Tristan came to her rescue. “There would be much to arrange, certainly.” He gestured with his hands, unsure exactly what that might entail. “And we are in no hurry to wed.” Recalling his earlier conversation with Jakob, Tristan imbued his words with meaning.
“I am glad to hear it.” His father’s voice showed that he understood Tristan’s implication.
Morwenna cleared her throat, dispelling the tension. “We planned to find you a bride at this ball, Tris. It does not seem fitting to go ahead now.”
“What if I find Mirrie at the ball?” he suggested, pleased with the idea.
Mirrie spoke up. “But our betrothal has already been spoken of.” Her voice was small. “News will surely spread.”
“Gossip,” said Tristan, dismissively.
“Gossip can hurt a family.” His mother’s curious gaze settled on him, but he did not allow himself to be discomfited.
“News also spread about your illness, Father.” His voice carried around the frescoed chamber. “The midsummer ball should be an opportunity to celebrate your recovery and showto the world that the Earl of Wolvesley is well once more. At the same time, Mirrie and I will dance together. Be seen together.” He took up her hand and impulsively pressed a kiss to the back of it. “We will be noticed.” He paused. “And in the days to come, we will announce our intention to wed. Forsooth, we can throw another ball later for the official announcement.”
This time it was his mother whose cheeks turned pale. “I do not wish to throw a second ball.”
“Then the next celebration will be our wedding,” Tristan corrected himself hastily. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mirrie flinch. “All of my sisters should return for it, should they not?”
“I am not sure Isabella will be able to leave her husband’s side. He is ailing.” His mother tightened her lips. “And of course, Frida’s time draws near.”
“I would want Frida by my side when our betrothal is announced,” Mirrie exclaimed, seizing on this.
“All the more reason to bide our time.” Tristan nodded sagely.
“But Esme can come home.” His mother clasped her hands and turned to her husband. “There is no reason for her to stay away now.”
“Indeed there is not.” His father smiled benignly. “A family celebration then.”
“A celebration of you,” Tristan interjected.
His father laughed. “A celebration of my son’s quick thinking, which led to my recovery. And of the life he will forge with a young woman we love as one of our own.”
Everyone smiled, though he could see the strain in Mirrie’s eyes. Tristan got to his feet.
“We should let you rest, Father.”
Angus shook his head. “I grow tired of being treated like an invalid.”
“You gave us all a terrible fright.” Morwenna leaned over the bed and straightened his covers, tenderly.
“Your mother has me kept as a prisoner up here. What does the physician say?” His father’s keen eyes swung to Tristan.
“It does not matter what the physician says,” he answered, smoothly. “The man’s methods all but killed you. I see it as my duty to dismiss him.”
“Nay.” His mother and Mirrie spoke as one, both of them looking up at him in concern.
“What is it?”
To Tristan, it was very simple. The physician should be dismissed. The man should count himself fortunate he received no worse consequences.
Mirrie spoke first. “’Twould be most unwise, Tris, to invite guests to Wolvesley with no physician here to treat them should they fall sick.”
“Or fall at all,” his mother added.
He could see the logic of this. “Very well.” He reached for Mirrie’s hand and drew her up beside him. “But immediately after the ball, I shall appoint a new physician.”
It was the first time he had expressed such a strong opinion on the running of the castle. Tristan half expected a reprimand, but his father only nodded.
