Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The look on Tristan’s face yesterday in the park could have melted a candle into a pool of wax.
Caroline hated making him feel like she did not care for him beyond friendship, that the moment they had shared together in Vauxhall Gardens was meaningless, but there was nothing to be done. Her family needed Dennison’s money.
Now it was up to her to find Tristan a bride who would make him happy and allow him to forget about her entirely. It was possible, of course. He was certainly not in love with her, even if he was developing feelings of a romantic nature.
He would heal from this disappointment.
Caroline wasn’t allowing herself to consider her own feelings on the matter yet, not when thoughts of him only brought deep disappointment.
She had swallowed back a true explanation for her actions, certain it would do nothing to salve Tristan’s irritations.
Instead, she had spent the remainder of their walk casting her mind about for women who might make Tristan a good wife.
Oddly, no one who came to mind seemed good enough.
She adjusted her dinner gloves and looked across the darkened carriage to where her mother was seated.
James and Father had not been included on the invitation for the dinner party that evening, because the card had arrived before they did.
Lady Tilbury would have likely welcomed them, but both men had opted to stay home, providing Caroline with an evening alone with her mother.
James’s meeting with the solicitor had brought no fortune. There was nothing to be done to save their finances except to find an influx of funds. Since James was having no luck securing a bride, Caroline’s future was set in stone.
Mama sighed heavily. “Lady Tilbury dropped a hint in my ear that Mr. Dennison has accepted her invitation to dine tonight.”
“Wonderful.” Caroline could not help but feel a low sense of dread whenever she was to be in his company. Somehow, the horse-talk had not felt like such a burden when she had been trying to secure his attention before. Now, it positively grated.
“You do not seem happy about this. Am I correct in assuming your affections have changed?”
If Mama had not yet been made aware of the state of their finances, Caroline did not wish to be the person to deliver that gruesome news.
She fiddled with her glove again to direct her attention away from her mother.
“Mr. Dennison is a steady and reliable man. If he was to offer for me, I would not refuse him.”
“That was not what I asked you, Caro.”
“Affections mean little when compared to the security of a reliable income. His father’s horse farm is more than dependable.”
“I know you are practical, but a lifetime with a man you do not love is no life at all.”
Love? She did not feel anything so strong for any man. The way her heart beat for Tristan would certainly not save their estate. Finding joy in his company would not fill the larder.
Caroline closed her eyes, pushing away the retorts springing to her tongue. When she felt her emotions were under control, she smiled to influence the tone of her voice. “Mr. Dennison is perfectly acceptable. I should be honored to receive a proposal from him.”
Mama was quiet, thoughtfully watching her. “Mr. Shepherd’s flowers were very nice.”
“Indeed.”
“He is also perfectly acceptable,” Mama said.
“But not quite as flush in the pocket.”
Mama clicked her tongue. “Practicality is all well and good, but when have you cared a jot for being rich?”
“It was a careless remark. Pay it no heed.” The carriage rolled to a stop and their footman let the step down. Mama left first, and Caroline stepped out afterwards. She lifted her hem to climb the stone steps to the front door, her mind on the man she should not have been thinking about.
Yet the moment she followed her mother into the drawing room, her eyes immediately fell upon Tristan, who was speaking with a handful of gentlemen. She recognized one of them as being Mr. Hartley from the garden party, but the other was unfamiliar to her.
Tristan glanced up and looked at her, his eyes raking over her face before his attention was drawn away again. He wore a dashing coat of emerald superfine, his white neckcloth bringing added definition to his jaw.
She would have preferred he smiled, glad to see her, but it was her own fault he was displeased. She had chosen Mr. Dennison. Father’s actions had taken away her options and made that a requirement.
“Welcome,” Lady Tilbury said, taking Caroline’s hand and squeezing her fingers softly. Lowering her voice, she bestowed a secret. “I received a note not thirty minutes past that Mr. Dennison has been caught up with a trifling cold and will not be able to join us this evening.”
Relief flooded Caroline.
“I know it must be a disappointment,” Lady Tilbury continued, “but we shall contrive to do our best to have an enjoyable evening nonetheless.”
“You mistake the situation, my lady.” Caroline squeezed her fingers gently in return. “I am glad of the present company and only wish that Mr. Dennison will shortly feel better.”
“Well said, my dear.” There was a twinkle in Lady Tilbury’s eye. “But you cannot fool me. I know young ladies always prefer to be with handsome gentlemen than old women like us.” She looked toward Tristan meaningfully.
Oh goodness.
Mama took Caroline’s other arm and tugged softly. “Do not let us keep you from your guests, my lady.”
“Yes, yes. I see Mrs. King has arrived. I must greet her, though she’s shockingly late. Dinner will be ready any moment.” She adjusted her purple turban and scurried away, her set down subtly received.
When she was out of earshot, Mama leaned closer. “Shall we greet your Mr. Shepherd instead?”
“He is not mine, Mama.”
Her mother gave a quiet, exasperated puff. “There is nothing at all the matter with courting multiple gentlemen when you have yet to decide whom you would prefer to marry.”
Caroline was saved from needing to respond by the announcement that dinner was ready. When she made her way into the dining room, she fought exasperation and amusement. Lady Tilbury had seen to it Caroline was seated beside Tristan.
He stood behind her chair, waiting expectantly, a bland expression on his face. They had previously been friends, at least. This indifferent man was far less enjoyable.
He pulled out her chair, and she smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure,” he replied plainly, then smoothly pushed her chair in as she sat.
Caroline was prepared to sacrifice what she wanted for what her family needed, but allowing Tristan to believe it was her choice was more difficult than she had imagined.
“Have you met Mr. Langford?” he asked, gesturing to the man seated on her other side.
She glanced at the gentleman, surprised by the depth of his hair, so dark it nearly looked black. He had kind blue eyes and a pleasant face. “I have not had that pleasure.”
“Miss Whitby, allow me to introduce Mr. Andrew Langford,” Tristan said. “We have been friends since school, though he is far more intelligent than I am.”
“Not everyone is cut out to be a banker,” Mr. Langford said, flashing a brilliant smile. “It is lovely to meet you, Miss Whitby.”
“Not everyone is cut out for the tedium, you mean?” Tristan replied, taking his seat.
Mr. Langford laughed before turning his attention to spreading his napkin over his lap.
Caroline removed her gloves and waited for her glass to be filled.
She glanced down the table, recognizing only half of the people in attendance.
Mama had been placed at the other end, and aside from Tristan, she did not know many of the people she’d been seated near.
It was going to be a long evening, she wagered.
Once they had completed the first course in almost complete silence, Caroline resolved that the remainder of their dinner would be different.
She sipped her wine and set the goblet down before shifting her shoulders slightly toward Tristan.
“Time to help you win your wager, Mr. Shepherd. If I am going to do a proper job of it, perhaps you ought to tell me what you desire in a wife.”
“An honest woman,” he said quickly. She was gratified that the bitterness which had tinged his tone at Green Park was now absent.
Caroline inhaled, searching for the right words. “Naturally. What of her temperament?”
He glanced at her. “Pattern her after yourself, and I will be satisfied.”
A blush stole its way up her neck. “You should not say such things.”
“Whyever not? You know you are safe from my flirtations, for you love another man. Surely what I say can have no bearing on your feelings.”
Caroline looked at his bland expression, but it was impossible to discern if he was being facetious or teasing her. The man sounded detached.
The second course was brought out. She waited until the footmen had receded before speaking again. She looked around the table. “What about Miss Jeffries? She is very pretty and soft spoken.”
“Her dowry is believed to be small, is it not?” Tristan said.
“Possibly.” Caroline shrugged. “I do not know.”
“I’ve heard that is the case, and if so, she would not suit.”
Caroline lifted her knife and fork and cut a bite from her ham, then chewed it. The standard for which he held against her was much harsher than the one he held himself to. “You mean, I am abhorrent for selecting a man because of his wealth, but it is a perfectly acceptable thing for you to do?”
Tristan lowered his knife and fork. “Of course not.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I did not put aside a perfectly reasonable match where I would be comfortably situated in order to choose a person who had wealth.”
So that was what he thought of her. That she cared more for fine gowns and nice carriages than people. Let him think what he would. It was better than the truth—that she would marry Dennison because her family needed his money. “Miss Thurston, then?”
“Too quiet.”
“Miss Fern?” she suggested.
“Again, too small a dowry. Besides,” he looked into her eyes, “if I cannot have you, I do not want anyone.”
Caroline’s heart thudded, her breath coming in shallow spurts. She needed to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Goodness, what is your opinion of a decent dowry?”
“Enough to sustain a marriage. I will receive my parents’ Town house one day, but no funds. It is important my wife has something so we can properly set up our home.”
Caroline’s stomach sank clear to the floor. Even if her family did not need money to keep their estate, she still would not have been able to accept a proposal from Tristan, not when he needed a wife with money. “It is as bad as that?”
He glanced at her, a small shadow creasing the line on his brow. “I am no fortune-seeker, Caro.”
“No, of course not. You merely wish to be comfortably settled. It is a reasonable goal. It is the one I initially set out to accomplish as well.”
“What changed for you, then?” he asked.
She swallowed, pulling her gaze from him.
It was difficult to talk to him when she felt herself wanting to draw closer, but she knew she could not.
The way he watched her now, curiously, she found herself telling him the truth.
“Certain things which are outside of my control have led me to need to make decisions for the greater good of my family. It is something I know you would understand.”
“Something has happened, then.” His eyes locked on her in a different way, the apathy gone. “I knew you could not be so distant without reason.”
She shook her head lightly. “It hardly matters. Now, tell me whether you have any preferred hair color—”
“You, Caro. I prefer you.”
She clamped her mouth closed. Was he not listening?
He leaned closer. “Tell me what occurred and I will do my best to make it right.”
All around them, people were finishing their meals. Caroline had hardly touched hers, but she found her appetite had fled.
“I can’t speak of it,” she hissed.
“Caro—”
“I cannot.”
Tristan watched her, his eyes boring down upon her, but he didn’t press the matter.
She remained silent until dinner was over and the women rose to return to the drawing room.
Tristan watched her go, the heat of awareness searing her back, but she did not turn to look at him.
Keeping her head high, she located her mother the moment she reached the drawing room.
“Might we leave early? I am beginning to feel unwell.”
Mama frowned. “You look pale, darling. What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t feel at all the thing.”
“Of course. Let me speak to Lady Tilbury so she doesn’t feel slighted. I’ll only be a moment.”
Caroline nodded. If some little part of her had held out hope that Tristan would fight for her, she now realized it would be fruitless.
Even if her family didn’t need Dennison’s money, she couldn’t be with Tristan unless they wished to be poor.
She would not burden him with a life of unease, wondering how to pay for new boots or whether they could afford to feed their children.
He deserved better. He deserved an easier life.
And by stepping back, Caroline would give that to him.