But now that he had, all she could think was that she wanted more.
She didn't remember actually going upstairs, didn't remember walking through the high gallery or down the corridor past her sisters' rooms. She was settled beneath her covers before she realized their doors had been closed and they must be safely back behind them.
So much for some sisterly mirth to release her tension and help her relax. She blew out the candle and listened to the rain, wondering if she'd ever sleep well again.
"THERE'S OUR thief!" Alexandra proclaimed loudly when Tristan arrived late for breakfast the next morning.
Spreading marmalade on toast, Juliana tittered. "What can you mean?"
"Do you see the plate of chocolate cakes that isn't on that sideboard? Tris sneaked in here and finished them in the middle of the night."
Though Tristan was weary and distracted—thinking about how to fix the pump he'd discovered damaged this morning—he vaguely wondered why Alexandra was suddenly so friendly and cheerful when they hadn't so much as talked in a day and a half. He dropped onto the chair a footman pulled out. "I did what?"
"Don't try to act the innocent," she accused gaily. "I caught you red-handed. Or perhaps I should say brown-crumbed."
"You did?" He raised a hand to his mouth and absently wiped away nonexistent crumbs. "Very well, I confess. I cannot resist your sweets."
Her sisters both laughed. Griffin frowned. And Tristan wracked his brain.
Despite his "confession," he had no memory of leaving his room in the middle of the night. While plastering a smile on his face, he groaned inwardly, more distressed by this news than he'd been by the broken pump.
Apparently, he was sleepwalking again.
All of his life, Tristan had been an occasional sleepwalker. For years, he'd suffered through mornings where people informed him of his own doings the night before—often comical doings, none of which he ever remembered. After some of these episodes, his schoolmates—Griffin included—had teased him mercilessly.
As he'd grown, the episodes had become fewer and farther between—eventually far enough between that he was able to discern a pattern. He was most likely to sleepwalk when under pressure of some sort. As an adolescent and even more so as an adult, the infrequent occurrences seemed to be brought on by emotional stress.
After several years of peaceful nights, he'd decided he must have outgrown the odd habit. But now it was back. Since he wasn't personally affected by Griffin's irrigation problems and had no great concerns of his own, that could mean only one thing…
He was more attracted to Alexandra—and frustrated by his inability to do anything about it—than he'd allowed himself to believe.
He needed to install this pump and go home. For good. Social isolation had its drawbacks, but it had afforded him a peace he could only hope to reclaim.
"You rose late," Griffin commented.
"To the contrary, I've been awake for hours." Tristan held out his cup for coffee. "I've been in the workshop. We won't be installing the pump today."
"Why not? It operated perfectly during the test last night—"
"Well, someone—or something—bent the shank. The valve no longer works. I don't expect you have any wild animals about the premises?"
"Nothing capable of—"
"Juliana and I are finished," Corinna interrupted. "May we be excused? Madame Rodale has arrived for our final fittings."
Looking distracted, Griffin waved a hand. "Go." When Alexandra didn't follow, he turned to her. "Aren't you going with them?"
"I'll join them in a moment," she said quietly and looked to Tristan. "Are you feeling quite well this morning?"
He noticed she was wearing his cameo again and wondered about that. "As well as I expect one can when one's work has been destroyed." Not feeling hungry, he put down his fork. "The piece will have to be recast, and the entire pump taken apart to reinstall it. This will set us back a day, if not more. I've thought of going home and returning, but…" He trailed off, not wanting to sound selfish.
"That would cost you another two days of your life," Griffin finished for him. "Besides, I promised Rachael the job would be finished."
"Then you'll be here for the ball," Alexandra said, looking dazed.
Tristan hadn't attended a ball in four years, and he didn't intend to start now. "I may still be here at Cainewood, but I won't be attending." He rose and turned to Griffin. "You might think about placing a guard at the workshop when I'm not there—being a lumber room, it has no proper door. However this came about, we'll want to make certain it doesn't happen again."
In a dark mood, he headed off to the foundry.
TWENTY
IN CONTRAST to Tristan's mood, the atmosphere in the drawing room was jubilant. The rain had finally stopped, and summer sunshine streamed through the windows; if the weather held but a day, they'd have a beautiful evening for the ball.
Madame Rodale and her two assistants swarmed about, making last-minute tucks here and tiny adjustments there. While Alexandra slipped into her new dress, Juliana and Corinna chattered excitedly, admiring each other's choices.
"You look beautiful." Corinna tweaked one of Juliana's short, puffed sleeves, which were decorated with knots of pale pink ribbon. "That blush color is so becoming on you."
"A Lady of Distinction would approve." Juliana grinned. "Now, as for your bright jonquille…"
"I adore it." As Corinna twirled, her skirts belled out, pearls shimmering all over the sheer top layer. Entwined with strings of yet more pearls, a drapery of lace went all around the bottom. "Doesn't Alexandra look lovely, too?"
Trying to smile, Alexandra settled her skirts into place. The dress certainly wasn't blue; shimmering in the morning light, the pinkish-purple amaranthus hue looked almost shocking. The hem was embellished with white velvet roses and a wide rouleau of amaranthus. Below that, a row of dangling white tassels alternated with sparkling white beads, nearly skimming the floor.
She'd never felt so pretty. But she could no longer hold her tongue.
"You two did it, didn't
