Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Bundled against the cool spring morning, Caroline returned from a brisk walk through the park with her maid in tow. She stood in the entryway of her house and peeled off her gloves, then removed her bonnet as a tapping sounded on the knocker.
Pomfrey turned his hound-like expression on the door and opened it. He stepped back in time to avoid being trampled when Kitty noticed Caroline standing just inside the house.
“I have just the thing!” Kitty said excitedly, her maid hovering outside, looking in.
“Good morning, Kitty,” Caroline said. “Shall we invite your maid in before retiring upstairs? Or do you not intend to remain long enough for tea?”
“I am positively famished, Caro. I need tea.” She leaned back. “Come inside, Louisa. You cannot remain on the step, you silly creature.”
Pomfrey closed the door behind the maid, showing her to the stairs which led down to the kitchen. She could find a cup of tea there while she waited.
Kitty continued to strip her bonnet and pelisse, leaving them behind as she began up the stairs. “Is your mother out?”
“She’s abed with a headache.”
“Brilliant. I needn’t watch my tongue.”
Misgiving spread through Caroline. She did not keep things from her mother and did not appreciate the idea that she would need to. “What is this about?”
“The masquerade, of course.” Kitty glanced over her shoulder but continued up the narrow staircase toward the parlor. “You will be in raptures when you hear the costume I’ve designed for us. Do not say you won’t borrow my mask, because I vow it is the most beautiful thing.”
“I have not agreed to attend the masquerade.”
“Not yet, you mean.” Kitty’s impish smile was amusing.
They entered the parlor and closed the door behind themselves.
“We shall be foxes, Caro. It is the most glorious thing, because Lord Bengard intends to be a hound! He shall chase me all evening.”
“But he will not be chasing me,” Caroline reminded her.
“Of course not.” Kitty looked to the ceiling in thought. “I suppose you could wear my red domino if you’d prefer. I have a matching mask, so no one shall know it is you. Then I could be Lord Bengard’s sole fox.”
“Hunts usually have many dogs and one fox, do they not?”
“I suppose.” Kitty sat on the high-backed green chair. “Say you will come, at least. It is all aboveboard, you know. Lord Bengard’s sister will be there, and she is an Honorable. And she’s married, besides.”
Caroline sat on the striped sofa opposite her. “The Honorable Mrs. Hough. We’ve met occasionally, though I don’t pretend to know her well.”
“She is the most amusing thing. You may come to my house to make ready, bring your maid, and we’ll dine together at the masquerade.”
“Why do I have a terrible feeling about this?”
“I do not know, because it shall all be good. No one will know who we are if we keep our masks fastened. Lord Bengard does not even wish for others to know him when he attends these events.”
Caroline imagined not. If they knew who he was, he could not get up to any manner of larks, could he? She was debating the best way to phrase this to Kitty, ready to drop a hint of caution in her ear, when the door to the parlor opened, and James walked inside, a man behind him.
“Mr. Shepherd, Mr. Whitby,” Kitty said with delight. “How fortunate we are to find you here.”
James stopped, looking surprised. “It is my home, Miss Fielding.”
“Yes, of course. I only meant I wanted to extend an invitation to you, so I am glad to see you now.”
Caroline wanted to stop the words from leaving her mouth, but she was powerless. James seemed to lean closer, interested to hear what she had to say.
“Have you any engagements Friday?” Kitty asked. “I am to attend the masquerade with Lord Bengard and his sister, Mrs. Hough. Would you like to join our party?”
Tristan’s eyebrows lifted the slightest bit. “Masquerade?”
“Oh yes, but you needn’t wear costumes if you prefer not to. A domino will suit well enough.”
James shook his head. “It is not quite the thing, Miss Fielding. Not the place for polite Society.”
“Which is why we shall wear disguises, of course.”
“You mean to wear a disguise and attend this masquerade, too, Miss Whitby?” Tristan asked, a challenge in his tone. The man expected her to cry off, didn’t he? Well, she could not very well send her friend into the lion’s den alone, could she?
Caroline straightened her shoulders. “Kitty was only just offering me use of her domino. Isn’t that kind of her?”
“The mask is so large it covers nearly the entire face,” Kitty added. “It has the most exquisite gold embroidery too, though most of the cape is red.”
“Sounds lovely,” James said. “But, as I said, not quite the thing, Caro. Mother would not permit it.”
As a woman who had surpassed the age of majority, that was not the discouragement he believed it to be. Caroline lifted her chin. “I’ve not yet decided if I will go or not.”
Tristan frowned. “You would not—”
The door opened to Pomfrey holding a salver bearing a card. He proffered it to James, who read the name and returned the card, shooting a look at Caroline. “Dennison is here.”
Caroline refrained from seeking Tristan’s expression.
In fact, she hadn’t needed to, for he immediately left James’s side and lowered himself on the sofa beside her, leaving very little space between them.
It was a continuation of his scheme to make Mr. Dennison jealous, undoubtedly, but had the effect of raising Caroline’s heart rate.
She inhaled, noting a hint of bergamot and citrus.
“More of your games, Caro?” James asked, strolling toward the chairs and sitting in the open one beside Kitty.
“Nothing of the sort.” Tristan came to her defense, leaning back and resting an ankle over his knee. His shoulder pressed faintly against her arm, though he didn’t seem to notice. “I merely enjoy your sister’s lively company.”
James rolled his eyes, and Kitty narrowed hers.
“Mr. Edwin Dennison,” Pomfrey announced before stepping aside.
Mr. Dennison strode into the room, his long legs draped in fawn pantaloons and a brown coat buttoned at the waist. He removed his hat and bowed to the group. “I hope I am not interrupting. I wanted to invite Miss Whitby to ride in the park with me, but I can see I’ve chosen my time poorly.”
“Nonsense,” she said, before recalling that Kitty had come to see her first and could not be abandoned. “Only, I cannot leave my guest. Would you care to join us?”
“Certainly.” Mr. Dennison took the final remaining seat on the sofa, causing Tristan to move closer to Caroline to make room.
His arm was pressed against hers now entirely.
The door opened to Hannah bearing a tea tray, so Caroline sat forward and set about filling cups for each guest. When she handed Tristan his cup, his fingers brushed hers, sending a chill up her arm so strong she nearly dropped his tea.
His brown eyes searched her face, but she shifted her gaze, inhaling slowly.
The question of how he affected her could no doubt be answered in some scientific way, for there was no obvious reason. Caroline didn’t choose to feel such things around the man, but neither could she command those feelings to abate.
The men talked of a mutual friend of theirs who had recently been blackballed from White’s and was now trying his luck with Boodle’s. James finished his tea and set his cup on the low table. “I have a meeting with our solicitor, Caro, so I’m afraid I need to leave. Shall I fetch Mother for you?”
“No need,” Tristan said. “I will follow you out.”
A beat of silence passed before Mr. Dennison added his desire to leave as well. “May I take you for a ride in the park tomorrow, Miss Whitby?”
Caroline rose alongside the men and looked around Tristan’s shoulder toward Mr. Dennison. “I would enjoy that. Thank you.”
Tristan leaned forward, breaking her line of sight. He reached for her hand. “Good day, Miss Whitby.”
She put her hand in his, and he squeezed her fingers softly, bowing over it. The air between them buzzed like it had been filled with a slew of honeybees, making her thoughts fuzzy.
James bowed to Kitty before leading the way from the room, the other two gentlemen falling behind him. Tristan glanced at her over his shoulder when he neared the doorway, a soft smile on his lips.
Caroline remained stunned. He was such a talented flirt, she could never tell precisely what his intentions were. Once the door closed behind the men, she dropped into her seat again with unladylike exhaustion.
“Balancing two suitors does seem like tiring work,” Kitty said, her tone speaking of amusement.
Caroline flattened her lips. “Tristan is not genuine. He is merely trying to help reinstate Mr. Dennison’s attention, since he is the reason I lost that proposal.”
Kitty laughed. “Mr. Shepherd does not seem at all like he only wants to pass you off to another man. What a foolish notion. He tried to cut in more than once.”
“Only to make Mr. Dennison jealous.”
“I have a hard time believing that.”
Caroline smiled to soften her words. “Trust me, Kitty. I have known the man nearly my entire life. He does not harbor feelings for me.”
“Perhaps he didn’t in the past, but he certainly seems to now.”
The strange sense of hope that bloomed in her chest was warm and ridiculous. Tristan did not want to marry her. He did not love her. He merely wanted to win a wager.
But that was not her information to share.
She settled into her seat and sighed. Knowing Tristan believed the masquerade to be a bad idea somehow only made her desire to go.
It was obstinate of her, but he presumed to have far more influence over her than he had a right to.
If he was genuine in his attention, that would be a different matter.
But the man was fickle. “Enough about those men. I would like to hear more about this masquerade.”
Kitty leaned forward and poured herself a second cup of tea. “I will most happily oblige you.”
Mr. Dennison fetched Caroline for a ride in Hyde Park the following morning.
She wore a thick pelisse and kid gloves.
Her hair was secured beneath her bonnet, a new spray of light pink silk roses attached to the brim just last night to make it appear fresh.
It would pair well with her wind-pinked cheeks, or so she hoped.
“I wanted to show you how well this new pair is getting on,” Mr. Dennison said, holding the reins with one expert hand.
Caroline glanced at the horses he referred to, unable to see any difference between now and the last time she had ridden out with him weeks ago. They still looked brown and pulled the phaeton as directed.
“They seem very…obedient.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Dennison said with feeling. “Prime steppers.”
Caroline had nothing to say to this. But she quickly found that if she refrained from speaking, Mr. Dennison would fill the silence with talk of his horses.
It lulled her back into a sense of security with him.
By the time they reached Hyde Park, he had told her about his regimented schedule, the groom he had been forced to dismiss because he was not following the appointed schedule exactly, and the new horse Mr. Dennison’s cousin had acquired that would make a decent stud.
The topic was tiring, but Caroline was proud of herself for suppressing at least three yawns over the course of the ride. Once they reached the park, she had hoped the others would distract him into a different topic of conversation.
It was not to be.
“Lady Gill believes her horses to be supreme, but the woman was tricked, if you ask me. Paid handsomely for a daft pair, she did.” He looked about. “But that stallion is prime flesh.”
Caroline fought a sigh. She looked at the horse he spoke of now and glanced up at the rider with a start. Tristan.
Mr. Dennison must have noticed the rider at the same time, because his words came to a sudden halt. He cleared his throat. “That is enough about horses. I must be boring you terribly.”
“No, truly, you are not.” A stretch of the truth, perhaps. She searched for something true to say. “There is something engaging about listening to someone talk about a matter they are passionate about.”
He smiled appreciatively. “What are you passionate about, Miss Whitby?”
She glanced again at Tristan as they approached. He slowed his horse, but Mr. Dennison either did not notice or pretended not to see as he drove on by.
Caroline forced herself not to look at Tristan. What had Mr. Dennison asked her?
“Are you having trouble knowing what to say?” he asked.
“I enjoy reading. I’ve recently finished a book by the author of Evelina. It is called Cecilia and has been entertaining, since the character is attending the London Season as well.”
Mr. Dennison was quiet.
“Do you enjoy reading?” she asked.
“Oh, me? No. Not books, at least. I do know how to read, of course.”
“Of course.”
Silence sat between them for the length of the park, until it was time to turn the conveyance around and enjoy the park again or join the street traffic and return home.
Mr. Dennison cast her a smile, directing his horses onto the road.
“Thank you for riding out with me, Miss Whitby. That was pleasant.”
She exhaled with relief that he had chosen to take her home. “It was my pleasure.”