Page 31 of A Match Made in London
He had to.
But he and Grace had been discussing something. What had it been? Oh, yes.
“Has the house agent contacted you with any new properties to let?”
“Nothing I would think of taking.”
He grinned. “Too small for you and your grand tastes?”
Grace made a face. “You truly have a lofty opinion of me, don’t you? No, they’re much too large. What would I possibly need with eight bedrooms? Or a ballroom? I like a good ball as well as the next person, but I certainly don’t intend to throw one. Besides, if I ever change my mind I can make use of your house. What you’ve been doing in that monstrosity, a lonely bachelor, is beyond me.” She peered around him. “Miss Merriweather, do you have any ideas as to good neighborhoods I may take a house in? For I am having no luck thus far.”
“I don’t know London very well, I’m afraid,” Miss Merriweather replied. “I have only been here since the start of the Season.”
“Where were you before that?”
Tristan thought for a moment she would not answer his cousin. She ducked her head, but not before he saw the tightening of her features. Her words carried a faint tension when she spoke. “In Lancashire for three years. And before that Shropshire. Preceded by Derbyshire. But before taking on the position of companion, my home county was Durham.”
“Durham? My goodness, that is far north. You are a long way from home, then,” Grace exclaimed on his other side. “And so much movement at such a young age. It must have been difficult.”
“Difficult is not the word for it,” Miss Merriweather said, her voice low and tight.
She’d had a hard life, it seemed. But so had many people. Her troubles were not his concern. Yet even though he told himself to stay out of the conversation, he found himself saying, “You must have been quite young when you became a companion.”
“I was seventeen. About eight years now.”
Tristan waited for more, but for once she was surprisingly quiet. Ironic, as he would dearly love to hear the story behind those simple words. Even so, he was transfixed. Her face was so expressive, like seeing a story played out. Her whole history was there in the cinnamon depths of her eyes. Not the details, no, but the heart of it. All the grief and anxiety and strain of the past years was there in vivid color.
But the mood was turning much too serious. He didn’t do serious. Not if he could help it. He schooled his features to the easygoing, lopsided grin he was renowned for. “You are in luck with my cousin if a life of moving about was not to your liking,” he quipped. “Unless she remarries. Then goodness knows where life may take her, or where you will end up. When she married Belham nearly eighteen years ago she wound up in the wilds of Scotland.”
That small line deepened between Miss Merriweather’s brows and she opened her mouth, no doubt ready to let loose with some unexpected remark that would throw him completely off guard. Before she could, however, a lone gentleman approached, calling out cheerfully to his cousin.
“Why, if it isn’t the beauteous Grace.”
The frustration he felt at being denied access to Miss Merriweather’s thoughts was swift and utterly surprising.
Thankfully Grace quickly distracted him from his troubling reaction.
She released his arm and hurried forward, taking the newcomer’s outstretched hands in hers. “Hugh Carlisle, is that you? Goodness, but it’s been an age.” She stepped back a pace, taking the man in with disbelieving eyes. “My, how you have changed from that rascal who tormented me so.”
He grinned. “How could I not torment the absolutely gorgeous thing who went and married my cousin right under my nose?”
“Please, I was five years your senior, much too old for a youth not even out of school,” she said with a chuckle. “But forgive my rudeness. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Sir Tristan Crosby. Tristan, this is Lord Belham’s cousin, Hugh Carlisle.”
Tristan took the man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure. Have you been in London long?”
“Not long at all. I’ve been situated in the country for some time now, as I’ve taken over the management of several of my father’s properties and have only just returned. My father spends his time in London, you see, but has recently taken ill and there is no one else to care for him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tristan answered.
The man nodded in thanks, then looked to Miss Merriweather in expectation. Something shifted in his gaze, an interest sparking that was a bit too strong to be construed as mere friendly curiosity.
Tristan’s body tightened. He had the mad urge to place himself between Carlisle and Miss Merriweather. A reaction that had him nearly blanching. What the devil was wrong with him?
He really had better rein in his obsession with the girl before he made an utter arse of himself.
Grace spoke again. “Hugh, this is Miss Rosalind Merriweather. Miss Merriweather, Mr. Carlisle,” Grace said.
“It is a pleasure.” Miss Merriweather smiled and curtsied. Carlisle, however, looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
