All would be well, now that Juliana was here.
But Mirrie’s stricken face was a reminder there was much still to be done, and he sprang from his horse’s back before lifting the healer down beside him.
“You remember Juliana?” he asked, brushing down his breeches and ignoring the sharp ache in his calves. He had spent the greater part of the last three days in the saddle, but now was not the time to admit to weakness.
“I do.” Mirrie’s voice was unusually tart.
He recalled her opposition to his plan and shot her a beseeching look. “She is here to heal my father.”
“I am come to see if I amableto heal your father,” Juliana corrected him. She scarcely glanced in Mirrie’s direction before taking his arm and urging him forwards. “Let us go to him.”
They walked under the archway and through the gardens, with Juliana notably uncowed by the grandeur of her surroundings. She looked neither right nor left, not even at the sparkling fountain or the uniformed guard who stood to attention as they ascended the front steps. She had seen it all before, he recalled, but not for a number of years.
Inside the marbled entrance hall, Tristan paused, conscious of his dishevelled appearance. He turned, wanting to ask Mirrie her opinion on entering his father’s chamber before changing his attire, but he and Juliana were all alone. Mirrie must have remained in the stable yard.
Juliana seemed to sense the path of his thoughts. “I must wash the dust from my hands before visiting a sick room,” she said.
He looked at her properly. The filtered light streaming in through the high windows showed the precise needlework of her dark-coloured gown and a small satchel tied about her waist. About her shoulders, she wore a thin woollen shawl. Her clothing was clean and neat, but her appearance was altogether different to the usual ladies of his acquaintance. The difference lay in the cut and tailoring of the fabric, as well as in her hair, which was long, loose and unadorned.
He cleared his throat. “I will have someone show you to a guest chamber.”
“I would prefer to go straight to your father.”
Tristan considered this and then nodded to the guard. “Fetch us warm water and towels.”
Juliana raised the shawl over her head and threw him a small smile. “I will show modesty in your mother’s home.”
“There is no need to hide,” he said, his eyes drawn to the fullness of her pink lips.
She inclined her head. “I am an uninvited guest.”
“You are here at my invitation,” he countered quickly. She stood tall and proud, but he could not shake the idea that she may yet flee like a gazelle.
Juliana took a step closer to him, her eyes locking with his so he was drawn into their smoky depths. “But you are not Earl of Wolvesley.” She paused. “Yet.”
A commotion at the door released him from the spell. Mirrie stood at the top of the steps, looking unaccountably cross.
“Tristan, will you appear before your father in such disarray?” she demanded, sounding so like his elder sister Frida that Tristan’s lip quirked.
At that moment, Alfred hurried forward with a basin of water and a folded towel. Behind him tripped Molly, carrying the same utensils and looking up at Juliana with wide eyes.
Tristan splashed water onto his face, realising only then how thickly his cheeks were coated with stubble. He should go upstairs to change his clothes and drag a comb through his tangled hair, but the thought of such tasks made his skin prickle with impatience.
“Enough dallying.” He waved the servants away and switched his gaze to Juliana, who was drying her hands with all the poise of a visiting lady. “Are you ready?” Renewed urgency flowed through his veins. His father was just steps away and Juliana’s presence could change everything.
She smiled in reply and preceded him up the wide stairway as if she knew exactly where she was going. Tristan was aware of Mirrie behind him, but then her tentative footsteps ceased.
He looked back. “Will you not come with us?”
She shook her head as she pulled away from him, into the shadows. “I was going to, but now I think not. We should not crowd him.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but changed his mind. Wolvesley was Mirrie’s home and she could make her own decisions, but part of him bristled with some unspecified annoyance.
I want her by my side at this difficult time.
There, it was not unspecified. He knew exactly the root cause. What he did not understand was why Mirrie, usually so sensitive to his thoughts and needs, should choose this moment to abandon him.
But there was no time to examine this. Juliana was already sweeping down the torch-lit corridor, pausing by the correct door and turning to him with a half questioning face.
