“I will leave that with you, my boy.”
Tristan and Mirrie took their leave and withdrew from the chamber, both exhaling with relief as the panel closed behind them. He put a finger to his lips and led her to a wide window seat at the far end of the gallery before speaking.
“That was a triumph.” He lowered himself onto the cushioned seat and tugged at her arm until she followed suit.
“A triumph of deception.” She shook her head, smoothing her skirts with hands that still trembled. “My conscience does not grow any easier about this.”
He crossed his long legs in a show of nonchalance. “Do you know what surprised me most of all?”
She tilted her head up at him. “What?”
Tristan kept his eyes trained on her face, which was beautifully illuminated by the window behind them. “My parents seem gloriously unconcerned about me marrying an heiress.”
She opened and closed her mouth, looking at first wary and then displeased. “’Tis because they are kind, decent people. But that does not mean it is not in your interest to marry well.”
“It is in my interest to be happy.”
Mirrie blinked at him. “I want you to be happy, Tris,”
“And I wantyouto be happy.” He meant it.
His parents had always enjoyed a happy marriage. He had long taken for granted the genuine smiles each bestowed upon the other, and the many, casual gestures of affection which passed between them. Now he realized, for the first time, how lucky they were.
“I cannot deny that I long for this ruse to be over.” Mirrie looked down at her knees, her shoulders hunched.
Once this ruse was over, Mirrie would return to Ember Hall. It might be some time before he saw her again. The thought was not at all pleasing.
Seized by impulse, he again took her hand. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
She made a sound of complaint, but once Tristan had set upon a course of action, he was not easily deterred. They made their way to a low door in the northern tower.
A door that was rarely opened now.
“The school room?” Mirrie arched her eyebrows.
“The room which saw so much of our childhood.” He twisted the handle and the door swung open with a creak. “After you.” He stood to one side to allow her to pass, but Mirrie still looked uncertain.
“It’s dark up there.” She craned her neck around the corner, to where an old stone staircase twisted up to the tower room.
Tristan threw her a smile. “I never had you pegged as afraid of the dark.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “Must you frustrate me with every word you utter? I would like to see you ascend narrow steps in long skirts without the ability to see where you should next place your foot.”
He feigned penitence. “I see the problem. Allow me to go first. I shall open the shutters and all will be well.”
He bounded up the narrow steps, remembering how steep the staircase had seemed when he was a small boy. Lessons had come easily to Tristan, as they had to all his siblings, and he had happy memories of the hours spent within these stone walls.
Though he also recalled hot summer days when he gazed out of the window and longed to be outside. And those long hours before luncheon, when he daydreamed of sneaking out to the kitchens.
The school room had not been used for years. Dust sheets covered the wooden desks and small chairs the six of them had once perched upon. A dim, grimy light filtered in through gaps in the shutters and the air smelled stale. It was a relief to throw open the long shutters, even though the dust this disturbed fell about him and made him cough. He waved it away and shouted down to Mirrie.
“You can come up now.”
For a moment, he feared she had left him up here all alone. But then tentative footsteps sounded on the stair treads. He strode over to help her up the final steps.
“You wanted to show me an empty school room?” It looked as if Mirrie was aiming for a sceptical expression, but then a sneeze took her by surprise.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly. “’Tis the dust. Here, come and stand by the window.”
