Caroline gave Kitty a meaningful look, and they seemed to communicate something silently before turning in unison toward James.
“We should like that very much. Shall we all go?” Caroline looked directly at Dennison.
That confirmed Tristan’s earlier suspicions—shewasavoiding him.
“I should enjoy a walk very much,” Tristan said, willing her to look at him.
Caroline smiled briefly before rising. “If you will give us but a moment, we shall be down shortly. I must find my walking shoes.”
The men stood, holding their hats as Caroline and Kitty left the room. Tristan watched them walk away with no small amount of confusion. Just last night she had willingly been in his arms, and now she could not even hold his gaze. Something was amiss, and he was hanged if he wasn’t going to discover what it was.
Pomfrey returned then with the vase of flowers, putting it on a table set against the wall. They looked sad and lonely.
“Would you like to walk with us, Mother?” James asked.
She tapped her quill pen against the glass inkpot. “If you will give me a moment to complete this correspondence, I should love to join you.”
“And Father?” he asked.
She glanced up. “He’s gone out.”
James muttered something incoherent.
“Your father’s returned?” Dennison asked. “What splendid news.”
“Indeed, he has,” James said. “We are…very happy.” In contrast to what he said, James looked perturbed.
By the time the women had all dressed for the outing and the party had gathered on the front stoop, Tristan had more than confirmed that something had happened to change Caroline’s opinion of him. She wound her way to Dennison’s side and accepted his offer of escort.
Tristan found himself walking beside Mrs. Whitby, and though they talked of home and his mother, he was distracted by the couple in front of him. What were they talking about? What had Dennison said to make her laugh? Had she moved closer to his side? She certainly looked as though she was walking much closer than she needed to.
“I am not such a green goose as to imagine you are pleased to accompany me,” Mrs. Whitby said, surprising him.
Tristan didn’t know how to respond to such plain speaking.
“But I own I am grateful for the opportunity to talk with you privately.”
Again, Tristan was at a loss. He smiled, waiting.
Mrs. Whitby looked toward the blue sky with consideration, then sighed softly. “I want nothing more than for my daughter to be happy.”
Her blunt honesty permitted Tristan the same freedom. “We want the same things.”
“I assumed as much. You and your brother were forever running about with James as boys, but we have not seen you in some years. I believe we have been in one another’s company more often in the past few weeks than in the last several years combined.” She shot him a motherly smile. “While James’s company is riveting, it is apparent he is not the child of mine you come to see.”
Tristan’s body went tense, waiting for her to continue. She was being too careful in her wording for this conversation to have a pleasant outcome.
“You will not offend me,” he assured her. “You may say whatever it is you are thinking.”
“I will not compel Caroline to choose one suitor over another,” she said, “but you ought to be made aware that she has long been hoping for a proposal from Mr. Dennison.”
“Yes, I had been informed of that.”
“While he might not be her perfect match, he can provide her a security that is without equal.”
The man had wealth far beyond Tristan’s means. That was no secret, as much as it stung to be reminded.
“Caroline is too practical not to take that into account,” Mrs. Whitby went on, “and I do not want you to be hurt.”
