Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Shortly after finishing her breakfast, Caroline ascended the narrow stairs toward her bedchamber, her steps slow, her mind heavy.
Despite taking soup to Mr. Dennison after learning of his cold, she had not heard from him since before the dinner party at Lady Tilbury’s house a week ago. His cold, it seemed, had worsened.
Perhaps Caroline ought to send him something else to eat. Or something to cheer his spirits. Could she fit a horse in his drawing room?
“What is that smile for?” James asked, meeting her at the top of the stairs. She hadn’t heard his approach, so focused had she been on her own thoughts.
“Merely contriving a way to hide fish under your bed without you noticing.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That smell lingered for months.”
“Weeks,” she countered. Though it had been over ten years since her childish prank, so she owned she could be remembering wrong.
James folded his arms over his chest. His curly golden hair was brushed, a black coat covering his clothing. He looked dressed to go out. “What have I done to deserve such censure? Or is it Tristan you’re really scheming against?”
Caroline’s body grew stiff. She had done her best not to think of Tristan since seeing him a week prior at Lady Tilbury’s dinner party. Now was no different. “Where are you off to?” she asked instead, diverting the conversation.
“You cannot fob me off so easily.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You can be honest with me, you know. I won’t try to persuade you to do anything distasteful, like marry a man with an all-consuming passion for horses.”
“Mr. Dennison is perfectly amiable,” Caroline argued. “You should speak kindly of your future brother-in-law.”
James shook his head. “It won’t fadge, Caro. I know how you truly feel.”
She drew in a slow breath. How she felt was utterly disappointed. But she could do nothing to change the choices made by other people, so there was nothing else for it but to carry on.
“Is it a distasteful errand?” she asked. “Is that why you won’t tell me?”
“Not exactly.” He let out a slow exhale. “I’m off to see Mrs. Rupper.”
“The widow?”
“It’s been more than a twelvemonth since her husband died, and he left her with a veritable fortune.” James delivered this with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
“But she’s…old.”
“Not terribly. I would be surprised if she has had her fiftieth birthday.”
“James,” Caroline admonished, “you are not yet thirty. She is more than twenty years your senior.”
“What does that matter? It means I have a greater chance at winning her favor. We spoke at the park the other day and she gave me leave to believe she would accept my attention.”
Cold shock skittered through her body. “You cannot be as desperate as that.”
“I will not stand by and permit you to marry a man you do not love.”
Caroline propped a hand on her hip. “So you will marry a woman you don’t love? That isn’t fair.”
“I’m the older brother. It is my duty—”
“Oh, how I hate that word!” Caroline released an exasperated huff, tossing her hands in the air. “If one of us deserves love, both of us do. At least my prospective husband is handsome.”
“Mrs. Rupper is pretty.”
Caroline glared. “You do not love her.”
“I do not love anyone.”
“But you might, if you allowed yourself time. You’ve hardly been in London. I have tried for four seasons to secure a husband. It is time I hang up my hat and concede defeat. You’ve hardly given it any effort.”
James rubbed his eyes, looking every bit the tired, plagued old man instead of his seven and twenty years.
She took his hand. “Promise me you will wait a little while longer. Father said we have this house until the Season ends. We will go to every event we possibly can, and you will search for a decent, more age-appropriate match first.”
“And if I do not find one? If the invitations stop coming?”
“If you do not find one and I do not receive a proposal from Mr. Dennison, then we can revisit this horrid plan.”
He seemed to consider it far longer than she liked. Finally, James relented. “Very well. Where are we off to tonight?”
“Almack’s, of course. It’s Wednesday.”
James frowned. “I have a feeling I would far prefer courting Mrs. Rupper to your scheme.”
“It is no scheme; it is merely putting in an effort.”
“Hm.” James patted her arm before slipping around her. “In that case, I shall see what entertainment can be found on St. James’ Street. Or perhaps a good bout of boxing will distract me, if I venture toward Bond.”
“A gentlemen’s-only establishment,” Caroline said. “And you wonder why you’ve yet to fall in love.”
James’s chuckle could be heard as he made his way down the stairs.
Caroline’s shoulders were tense, her mouth pressed into a firm line. She had yet to see her mother that day, so she bypassed her bedchamber and continued on to her mother’s. There was no answer when she knocked, so she waited a moment and knocked again.
“Enter,” Mama said weakly.
A sense of foreboding overcame Caroline as she opened the door. The room was dim, the drapes pulled closed and coals smoldering low, giving off heat but no light. The hangings were drawn around the bed, and a stale smell permeated the air.
“Mama?”
“What do you need, darling?” she asked weakly.
Caroline crossed to the bed and peeled back a curtain. “Are you ill?”
Her mother lay in bed, unmoving, staring at the roof of her canopy. “No.”
Caroline opened the bed hangings, drawing them clear to the end and tying them off. She suspected she knew what had driven her mother to this, but she would not guess in case she was wrong. “What happened?”
“Everyone is speaking about your father’s poor investment. Everyone knew about it, somehow, except for me.”
Ah, Caroline had been correct. She moved to the window and opened those drapes to allow light into the room.
“Even you,” Mama said. “Somehow, you knew. Your father told me he had sold the plantation and didn’t make a profit, but I knew nothing about losing your dowry.”
“James told me.”
“Of course.” Mama sighed. “It is why you spurned poor Mr. Shepherd, is it not?”
“We need money to save the estate.”
Mama pushed herself up by her elbows, her dark blonde hair in disarray. “That is not your responsibility.”
“I cannot abandon my family. Besides, Tristan needs a wife with funds, so it is a moot point.”
“I don’t like it above half.” Mama laid back on her pillows. “I can never leave my house again. To think they were all speaking about me for the last week and I hadn’t any idea.”
“How did you find out?” Caroline asked.
“I went looking for a bonnet yesterday, you will recall, and I overheard a woman speaking about the sinking of your father’s ship in the shop. Soon after, I heard the whole of it. I couldn’t believe it to be true.”
“Until Father confirmed it?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “We are ruined.”
“Not exactly. But you might very well be if you hide forever.”
Mama’s eyebrows shot up. “You would have me attend functions, knowing they gossip about us?”
Caroline sat on the edge of her bed. “James agreed to go to Almack’s with me tonight. He’s going to look for a good match before doing something drastic like dangling after a rich widow.”
“Oh, Almack’s would be good,” Mama said airily.
“I cannot go without a chaperone.”
She sighed. “How can I?”
“With your head held high.”
Mama shook her head. “You are not meant to be the mature one, Caro. You are mothering me.”
Caroline felt a surge of affection for her mama. “I’ve had more time to accept our circumstances. That is all.”
“Perhaps.” Mama stifled a yawn. “Very well. We shall go to Almack’s this evening.”
“Good. I will call your maid and send for some tea.”
“That would be lovely.”
Caroline set about it, but she wondered if Mr. Dennison would be in attendance tonight, if his cold had gone away, and if he would now be prepared to offer for her.
More troubling still, she could not fathom how she might bring herself to accept him.
Tristan had found himself at Jackson’s boxing saloon more often in the past week than he had all Season.
There was no better place to expend the extra emotions plaguing him.
Once he’d finished his last round, sweat beading on his brow and trailing down his temple, his chest heaving with exertion, Tristan felt well and truly tired—the things he went there for.
“Shepherd,” a man called as he toweled his face dry.
Tristan looked up to find James coming in his direction, dressed in a plain cotton shirt dampened with sweat. “You’re finished?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t see you out there,” Tristan said.
James fell in beside him as they made their way toward the back room to change. “Mr. Hough agreed to go a few rounds with me.”
“Hough. Where do I know…ah. His wife is Lord Bengard’s sister?”
“The very one who was meant to be chaperoning my sister and her friend at Vauxhall. I do not blame Mr. Hough, but it felt good to knock him around a bit. He got in a good hit, as well.” James rubbed his jaw.
“How is Miss Fielding doing?”
James held the door to the changing room. “She has been to the house a few times since that evening and seems her usual self, but I think she is wary at present. I wish it was within my power to call out Bengard, but…” He shrugged, shaking his head in irritation.
Unless he was married to the woman or was her brother, it wasn’t his place to defend her honor in that way.
Tristan could understand the desire to knock Bengard down a peg, but it was out of their hands.
The man was grossly unrepentant. It was one thing to lure innocent young ladies to disreputable pleasure gardens, but it was another level of depravity to try and take advantage of them.
James seemed to move on. “I wonder if we shall see her tonight at Almack’s.”
“We?” Tristan pressed. “Does that include Caroline, or are you proclaiming my plans for the evening?”
“My sister,” James said with a little amusement. “She intends to join me at Almack’s and every ball we can scheme invitations to for the next few weeks. She has it in her head I will fall in love shortly if she can force me to attend enough balls.”
“I fell in love rather quickly,” Tristan said, before he could think better of it. He cleared his throat, avoiding James’s eyes. “What I mean to say is that it is not utterly impossible. A truer, deeper love will grow over time, but sometimes, you know early exactly how you feel about someone.”
“Especially if you have a previous friendship with the woman,” James added helpfully, a knowing look in his eye.
“Something like that.”
James shook his head ruefully, letting the matter drop. “I will see you tonight.”
Tristan agreed and took his time sliding on a clean shirt and tying his cravat.
He considered what James had to say and the agreement he had made with Caroline.
Perhaps he couldn’t marry her, but that did not mean they shouldn’t see one another.
Half of their bargain included Caroline helping him find a wife.
He did not particularly want her help with that, but the prospect of spending more time with her was too tempting to ignore.
Rowan had given him hope, anyway. His wretched investment scheme was too lofty to even consider, but he was right—Tristan had yet to speak to his parents, to ask for their advice.
They would know best how he should proceed in this situation.
Mother, at least, had a particular interest in seeing him married.
Tristan considered the implications for the entire walk home, for if he was to draw his parents into his dilemma, he would have to accept whatever advice they gave him. Furthermore, there would probably be meddling.
Mother was a master meddler.
Tristan walked up Curzon Street and let himself into his house.
He loved it here; the size and location were wonderful.
He could imagine having a family in this home, taking his children to the nearby parks or enjoying a stroll through Bond Street with his wife, attending all manner of operas, plays, and musical entertainments.
Vauxhall would be an entirely different experience once they were married… if they were married.
He sighed, taking himself off toward his desk to write the letter to his parents.
Caroline was worth fighting for.