Humphrey returned to his seat, and returned to the volume he’d carried from the parlor. Leonora considered, then left to check with the servants, and review all household matters.
An hour later, she reentered the library. Both Jeremy and Humphrey had their heads down; a frown was fixed on Jeremy’s face. He looked up when she lifted the top volume off the pile of journals.
“Oh.” He blinked somewhat myopically at her.
She sensed his instinctive wish to take the book back. “I thought I’d help.”
Jeremy colored, glanced at Humphrey. “Actually, it’s not going to be easy to do that, not unless you can stay here most of the day.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“It’s the cross-referencing. We’ve only just made a start, but it’s going to be a nightmare until we discover the connection between the journals, and their correct sequence, too. We’ll have to do it verbally—it’s simply too big a job, and we need the answer too urgently, to attempt to write down connections.” He looked at her. “We’re used to it. If there are other avenues that need to be investigated, you might be better employed—we might get this mystery solved sooner if you gave your attention to them.”
Neither wanted to exclude her; it was there in their eyes, in their earnest expressions. But Jeremy spoke the truth; they were the experts in this field—and she really did not fancy spending the rest of the day and the evening, too, squinting at Cedric’s wavering script.
And there were numerous other matters on her plate.
She smiled benignly. “There are other avenues it would be worthwhile exploring, if you can cope without me?”
“Oh, yes.”
“We’ll manage.”
Her smile widened. “Good, then I’ll leave you to it.”
Turning, she went to the door. Glancing back as she turned the knob, she saw both heads down again. Still smiling, she left.
And determinedly turned her mind to her most urgent task: tending to her wounded wolf.
Chapter Fifteen
Accomplishing that goal—making her peace with Tristan—arranging to do so, required a degree of ingenuity and bold-faced recklessness she’d never before had to employ. But she had no choice. She summoned Gasthorpe, boldly gave him orders, arranged to hire a
carriage and be conveyed to the mews behind Green Street, the coachman to wait for her return.
All, of course, with the firm insistence that under no circumstances was his-lordship-the-earl to be informed. She’d discovered a ready intelligence in Gasthorpe; although she hadn’t liked subverting him from his loyalty to Tristan, when all was said and done, it was for Tristan’s own good.
When, in the darkness of late evening, she stood in the bushes at the end of Tristan’s garden and saw light shining from the windows of his study, she felt vindicated in every respect.
He hadn’t gone out to any ball or dinner. Given her absence from the ton, the fact that he, too, wasn’t attending the usual events would be generating intense speculation. Following the path through the bushes and farther to where it skirted the house, she wondered how immediate he would wish their wedding to be. For herself, having made her decision, she didn’t truly care…or, if she did, she would rather it was sooner than later.
Less time to anticipate how things would work out—much better to take the plunge and get straight on with it.
Her lips lifted. She suspected he would share that opinion, if not for quite the same reasons.
Pausing outside the study, she stood on tiptoe and peeked in; the floor was considerably higher than the ground. Tristan was seated at his desk, his back to her, his head bent as he worked. A pile of papers sat on his right; on his left, a ledger lay open.
She could see enough to be sure he was alone.
Indeed, as he turned to check an entry in the ledger and she glimpsed his face, he looked very much alone. A lone wolf who’d had to change his solitary ways and live among the ton, with title, houses, and dependents, and all the associated demands.
He’d given up his freedom, his exciting, dangerous, and lonely life, and picked up the reins that had been left to his care without complaint.
In return, he’d asked for little, either in excuse, or as reward.
The one thing he had asked of this new life was to have her as his wife. He’d offered her all she could hope for, given her all she could and would accept.
In return, she’d given him her body, but not what he’d wanted most. She hadn’t given him her trust. Or her heart.