Juliana rolled her lovely hazel eyes. “Alexandra could feed him dirt and he’d propose. Have you not seen the way he looks at her?”
“Like he’d rather eat her than the sweets?”
“Oh, do hold your tongues.” Alexandra’s cheeks felt warm. She had noticed the way Lord Shelton looked at her, and though she found it pleasing, she’d never confess as much to her sisters.
He really was quite perfect.
He was handsome and kind. He possessed a fortune of his own, so she knew he wasn’t after her sizable dowry. And he lived nearby, so she would see her family often. What more could she possibly require?
As a fanciful child, she had basked in the illusion of romance. Now she knew better. Love wasn’t a fairytale; it was two well-suited people choosing to make a life together.
And she was choosing to love Lord Shelton.
With any luck, the ratafia puffs would work their magic, she thought as she dropped shiny dollops of the batter onto a paper-lined tin baking sheet.
The Chase sisters were long overdue for some luck.
FOR THE FIRST time in more than three years, Tristan rode over Cainewood Castle’s drawbridge and into its quadrangle. As a groom hurried from the stables, he swung down from his black gelding, his gaze skimming the clipped lawn and the four stories of living quarters that formed a U around it.
Cainewood didn’t look any different, although there was no reason it should. If he remembered right, the castle had been in Chase hands—save during the Commonwealth period—for close to six centuries. He shouldn’t have expected it to change in the last three years.
But he’d changed, so it felt odd that this place hadn’t.
Three years ago, with his new Oxford degree in hand and his comfortable future as a man of business assured, he’d been anticipating adventure. A far-flung paradise of—he’d imagined—fine weather, sandy beaches, and pretty girls awaited him.
Two years ago, he’d been unexpectedly called back from Jamaica to become the next Marquess of Hawkridge.
Things hadn’t turned out quite like he’d imagined.
The young groom tipped his cap. “Take your horse, my lord?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tristan handed over the reins. As his mount was led away, his gaze wandered Cainewood’s ancient keep—still as tumbledown as ever—and past it to the old tilting yard that lay beyond. He smiled, recalling games played there with Griffin—and often, Griffin’s little sisters—running through the untamed, ankle-high vegetation. Those summers spent here during his school years were memories he cherished. Griffin’s family had been a jolly remedy for the lack of his own.
“Tristan. Or I suppose I should call you Hawkridge. Whichever, it’s been entirely too long.”
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard Griffin approach, but now Tristan’s pleasant nostalgia was replaced by apprehension. He’d no idea what sort of greeting to expect. Steeling himself, he turned and extended his right hand.
“Oh, hang it,” Griffin said, and pulled him into a one-armed hug.
Filled with gratitude, Tristan clapped his old friend on the back. “Yes. Entirely too long,” he echoed as he drew away. “Am I supposed to call you Cainewood?”
“Strikes the ear wrong after all these years, doesn’t it?” Like the castle, Griffin’s crooked smile was familiar. “Griffin will do. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Your note sounded urgent.” Tristan walked with him toward the entrance. “I’d no idea you’d left the army.”
“I haven’t been here long. Just these few months past.”
“I was sorry to hear about your parents. And Charles.”
Griffin waved away the condolences. He’d never been one for solemnity.
Before they reached the front steps, the double oak doors opened. Cainewood’s longtime butler stood between them. “Welcome back, my lord,” he said with a little bow.
“Why, thank you, Boniface,” Tristan returned, pleased to see him again. The man was aptly named, for he had a bonnie face—a youthful countenance that belied his forty-odd years. No matter how hard he tried to look stiff and serious, he never quite succeeded. And other than a touch of gray at his temples, the years hadn’t changed him a bit.
Tristan couldn’t say the same for Griffin. “You look older,” he said as they climbed the steps. Faint lines were beginning to form around his friend’s eyes and mouth.
Griffin nodded. “An old man at twenty-four.”
Tristan chuckled. “Hardly.”
“I’m aging quickly these days.”
Tristan was surprised. “Surely managing the estate is less stressful than fighting a war.”
“You would think so.” They stepped inside. “But management is the least of my concerns. I’ve got three sisters to marry off—”
“They cannot already be old enough to wed!”
Griffin’s rueful laugh echoed through the three-story-high entrance hall, all the way up to its stone-vaulted ceiling. “Mathematics never was your strongest subject.” He led Tristan up the carved stone staircase. “Corinna—the baby—is nearly sixteen. Which means nearly old enough to find a husband.”
Tristan frowned. “And Juliana and Alexandra?” he asked.
“Sixteen and seventeen.” They turned on the landing and went up a second level to the family’s private apartments. “Mourning has kept them from the marriage mart, but now it falls on me to see them all settled—and soon.”
He ushered Tristan into a dark wood study. Waving him into a leather wing chair, he went to open a cabinet.
Tristan sat warily. Surely Griffin wasn’t leading up to…? “Look, old man, I sympathize, but your letter implied a need for my assistance, not—”
“Ah, yes.” Rather than sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, Griffin chose the chair beside Tristan’s. “And I appreciate your response.” He set two crystal glasses on the small table between them, unstoppered a matching decanter, and began to pour. “Despite your seclusion and, ah, recent troublesome circumstances—”
Tristan grimaced. He disliked any reference to his circumstances.
“—it seems you’ve become rather renowned as a talented manager, particularly of agricultural enterprises. Imagine my surprise!” He grinned to show he was fooling. “You must have learned a thing or two out on that island. I understand you’ve been able to make some remarkably clever—and profitable—improvements to the Hawkridge estate. With these qualifications in mind, I resolved to seek you out
