Tristan wondered what the artist meant by his 'moods'. Perhaps he was melancholic. That would suit his profession. Perhaps the butler and valet referred to sullen moods. "Very well..." he said with a smile. "I will be your chaperone and personal doctor in one," he raised his glass to that idea and drank.

Oh dear. He was starting to feel it a little, and they hadn't even reached the whiskey yet. He quickly ate the last of his beef. "In all fairness, I think those young ladies cannot be blamed. Wealth, fame, a title, talent, and good looks. I'm sure they can't help it."