Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan bought a bouquet of roses from a woman selling them on the street and carried it along to Berkeley Square.
The rain had finally ceased, but the ground was sodden, forcing him to dodge puddles along the way.
Blue sky peeked through the gray clouds, and a bird sang nearby.
Signs of hope surrounded him, giving his steps an added buoyancy.
Until he approached the Whitby house at the same time as another gentleman. Tristan halted, biting back a sigh as Dennison’s phaeton rolled to a stop. He supposed they were bound to meet, but to have an audience while he was preparing a second proposal wasn’t ideal.
“Shepherd,” Dennison said, climbing down from his phaeton. “How splendid to find you here again.”
Tristan didn’t miss the emphasis on his final word. Dennison had had his chance with Caroline, though, and he’d squandered it. Tristan lost patience with men like that. It was fair game for him to swoop in and claim her affections, and Dennison knew it.
Tristan had depended upon this when he first developed his scheme to make the man jealous and return his affection to Caroline. Now he could see he had done the job too well.
Together they mounted the front steps, and Dennison lifted the iron knocker, tapping it against the door.
They stood shoulder to shoulder when the butler opened the door, mild surprise flashing in his eyes.
His long cheeks drooped, making it difficult to know if he was frowning or if that was merely his face at rest.
Tristan proffered his card. “I am here to speak to Miss Whitby.”
Dennison eyed his bouquet of flowers with misgiving. He extended his card. “I am here to speak to Miss Whitby as well.”
The butler accepted both cards. “Will you wait inside?”
“Yes, I thank you,” Tristan said, stepping into the warm vestibule, Dennison close on his heels.
He looked at Dennison as the butler walked up the stairs.
The poor man was soon to learn Caroline’s affections were wholly engaged with another.
Tristan did not rejoice in providing the man with disappointment, but he was eager for the matter to be dealt with so they could move forward.
The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable.
Tristan rocked back on his heels. “Beautiful pair you have. Prime bit of horseflesh.”
Dennison’s smile became authentic at once. “Just acquired them a fortnight past. Been meaning to take them out the Bath Road—give them their heads and test their mettle.”
“They’ve a fine pace in them, I’d wager,” Tristan said. He couldn’t recall seeing better lines on a horse in years.
The butler returned before Dennison could propose placing any real bets. “If you will follow me.”
The men fell in line behind him, trudging up the stairs and toward the parlor. Midday light streamed through the windows, falling over the seating area where Caroline and Kitty were situated.
Mrs. Whitby sat at the desk against the wall, but rose on their arrival. “Welcome, gentlemen,” she said. “Please do be seated. Forgive my rudeness for not joining you. I am attending to my correspondence.”
“We look forward to your company once you have finished your task, ma’am,” Tristan said. She smiled at him, gesturing for the men to take the chairs, then lowering herself on her cushion again, turning her back on the company.
Caroline was dressed in blue, making her eyes bright. Her dark hair was styled neatly at the crown of her head, and her lips looked particularly pink. Were they always that color, or had Tristan only noticed them especially because he was more familiar with them?
She looked up into his eyes, and he noted a strain within her expression he had not expected. Perhaps the notion of putting off Dennison was providing her with undue stress.
“These are for you, Miss Whitby,” Tristan said, gesturing to the pink roses in his hand.
She glanced at them but did not move to accept the bouquet. “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd. That is thoughtful. Pomfrey? Would you care for them?”
The butler stepped forward, taking the roses from Tristan. The entire ordeal was strange.
“I’ve come to ask if you would like to ride out with me, Miss Whitby,” Dennison said. “As you appear to have a guest, I suppose we ought to do so another time.”
The poor man was about to receive a set down.
Caroline’s attention shifted to him, her smile growing wide. “How kind of you. I should like that very much…another time.”
Tristan’s thoughts shuddered to an abrupt stop. She would like that very much? What the deuce did that mean? Was she not meant to rebuff the man? She had shown more emotion for a ride with horses she did not like than for the flowers Tristan had brought.
He looked at her hard, but she would not meet his gaze. A vague uneasiness swept over him.
Dennison continued to talk of the park and his new horses, and all the while Caroline listened intently.
Kitty looked immensely bored, however. She still wore the same gown from yesterday, though her hair was neatly styled.
Tristan edged in the first time Dennison left a space of more than one second in the conversation. “You are looking well, Miss Fielding. When last I saw you, I believe you had experienced quite a shock.”
“Oh, I am very well,” Kitty agreed. “Caroline and Mr. Whitby have been immensely kind, allowing me to sponge off their generosity and time.”
“It is no trial,” Caroline argued. “I adore having you with us.”
“Do you see what I mean?” Kitty asked, grinning. “Such good friends.”
There was the slightest strain in her expression, though, and Tristan believed she did not feel as composed as she seemed.
The door opened, permitting James into the room. He paused when he noticed the additional guests, his eyes darting to his sister.
“Good day,” he said.
Tristan nodded to him.
James pulled his pocket watch out and looked at it. “I’ve just returned from an appointment, and the sun has made a rare appearance. I was hoping to entice the ladies to walk in the park with me.”
Caroline gave Kitty a meaningful look, and they seemed to communicate something silently before turning in unison toward James.
“We should like that very much. Shall we all go?” Caroline looked directly at Dennison.
That confirmed Tristan’s earlier suspicions—she was avoiding him.
“I should enjoy a walk very much,” Tristan said, willing her to look at him.
Caroline smiled briefly before rising. “If you will give us but a moment, we shall be down shortly. I must find my walking shoes.”
The men stood, holding their hats as Caroline and Kitty left the room.
Tristan watched them walk away with no small amount of confusion.
Just last night she had willingly been in his arms, and now she could not even hold his gaze.
Something was amiss, and he was hanged if he wasn’t going to discover what it was.
Pomfrey returned then with the vase of flowers, putting it on a table set against the wall. They looked sad and lonely.
“Would you like to walk with us, Mother?” James asked.
She tapped her quill pen against the glass inkpot. “If you will give me a moment to complete this correspondence, I should love to join you.”
“And Father?” he asked.
She glanced up. “He’s gone out.”
James muttered something incoherent.
“Your father’s returned?” Dennison asked. “What splendid news.”
“Indeed, he has,” James said. “We are…very happy.” In contrast to what he said, James looked perturbed.
By the time the women had all dressed for the outing and the party had gathered on the front stoop, Tristan had more than confirmed that something had happened to change Caroline’s opinion of him. She wound her way to Dennison’s side and accepted his offer of escort.
Tristan found himself walking beside Mrs. Whitby, and though they talked of home and his mother, he was distracted by the couple in front of him.
What were they talking about? What had Dennison said to make her laugh?
Had she moved closer to his side? She certainly looked as though she was walking much closer than she needed to.
“I am not such a green goose as to imagine you are pleased to accompany me,” Mrs. Whitby said, surprising him.
Tristan didn’t know how to respond to such plain speaking.
“But I own I am grateful for the opportunity to talk with you privately.”
Again, Tristan was at a loss. He smiled, waiting.
Mrs. Whitby looked toward the blue sky with consideration, then sighed softly. “I want nothing more than for my daughter to be happy.”
Her blunt honesty permitted Tristan the same freedom. “We want the same things.”
“I assumed as much. You and your brother were forever running about with James as boys, but we have not seen you in some years. I believe we have been in one another’s company more often in the past few weeks than in the last several years combined.
” She shot him a motherly smile. “While James’s company is riveting, it is apparent he is not the child of mine you come to see. ”
Tristan’s body went tense, waiting for her to continue. She was being too careful in her wording for this conversation to have a pleasant outcome.
“You will not offend me,” he assured her. “You may say whatever it is you are thinking.”
“I will not compel Caroline to choose one suitor over another,” she said, “but you ought to be made aware that she has long been hoping for a proposal from Mr. Dennison.”
“Yes, I had been informed of that.”
“While he might not be her perfect match, he can provide her a security that is without equal.”
The man had wealth far beyond Tristan’s means. That was no secret, as much as it stung to be reminded.
“Caroline is too practical not to take that into account,” Mrs. Whitby went on, “and I do not want you to be hurt.”
It came as something of a relief that Mrs. Whitby was offering this warning to spare his feelings and not out of any particular preference for Dennison. Tristan could understand the need for security, but he had a house. Once Caroline’s dowry was combined with his home, they would be comfortable.
Did she truly care for money so greatly it would make her choose a man who bored her? A man she did not love?
They crossed the street into the Green Park, drawing too near the other couples to continue their conversation. Tall trees lined the walkways, rain dripping slowly from their branches and making them sparkle. They skirted a large puddle on the path, coming to a fork in the lane.
A barking laugh came from the front of the group—James’s reaction to something Kitty had said.
A woman in a pale yellow pelisse stopped with her maid to speak to Kitty, drawing Caroline’s attention.
The women spoke together as the men waited nearer the grass.
Mrs. Whitby released his arm. “It has been a pleasure, but I think I will give Mr. Dennison the treat of my company now. It is only fair.”
The sparkle in her eye gave him further relief. He was not out of the running yet.
By the time the women had finished their conversation, Mrs. Whitby was fully engrossed in a detailed description of a curricle Dennison was considering for his stables.
Tristan had positioned himself nearer the women, and his elbow was out before Caroline could fully turn to face him. “May I accompany you?”
She glanced at his arm, then up to his face, her pale skin tinging pink. It took longer than he would have liked for her to reply. “Yes. I thank you, sir.”
Her distant reply was confusing. Tristan could not remove from his mind the way it had felt to have her fingers on his lips, her body pressed against his.
To alter from warm to cold so swiftly was shocking, and he believed he was owed an explanation.
Kitty took James’s arm again and they proceeded to walk through the park, Dennison and Mrs. Whitby following.
Dennison didn’t seem to have noticed the change in partner or the way Mrs. Whitby had taken his elbow and nudged him to follow her son, so wrapped up in his explanation as he was.
“I will not bite,” Tristan said quietly.
Caroline scowled. “You are dramatic today.”
“You wouldn’t accept my flowers.”
“They are in a vase in my parlor now.”
Tristan bit back a scoff. “Under duress.”
“You are overstating the case.”
“And you, I thought, nearly allowed me to kiss you last night.”
“Quiet,” Caroline hissed, leaning closer to him. “You will be overheard.”
“I should like an explanation. If your feelings have changed, I’ve a right to know.”
She looked up at him, a line forming between her eyebrows. “It is more complicated than that.”
“Do your best, then.”
Caroline pressed her lips into a flat line. “I suffered a fit of madness and have since been returned to proper order.”
He could not help the strangled laugh that escaped his lips. “Caro, you are doing it much too brown. Surely I am the mad one for believing I was going to leave Berkeley Square an engaged man today.”
She looked at him sharply before casting her eyes to the ground. “It would never do.”
Tristan swallowed his frustration. “Why is that?”
“Don’t ask me to explain things which are too difficult to put to words.”
“You are funning again, I see.”
“I am not,” she returned. “Some things were made plain to me since we last saw each other that have altered the course of my plans.”
But they had last seen each other the evening before. It had not even been an entire day. Tristan was growing discouraged. “What things?”
“I cannot say. It is not my confidence to share.”
“Caroline, speak plainly to me.”
She gave a frustrated huff. “I cannot.”
“You are being unfair.”
“You are making this harder than it ought to be. We began this ruse as an effort to reinstate Mr. Dennison’s interest, did we not? That has been accomplished, and I am grateful for your assistance. Now I will set my mind to the task of finding a suitable woman for you.”
Shock hollowed his chest and pinged around his body. Had he misread the situation so egregiously?
The last thing Tristan was interested in at present was other suitable women. He wanted nothing more than to escape. He could run to the country, perhaps. Far away from London and Society and women who wanted nothing to do with him. Perhaps he would do exactly that.