It came as something of a relief that Mrs. Whitby was offering this warning to spare his feelings and not out of any particular preference for Dennison. Tristan could understand the need for security, but he had a house. Once Caroline’s dowry was combined with his home, they would be comfortable.
Did she truly care for money so greatly it would make her choose a man who bored her? A man she did not love?
They crossed the street into the Green Park, drawing too near the other couples to continue their conversation. Tall trees lined the walkways, rain dripping slowly from their branches and making them sparkle. They skirted a large puddle on the path, coming to a fork in the lane.
A barking laugh came from the front of the group—James’s reaction to something Kitty had said. A woman in a pale yellow pelisse stopped with her maid to speak to Kitty, drawing Caroline’s attention. The women spoke together as the men waited nearer the grass. Mrs. Whitby released hisarm. “It has been a pleasure, but I think I will give Mr. Dennison the treat of my company now. It is only fair.”
The sparkle in her eye gave him further relief. He was not out of the running yet.
By the time the women had finished their conversation, Mrs. Whitby was fully engrossed in a detailed description of a curricle Dennison was considering for his stables.
Tristan had positioned himself nearer the women, and his elbow was out before Caroline could fully turn to face him. “May I accompany you?”
She glanced at his arm, then up to his face, her pale skin tinging pink. It took longer than he would have liked for her to reply. “Yes. I thank you, sir.”
Her distant reply was confusing. Tristan could not remove from his mind the way it had felt to have her fingers on his lips, her body pressed against his. To alter from warm to cold so swiftly was shocking, and he believed he was owed an explanation. Kitty took James’s arm again and they proceeded to walk through the park, Dennison and Mrs. Whitby following. Dennison didn’t seem to have noticed the change in partner or the way Mrs. Whitby had taken his elbow and nudged him to follow her son, so wrapped up in his explanation as he was.
“I will not bite,” Tristan said quietly.
Caroline scowled. “You are dramatic today.”
“You wouldn’t accept my flowers.”
“They are in a vase in my parlor now.”
Tristan bit back a scoff. “Under duress.”
“You are overstating the case.”
“And you, I thought, nearly allowed me to kiss you last night.”
“Quiet,” Caroline hissed, leaning closer to him. “You will be overheard.”
“I should like an explanation. If your feelings have changed, I’ve a right to know.”
She looked up at him, a line forming between her eyebrows. “It is more complicated than that.”
“Do your best, then.”
Caroline pressed her lips into a flat line. “I suffered a fit of madness and have since been returned to proper order.”
He could not help the strangled laugh that escaped his lips. “Caro, you are doing it much too brown. Surely I am the mad one for believing I was going to leave Berkeley Square an engaged man today.”
She looked at him sharply before casting her eyes to the ground. “It would never do.”
Tristan swallowed his frustration. “Why is that?”
“Don’t ask me to explain things which are too difficult to put to words.”
“You are funning again, I see.”
“I am not,” she returned. “Some things were made plain to me since we last saw each other that have altered the course of my plans.”
But they had last seen each other the evening before. It had not even been an entire day. Tristan was growing discouraged. “What things?”
“I cannot say. It is not my confidence to share.”
“Caroline, speak plainly to me.”
