Carol Townend - Mistaken For A Lady

He’d kept other things from her too, important personal matters. He’d never told her about Esmerée—his mistress before his marriage to Francesca.

Naturally, Tristan had ended his relationship with Esmerée before he’d met Francesca. Indeed, Esmerée was now happily married to Tristan’s greatest friend, Sir Roparz de Fougères. None the less, perhaps he should have told Francesca about her. His only excuse was that Francesca had been so young when they’d married. She’d been so innocent. And so adoring. Tristan had never had anyone look up to him in that way and he’d been afraid of destroying it.

Should he have told her about Esmerée? His relationship with Esmerée had been purely physical, there had never been that disturbing sense of recognition and belonging that he’d felt with Francesca. He’d not seen any reason to mention past liaisons to his innocent wife.

He grimaced, he’d been deceiving himself, there had been consequences to his relationship with Esmerée. Esmerée had given birth to Kristina—his daughter and only child—and the moment she had done so, he should have told Francesca.

I should have told Francesca about Esmerée and I should have told her that I have a daughter.

However, it wasn’t that simple. Tristan intended to acknowledge Kristina as his, but the continuing unrest in Brittany had been to blame for his silence. If the rebel alliance had got wind of the fact that the Count of the Isles had an illegitimate daughter, Kristina’s life might have been put in jeopardy. Thus far only three people knew the truth—himself, Esmerée and his friend Roparz.

However, with the alliance broken and peace more or less restored, the need for discretion regarding Kristina was no longer so urgent. He was free to tell Francesca about her.

Except what was the point in him telling her? With them both considering divorce, did it matter?

He closed the chest with a thud and swore under his breath. It mattered. For some unfathomable reason he wanted Francesca to know about Kristina.

Obviously, he couldn’t tell her immediately, she had enough on her mind with Count Myrrdin’s illness. Soon though.

Yes, he would tell her about his daughter after she had bid farewell to Count Myrrdin—Papa, as she called him.

Tight-lipped, Tristan pushed to his feet and went to the top of the stairwell. ‘Ernis, are you still in the hall? Ernis!’

Heavy boots sounded on the boards below. ‘My lord?’

‘Secure Lady Francesca’s coffers and have them sent on after us, will you? No need to send them to Fontaine, they can go directly to des Iles with your next report.’

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