Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Tristan had done everything in his power over the following days to strike upon a scheme that would provide him an income.
Nothing seemed to work—nothing that would supply the immediate funds he needed, anyway.
Short of posting up on the Bath Road and tying a kerchief about his face to hold up carriages, he was stuck.
Friday morning he went out, walking along Curzon Street until it curved into Berkeley Square.
He had no particular reason for visiting the Whitbys, but he was consistently drawn to their house.
A phaeton clattered down the road toward him.
As he stepped back to allow it more room to pass, he glanced up to find Dennison driving the pair and Caroline seated beside him.
She sent Tristan a rueful smile as they rumbled by.
Tristan frowned. It was uncharitable of him, but he strongly disliked seeing Caroline seated beside any other man who was not him. Gads, but when had this change occurred? Just over a month ago, he had been telling James that his sister was too young to be married. Now?
Now, Tristan wanted to be the man to marry her.
Which was why he maintained his pace. If Dennison was going to drive out with Caroline, they wouldn’t be gone above a half hour. Tristan would wait as long as it took for her to return. He took himself up the front step of the Whitby house and lifted the iron knocker, tapping it.
Pomfrey opened the door to him.
“I’ve come to see James.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like to wait inside?”
Tristan stepped into the warm entryway and removed his hat. He looked at the vase of fresh flowers on the table, wondering if they were a gift from Dennison or a whim of Mrs. Whitby’s.
This jealousy was not an enjoyable experience, and Tristan would be glad to put it behind him.
Pomfrey returned. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”
Tristan followed him up the narrow set of stairs toward the parlor. The gloomy weather made the house darker than he was used to, and he wondered when the summer sunlight would make its appearance.
James stood upon his entrance, running his hand through his golden hair and disrupting the orderly way it had sat. “You’ve just missed Caro. She’s gone out with Dennison.”
“Shall I take offense that you didn’t assume I’ve come here to see you?”
James sat on the sofa, folding the news sheets he’d been reading and setting them on the cushion. “No more than I shall take offense that one of my oldest friends now prefers my sister to me.”
“If only you looked half as good in a gown,” Tristan quipped.
James chuckled. “I understand, my friend.”
“I won’t put on a dress for you.”
James laughed, then sobered.
Tristan looked at him appraisingly. “Do you understand, truly?”
“Not in regard to my sister, but yes, I have developed strong feelings for a woman before. I know how it feels.”
Perhaps Caroline was correct. Tristan relaxed in his seat, resting one ankle over the other knee. “Is this woman someone I know?”
James looked at him shrewdly. “Why do you ask?”
“Caroline suspects you might hold affection for someone, but she did not betray you and tell me who the woman might be. I had thought, since you were making ridiculous schemes to marry women old enough to be your mother, that you must not have fallen in love with anyone yet.”
James hesitated for a moment before responding. “I am not sure if it’s love, exactly.”
“Is the woman unsuitable?”
“She’s perfect.” James leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. “In fact, she has everything: money, beauty, a desire to reside in the country for the better part of the year.”
“I fail to see the dilemma.”
James sat up, spearing him with acute frustration.
“I cannot ask her to marry me, not when I have nothing. She’ll see me for the blasted fortune seeker I am.
My father—no, but I cannot blame him. I’ve long known how he is.
” He lowered his voice. “I have set aside a small sum of money, funds I earned while I was in Antigua, but I haven’t any notion what to do with it.
If the amount was larger, I could restore my estate lands, but as it stands, I don’t have enough to make a dent in that quarter. ”
A wriggling feeling in Tristan’s gut told him he was standing on the edge of an answer. Despite James’s insecurities, if he loved the woman, his financial situation shouldn’t inhibit his ability to court her, not when she had enough for the both of them.
“While I present such a pitiful picture,” James continued, “I know her father would never accept me. It would be wrong of me to expect him to.”
“Would she accept you?”
“I would like to think it is possible.”
Tristan nodded slowly. “In that case, I have a proposition for you.”
By the time Caroline neared her house again, her ears had been well and truly stuffed full with the greater details of Mr. Dennison’s recent illness.
It appeared the man could wax prosaic on more subjects than horses.
Anything regarding himself, naturally, must have been of great interest to Caroline—or so he had apparently assumed.
As he let her down from the high perch phaeton and walked her to the door, she yawned no fewer than three times. It was excessive, but she couldn’t risk further elucidation on his blocked ears or relentless cough.
“Thank you, Mr. Dennison. The park was so lovely.”
He glanced up at the thick, gray clouds in confusion.
“Have a pleasant day,” she said at the door.
Mr. Dennison looked slightly taken aback but he bowed, then watched her enter her house alone. She closed the door and leaned against it, breathing out heavily. A gentleman’s greatcoat was hanging on the stand, lending her a degree of hope that Tristan had come to her house and remained here.
Of course, he could have come for James.
She peeled off her gloves and untied her bonnet, leaving them on the entry table, and walked past Mr. Dennison’s flowers without so much as a sniff.
Male voices could be heard coming from the drawing room before Caroline reached it, causing her no small amount of excitement. She pushed the door open and paused on the threshold.
Tristan was indeed present, surrounded by James and Father.
Mama sat in a chair closer to the fire, pulling embroidery thread through her hoop, seeming comfortably occupied.
The vision was a warm family picture, making Caroline’s stomach clench with a hunger for this to be her future.
It was much more pleasant than the last forty-five minutes she had spent listening to Mr. Dennison drone on about his cold.
Of course, her husband would have the right to complain of his maladies, but a lifetime of never once being asked how she fared would certainly be a trial.
Tristan looked up and smiled, his brown eyes warming upon seeing her, even from across the room.
“Caro is home,” James said. “We should leave this discussion for another time.”
“Nonsense,” Father argued. “I want to hear more.”
James pressed his lips together tensely.
Mama lowered her embroidery. “Should we see about dinner, George? We ought to dine early this evening if we are going to attend the Buxtons’ card party. They never share very palatable refreshments, in my experience.”
Father looked confused, and rightfully so. Why would Mama need his help in a kitchen matter? But she held his eyes with meaning until he relented. “Very well.”
“Would you care to join us for dinner, Mr. Shepherd?” Mama asked. “It will be simple fare, of course. Just a family meal.”
“I should like that very much. Thank you.”
Caroline would like it as well. She walked closer to the sofa but took the chair across from it, gesturing to Tristan and James not to stand on her account. Mama led Father from the room, leaving the door open behind them.
“Did you have a pleasant ride?” James asked.
“Do I ever?” she countered.
He laughed. “Dennison doesn’t realize what a viper you can be. He’s in for a surprise.”
“I rather hope not,” Tristan said.
James leaned back, appraising his friend. “Boldly stating it, are you? I suppose that means you and my sister have left no secrets between you.”
“None,” Tristan said.
James clicked his tongue. “Yet still you chose to ride out with Dennison, Caro.”
“I will not be impolite to a man who is more than likely to become my husband.” A sinking feeling filled her at that thought, but she knew it to be the case. She ran her fingers over the patterned brocade armrest, tracing the leaf stitched there.
Tristan leaned back comfortably on the sofa. “Not if I have anything to say on the matter.”
“Or your man of business,” James muttered.
“Harry works for my friend, but he has written to me, and I think he will be amenable to meeting with the both of us.”
James rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Do you think it a wise venture? It is certainly a great risk. We’ve lost so much already in risky endeavors.”
Tristan hesitated.
“I did not wish to discuss the matter around my father,” James explained. “Deuced bad luck having him overhear us and join the conversation. But Caro doesn’t mind it; she can be trusted.”
Tristan looked at her for confirmation.
“What is this venture?” she asked.
“A cotton mill up north.” James waved his hand through the air. “I don’t know more than that. It might amount to nothing, but it is worth looking into, at the very least.”
Tristan nodded. “Shall I request a meeting with Harry Plumstead?”
“Yes, that would be grand.”
Caroline looked between her brother and Tristan, confused. “What cotton mill?”
“It’s not known to us yet. Indeed, I’d as lief Father never learned more than he overheard today.” James put out a hand in mild frustration. “He cannot have anything to do with it. Everything must be done in my name or it will all be useless.”
“James,” Caroline said carefully, “what are you alluding to?”