Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tristan searched for Caroline when he entered the drawing room later that evening, but neither she nor her mother were anywhere to be seen. Frustration bubbled within him. She could not tell him her circumstances had changed and refuse to provide a better explanation.
“Why does Tristan look as though we’ve taken away his favorite horse?” Langford asked.
Ambrose made a thoughtful sound. “Probably has something to do with Miss Whitby’s absence.”
Langford gave Tristan a considering look. “You are in love?”
Was he? Tristan had certainly been developing feelings for Caroline. The idea of not being with her was like a searing pain through his chest.
“He is in love,” Ambrose said, in his steady, deep voice. “I’ve never seen him look at a woman like he looks at her.”
“He has looked at a lot of women,” Langford conceded. “Are you certain?”
“Relatively so.”
“Quiet, both of you.” Tristan ran a hand down his face, certain Caroline had left. “It hardly matters. She won’t have me.”
“You’re too much of a flirt for her?” Langford asked with an impish smile.
“Nothing of the sort.” He hadn’t been much of a flirt since…when was the last time he’d looked at someone besides Caroline? “I don’t have enough money.”
Both of his friends cringed.
“Something has changed—”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Lady Tilbury said, approaching the men so quietly, Tristan was unsure how much she had overheard.
“Given your close acquaintance with the Whitbys, I considered it only right to inform you that Miss Whitby has developed a trifling headache, and they were forced to depart early. I’m certain you must be wondering where she is, so I thought to relieve your curiosity. ”
On the one hand, Tristan was grateful for the information. On the other, he was irritated with the meddling. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It is no bother of mine. Of course, I would sooner see your names stated together in the papers, but one cannot have everything they wish for.”
Indeed. One could not. Tristan gave his hostess a grateful smile. “You are kind to deliver the information.”
“It is not kindness which compels me,” she said. “You must know I would do whatever I could to help that family. Though, short of turning back the clock, I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.”
“Turning back the clock?” Tristan repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Surely you already know.” Her eyes widened, and she leaned in, clearly relishing delivering her gossip.
Tristan felt he should stop her, but he needed to know what had changed Caroline’s mind.
“I do not,” he said.
“They’ve lost everything,” Lady Tilbury whispered.
“Mr. Humphries heard it from James directly. Mr. Whitby has put everything they have into various schemes, including Caroline’s dowry, and lost it all.
They’re being forced to retrench. I wonder at it they have not left London yet to retire to Surrey.
I dare say they will be leaving soon. One can only remake the same gown so many times before it grows tiresome. ”
Tristan felt his body stiffen. Lost everything? They had nothing? And he had made her feel as though she was a fortune seeker. If what Lady Tilbury said was true, Caroline was only doing what she could to help her family. Tristan had made no secret of the state of his affairs.
In fact, he had just now, during dinner, reiterated why they could not be together. Not if she had lost her dowry.
He was a right fool.
“How is your mother?” Lady Tilbury asked. “I have missed her this year.”
Tristan’s throat went dry. “She is well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Lady Tilbury looked at Tristan’s friends. “Your families are well, I hope? I heard you were recently married, Mr. Langford.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Happily, in fact.”
“Glad I am to hear it. Next time, do bring your wife.” On those parting words, she left them to plague the next group.
“Where is Mrs. Langford?” Tristan asked.
“Home. I’m only in Town briefly for bank business.” Langford crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, what is this about the Whitbys losing their money?”
“I haven’t any idea.” Tristan frowned. The truth was that if Caroline’s dowry was gone, he did not know what they would live on if he could convince her to marry him.
He could find some sort of employment, certainly, but it would take effort to put his mind to the task of discovering what he could do.
There was always horse breeding. He knew a fair bit about it, but it was an expensive endeavor.
He let out a frustrated sound.
“Things will come about all right,” Langford said.
Tristan nodded, but something uneasy within him could not quite believe those words.
The invitation to meet his friend, Rowan Ashworth, at a small bookshop twelve miles outside of London had come at a fortuitous time.
Just as Tristan was plotting a possible return to Surrey to lick his wounds and discern what he could potentially do to create an income, he opened a letter from Rowan inviting him out for the afternoon in four days’ time.
He accepted, and when the day came, saddled his horse and wore his most comfortable riding coat, a deep brown wool with decent movement in the shoulders.
The clouds were overcast, low and gray, nipping a chilly wind over his exposed bits of skin. The weather was too cold for this late into spring. It was bound to rain on him at some point during his ride, but at present, he found he did not overly care. The fresh air was doing wonders for his mood.
Rowan was waiting inside when Tristan arrived.
He’d stabled his horse at the White Hart and left him to drink water and rest. Rain began to fall as Tristan let himself into the small bookshop and found his friend browsing the titles on the far wall.
Rowan was forever searching for old, rare things like Shakespeare’s original folios, and Tristan would lay odds that was why they were there.
“Rowan,” he said, clapping the man on the back. “Find anything dusty and difficult to read?”
Rowan shot him a wry smile. “You know very well my books aren’t dusty. I take rather good care of them.”
“I take your empty hands to mean the answer is no.”
“It was a long shot, but my man of business heard there might be something of interest here. Turns out, it had been purchased well over a month ago.”
“Rotten luck.”
Rowan shrugged. “I never refuse a trip to a bookshop or an afternoon with a friend.”
“Anything to put off doing your duty by Miss Delafield?” Tristan quipped. “You’ve only been promised to one another for a decade.”
“More like two decades. Shall we retire to the White Hart? The clerk here told me their pie is worth the blunt.”
“Avoiding the topic of Miss Delafield, I see,” Tristan said.
“I’m a hungry man.”
“Not for her company, I take it.”
Rowan scrubbed a hand over his face. “You know very well I will hold to my word. But only three of us have married now. I have time.”
“I suppose you are fortunate to have a willing wife waiting for you. You can afford to take your time a little.”
Rowan gave a dry laugh. “About that pie…”
“Yes, let’s eat.” They were leaving the shop when Tristan noticed a book on the end of a shelf and stopped. He picked it up, turning the brown leather over in his hand. It was the first of three volumes by A Lady, ones that Caroline had not yet read. She had mentioned wanting to, however.
He stared at the set, unable to make up his mind. Without an engagement between them, a gift like this would be out of the question.
Unless he could contrive to deliver it anonymously…or hold on to it until she agreed to become his wife.
“Interested in novel reading, Tristan?” Rowan asked, eyeing the book.
He reached for the other two volumes. “I think I will purchase these for a friend. I’ll only be a minute.”
“A friend?” Rowan asked suggestively, which Tristan ignored.
He paid the clerk and waited for the books to be wrapped in paper.
They left the shop and crossed the road quickly, dodging developing puddles and shielding their faces from the rain.
Men were already gathered in the White Hart and the smell of savory beef and something slightly sour tinged the air.
A fire roared in the hearth, so they chose seats near it at the end of a long table where the warmth permeated and the seats weren’t cool.
A woman in a serviceable brown dress and a well-used apron approached, drying her hands as she walked. “What can I fetch for you?”
“We’ve heard wonderful things about your pies,” Rowan said.
She nodded. “Aye. Beef and potatoes today.”
“We’ll take two.”
“And a pint of ale?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tristan said, nodding. He was fairly famished, and the smells were making him hungry. A drink would be good.
She left, returning only a minute later with two pints, which she set on the table in front of them.
“Thomas found a bride, and the race began.” Rowan took a long pull from his ale. “Charles is married. Langford is married.”
“No one wants to part with six hundred pounds,” Tristan reasoned.
“Are you on the hunt?”
“Yes. Little good it’s done me,” Tristan muttered.
Rowan lowered his glass. “What do you mean by that?”
“I thought I found a woman, was even ready to propose, but it won’t do.”
“You don’t love her?”
Tristan paused, unsure how to say what had occurred. “It all comes down to money, actually.”
Rowan wrinkled his nose. “You aren’t hurting for funds, are you?”
“No, but Charles will inherit the estate, and I will inherit the Town house. His land will continue to produce an income, but I have nothing. If I do not marry someone with some money, where will we be in a few years? It is an indelicate thing to consider, but it is important.”
“Very much so.” Rowan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“My man of business was only recently telling me of a venture in the north seeking investors. It could amount to nothing, but he found it promising. Trouble is, I didn’t feel it was the right venture for me.
Sounds as though it could be just the thing for you, though. ”
Tristan’s faint surge of hope was quickly dashed. “How much capital are they seeking?”
“I cannot quite recall, but if you’re interested, I will have Harry write to you.”
“I don’t see how I can manage to afford it, but I suppose it would not hurt to gather more information.” He sighed as the plates were brought to their table and set before them. Lifting his fork by its wooden handle, he pushed a hole into the pie and watched steam pour out.
“Do you love her?” Rowan asked.
Tristan glanced up to find his friend smiling kindly at him.
Did he? When he had learned of her father’s actions and the change in her financial status, he was veritably crushed.
Not only for the way she must have felt to learn those things, but because of what it meant for their future—or lack thereof.
Dragging her away from him, making it less possible to be together, had only reinforced how he’d felt about her.
Knowing she was only allowing Dennison to pursue her because she needed money was upsetting, but even more tortuous was knowing he could not run to her and ease her burdens.
She had burdens—real ones—and love would not remedy them.
Tristan lowered his fork and looked at his friend. “What do my feelings matter when measured against her duty?”
Rowan seemed to consider this. “If she feels the same, I would not discount it. There could be an answer you’ve yet to see.”
Tristan cut a bite of buttery crust and popped it in his mouth. “I have gone through all the options available to me. My valet is tired of the topic, I assure you.”
“What of your parents?”
His parents? Tristan’s fork stalled with his next bite.
He hadn’t considered applying to them for assistance.
He could not ask for anything that would become Charles’s, of course.
His brother would sacrifice for him without hesitation, but that would not do.
He loved and valued his twin, and it was not even a consideration.
He didn’t want charity. But he could ask for advice.
Mother wanted nothing in the world more than she wanted him to marry. Surely she would scheme a way for him to be a good option for Caroline.
“You ought to speak to them,” Rowan said, correctly surmising the answer.
“I should,” he agreed.
“But now, I’d like to hear about your brother.” Rowan settled more comfortably into his seat. “Have you met his new wife?”
“Indeed, I have. I like her excessively.”
“Good. Tell me everything.”