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did not yet possess the broken blood vessels in the nose and cheek that were the hallmark of the perpetual drunk. His dark hair was tousled, but only fashionably; his cravat was neat and clean, and his coat tidy. His face seemed to have the conformation of one who smiled often; there were small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was well-built as well, broad-shouldered, long of limb and lean of hip. All in all a very pretty sight… except for those eyes.
     
    He smiled at her. “Have I earned your approval, madam?”
     
    “That remains to be seen,” she said. “Your appearance is quite satisfactory. I am much surprised.”
     
    As was Tristan. He’d come expecting at the very least an antidote; instead, he found a very pleasant-looking woman. Not pretty, no: her snub nose and round face were not those of an Incomparable, but neither was she ugly. Just—ordinary. But pleasant enough. And a trim enough figure beneath her simple gown. Fair hair—curled, but he could not quite tell if that was natural or the product of curling-irons—in a plain style appropriate for a morning at home. And she looked… peaceful. Undemanding. Something inside of him unwound at that thought, and he smiled again. Perhaps this would not be quite as horrible as he’d suspected.
     
    “I am pleased that my appearance is satisfactory. I hope I may reassure you on any other points you may question.”
     
    “Indeed.” She glanced up as the footman came in with the tea tray and set it down on the table between them. “I do of course have a number of questions for you. I hope you won’t find them too personal.”
     
    “Lottie…,” Mrs. Bayes said, pleating the plain gray stuff of her gown anxiously.
     
    Charlotte smiled at her friend. “Oh, Ellen, dearest, don’t be concerned. Mr. Northwood is my betrothed. He and I can have no secrets, can we, Mr. Northwood?”
     
    Tristan stared at her a moment, nonplused, then shook his head. “I suppose not.” Like hell , he thought, am I telling you all my secrets!
     
    His fiancée said to her companion, “You see? It would be quite proper for you to leave us in private for a short while, Ellen, dear. It would not be proper for you to hear a discussion between two affianced people.” Her smile was an amazing thing, Tristan thought in weird fascination, a sort of placidly immovable expression, as if she had no doubt that her will would be obeyed. Suddenly he wondered if he were up for it after all….
     
    “Lottie?”
     
    “Shoo. Come back in fifteen minutes.” Lottie studied him a moment, then went on. “That should be sufficient for the discussion I intend to have.”
     
    “Fine,” Ellen said, “but it is against my better judgment.” She rearranged her shawl and sailed out of the room, nose in the air.
     
    “It’s a sad duenna so easily routed,” Tristan observed.
     
    Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Is that a foreign word, ‘duenna’? Because it sounds like a foreign word. It sounds like something my brother Charlie might write. He’s in the Peninsula, you know.”
     
    “I do now,” Tristan said.
     
    “What does it mean?”
     
    “‘Chaperone’, I believe.”
     
    “Oh, Ellen isn’t my chaperone. She’s just my companion, to keep me company, you know. Not that I really need company; I’m perfectly happy by myself. But Papa prefers that I have someone with me when I want to go riding, or walking, or shopping, and so I hired Ellen. She’s actually….” She frowned, wrinkling her nose again. “A second cousin or something. Her husband died and she was quite bored, so she was happy to come here.”
     
    “She may continue to live with you when we are married,” Tristan offered magnanimously.
     
    “That would be nice,” Charlotte replied. “She can keep me company when you are out. I suppose you have a very busy life. Men seem to.”
     
    Yes, of course , Tristan thought. There were many demands on his time, drinking, swiving, attending mills,