“If rumors of a betrothal will not do it, a wedding will. In haste. Announced loudly,” Jamison hesitated, “an annulment can be managed if both parties agree and the marriage remains unconsummated.” Silence pressed between them, filled with the faint scratch of a clerk’s pen in the next room.
At last, Tristan said, “Draw up what you must to prepare for posting the banns at Greystone and at St. Martin’s. You’re right. A wedding might be called for not just news of a betrothal. And keep your eyes on Clerkenwell.”
Jamison inclined his head. “Very good.”
Tristan stood. “Send word at once if you learn more.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Jamison hesitated as Tristan turned, “If I may…”
“You may not.”
Jamison smiled. “Then I shall only say, wolves hunt best with a mate.”
Tristan left before he said something regrettable.
The square had swollen with afternoon trade. Tristan was halfway through his navigation of the crowded market when the world narrowed to a single point. Coppery hair catching the sun.Christine.
She emerged from a bookseller’s with Blanche Waldron, a modest parcel tucked in her arm. The Dowager’s coachman lingered discreetly by the post-house. Christine’s gaze skittered over the square, wary as a doe measuring the wind.
She saw him before Blanche. Her eyes met Tristan’s and held; the doe had spied a wolf. Blanche looked around, and Tristan saw her brows deepen. She whispered to Christine, who smiled. They crossed. Blanche, irrepressible as ever, swept a curtsey that turned into a grin.
“Your Grace. I was just assuring Christine that town air cures every ill.”
“Except gossip,” Tristan said.
Christine’s eyes held his for a breath too long. “We were only buying a book. Not gossip.”
“Two,” Blanche amended, “one for sense, one for scandal. A balanced diet.”
Tristan’s mouth quirked despite himself. “Which is which?”
“Time will tell.”
“How fares your courage today, Lady Christine? Has anyone thrown wine at you in the last hour?”
Her chin lifted. “Only admiration. It can be just as sticky.”
“Admiration washes off,” Tristan said, “contempt stains.”
Blanche blinked once, approving perhaps. Christine looked away, fingers tightening on her parcel.
“We were going to explore something of this charming town if you would care to join us?” Christine said.
“Escort us, you mean,” Blanche said.
“You require protection from…” Tristan looked around the market, “Geese or ribbons?”
“From bullies and…” Blanche began with a close approximation to fierceness.
“And I am more than capable of dealing with Martha,” Christine put in.
Tristan wondered if the omission of the honorific was a message.
“She has chosen Bingley, so her judgment is certainly suspect,” Tristan said.
“I once chose Bingley,” Christine reminded him.
“And would you choose him now?” Tristan said, holding her gaze with an eagle stare.
