He had always thought Aristide the more open of the twins, but in the past months he had been unusually hard to read. Adrienne’s marriage had upset him considerably, of course – Trystan had expected that, as their sorting into different houses had done when they were eleven; as they had suffered since from any sort of separation – but what Aristide made of him these days, Trystan hadn’t yet divulged. It was, to put it lightly, driving him mad.
He had hoped that Ari’s determination to leave the estate and move to Wellingtonshire was more a product of the former change than the latter, but Trystan had attempted to be as courteously agreeable to his nephew’s whims so as not to risk their relationship any further. At the invitation to see the new place – finally! – Trystan was eminently relieved. Now that he was here, however, he felt a most unnatural twinge of trepidation.
Adrienne had not resented him for finding out, but what if this was the one occasion in which the twins were not of one mind? He couldn’t bear to think of it. After all, Aristide had always been his favourite son.
“Not at all,” Trystan waved him off with a blustery cheer, casting his gaze over the walls and ceiling of this room to feign that all his attention was not riveted to his son. “I see you’ve been terribly busy in your new freedom,” he remarked, gesturing at the wallpaper and all that looked new. “Is this all your design?” Ari had always had an uncommonly artistic eye.
He had hoped that Ari’s determination to leave the estate and move to Wellingtonshire was more a product of the former change than the latter, but Trystan had attempted to be as courteously agreeable to his nephew’s whims so as not to risk their relationship any further. At the invitation to see the new place – finally! – Trystan was eminently relieved. Now that he was here, however, he felt a most unnatural twinge of trepidation.
Adrienne had not resented him for finding out, but what if this was the one occasion in which the twins were not of one mind? He couldn’t bear to think of it. After all, Aristide had always been his favourite son.
“Not at all,” Trystan waved him off with a blustery cheer, casting his gaze over the walls and ceiling of this room to feign that all his attention was not riveted to his son. “I see you’ve been terribly busy in your new freedom,” he remarked, gesturing at the wallpaper and all that looked new. “Is this all your design?” Ari had always had an uncommonly artistic eye.
