She straightened. “Not necessarily.”
He gave her a hard look. “You are not going to sacrifice for me.”
“It is not only for you,” she countered.
The rain hit harder against the window. Caroline lifted her cup and finished drinking her cooled tea.
“I am meeting with our solicitor again today,” James said. “He was going to look into investment opportunities. We shall see what he’s discovered.”
“I hope he has discovered a cave of money for us,” Father muttered.
Caroline could not reply to that. Her heart hurt, knowingFather had played with their inheritances as though they were inconsequential. Had he left her dowry alone, she could marry the man she chose. Had he left James’s be, he could have saved their family estate. But mistakes had been made. She needed to do her best not to remain angry, but it was difficult in the face of carelessness when she and mother had been painstakingly economizing themselves.
Some time and distance would do her a world of good. “I need to ready for the day and see to our guest.” She reached forward and pressed her father’s shoulder, forcing a smile. “I am glad to see you again. Welcome home.”
James stood. “I am no longer thirsty.”
“James—”
“Not yet, Father,” he said.
Caroline needed to lead him from the room before the argument mounted. Any louder, and their personal information would be gossip fodder for the servants. She started from the room and James followed her, closing the door behind them with a snap.
“Do not do anything drastic,” she said, hoping to soothe him.
He laughed humorlessly. “Drastic? I have been working on rectifying this for the better part of a year.”
“Oh, James.” Her chest squeezed, disliking that he had been carrying this alone. “You’ve known that long? You should have written to tell me. I could have helped.”
He shot her a rueful smile. “I had hoped to keep it from becoming as bad as all this. My intent was to spare you.”
“It was noble of you.” She pressed down the disappointment filling her in waves. What had felt like the blooming of possibility last night with Tristan was quickly wilting to dust, but Caroline could see no way around it. Swallowing, she gave him a firm nod. “Now, tell me what I can do.”
James ran a hand through his golden hair and leaned against the wall. “Manage your guest, I suppose. I leave in an hour to meet with the solicitor, and we will know more then. But I have a feeling he will say nothing different from last time we spoke. I need to find a wealthy wife and tie all her money into the estate so Father cannot touch it. Then we will be safe.”
Caroline nodded, but even as she left his side to return to her room and ready for the day—so long as Kitty was awake now—she was determined to do what she could to help.
James was not the only one of marrying age, and Caroline had the advantage: she already had a wealthy suitor. All she needed to do now was bring him to heel.
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan bought a bouquet of roses from a woman selling them on the street and carried it along to Berkeley Square. The rain had finally ceased, but the ground was sodden, forcing him to dodge puddles along the way. Blue sky peeked through the gray clouds, and a bird sang nearby. Signs of hope surrounded him, giving his steps an added buoyancy.
Until he approached the Whitby house at the same time as another gentleman. Tristan halted, biting back a sigh as Dennison’s phaeton rolled to a stop. He supposed they were bound to meet, but to have an audience while he was preparing a second proposal wasn’t ideal.
“Shepherd,” Dennison said, climbing down from his phaeton. “How splendid to find you hereagain.”
Tristan didn’t miss the emphasis on his final word. Dennison had had his chance with Caroline, though, and he’d squandered it. Tristan lost patience with men like that. It was fair game for him to swoop in and claim her affections, and Dennison knew it.
Tristan had depended upon this when he first developed his scheme to make the man jealous and return his affection to Caroline. Now he could see he had done the job too well.
Together they mounted the front steps, and Dennison lifted the iron knocker, tapping it against the door. They stood shoulder to shoulder when the butler opened the door, mild surprise flashing in his eyes. His long cheeks drooped, making it difficult to know if he was frowning or if that was merely his face at rest.
Tristan proffered his card. “I am here to speak to Miss Whitby.”
Dennison eyed his bouquet of flowers with misgiving. He extended his card. “I am here to speak to Miss Whitby as well.”
The butler accepted both cards. “Will you wait inside?”
