“Doyou love her?” Rowan asked.
Tristan glanced up to find his friend smiling kindly at him. Did he? When he had learned of her father’s actions and the change in her financial status, he was veritably crushed. Not only for the way she must have felt to learn those things, but because of what it meant for their future—or lack thereof. Dragging her away from him, making it less possible to be together, had only reinforced how he’d felt about her.
Knowing she was only allowing Dennison to pursue her because she needed money was upsetting, but even more tortuous was knowing he could not run to her and ease her burdens.
She had burdens—real ones—and love would not remedy them.
Tristan lowered his fork and looked at his friend. “What do my feelings matter when measured against her duty?”
Rowan seemed to consider this. “If she feels the same, I would not discount it. There could be an answer you’ve yet to see.”
Tristan cut a bite of buttery crust and popped it in his mouth. “I have gone through all the options available to me. My valet is tired of the topic, I assure you.”
“What of your parents?”
His parents? Tristan’s fork stalled with his next bite. He hadn’t considered applying to them for assistance. He could not ask for anything that would become Charles’s, of course. His brother would sacrifice for him without hesitation, but that would not do. He loved and valued his twin, and it was not even a consideration. He didn’t want charity. But he could ask for advice.
Mother wanted nothing in the world more than she wanted him to marry. Surely she would scheme a way for him to be a good option for Caroline.
“You ought to speak to them,” Rowan said, correctly surmising the answer.
“I should,” he agreed.
“But now, I’d like to hear about your brother.” Rowan settled more comfortably into his seat. “Have you met his new wife?”
“Indeed, I have. I like her excessively.”
“Good. Tell me everything.”
Chapter Seventeen
Shortly after finishing her breakfast, Caroline ascended the narrow stairs toward her bedchamber, her steps slow, her mind heavy. Despite taking soup to Mr. Dennison after learning of his cold, she had not heard from him since before the dinner party at Lady Tilbury’s house a week ago. His cold, it seemed, had worsened.
Perhaps Caroline ought to send him something else to eat. Or something to cheer his spirits. Could she fit a horse in his drawing room?
“What is that smile for?” James asked, meeting her at the top of the stairs. She hadn’t heard his approach, so focused had she been on her own thoughts.
“Merely contriving a way to hide fish under your bed without you noticing.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That smell lingered for months.”
“Weeks,” she countered. Though it had been over ten years since her childish prank, so she owned she could be remembering wrong.
James folded his arms over his chest. His curly goldenhair was brushed, a black coat covering his clothing. He looked dressed to go out. “What have I done to deserve such censure? Or is it Tristan you’re really scheming against?”
Caroline’s body grew stiff. She had done her bestnotto think of Tristan since seeing him a week prior at Lady Tilbury’s dinner party. Now was no different. “Where are you off to?” she asked instead, diverting the conversation.
“You cannot fob me off so easily.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You can be honest with me, you know. I won’t try to persuade you to do anything distasteful, like marry a man with an all-consuming passion for horses.”
“Mr. Dennison is perfectly amiable,” Caroline argued. “You should speak kindly of your future brother-in-law.”
James shook his head. “It won’t fadge, Caro. I know how you truly feel.”
She drew in a slow breath. How she felt was utterly disappointed. But she could do nothing to change the choices made by other people, so there was nothing else for it but to carry on.
