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The warmth of summer fell away to cooler but still comfortable autumn days. Tristan s admiration
for afternoons reached a new peak when Max suggested his break from his desk also include a break
from the formal dining hall. Well, Max did not couch it in quite those terms, but an early supper along
the bank of the pond most assuredly did not include a long stretch of mahogany separating him from
Max.
The kitchen should have the bag packed by now. Max rounded his desk. I thought we d walk,
unless you d prefer to take the horses?
Walking is fine. He preferred to walk. Much harder to talk with Max when they were cantering
down a country lane.
Max gathered his leather bag, laden with the contents of their supper, from one of the servants, and
they left the house. The midafternoon sun was high in the sky, the late-September breeze just warm
enough to not need an overcoat.
Tristan looked to Max and frowned. Gray again?
Pardon?
Your waistcoat. Though today s waistcoat appeared a half shade lighter than he remembered.
Could be due to the sun, being outside versus in the house. More likely, Max had multiple gray
waistcoats. How many gray ones do you have in your wardrobe?
I haven t the slightest notion.
Have you ever considered a color outside of gray or black or brown? Stern. There was no other
word for it. Max s wardrobe felt stern and restrained. Made Tristan feel a bit sad for him.
Max shot him a glance from the corner of his eye. Honestly? No. I don t give my wardrobe much
thought. It s there. I put on whatever my valet lays out for me in the morning.
Max had more money than Tristan could fathom and the man chose to not utilize his tailor to the
fullest? Now that was a shame. You should consider it. A colorful waistcoat can lift the spirits.
I take it then that your spirits have needed considerable lifting over the years?
It took Tristan a second to realize where Max was going with his question. Honestly? he said,
mimicking Max. Yes. His spirits had needed all the help they could get. But in my defense,
growing up I had nothing but my older brothers castoffs, and no amount of handiwork with a needle
on my part could get them to fit right. My brothers aren t that much taller than I, but they are much
broader. Like you. They were built for life on the farm. I was not. That s not to say you resemble a
farm laborer, he added. One could tell just by looking at Max that he had nothing but the bluest blood
running through his veins. Having a proper wardrobe of my own is...wonderful. Tristan smiled.
And yes, it s a large wardrobe. I can admit it.
One that hasn t grown since you came to Hampshire, Max pointed out.
No, it hasn t. But the village doesn t hold a tailor. And he hadn t missed it, either. During the first
few days or so, he d been absolutely bored during the day. If a tailor had been easily accessible, he d
likely have paid the shop a visit, if for no other reason than to fill the hours. But the urge to have
something to provide that spark of anticipation, something to look forward to, a bright spot in his day,
hadn t been there since he had come to the Park.
Thank goodness for that. The dressing room in your bedchamber is large, but I believe you already
have it at maximum capacity.
Not quite. There are three empty hooks.
Max chuckled, a smile teasing his mouth. God forbid.
Indeed. But you, you should consider a few new waistcoats. He appraised Max for a moment.
Maybe amber silk or a nice pale smoky blue. You d wear both well, and they d help make you look
not quite so serious.
Max raised a dubious eyebrow. I look serious?
Yes. Serious, stern, restrained. You appear very... He waved a hand, struggling for the right word.
...intimidating.
And do I intimidate you? Max asked, with a definite note of gravity.
No. At least not anymore. I happen to know how good you are at sucking cock.
A laugh, full and rich, burst from Max s chest. The last bit of lingering stiffness in his shoulders
vanished. He looked to Tristan, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth, his broad smile transforming his
features so he actually resembled the young man of three-and-twenty that he was.
Their afternoons were clearly good for Max.
Tristan was very fond of them as well.
They eventually reached the pond, its clear blue surface glinting under the sun. The water was much
too cold for a swim, and they settled on the grassy bank. From his bag, Max pulled a small blanket,
two sandwiches of cold meats and cheeses, and a bottle of wine. No glasses. Not that Tristan minded
in the slightest. They sat on the blanket and partook of their supper, passing the bottle of wine between
them. Max asked him about his childhood on the family farm, and Tristan received a frown when he
mentioned one of the reasons why he d been so eager to leave the farm namely, his older brothers.
Rather than intimidate him, that harsh frown filled his chest with warmth.
They didn t blacken my eye or anything like that. Pushes and shoves, merciless taunts, but
thankfully no beatings. And they weren t the only reason I wanted to leave. Tristan brought the
bottle of wine to his lips, took a sip and then passed it to Max. I didn t belong there, on the farm. My
brothers knew it, I knew it, my father knew it. I was of entirely no help in the fields. I could mend
their clothes. That was the limit of my usefulness. When I informed them of my intent to move to
London, I do believe everyone in the house was pleased.
What about your mother? Was she as pleased as your father and brothers?
She died when I was around two. I don t remember her at all. Has your mother passed away as
well? Since Tristan had never known his own mother, he hadn t realized until now that Max had
never mentioned his.
Yes. I was about five years of age. I have vague recollections of her. Dark hair that shone under the
sun, the softness of her cheek when I gave her a kiss. That s about the extent of it.
Did your father never seek another duchess?
Never. He loved my mother. I can recall him telling me so after she passed. In fact, I don t
remember him ever mentioning another woman or there being any gossip or talk at all about any other
woman besides my mother. Doesn t mean he didn t have a mistress discreetly tucked away
somewhere, but I rather doubt it. Max took a sip of wine. So do you correspond with your father or
brothers at all?
No. Wouldn t have much to say to them anyway. He highly doubted any of them felt the loss of a
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