Page 68 of Wed By Proxy

“I am waiting,” Guy said shortly.

Tristan hauled himself into an upright position. “I have never met her, not formally. You are quite right in thinking it is highly unlikely that I should have done so. I have never set one foot in the Argent king’s court, as you know. But my travels do take me down south quite frequently, having no fixed abode of my own.” He cut short a regretful sigh, seeing Guy narrow his eyes.

“I have a friend in Aphrany,” he said swiftly. “On some occasions we have ventured to watch the public lists. I saw her there, at least twice, in the royal box. She was pointed out to me as a figure of interest, my friend knowing our families are connected. I must say,” he added thoughtfully, “she looked a little different in those days. Like a little doll, wheeled out to a formal event. She certainly did not wear her hair curly and loose. I fancy,” he mused, “she wore both jeweled headdress and veil.”

Guy let out a puff of air. His head was reeling. “And you are sure it is she? The same female?”

Tristan eyed him curiously, then nodded. “Oh yes, there can be no mistake,” he said simply. “Even in peasant’s garb, it was she. I never forget a face.”

Peasant’s garb?

“You said her flight was the talk of Aphrany,” Guy prompted him stiffly.

“Well yes,” Tristan admitted. “Even in such unfashionable quarters as my friend inhabits, the story was spoken of. How she had tricked her nurse and escaped her mother’s clutches dressed in her page’s clothing. They switched places, apparently.”

Tristan looked highly diverted at the retelling, but all Guy could think about was that everything she had told him was true. Here then, was the explanation for the boyish clothing, the savage haircut, the lack of traveling companions.

She had run away. To him.

His mouth was dry. And he had not believed her. Cynic that he was, he had thought the whole story was a lie. He passed a shaking hand over his brow.

“It is a wild tale, is it not?” said Tristan with such insightful sympathy that Guy flinched. “Have you been keeping her as your mistress this entire time?”

Again, his tone was light and amused. Guy’s flashed him an angry look. He was not about to discuss such things with Kerslake. Swiftly, his houseguest rearranged his face to one of solicitousness rather than diversion.

“I can see that might lead to some awkwardness,” he said with the understatement of the century.

Luckily, Guy was distracted, remembering Mathilde’s odd comment at the marketplace that she did not think she should have been in her nurse’s charge for as long as she was. Then too, there had been that rambling story he had not been paying much heed to. Something about her nurse’s old tales of … Lord Matty and Lady Tilda, he remembered suddenly and swore. That only made sense if her name indeed was Mathilde. How could he have missed that? He was a damn fool.

“Doubtless, she would not have been impressed finding Julia sat in her place,” Tristan mused, with a lack of sensitivity that almost took Guy’s breath away. “Where did you have her stashed away? In the village?”

Guy glared at Tristan, whom he’d never particularly liked. “Of course not,” he retorted. “And I’m not taking you for a confessor, either.”

Tristan laughed. “Can’t say as I blame you,” he said fairly. “I doubt it’s a role I’d play well. Though you may have to attempt to smooth my sister’s ruffled feathers.”

“Why the hells does Julia think she’s any right to feel hard done by?” he demanded.

Tristan sighed. “After all, she enjoys the status of returning northern heroine in these parts. She’ll not be happy to relinquish that coveted role for the unenviable one of scarlet woman.”

“Julia knew I had a wife,” Guy answered shortly. “Just not one in residence.”

“True,” Tristan conceded. “And at the end of the day, your behavior has been exemplary. Why, you even secured her a chaperone while she was under your roof.”

Guy grunted. It wasn’t his conduct toward Julia Allworthy that troubled him.

“Cutting up rough, is she?” Tristan tutted.

Guy didn’t bother to reply. Even in the current dire circumstances, thinking of Mathilde in terms of his wife gave him a warm feeling that made it easier to breathe. She is my wife! If he focused on that, it made it easier for him to bear this present catastrophe. How could he have already been the possessor of everything he ever wanted, and not be aware of it? It defied all logic. She would have to forgive him for his monumental stupidity. She just had to. Wearily, he clambered to his feet. He wasn’t so foolish as to think of sleeping beside her in his bed tonight. He would sleep in a guest bedchamber close by.

“Things will doubtless look less better in the morning,” Kerslake murmured with a breezy assurance Guy found himself envying.

“You can tell you’ve never taken a wife,” Guy responded heavily.

Tristan smirked. “I doubt it would suit me.”

Guy was inclined to agree. As far as he was aware, Tristan’s income derived from leeching off his brother-in-law and various friends and acquaintances. He had no estate, for it had been claimed by the crown after their castle had been razed. He eyed Tristan with a faint curiosity. He knew for a fact that his older brother Miles, Guy’s closest boyhood friend, would never have borne such a life. What would Miles have done had he survived the war? Guy liked to think he would have helped his friend establish himself somehow. Should he have done more for his younger brother, he wondered now? He was sure that several of the northern lords had stood as Tristan’s sponsor at some point or another. How else could he live such an indolent lifestyle?

Tristan yawned. “I think I’m for bed, too, it’s been a long day.