake the bleakness of both voice and expression.
Felicity realized her error and changed the subject. “So where is my son? Unless, I am mistaken he did promise to be here.”
“I am afraid he has not yet returned from his morning ride,” Marguerite said. “It is past his normal hour to do so, but I have noticed that when he has something to ponder he is often delayed.” She certainly hoped he was taking the time to think about things. If they were to proceed in the marriage together certain matters would be settled and settled soon. Otherwise, the country might be an attractive option.
She looked up to find Felicity staring at her. “Yes, he was like that as a boy. He was the most charming company, but if he wanted to think off he went alone.”
As if knowing that he was the center of conversation, Tristan chose that moment to enter the room. “Felicity, Violet, Marguerite,” he tilted his head to each, “I wish you a good morning.
“How are you this morning, Marguerite?”
“I am well, my lord. How was your ride?”
He looked momentarily nonplussed by her use of formal address, but quickly recovered. “It was satisfactory. I had an errand I needed to be sure was complete.”
Something in his tone gave her pause. “And was it?” she asked.
“Yes, it was.” His eyes glinted with some hidden satisfaction.
Felicity coughed, once, drawing attention back to her. “Are you ever going to call me mother again? I know this is not the time to ask, but I am not sure when I’ll catch you in the same room again.”
Tristan walked to Marguerite. He placed a hand on her shoulder, ran a finger along her skin just above the edge of her blouse. She drew a quick breath in. He turned back to his mother. “Would it please my wife if I did so?”
For a moment silence held. Marguerite pressed her brows together. Was this a gift, or some trick