With a quick glance at Eleanor, Tristan turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Preston. “Nothing, I’m quite well.”
Garrett’s dark eyebrows raised in skepticism. “You looked like a tomcat on the hunt.”
Damn the man’s perceptiveness. Tristan made a strange sound, one he’d never made in his life. “Not at all. I was only...” he trailed off, not able to even come up with an excuse.
Portia didn’t look impressed. In fact, she looked rather like their mother at the moment, her forehead wrinkled and lips twisted. Tristan felt like he’d been caught lying about having worms in his pockets. Again.
“Anyway, you’re here now. And that is lovely. I wasn’t sure you’d be attending.” Tristan gave them both a brilliant smile. Which didn’t work in the least.
Portia flipped her fan out with a harsh thwack and cooled herself furiously. “I sent a note to the house yesterday reminding everyone of our attendance.”
“Yes, well.” Tristan dared a glance over at Eleanor. Brian Fulk, that nitwit, was bothering her. Perhaps he should rescue her. Brian had been at school with him and had the absolute worst halitosis. The man’s breath was notorious; all through school, it smelled as if something had crawled into his mouth and died. Tristan shrugged. “Correspondence.”
“I beg your pardon?” Portia fanned even faster.
“I don’t believe he’s paying attention to anything you say, darling.” Garrett moved and stood in front of Tristan’s gaze, blocking his view of Miss Eleanor Piper.
“I am paying attention,” Tristan insisted. “But that’s ol’ Fulker, over there.”
“Who?” Portia asked, standing on tiptoes. She was the only one who hadn’t inherited the Bridewell height, and was indeed the shortest of them all.
“Where?” Garrett asked.
“Bothering the Pipers. Portia, he has the worst halitosis of anyone you’ve ever met. If we want Mr. Piper’s sponsorship, we must save them.”
“I daresay,” Garrett observed with a faint grimace. Garrett was a few years older than Tristan and Francis and ol’ Fulker, but the reputation was widespread.
“Is it really that bad?” Portia asked.
“Worse,” Garrett said. “By all means, off with you.”
Tristan grinned and cantered over to the Pipers and ol’ Fulker, who was now joined by Jacobs, the swine. He did another survey of the ballroom as he advanced, clocking Ophelia and Bad News in one corner with his mother and Blakely, the poor idiot.
“Ah, Mr. Bridewell,” Mr. Piper said, stepping infinitesimally across their circle to welcome him in. “Good to see you here.”
Tristan performed a formal bow, one that he knew was appreciated. “Mr. Piper, good of you to grace us with your presence, along with your lovely wife and daughter. Mrs. Piper, Miss Eleanor.” He moved to join their group and acknowledged ol’ Fulker with a nod. It wasn’t just the halitosis, or the unfortunate name. It was that even at the age of ten, the boy looked and acted fifty. He was roughly thirty now, which meant he would act the age of what, seventy, eighty?
“Bridewell,” he said.
“Fulk,” Tristan said in return, catching himself before uttering the man’s nickname. “Jacobs.”
Jacobs performed a brief head nod in lieu of speaking, eyeing Fulk harshly.
“I trust you’re doing well.” Fulk always did have fine manners; he’d give him that.
“Yes,” Tristan took a big breath of air. “Picture of health.”
“Always were, always were. Gallivanting up some mountain, I hear? I’m surprised to even find you in London.”
Tristan resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. Fulk had never been friendly with him, and this felt very much like a trap. What was the trap? Damn and hellfire, he’d never been good at figuring out these sorts of interpersonal manipulations. “We are preparing for an early autumn ascent of Ben Nevis as a preparatory excursion to a larger expedition.”
Fulk chuckled and shook his head as if he were a child. It rankled him. Fulk gripped him on the shoulder, as if it were a friendly gesture, but it wasn’t at all. “Some men are all adventure. And that’s wonderful! The world needs men like you, Bridewell. But me? I’ve spent my career carving out a position at Drummonds. It’s an excellent institution, and we do well. I’m the youngest vice president in its history, you know.”
Oh. Tristan looked at Miss Eleanor, who was theoretically the intended recipient of all the bragging. Yet, it was Mr. Piper who would be the most impressed, if Tristan had any judge of the family. But Miss Eleanor looked mildly pleased by ol’ Fulker, and that further irritated him.
“Miss Piper, would you be so good as to honor me with the first available dance on your card?”
Well, if that didn’t take the cake. Tristan controlled himself, willing himself to not ball his fists. ’Ol Fulker was earning his nickname right along. He’d been a snitch that time with the toads, and now he was worse.
