Tristan opened his mouth to argue when Pippa told him she half wanted to draw the murderer out, but she continued speaking. He looked away uncomfortably when she suggested people might think he was responsible for her growing belly. The notion was all sorts of disgusting to him. Luckily that myth would easily be dispelled once the child was born. All the same, she was right. He couldn’t keep her on. With an already failing business, he couldn’t risk being associated with scandal.

He drank some of his tea to distract himself from the uncomfortable suggestion and watched Pippa over edge of the cup as she pleaded with him to trust her judgement. God, something in her pleading yet determined tone reminded him of himself when he was young, pleading with his father to let him make his own choices. And uncomfortably, Tristan realized he was becoming more like his father than he had known.

He set his cup down, defeated. “Very well, Pippa. Invite him here for tea on Sunday afternoon and I promise I will treat him with the utmost civility and an open mind. I will tell you what I think afterwards, but whatever you choose, I will respect and support it.”