“Not today, Miller. It’s looking to be a fine day, so I will walk.”
Chapter Four
Caroline sat in the parlor of her family’s house in Berkeley Square, nestled against a cushion propped in the window seat. The view looked over the small park situated in the center of their neighborhood, and she watched people occasionally pass by, envious of their ability to move about freely.
Had Caroline married Mr. Dennison, she would have been granted those same rights.
Had she been fool enough to entertain Tristan’s proposal, the same could be said. But he was absurd. She had not seen the man in years, and some of the first words from his mouth were an offer ofmarriage?His wits had deserted him. Caroline couldn’t marry a man who flirted with any gown that crossed his path.
The door opened as Mama bustled into the room. Her dark blonde hair was simply drawn back and she wore an older gown of green that made her skin look healthy. “I’m glad to find you, Caro. I thought it might be good for our constitutions to walk through the park. Or perhaps we couldsee about tickets to the British museum. They are difficult to come by, but Lady Petunia has a connection. I’m certain she would use it for our benefit.”
“If you are making an attempt to find me another marriage prospect, I struggle to believe you will find much success in either location. Men of wealth do not while away their days in museums or parks. They sleep until late and engage in sporting pursuits until their mamas call upon them to attend another ball.”
Mama crossed the remainder of the room. “You sound dreadfully cynical. Who gave you leave to think like this?”
“My own observations and what I’ve learned through conversing with men over the last four Seasons. Who else but the wealthy would be qualified to speak on how they spend their time?”
Mama frowned. “All is not lost. I own I am glad you shall not be leaving me for Yorkshire.”
Caroline could not find pleasure in her disappointment quite yet. She looked at the road again, surprised to find a familiar form striding down the paving stones. What was Tristan doing in her neighborhood?
“Is James at home?” she asked absently.
“No, he’s gone out.” Mama tempered her smile. “To Jackson’s saloon, I believe.”
“Did he not return to England with express intent to find a wife?”
“He has, which is why I assume we shall be attending a ball this evening. Mrs. Freese sent round an invitation, but Almack’s is also this?—”
A quiet knock at the door stopped her words. Lottie stood in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed and cheeks pale.
Caroline stood. “What is it?”
“My sister.” Lottie sniffed. “I’ve just had word. She was in an accident at the market.”
“Oh, Lottie,” Caroline said, crossing the room toward her maid.
Pomfrey, the butler, cleared his throat in the doorway, his mouth bent into its usual bored frown. His long cheeks sagged, making him look displeased at all times.
“What is it, Pomfrey?” Mama asked.
He stepped forward, holding a calling card. “A visitor for Miss Whitby, ma’am.”
Mama took the card, read it, and her dark gold eyebrows lifted.
Caroline didn’t need to read it to know who was waiting in the entryway downstairs. She looked meaningfully toward Lottie. “I’d rather not see him right now.”
“You know it is Mr. Shepherd, then?” Mama’s brow lifted further. “Does this mean your feelings toward the man have not altered in all these years?”
“I saw him on the street, that is all. Snuff your hopes, Mama. He means to pay recompense for his terrible mistake last night. This visit has nothing to do with romance.”
Mama’s face fell into a frown. “Be that as it may, his mother is my friend, and I am uncomfortable turning him away.”
“Oh, please?—”
“We will abide a short visit. I cannot permit you to be rude.”
Caroline had no worthy argument, so she acquiesced.
