The Sweetest Love (Sons of Worthington Series) (34 page)

“Have you even talked to Sir Felix yet?” Louisa asked before she sipped her dinner wine.

“No.” Tristan sighed heavily. “It’s like I had said before, I need proof first. I don’t want to cause any undue problems with Diana or her maid.”

“Are you…still in love with her?” Judith asked softly.

He arched an eyebrow. “Sally?
Of course not.
I have never held those feelings of such nature for the maid.”

“No,” Judith corrected, “I was referring to Lady Hollingsworth.”

Louisa leaned forward as if waiting for his answer. It seemed his sister-in-laws were more interested in that particular aspect of his life than his brothers, or even his mother. “Yes, I am still in love with Diana.”

Knowing grins shaped Judith and Louisa’s mouths. His brothers, however, nearly scowled at Tristan—enough to burn holes through him.

“No wonder you haven’t said anything to the magistrate,” Trevor barked. “I think you are trying to protect Diana more than you are trying to find a killer.”

“Now Trevor, dear,” Louisa said as she patted her husband’s hand. “Have you forgotten how confused you were when you realized you were in love with a thief…only to discover how wrong you were?”

Not very often did Tristan get to see his brother blush, but Trevor’s cheeks darkened a pinkish color.

“You are correct, my love.” Trevor brushed his fingers lightly against her blonde curl by her ear.

Tristan quickly continued before the two of them became any more zealous in their love. “I haven’t said anything to the magistrate until I have something that backs up my theory.”

“That’s a wise thing to do,” his mother said.

“Do you think she might be innocent?” Judith asked.

Tristan shrugged then took a drink of his wine. “I don’t know. I just know that I if I were in her place and had been beaten like she had been, I would have wanted to kill the man responsible.” He shrugged. “So I have two different arguments pulling at me. I have logic that says once the true killer is put away, Diana and I can live our lives the way we’ve always wanted. And then my heart tells me that I shouldn’t blame the maid because she was so abused and mentally broken.”

“Tristan?”
Louisa asked. “Why don’t you follow your heart?”

Inwardly, he sighed. He should have known she or Judith would say something like that. And for the life of him, he couldn’t hold back from telling her the truth. “My heart tells me Sally is innocent, but it’s only because Diana trusts her maids…and I trust Diana.”

“Oh, Tristan dear.”
His mother bunched her hands on the table. “Please do not do anything rash. Please make certain of your feelings before you pursue Lady Hollingsworth any further. You mentioned that Sir Felix thinks you and Lady Hollingsworth are in this together. I would hate him to have his suspicions confirmed if he saw you and the widow together in public.”

“I’m very much aware of how it would look, Mother.” He rubbed his forehead, hoping the pounding in his skull would disappear. “But I don’t think you will have to worry about that any time soon, Mother. Until the true killer is caught, Diana and I will not be seen together at all. I just hope this ends quickly because I cannot see going through live without Diana as my wife.”

“Tristan,” Louisa said, shaking her head, “don’t give up. If you love her, fight for her. I would not be married to your brother if he had given up on me so easily.”

“Same here,” Trey added as he gazed into Judith’s eyes and smiled. “I don’t know what kind of man I would be right now if Judith had given up on our love.”

Judith returned the tender smile and grasped Trey’s hand. “We certainly would not be here and starting a family together.”

Everyone around the table chuckled and nodded.
Except for Tristan.
Once again, all he could manage was a weak smile. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was just that there were too many obstacles keeping him from love.

Perhaps what his family said was true. After all, they had all been through trials in their lives, and they were now all very happy.
Blissfully
happy…
which was what he wanted to be.

After dinner, he returned to his room. His mind was churning with ideas. Between Hawthorne and himself, they would find Lord Elliot’s servants and question them all…even if they had to bribe them with money. One way another, they’d find something to use that could lead them in the killer’s direction.

From the corner of the small table near his bed, his attention caught something different. A letter—sealed with Lady
Dashwood’s
crest embedded in the wax. He snatched the letter and broke it open, his heart beating with anticipation.

“Dear Tristan. Something dreadful has happened. Earlier today the magistrate arrested Tabitha and took her to
Newgate
Prison. We are beside ourselves and don’t know what to do. Please meet me late tonight in Lady
Dashwood’s
stable so that we can discuss what to do next. My heart is broken for this terrible injustice that has happened, and I pray that you and I can figure a way out of this mess. Please burn this letter once you have read it so that Sir Felix doesn’t think we are planning something.
Most affectionately yours, Diana.”

Tristan groaned and sank on the edge of his bed.
Poor Tabitha.
Indeed, she was not guilty, so what made the magistrate think she was? Surely Diana could speak to the man and assure him of Tabitha’s location during both murders. Tristan could even attest to being in the cottage when Tabitha was there. Even if he had to stretch the truth a bit, he could explain to Sir Felix that he’d been sick and Tabitha was nursing him back to health. At this point, he’d say anything to get her released.

Yet…would that bring more suspicion on Diana?

He growled and hit his fist into the mattress. This would drive him insane! He definitely needed to be with Diana, because that put him in better spirits. He could think better around her as well.

Turning his head, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was only thirty minutes past eight. Still too early to meet her, and if he left now, he’d surely get caught by someone.

He took the letter to the fireplace and threw it inside. The flames licked the paper quickly, turning it to ashes.

As he stared in the fire, his mind wandered to Hawthorne. What in the devil was that man doing, and would he be able to help Tristan find the killer? When they had left Diana’s cottage this morning,
Nic
hadn’t been talkative…which wasn’t like him. By the faraway look in
Nic’s
eyes, Tristan could see something bothered him greatly, but the man never said anything.

Tristan decided to pen a note to Hawthorne to have him come to the house tomorrow so they could plan a way to contact all of Elliot’s servants. They needed to get on this posthaste.

It didn’t take very long to write the note, seal it, and have the servant take it to be delivered. Tristan left his room to go in search of something to do that would keep his mind occupied until it was time to go to see his Diana. Unfortunately, his brothers had left and his mother had already retired to her chambers.

Grumbling, Tristan marched into his study and straight to his decanter of rum. It had been a while since the drink had become his best friend…before his kidnapping, in fact. Still, he needed something to settle his nerves, so he poured a generous amount into a glass and sat in front of the small fire.

No matter how often he tried to think back over everything Diana had told him about her husband’s death and Elliot’s, there was something that niggled in the back of his head. Something he should know…or at least figure out.

He took a drink, and then grimaced. What was that nasty taste? True, it had been a little while since he had used the bottle to help calm his nerves, but it had never tasted this bitter before. Or had it?

“Pardon me, milord, but will you
be needing
any more rum tonight?”

The servant’s voice startled him and he swung toward the door.
“Oh, Gibbs.
I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Forgive me, milord.” The older footman bowed. “I thought to check in on you before you retire.”

“I thank you, Gibbs, but I am fine.”

“Will you need more rum?”

Tristan couldn’t help but grin. This servant knew him well…but why hadn’t he noticed that Tristan wasn’t a roaring drunk any longer? Didn’t servants know things like this? “No, Gibbs, I’m fine—”

Suddenly, an idea struck him and he quickly stood. “Gibbs, would you like to join me?” He held up his glass.

The older man chuckled. “What humor you have, milord. You know me by now, and know I can’t refuse a good drink.”

Tristan motioned his hand. “Then please come in and I’ll pour you a glass.” He moved to the liquor tray. “I fear I’m quite bored this evening and I need someone to talk to. Do you mind?”

“Of course not, milord.”
Mr. Gibbs shuffled in and to the chair nearest to the fireplace. The older man had been with the family since Tristan was a young boy. Gibbs was like part of the family.

Tristan poured Gibbs a healthy dose of rum and brought it back to him. The servant mumbled his thanks and took the glass. Both men tipped back their drinks at the same time, and Tristan studied the servant over the rim of his glass. Bushy white eyebrows arched over tired, withered eyes. The man was always smiling and willing to please the family.

Grimacing again at the bitter taste, he glanced into his glass. What was wrong with the rum? “Gibbs, I hope you can help me out.” He looked back to the footman.

“I’ll do anything I can, milord.”

“You have been with our family for a long time, and you were my father’s footman for many years.”

“Aye.”
He took another drink.

“I’m sure you know a lot about what goes on in society, as well.”

The older man’s wrinkled mouth lifted in a grin. “Aye, I do.”

“And I’m sure that servants know what goes on in the household—even if things are meant to be kept a secret.”

“Once again, you are correct. Loyal servants do not spread gossip, but unfortunately, there are many servants I have met over the years who are not so loyal.”

“Are you friends with servants from other estates?”

Gibbs chuckled. “We all seem to know what goes on in other houses, I’m afraid.”

Tristan nodded. “Have you heard any of these other servants saying things you deem to be inappropriate?”

“Plenty of times.”

“How about from Lady Hollingsworth’s estate?”

Gibbs took another gulp and nodded. “Sadly, yes. The servants blamed her for not giving their master an heir.”

Although Tristan was grateful she hadn’t given Hollingsworth children, Tristan’s heart wrenched for the pain she must have endured because of the servant’s treatment. “Yes, that is very sad, indeed. What about Lord Elliot?”

“I fear your cousin wasn’t very kind to his servants. I believe many of them wanted him dead, especially the maids.”

Tristan nodded. “Yes, I had heard the same thing.” He paused in thought until a name popped into his head from nowhere. “What about Lady
Dashwood’s
household. Have you heard anything about her servants who may not be very loyal?”

“Oh yes, milord. In fact, Mr. Tucker was ready to punch Lady
Dashwood’s
driver in the face not too long ago.”

“Really?
I wonder why.”

“It wasn’t too long after you had been kidnapped. Mr. Tucker had visited a pub that night and Lady
Dashwood’s
driver was into his cups quite a bit and telling everyone that he had driven his ladyship to Lady Hollingsworth’s cottage…and that the
viscountess
had kidnapped a man.
You, milord.”

Tristan had tipped his glass up to his lips for another sip, but quickly dropped his arm. “Me? The driver told everyone that?”

“Aye.
That is why Mr. Tucker wanted to punch the man in the face for spreading such gossip, but Miss Amanda wouldn’t allow it. She is engaged to Mr. Tucker, you know.”

Anger filled Tristan, making him want to plow his fist through the man’s face as well. “No, I didn’t know this. Has the coachman ever been to this place to visit Miss Amanda before?”

“Aye.
A few times.”

“When was the last time?”

“Yesterday, I believe.”

Tristan grumbled under his breath. “How long has this driver been employed with Lady
Dashwood
?”

“Only since her husband died.”

“Interesting…” Tristan allowed himself to take a drink this time. The wheels in his brain were turning faster now as ideas he’d never thought of before surfaced. When he’d returned after being kidnapped, he’d wondered how some people—the magistrate in particular—knew that Tristan had been at Diana’s cottage.

Now he knew.

As quickly as that thought ended, another hit him. Diana was there…at Lady
Dashwood’s
…and Tabitha had been arrested. With a loose-lipped driver such as this servant, Diana was not safe at all.