Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Almack’s had not changed. It was the same stuffy room with the same orchestra perched on a balcony in the corner. The cake was still dry, the company still flat.
And Mr. Dennison was still absent.
What troubled Caroline most was the small measure of relief she felt at not yet being forced to face him. How would the rest of her life feel if she was this glad he had a cold and remained far away from her?
She pulled at the tips of her gloves, debating how much it mattered. Many husbands and wives led fairly separate lives. He could manage his horses, and she could manage the children. Both of them would be satisfied.
But…she would still need to face him in the evenings at dinner. Stand on his arm at parties. Be his partner in life.
The very notion sent a wave of gloom through her.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” Kitty said, sidling up beside her and pressing her shoulder into Caroline’s. “When I learned Mr. Dennison was still sick, I wondered if you would remain home.”
“His cold is not as trifling as Lady Tilbury led me to believe.” Caroline searched the nearby group of matrons and found her mother chatting with them, her tranquil smile not revealing any of her trepidation.
James approached with two glasses of lemonade. When he noticed Kitty, he offered one to her.
She tittered. “You could not have meant that for me.”
“It is fortuitous you are here. I took it for myself, but I can’t stand the stuff.”
Kitty accepted the glass, but shot him a disbelieving glance. “You are very chivalrous.”
Caroline took her glass of lemonade, watching the conversation unfold between her brother and friend as though she was not there. She sipped her drink with amusement, the bland lemonade not very citrusy nor very sweet.
“I am only doing what any man would, Miss Fielding: offering my drink to a beautiful woman who looks thirsty.”
Kitty blushed prettily at that. When she raised her glass to her lips, she did not take her eyes from James.
He seemed to recall himself and straightened. “May I have your next dance, Miss Fielding?”
Kitty pouted slightly. “I’m afraid I’ve given them all away.”
“I am not surprised to learn that.”
“But you will attend my ball on Saturday, I hope. I haven’t promised any of those dances yet.”
James’s eyes flicked to Caroline.
“Yes, of course we will,” she said. “We would not miss it for anything.”
“Except a trifling cold?” Kitty quipped.
“Goodness, I hope not.” Caroline gave James a meaningful look.
He seemed to sense what she was prodding him to do. “May I have your waltz on Saturday, Miss Fielding?”
“You may.” The instruments in the loft started to play in earnest, and a line formed between Kitty’s light brown eyebrows. “I must go. I’ve promised this dance already.” She finished her lemonade, then curtsied to them and left.
Once she was gone, Caroline looked at her brother. She tried to see him as Kitty might, his dashing golden hair styled neatly, his cravat high and well-tied, his coat closely fitting. He was handsome.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” James said.
“Like what?”
“In a calculating manner. I cannot tell what you are planning, but I have a feeling I won’t like it above half.”
“You are being ridiculous. I was merely wondering how long you and Kitty have carried feelings for one another.”
His cheeks reddened. He took her empty glass. “I shall return this for you.”
“James.”
“There is nothing to say.” He disappeared, leaving her near their mother, who was lost in a conversation with other women. Whatever the feelings between James and Kitty, there seemed to be no reason he should not admit to them.
He certainly should not shove them aside for the sake of a widow entering into her fifth decade. Mrs. Rupper was nearly as old as their mother, for heaven’s sake. Besides, Kitty was the only child of a wealthy man, and she seemed to care for James, too.
Caroline searched the ballroom again, telling herself she was not looking for a particular gentleman, when she noticed that very man walking her way. Tristan was here, and his eyes were on her.
A creeping chill marched up her spine, her breath growing shallow. The closer he grew, the more she expected his attention to waver, but it only grew. When he reached her, she was nearly shaking with tension.
“Good evening,” he said, sketching a bow.
“You seem as though you come with intent tonight, Mr. Shepherd. I wonder what it could be.”
“To dance with you.”
She smiled. “That would be nice, but surely that is not why you are here. We have…” Caroline faltered, but regained her equilibrium. “We have agreed we would not suit.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
“At Lady Tilbury’s dinner. You might remember we spoke of my change in situation.”
“Yes, that I remember.”
“Then you will also call to mind how unsuitable we have become.”
“Unsuitable? No.” He rubbed lightly at his chin in thought. “I think the word you are looking for is impractical. It would be inconvenient, even, but not unsuitable. I think we suit one another very well.”
“Tristan, speak plainly.”
He was careful not to step closer, for they were being observed by London’s elite. She wanted to lean close enough to smell his cologne, and she felt he wished to move just as near, but they each held their ground.
“I have given this much thought over the last week, and I decided I am not quite ready to surrender,” he said.
Hope burst within her, but she was careful not to give it any lead.
“In fact, I am going to do everything in my power to ensure I am the most logical choice for you.”
“But my family needs funds or James will lose the estate,” she said quietly. Surely he was aware of this already—everyone was gossiping about it.
Tristan’s head tilted to the side, his eyes warmly surveying her. “As I said, I am doing everything in my power to make certain I am the most logical choice for you in all ways.”
“Tristan, you are going to lead both of us to heartbreak.”
“Not if I can help it.” He offered his arm. “Now, will you dance with me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, unable to find a reason not to.
She was wrong. He wouldn’t send them to heartbreak—evidently, they would do that together. It was a matter of moments before they were lined up on the dance floor, surrounded by fresh faces and bored men. Kitty stood a few paces down from them, facing a gentleman Caroline didn’t know.
James was nowhere to be seen.
“Have you noticed a certain attachment between my brother and any particular female?” she asked.
Tristan gave it some thought. “No I cannot say I have. Do you believe he already has an attachment to a woman?”
“I am uncertain. It is the first time I have noticed it, and I wondered if I created the attachment in my mind merely because I would like it to be so.”
Tristan considered this. “James told me of your plan to help him fall in love. It is a noble ambition.”
“You speak as though you don’t believe it to be possible.”
Their country dance began, and they moved in time with the music. It was lively, not leaving much room for conversation. When Tristan made it back to her side, he grinned at her. “It’s possible.”
Caroline blushed. The way he had looked into her eyes as he said it, before passing her on to the next gentleman, left little room for interpretation. He was referring to her.
The rest of the song went by slowly, the motions dragging out when they separated.
Music poured from the overhead orchestra and couples moved about the floor happily.
Caroline relished every moment she was able to touch Tristan’s hand or spin beside him.
She had deep feelings for him. Hearing him tell her he was not ready to give up on her had given her a healthy boost of excitement and hope.
She was practical, and she knew it did not make sense. They did not make sense.
Unless he came into a large inheritance or Father’s ship returned from its watery grave or James married his widowed Mrs. Rupper, their path was settled already, and it diverted. Tristan and Caroline each had their own way.
Still, Caroline could not do anything but enjoy their set of dances, imagining things could be different. If she was able to marry Tristan, she would not relish the weeks he had a cold, nor the time apart it forced on them.
When he escorted her back toward her mother, she pressed her fingers into his arm. “We really ought to be using this time more wisely, you know. There are plenty of women here I could introduce you to.”
Tristan shook his head, looking perfectly at ease. “I have found the woman I would like to marry, Caro.”
Her heart picked up its pace. “Be reasonable.”
“I feel that is exactly what I’m doing. There are no rash declarations nor going to your father to beg him to allow me to marry you.
I am being practical, discovering a way we can be comfortable before I approach him.
” He stopped before they reached her mother, tugging lightly on her arm so she would swivel to face him.
“Trust me, I will hit upon something. Surely with the right economizing and careful investments, we could be perfectly comfortable.”
He spoke so reasonably, she found herself falling into his explanation with easy acceptance. Tristan’s confidence buoyed her spirits. Reality crashed heavily on her as well, though.
“You are forgetting my brother. My family estate. It was not only my dowry that my father lost.”
Tristan’s face melted into concentration. “Yes, there is that.”
“So, as I mentioned, it will not work.”
“There must be a way,” he countered. “Surely we will find a way.”