Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Charles and his wife had seemed perfectly in love, despite their rocky beginning. Tristan found he liked them together as a couple very much, and spending time with them increased his desire to find a wife he loved instead of searching to satisfy the wager.
Perhaps their mother was better suited to choosing a bride for her sons than Tristan had first given her credit for.
Still, he did not think he would test that theory for himself.
Tristan had gone to his parents’ house in Dorking first and spent an evening hearing about all the eligible women Mother knew.
He was tempted to mention he’d seen the Whitbys in Town, but since Caroline had no interest in him, he decided not to tease his mother.
Charles had not been home anyway, so Tristan had been forced to travel to a cottage in Orpington to visit the newlyweds.
He had been gone from London longer than he’d originally intended, and when his tired horse entered the main roads in Town again, the evening fully dark and the cold air making a return for the night, he felt settled.
Tristan made his way toward Curzon Street and directed his horse into Berkeley Square to enjoy the park in the center of the houses.
It had nothing to do with a woman residing on that street, of course.
Just before reaching the square, a carriage pulled onto the road from the mews ahead of him.
He slowed his horse, following the familiar-looking carriage until it drew up before the Whitbys’ door.
A twinge of curiosity slithered through him.
What did Caroline have planned for that evening?
He wanted to know where she would be and who she was likely to be spending time with, but he also recognized he had no right to ask these questions.
Or was it merely James leaving and his sister choosing to remain behind?
If Tristan happened to be there when they came outside, it would be a natural thing to ask. Would they find it odd if he was waiting? Tristan debated riding away before he was spotted.
The front door opened, causing yellow candlelight from the house to spill onto the step outside. Caroline appeared in the doorway and looked to him immediately, an expression passing over her face he could not read from so great a distance as the street.
“Have you come to be our outrider?” she asked, walking toward him.
“Are you traveling such a distance as to need one?”
“Just the Fairfields’ card party.” Caroline stood on the edge of the street looking up at him. She wore a cape over her evening gown, but her dark hair was styled as simply and perfectly as always. He wondered how soft it would be if he ran it through his fingers.
“Don’t let me keep you, then,” Tristan said, strangely relieved that her entertainment for the evening was focused on seeing her friend and not Dennison.
Caroline tipped her head to the side. “Did you need to speak to me? Or James?”
“I only just arrived back in Town and happened to fall in behind your coach. That is all.”
“Fortuitous for us,” she said kindly.
Tristan had the sense she didn’t want him to leave, which was utter madness. The woman didn’t care a whit for him.
Yet she waited expectantly, not dismissively.
“Are you planning to attend the Knightings’ garden party Thursday?
” he asked. It was precisely the sort of event Dennison would attend, and Tristan needed to steer Caroline back to the man, as promised.
As soon as they were engaged, he would stop thinking about her so much, most assuredly.
As soon as he found himself a bride, he would be forced to cease thinking of her entirely.
“We are.”
“Then I shall see you there.” He lifted his hat to her and began to pull away when she called after him.
“Shall we ride together?” she asked.
Tristan called over his shoulder. “I would like that.”
The strange thing was, when he glanced back at Caroline, she looked as though she shared the sentiment.
The garden party happened to be much larger than Tristan had first expected. After walking through with the Whitbys, he spotted a few of his friends on the far side of the garden and lifted a hand to them. Ambrose Hartley and Leonard Stanton were speaking near the lawn where pall mall was set up.
“Do you enjoy the game?” Caroline asked, following his line of sight.
Tristan tore his gaze from his friends. “I’ve been known to win before.”
“Caro,” James said, sliding up between them. “I have only met him the once, so I cannot be certain, but is that not your Mr. Dennison?”
Tristan fought a cringe at the possessive way James had phrased it.
He looked across the crowd toward the tables of lemonade and pastries to see Dennison accepting a glass from a footman.
This was why they had come. He had anticipated Dennison’s attendance.
But seeing the man in the flesh—the gentleman Caroline hoped to receive a proposal from when she had heartily refused Tristan’s—was a painful reminder of where he lacked.
Or was it? Tristan didn’t actually know what he was lacking that Dennison possessed to make him the more attractive choice.
“It is,” she said quietly.
“Shall we speak to him?” James asked. “He might feel differently now that time has passed. It has been more than a week since the last time you met, has it not?”
“I have a different plan,” Tristan said, pulling his attention from Dennison and letting a smile curve his lips. “How do you feel about playing pall mall, Caro?”
James narrowed his eyes, looking between Tristan and his sister. “What game are you playing at?”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “There is no game, James. Aside from pall mall, evidently.”
“If you mean to make him jealous…” James considered Tristan, not believing her for even a moment. “Well, I suppose it would likely work.”
“You aren’t serious,” Caroline said.
James nodded slowly. He glanced to where their mother was speaking with a group of her friends, then back at his sister. “It would work on me if you weren’t my sister. Stands to reason it would work on him, too. Might as well try.”
Caroline stared at her brother. His trust in Tristan was enormous. She likely suspected he would defend even the danger to her reputation, should their conduct suggest a courtship that led nowhere.
Tristan grinned. “In that case, shall we?”
Caroline’s gaze snapped to him. She inhaled, then set her hand on his arm. “I suppose so.”
“Your eagerness to spend time in my company astounds me.”
She tightened her hold. “I wouldn’t like for you to have the wrong idea about my feelings, Tristan.”
“In that case, take confidence. You are keeping my expectations well and truly down.”
Caroline ignored him until they reached the pall mall field where an empty iron hoop was set up on the far end.
Tristan selected two balls and two mallets and gave one of each to Caroline.
When she reached for her mallet, he didn’t release it immediately, causing her to stand directly in front of him. She looked up, confused.
“He’s looking now, Caro.”
“No one gave you leave to call me that.”
“You did once,” he argued. “Many years ago. Has that permission been rescinded?”
“We were children.” She tugged at her mallet.
He did not relinquish it. “If it really bothers you, Caro, I won’t say it again.”
Her brows shot up. “You just did.”
“It does not count until you direct me.” He looked into her eyes, aware Dennison might not have been the only man to pay attention to the way he was acting toward her.
“You may use it,” she said quietly. “We are old friends, after all. But perhaps not in company.”
“It slipped out at the ball that first night. I would never have intentionally been so reckless.”
“Yet here you are, forcing me to speak to you with hardly any space between us.”
Tristan looked down into her blue eyes. “This is not hardly any space, Caro. I can show you what hardly any space would look like.”
She swallowed, drawing his attention to her throat. “We had better begin playing.”
“You can take a turn first.” Tristan stepped back. He needed to cool off.
Caroline took her ball and mallet toward the first iron ring and placed them at the starting point. She pulled her mallet back and swung hard, knocking the ball with a loud clack. It rolled forward on the grass, but veered to the side, and she exhaled heavily.
She was not unaffected by him.
Tristan lined up his ball and aimed his mallet, hitting it close to Caroline’s. She glanced at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Our balls are attracted to one another, it seems.”
She pressed her lips into a flat line.
He leaned on his mallet like a tall walking stick. “You know, this won’t work if you appear unhappy to be speaking with me.”
Caroline’s face immediately transformed into a genial smile. “Is this better?”
“To be honest, I enjoy all expressions that play out on your charming face. Each new one is like a gift, and I never quite know what I am going to get.”
“If you’re going to be ridiculous, I will have great trouble appearing pleased.” She turned from him before he could assure her he meant every word. He had a feeling she wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
Her ball landed nearer to the iron ring but listed to the right this time. Either she was flustered or her aim was abhorrent. Tristan hit his ball just behind hers, and she gave him a look of exasperation.
“What?” he asked innocently. He was certainly trying to remain near her ball, but only because he’d have liked to remain near her.
A few surreptitious glances at Dennison proved the man was watching them.
The beginning of their plan was in motion and, unfortunately, Tristan was certain it was going to work.
Perhaps not today, but over time, it would work.
“Win the game so we can be finished.”
“I’d rather remain beside you,” he argued, reaching to pluck a bit of dust from her sleeve. He pressed his hand to her forearm, aware of the heat of her stare as he did so. “If we finish the game, you will go off and find Miss Fielding, I presume.”
“Is she here?” Caroline asked, her gaze sweeping the crowd. Her voice was dry.
Tristan reclaimed his hand, glancing to where Miss Fielding was speaking to Lord Bengard and his sister.
Miss Fielding was dwarfed by the pair of dusky, lithe siblings, her light brown hair shining in the sunlight beneath a chip straw bonnet.
Bengard’s dark brows were slashes above his deep-set eyes.
Something about his expression felt off to Tristan, but he had already shared his concerns with Caroline on that score.
When he turned his attention back to his partner, she was watching him. “You still don’t like Lord Bengard.”
“Don’t trust,” he corrected. “I have trouble trusting the man. Entirely different.”
“I suppose that’s true, but you needn’t worry. I’ve spoken to Kitty. She is perfectly aware of the jealous woman spreading rumors about her viscount. She knows the truth.”
Hm. Tristan debated informing her that his information came from some of his male friends’ firsthand experiences, but it seemed a fruitless conversation. He had no great stake in Miss Fielding, only that of her friend.
Caroline hit her ball but missed the iron ring. She made a frustrated sound that amused him.
Tristan, of course, hit his ball directly behind hers.
“I still do not understand how this will ignite any sort of jealousy,” she said.
“Because I am playing pall mall with you, Caro, and it will make him wish he was the one playing instead. Besides, anything you can do to show the man you enjoy spending time outside makes you look more honest.”
“I suppose I ought not to pull out the novel tucked in my reticule then?” she asked.
Tristan swallowed a laugh. “Are you in earnest?”
“I’m nearly finished with it. You could not honestly expect me to have left it at home.”
“What is the title?”
Caroline tucked her chin. “I’ll not tell you. I have a feeling you would mock me for it.”
“One of the romantic novels written by A Lady, I presume?”
Caroline raised her chin. “No. I’ve yet to read those.”
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve heard they’re all the rage.”
“Which is probably why I never find them in the lending library.”
He looked at her. “You do not purchase books? I would have thought someone who liked to read as you do would have an entire library in your home.”
“My father has a library, but it hasn’t been updated since he left England.” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “Books are expensive.”
Tristan felt the same, but he’d been forced to economize. Until recently, he had believed the Whitby family had done exceedingly well for themselves. When James mentioned that the last few seasons had been hard on them, had he been understating the matter?
Caroline lined up beside her ball, swung her mallet, and hit it off to the side, behind the ring and toward the onlookers—two of which happened to be Tristan’s friends.
So he did what any man would do and hit the ball past the ring toward Caroline’s.