Juliana’s expression changed and she brought his hand closer to her eyes, peering downwards with unexpected concentration until Tristan grew perturbed.
“What can you see?” he demanded.
“I see that a betrothal has already been arranged,” she said softly. She placed his hand down on the table and gave him a long, puzzled glance before looking past him towards Mirrie. “With someone you already know very well.”
“You don’t mean—” Tristan began, but Juliana stopped him with a shake of her head.
“You should have told me,” she reprimanded.
“What should my son have told you?”
So engrossed had Tristan been in Juliana’s actions that he had not noticed his mother’s stately entrance to the hall. She stood behind them now, one jewelled hand resting on the back of the ornate chair that was rightly hers. The Countess of Wolvesley was robed in rose-coloured silk, her silvery-gold hair braided about her head. Her face was still drawn but her eyes had never been sharper as she looked down at Juliana.
“Speak,” she commanded.
Juliana’s eyes flickered sideways but she answered steadily. “Lord Tristan should have told me that he is betrothed to Miss Mirabel.”
Chapter Nine
Mirrie didn’t knowwhether her chief emotion was anger or disbelief. Either way, it took every ounce of self-restraint for her to remain seated up on the dais.
It had been bad enough to enter the great hall and see Tristan and Juliana clearly flirting with one another, in full public view. That Tristan had risen from his chair and been so attentive towards her had appeased her irritation for a while, before the bunkum with the palm-reading began.
Mirrie had never seen such a poor excuse for physical intimacy.
And now this! Had the exchange been pre-planned, like a spectacle arranged for the Twelfthtide revels? At first she thought that Tristan must have brought Juliana in on the ruse, thus rendering an awkward situation almost unendurable.
Then she saw the wideness of his eyes and realised that Tristan had also been taken unawares by Juliana’s announcement.
What is she about?
Mirrie dared not lift her gaze to see the countess’s expression. She gripped her fork and gazed down at her unwanted trencher of food until the items blurred and became one. The smell of venison clogged her throat and made her nauseous, but she did not trust herself to move away.
Morwenna was the first to speak. “Is this true?”
“Aye, Mother,” Tristan answered. “It is. I was going to tell you. We were going to tell you, but when we arrived…” His voice trailed off.
“Mirrie?” Morwenna’s voice was gentle. “I would hear it from your lips too.”
Fearing her voice may shake, Mirrie lifted her chin. “’Tis true,” she confirmed, but when Tristan made to speak, she raised her voice again. “But this is hardly the time for such an announcement.”
Morwenna put both hands to her face and Mirrie jumped to her feet, fearing the woman who had raised her as one of her own was sobbing.
“I am sorry,” she exclaimed, daring to put an arm around the countess. “Pray, do not cry.”
“These are tears of joy, my dear.” Morwenna lowered her hands to show her shining eyes. “This is joyous news.”
“Joyous news,” Tristan echoed, nodding his agreement.
Mirrie shot him a look. “The joy of this night is all rooted in the earl’s recovery. Let us concentrate on that.”
“Nay.” Morwenna gripped her wrist. “You and Tristan are to be married. This is cause for celebration.”
Mirrie’s heart thudded against her restrictive bodice as her face flooded with heat. Morwenna’s voice had carried throughout the hall and now the nearby men-at-arms had turned to face the dais.
“Congratulations, milord, milady,” called one, lifting his mug of ale in a salute.
Soon the refrain was taken up and repeated. Tristan had no choice but to rise up from his chair, close the distance between them and embrace her as a resounding cheer went up. His men stamped their feet and shouted their approval, whilst Morwenna beamed from ear to ear and Juliana looked firmly at the floor. Mirrie saw all this as if it was happening to someone else. Sheknew Tristan was beside her, his muscular arm laying across her shoulders, her head hovering close to his own pounding heart. But she didn’t care.
