A Holiday Proposal (Wedding Trouble, #6) Read online

  That must be the reason that her heart fluttered wildly, as if it believed itself to be a butterfly. She tossed her head, forgetting the action was unconducive to hair coiffure maintenance.

  Her heart certainly couldn’t have adopted an uncomfortably rapid pace because of looking at Tristan.

  Irene may have mused over the general handsomeness of Tristan in the past, but that had been when she was younger. Now, Irene was of a more advanced age. If Irene married, it would be to someone sensible, someone who didn’t wander into strange people’s rooms and ask them to be their pretend wife for the week.

  No, Irene was sensible.

  Her heart was simply confused.

  It was a common affliction, after all. Isn’t that what happened to the elderly? Irene didn’t like to think that it was happening to her early, but she was very advanced in all subjects.

  It would only make sense for her heart to be advanced as well.

  “So what did you want me to do?” Irene asked.

  “I want you to meet Prince Radoslav and Princess Natalia.”

  Irene’s world careened.

  “Did you say prince and princess?” she squeaked.

  “Did I not tell you?”

  “I would have remembered.”

  His face fell. “I should have told you before. I’m sorry. But yes, that’s who I wanted you to meet. But they’re not English royalty,” he added hastily. “They won’t know who you are. At least, I wouldn’t think so. They’ve been touring Scotland.”

  Irene nodded and attempted to feign nonchalance, but she knew Tristan would be disappointed. She couldn’t converse with a prince and princess. She struggled to make the correct small talk with anyone, and most conversations drifted abruptly into an abyss of awkwardness.

  Suddenly, she realized she was wearing the wrong clothes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not dressed fancily,” Irene said miserably. “And my boots are speckled with both mud and snow.”

  “They’re quite fine.” Tristan’s lips twitched. “No one should be examining your feet.”

  Perhaps no one should be examining her feet, but Irene had the impression the prince and

  princess would see them.

  “Still, I should have changed,” she said miserably.

  “I’m merely happy you’re here.” Tristan’s eyes sparkled. “You look beautiful.”

  Her heart beat rapidly, even though she told herself the compliment had been given easily, as if Tristan were a dinner guest and had wanted to reassure the hostess that the food was delicious, an instinct that had more to do with civility than culinary discernment.

  “I’ll just introduce you as my wife. And then, well, I suppose you could pretend to have a headache or something. If you—er—have to leave,” Tristan’s voice shook. “I’d rather you wouldn’t though.”

  “I’m here this evening for you.”

  He beamed again. “I’m so glad.”

  What had caused him to be in this position? To be so happy at her presence?

  “I have something for you.” He opened a small box that sat on a red sideboard. “At least when you’re inside, playing this role. Well, you can keep it.”

  She frowned, wondering what he was going to say.

  He pressed something into her hand. Her heart quivered, as it always did in his presence, and he whispered, “look.”

  Her skin warmed.

  Obviously he was giving her something. Obviously he wasn’t simply holding her hand. That was not something they did.

  He was not her real husband.

  He was not even courting her.

  She opened her hand. A ring lay on her palm.

  “Not everyone does rings,” Tristan said, his voice low and warm, “but my parents did, and my grandparents. This was my mother’s ring. You can have it. Think of it as additional payment.”

  She stared at the silver band and the diamond on it. “Wouldn’t you want to give this to your wife, when you marry?”

  His face stiffened. “I won’t marry. It’s yours.” He grimaced, and she wanted to ask him more questions. But then he smiled again, and the moment was lost, though she suspected the smile did not derive from actual pleasure. “You can always sell it. I’m certain you’ll marry someone nice, someone who didn’t spend his youth paying people to pretend to be his wife.”

  A wistful expression flitted on his face.

  “It’s no problem at all,” she said hastily.

  “You’re kind,” he said. “And something of a liar.”

  He grinned, and her heart fluttered again.

  She extended her hand toward him, and he slipped the ring onto her finger. She’d never been touched like this before, and she stared at his hands. They were larger than hers, and sun-kissed. It was easy to imagine him riding his horse about Hyde Park and the countryside. He was all masculinity.

  The ring glinted in the light.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “Come, Lady Burley.” His eyes sparkled. “Let’s go inside.”

  Irene nodded. She’d never imagined she would marry when she was younger. When other girls debated the best flowers for their wedding breakfasts, she felt a strange awkwardness. It seemed odd to think that when no boy had ever been distracted by her, as they had been by her female friends, that she would end up wed. No painters portrayed people who resembled her. They seemed determined to create a world with canvases and oil point in which nobody had large noses, and every woman was equipped with a hefty bosom.

  Of course, things had changed when her mother had married a wealthy merchant, and things had changed more, when Irene’s cousin had died and her older brother Percival had unexpectedly inherited a dukedom. But by then, Irene had resigned herself to a life of reading.

  Husbands would only get in the way.

  Irene strode through the hallway, conscious of Tristan behind her. It was decorated immaculately, and she stared at portraits of people clothed luxuriously and sitting in nature in gilded frames for eternity. They wore white wigs, and seemed jubilant, and nothing like the staid portraits in other homes.

  She was aware of Tristan’s presence. She knew his precise height and the odd manner in which it made her feel safe. His scent wafted toward her, and she inhaled cotton and cedar and something fresh and citrusy and splendid.

  “And I should tell you,” he said. “I’m doing this because I want investment money from the prince, and he will only work with married men.”

  She nodded. She’d suspected something like that. “What do you want to buy?”

  “A gaming hell.”

  Irene stiffened, and he opened the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO PEOPLE WERE INSIDE the drawing room, and they rose to greet Irene.

  This must be the prince and princess.

  “This is Prince Radoslav and Princess Natalia,” he explained. “I’m delighted to present my wife. She regrets not being here earlier to greet you.”

  Irene curtsied.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Burley,” the prince said.

  The strange title soared through her mind.

  It had been a name she’d secretly pined for, even if she’d refrained from writing it down in notebooks. Butterflies took hold of her chest, and she did her best to shoo them away.

  Tristan hadn’t known who she was, but now he was introducing her as his wife to European royals. He smiled at her, and tenderness leaped through his eyes.

  It’s not real.

  She forced herself to remember this. And yet, it seemed tempting to pretend this was her reality, and that she was truly Tristan’s new bride.

  “I’m pleased to meet you too,” Irene said.

  The prince’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You are not English?”

  “I spent much of my life in America,” Irene admitted.

  “Ah. How did you two meet?”

  Irene smiled. “Lord Burley was a friend of my brother’s. I dropped some papers, and he picked them up
for me.”

  “It’s a good man who recognizes the value of papers.”

  “Indeed,” Irene said.

  She was conscious of Tristan looking at her strangely. Perhaps he remembered the occasion for the first time.

  This is not awkward.

  This is absolutely not awkward.

  Despite the forcefulness with which Irene uttered the words in her mind, even she didn’t believe them.

  This moment was distinctly awkward, and Irene was an expert in all things awkward.

  She smiled at the prince and princess, hoping that was not seen as breaking protocol or any such thing. They certainly maintained stern expressions on their faces.

  The prince and princess were exquisitely attired, and when she sat down, Irene tucked her boots under the sofa’s shadow, hoping to obscure them.

  Prince Radoslav’s eyebrows darted up, and Princess Natalia patted a handkerchief to her face, even though she hadn’t sipped any tea, and there would be no reason for her to do that, unless to obscure a smile.

  Irene suddenly felt very young and very unworldly, and her shoulders slumped. She remembered rebukes from her past nanny, and straightened and smoothed her dress. She forced herself to paste a bland smile on her face. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”

  “It was horrendous,” Princess Natalia exclaimed. “So many hills! So much mud! And so little attention for caring for either!”

  Prince Radoslav squeezed his wife’s hand. “We shall not dwell on that horror further.”

  The prince shot Irene an irritated look, and Irene drew back.

  “And what made you come here?” Irene asked.

  “We were informed it was pleasant here,” Prince Radoslav said. “And that there was a good investment opportunity.”

  This time, the prince directed a peeved expression at Tristan.

  “The Yorkshire Dales are beautiful,” Irene said hastily. “Most lovely.”

  Tristan gave her an encouraging smile, then rose. “I’ll see what happened to the tea.”

  He squeezed her shoulder when he strode past, and Irene wondered whether Tristan had merely desired to emphasize the fact they were married. The gesture was simple, and yet his hand seemed to make an imprint. No man had touched her there.

  Prince Radoslav gave a tight smile and leaned toward Irene. “I understand why your husband wants to move you to London, even though, forgive me, you do not seem representative of the typical Londoner of the ton.”

  Irene’s cheeks heated.

  Was this going to be her role? To be insulted?

  Irene struggled for a retort and was relieved when footsteps sounded. Tristan entered, followed by a woman in a white cap carrying a platter of tea cups, saucers, sweets and a tea box.

  Tristan beamed, evidently delighted. “Let’s have some tea!”

  The housekeeper set the tray on the table, then turned to Irene. “Forgive me—I know it’s not my place, but I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you have married Lord Burley.”

  Tristan grimaced, as if overcome by guilt, but he hastily smiled. No doubt he didn’t want the housekeeper to think he was upset by her comment.

  “You have not met the housekeeper yet?” Prince Radoslav’s voice was incredulous.

  “It was a quick marriage,” Tristan explained.

  “Ah...” Princess Natalia nodded. “It was a marriage of the heart.”

  Tristan smiled. “Yes. Something like that.”

  Irene scooted toward the table and picked up the teapot. “How do you take your tea, Princess?”

  “We both take it plain,” the princess said.

  “No milk,” the prince said.

  “Er—yes,” Irene said. “Milk is not a common addition to tea in every country.”

  “For good reason,” the prince said sternly. “Some things are so different that they should absolutely not be combined.”

  Heat prickled the back of Irene’s neck, even though she knew the prince was not referring to Tristan and her.

  “Was the marriage a compromise situation?” Prince Radoslav elbowed Tristan, and Irene’s hand wobbled as she poured the tea.

  Irene placed the teapot on the table with more force than the task demanded, and it clanged oddly.

  “No, no. I did not compromise her.” Tristan took Irene’s hand in his. “I married her because I loved her.”

  “How romantic,” the housekeeper squealed.

  Irene averted her eyes and concentrated on pouring tea for Tristan and her.

  “Yes, love is romantic,” Prince Radoslav said slowly. “How convenient you should marry so soon after I informed you I did not like to work with unmarried people.”

  “Yes, life is amusing that way,” Tristan said smoothly, “though to tell the truth, I’d long desired to marry my dear lovely wife. Now, I am looking forward to my next life stage: running a gaming hell.”

  Princess Natalia’s eyes widened to a dramatic extent. “But you do know what happens in gaming hells, surely? I’m not even allowed in one, but I’ve heard!”

  “Just some card playing,” Tristan said. “Completely innocent. Men like somewhere they can go.”

  “Unhappily married men, you mean. And those who have not yet found the joys of marriage,” Prince Radoslav said. “Other men are content to stay home and to accompany their wives to events around town.” He looked at Irene. “You will not mind that your husband does not wish to attend balls, that he will not desire to dance with you, that he will be working?”

  “Perhaps this woman does not like to dance,” Princess Natalia said. “Not every woman does.”

  “One wonders why they married then,” Prince Radoslav grumbled.

  “That is a terribly rude question, my dear.” Princess Natalia’s expression grew apologetic.

  “It is most curious that people say that love is blind,” Prince Radoslav mused. “In my belief, love must also be thoroughly mad. Though perhaps that’s what happens when one has Cupid shooting arrows at one. There must be some consequences.”

  Irene’s skin flamed, but Tristan took her hand in his hastily. “I adore this woman.”

  “I am so sorry.” Princess Natalia gave an exasperated sigh. “Please forgive my husband. It is his mama’s fault. She was royalty too. And his papa, naturally. I am afraid his nannies were too timid to teach him proper decorum. I am attempting to do so now, but there are lapses, I’m afraid, and this is one of them.”

  “I did not find him rude,” Irene said. “And I think it’s quite splendid that my husband wants to run a gaming hell.”

  “Y-you do?” Tristan stuttered, before he took a long sip of tea.

  “Why yes,” Irene said. “That way I can live in London, near my family and friends, instead of here in Yorkshire, in the middle of nowhere, where there is no one. I find it terribly considerate.”

  Admiration shone in Tristan’s eyes. “I do try to be considerate, my dear.”

  “And why not provide a place for men to meet and chat with one another?” Irene continued. “They should be happy.”

  “They won’t be happy when they lose their money,” Prince Radoslav countered.

  “My husband will run the place with a certain degree of ethics,” Irene said.

  “Yes.” Tristan nodded. “I will only allow people to gamble who can afford to lose. And I have to say, some people do enjoy it.”

  “It is an addiction.” Princess Natalia flapped her fan with irritation.

  “But it’s not just that,” Irene said. “Card playing engages the mind. People find it enjoyable.”

  “Enjoyable?” Prince Radoslav quirked an eyebrow. “That is interesting. Do you play?”

  Irene gave him a bland smile and was grateful when the housekeeper returned with the tray and began to place the teacups and saucers on it.

  Prince Radoslav yawned. “Perhaps my wife and I can rest after the journey.”

  “Naturally,” Tristan said smoothly. “I’ll have the servants send up food for you.”


  “That won’t be necessary,” Princess Natalia’s eyelids heavied, and she clasped onto the chaise, as if the action of sitting required an athleticism she did not possess.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Irene said, rising.

  “Splendid!” The housekeeper clapped her hands. “Then perhaps, Lady Burley, we can meet to go over the menus for the week.”

  Irene glanced at Tristan, who shrugged.

  Very well.

  She could go over the menus.

  Just like a real lady of the manor.

  “O-Of course,” Irene stammered, conscious the prince and princess remained in the room.

  Irene followed the housekeeper to the kitchen. Her heart ached, and she tried to ignore what exactly the servants might make of her. For the first time she wished she were truly the lady of the manor. It hadn’t been a position she’d aspired to, since it had seemed so removed from her scholarly pursuits, but Irene understood now that it must feel good to run a household and to make certain that even small things, such as the weekly menu, were given consideration.

  “I didn’t realize Lord Burley was in love,” the housekeeper mused. “I thought he looked forlorn these past few days.”

  “I’m afraid I was running late,” Irene said.

  “Ah, he is a sweet man. And he was a sweet boy too,” the housekeeper said, nodding her head. The frills on her cap swayed back and forth. Curly white hair peaked underneath the brim.

  “Did you know him for long?” Irene asked.

  “Merely his entire life,” the housekeeper exclaimed, leaning closer. “Well. His life until he was eight, then sporadically since he was an adult. He doesn’t like to come here, but he keeps us servants employed. And everyone understands. I’m afraid his parents were challenging.”

  “That is a common case with parents.”

  The housekeeper giggled. “That’s true. I do like you. Still, his parents were exceptional.” Her mouth twisted as if she wanted to say more, but, despite their deaths, felt loyal. “I’d given up that Lord Burley would marry. I’m glad he did. I see he picked well.”