“Fortuitous for us,” she said kindly.
Tristan had the sense she didn’t want him to leave, which was utter madness. The woman didn’t care a whit for him.
Yet she waited expectantly, not dismissively.
“Are you planning to attend the Knightings’ garden party Thursday?” he asked. It was precisely the sort of event Dennison would attend, and Tristan needed to steer Caroline back to the man, as promised. As soon as they were engaged, he would stop thinking about her so much, most assuredly. As soon as he found himself a bride, he would be forced to cease thinking of her entirely.
“We are.”
“Then I shall see you there.” He lifted his hat to her and began to pull away when she called after him.
“Shall we ride together?” she asked.
Tristan called over his shoulder. “I would like that.”
The strange thing was, when he glanced back at Caroline, she looked as though she shared the sentiment.
The garden partyhappened to be much larger than Tristan had first expected. After walking through with the Whitbys, he spotted a few of his friends on the far side of the garden and lifted a hand to them. Ambrose Hartley and Leonard Stanton were speaking near the lawn where pall mall was set up.
“Do you enjoy the game?” Caroline asked, following his line of sight.
Tristan tore his gaze from his friends. “I’ve been known to win before.”
“Caro,” James said, sliding up between them. “I have only met him the once, so I cannot be certain, but is that not your Mr. Dennison?”
Tristan fought a cringe at the possessive way James had phrased it. He looked across the crowd toward the tables of lemonade and pastries to see Dennison accepting a glass from a footman. This was why they had come. He had anticipated Dennison’s attendance. But seeing the man in the flesh—the gentleman Caroline hoped to receive a proposal from when she had heartily refused Tristan’s—was a painful reminder of where he lacked.
Or was it? Tristan didn’t actually know what he was lacking that Dennison possessed to make him the more attractive choice.
“It is,” she said quietly.
“Shall we speak to him?” James asked. “He might feel differently now that time has passed. It has been more than a week since the last time you met, has it not?”
“I have a different plan,” Tristan said, pulling his attention from Dennison and letting a smile curve his lips. “How do you feel about playing pall mall, Caro?”
James narrowed his eyes, looking between Tristan and his sister. “What game are you playing at?”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “There is no game, James. Aside from pall mall, evidently.”
“If you mean to make him jealous…” James considered Tristan, not believing her for even a moment. “Well, I suppose it would likely work.”
“You aren’t serious,” Caroline said.
James nodded slowly. He glanced to where their mother was speaking with a group of her friends, then back at his sister. “It would work on me if you weren’t my sister. Stands to reason it would work on him, too. Might as well try.”
Caroline stared at her brother. His trust in Tristan was enormous. She likely suspected he would defend even the danger to her reputation, should their conduct suggest a courtship that led nowhere.
Tristan grinned. “In that case, shall we?”
Caroline’s gaze snapped to him. She inhaled, then set her hand on his arm. “I suppose so.”
“Your eagerness to spend time in my company astounds me.”
She tightened her hold. “I wouldn’t like for you to have the wrong idea about my feelings, Tristan.”
“In that case, take confidence. You are keeping my expectations well and truly down.”
Caroline ignored him until they reached the pall mall field where an empty iron hoop was set up on the far end. Tristan selected two balls and two mallets and gave one of each to Caroline. When she reached for her mallet, he didn’t release it immediately, causing her to stand directly in front of him. She looked up, confused.
