“You must marry an heiress,” she said, as if she were reciting lines. “A woman of good,noblefamily.”
“Must I?”
Mirrie huffed out a breath. “That is, after all, why I am here.” She folded her arms, mirroring his posture. “I begin to think the sun has affected your thinking.”
“Ah, Mirrie.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, ruefully. “If only I could find an heiress who puts me in my place as well as you do.”
“Mayhap you will find her at your mother’s midsummer ball.”
He made a noncommittal sound before he reached out and ran a finger softly over the curve of her cheek, noting the way her eyelashes fluttered closed at his touch. He felt a swell of victory.
Mirabel was not as impervious to his charms as she would have him believe.
I must proceed slowly then.
“You’re right, as always.” He sighed regretfully. “But do not kiss me again, Mirrie. For there is only so much self-control that a man can wield.” Her eyes widened with surprise and Tristan chuckled. “I speak in jest.” He tucked her arm beneath his elbow. “You are quite safe with me.”
Mirrie’s cheeks had stained with pink but her voice was quite level. “I have never doubted it.”
They walked together back through the gardens and up the steps to the keep, only drawing apart when they reached the entrance hall.
“Will we go straight to my father’s chamber?” he asked solicitously.
Her eyes went doubtfully to his boots. “Do you not wish to change?”
In truth, his stockings were damp and uncomfortable. But he also knew they had been longer at the lake than he had intended. His father would be waiting.
He glinted down at her. “I’m willing to suffer the consequences of my more impulsive decisions.”
Mirrie poked him in the stomach, swiftly and unexpectedly. It did not hurt, but he doubled over with the shock of it.
“Stop flirting,” she hissed.
Unable to hide his merriment, Tristan again took her arm and they proceeded up the winding staircase.
The dimness of the upstairs corridors was sobering after the brightness outside. The earl’s manservant opened the chamber door with a deep bow for them both. As she turned to face his father, Mirrie dipped into a low curtsy whilst Tristan gazed about him.
Things seemed much as they had earlier that morn. The chamber now appeared bright and airy, smelling strongly of lavender which had been sprinkled into the rushes on the floor. His father sat up in bed, his golden hair combed and tidy, his bejewelled fingers folded together on the clean coverlet. Tristan’s mother perched in a tapestried chair pulled closer to the bed. She was dressed in cream silk, and her bright eyes were turned towards him.
“Tristan,” she said with pleasure. “And Mirabel.”
“Come in, come in,” his father beckoned. “We have much to discuss.”
Tristan resisted the urge to stride forward. Instead he reached back for Mirrie’s hand and they approached the canopied bed together. Her fingers felt cold within his and he squeezed them gently in encouragement.
Warm words followed, together with entreaties that the newly betrothed couple should sit and make themselves comfortable. Tristan fetched chairs, careful to attend to Mirrie’s comfort before his own. All the while, he could see the usual spark of vitality in his father’s face, and that mattered more than his easy acceptance of their news.
He had expected their announcement to be met with approval, but the evident joy with which Angus and Morwennabeheld Mirrie as their prospective daughter-in-law, surprised even him.
“I always suspected,” said his mother.
“Did you?” Tristan asked in genuine wonderment, while Mirrie shifted uncomfortably and fixed her gaze on the fireplace.
“We will announce your betrothal at the midsummer ball,” his father said, grandly.
Even Tristan blanched at this. Before he could gather his thoughts, Mirrie spoke up.
“Nay, please do not.” Her voice was strong, though her face had turned pale. She looked down, seemingly unable to meet the many eyes gazing at her in surprise. “I only mean that coming so soon after your illness, it would not be right.”
