Granted, if he were honest with himself, he would have done the same. Chosen the mountain over her. But he’d been outdoors his entire life. It was his identity. The only thing he was good at besides shallow conversation. To be rejected so roundly hurt like the devil.
It wasn’t as if she’d been traipsing around mountains her whole life. This was her first taste of it, and she was going to give him up before she even knew if she liked it?
Perhaps he was easy to give up. He’d thought she was teasing last night when she’d accused him of kissing her out of boredom, and he turned the question back on her. Was he not good enough for her? Would she have given up the mountains if he’d had a title? If he’d been Lord Berringbone, would that have been enough?
He took another sip of his whisky, letting it burn down his throat. How was he supposed to face her after this? How were they going to be roped together, side by side, when he knew thathe ranked below a pile of rocks for her affection? Would she even be able to be professional, given her inexperience? Or would he be the object of her scorn, and thus the object of all four women’s scorn?
He knew how female friendships worked, having been at close proximity to Ophelia and Bad News for so long. What one despised, the other despised even harder on her friend’s behalf. He groaned. But he’d be damned ifhegave up the expedition! He was here first! In fact, he was far more necessary to the mission than Eleanor. She’d taught them some lovely knots, yes, but now they all knew them, so her worth was already spent.
Sheshouldstay home, out of harm’s way. Yes, that was really it. Not only was her staying home better for the propriety of the mission, it was also for her safety. He ought to tell Ophelia and get her to understand that Eleanor had no business going to Ben Nevis, because she had absolutely no business going to the Matterhorn. The logic was flawless.
The whisky glass slipped from his hand and shattered all over the floor.
“Oh, damn it all,” he said, peering over the tub. That was good whisky.
“Are you well, sir?” called Matthias. Now that they were back in civilization, he had a valet. Sometimes handy, other times, nothing but a nuisance.
But drunkenly surveying broken glass in his bathing chamber definitely constituted a lovely time to have a valet. “Matty! I’ve dropped my tumbler! Can you come sweep it up?”
There was a subtle banging, and then, “I’ll just get the implements to do so. One moment.”
Tristan sunk lower in the tub, allowing his drinking hand to drift below the surface. The water had started to feel cool, but to that one arm felt very warm indeed. That’s what it was like being around Eleanor. He’d only gotten accustomed to her, havingspent the week in the woods with women. Had he been in the woods with different women, well, he’d probably think he was in love with one of them, instead.
Because if he’d truly been in love, or rather, had truly wanted tomarryEleanor, well, then, he’d be much worse off than he was at the moment. He’d be... drunk in a bathtub? Ah yes. Touché, self.
No, he was infatuated with her, nothing more. Swept up in the emotion and excitement of an adventure. Beginner mistake. Perhaps that’s why the Alpine Society didn’t admit women. They’d all end up in love with their climbing partners. That would be the real tragedy.
The best thing he could do was leave. Well, the best thing to do would be to get out of the bathtub without cutting himself on the scattered glass. Then, the leaving. Jot off to London, hole up in his bachelor’s rooms, find an actress or a singer to occupy himself for the month until Ben Nevis. Simple. Lacking in humiliation. Imminently doable.
First step: where the fuck was Matthias and a broom?
*
“I can’t believehe would do such a thing,” Ophelia said to Eleanor, giving comfort and support where it could be given.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, trying very hard to find her voice when Ophelia and Justine had talked without pausing for breath for the last few hours.
They’d excoriated Tristan the entire time, listing the arrogance and hubris needed to assume a woman would choose a man over an adventure. But it wasn’t that which bothered Eleanor. It wasn’t his idea that she might choose him over the Ladies’ Alpine Society. It was that he’d thought to make her choose at all.
She had believed Tristan saw her. The real her. Not Captain Piper’s pipsqueak daughter. Not Mrs. Piper’s dutiful daughter and companion. She had thought he’d seenher, Eleanor. The girl who had sat in dusty rooms down by the docks, tying knots blindfolded and behind her back for the amusement of Captain Smythe’s wife when she came to pick up his wages while he was at sea. Or even the Eleanor who played by herself because her parents didn’t want her associating with the girls of the merchant class, hoping they could elevate themselves socially. But not having access to noblemen’s daughters, there were no peers to befriend.
She’d been stuck in an odd place her whole life, and then she’d been swept up by Ophelia and Justine and Prudence, and there was Tristan: beautiful, shining, golden Tristan. A fairy tale prince.
A fairy tale prince who wanted her to give up the only place she’d felt welcomed. Once again, she’d become attached to a person who wanted her to be something she wasn’t. To work for some unattainable status she couldn’t do anything about.
Prudence put her hand on Eleanor’s. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
It was hard to cut through Ophelia and Justine’s well-meaning and persistent chatter, but Prudence was so much wiser than her years. Perhaps that’s what America did to a girl. Eleanor nodded, and Prudence managed to cut through the conversation.
“Eleanor and I will take a turn around the gardens. Ophelia, can you please check with your father about departure tickets to Scotland, just to make sure Tristan didn’t manage to get Eleanor kicked off the expedition already?”
Ophelia paled at the words and shot to her feet. “Of course. Oh, how clever you are, Prudence.”
“And—” Justine stood.
Prudence interrupted her. “You might want to go with Ophelia. You’re awfully observant. And persuasive to boot! If anything has gone amiss, I’m sure you can convince Lord Rascomb to keep Eleanor on our team.”
The two women set off towards Lord Rascomb’s study, while Prudence took Eleanor by the arm to the garden room, which opened into the fenced rose garden. Once the door closed behind them, Eleanor took the biggest breath of fresh air she could manage.
