Tristan considered this. “James told me of your plan to help him fall in love. It is a noble ambition.”
“You speak as though you don’t believe it to be possible.”
Their country dance began, and they moved in time with the music. It was lively, not leaving much room for conversation. When Tristan made it back to her side, he grinned at her. “It’s possible.”
Caroline blushed. The way he had looked into her eyes ashe said it, before passing her on to the next gentleman, left little room for interpretation. He was referring to her.
The rest of the song went by slowly, the motions dragging out when they separated. Music poured from the overhead orchestra and couples moved about the floor happily. Caroline relished every moment she was able to touch Tristan’s hand or spin beside him. She had deep feelings for him. Hearing him tell her he was not ready to give up on her had given her a healthy boost of excitement and hope. She was practical, and she knew it did not make sense.Theydid not make sense.
Unless he came into a large inheritance or Father’s ship returned from its watery grave or James married his widowed Mrs. Rupper, their path was settled already, and it diverted. Tristan and Caroline each had their own way.
Still, Caroline could not do anything but enjoy their set of dances, imagining things could be different. If she was able to marry Tristan, she would not relish the weeks he had a cold, nor the time apart it forced on them.
When he escorted her back toward her mother, she pressed her fingers into his arm. “We really ought to be using this time more wisely, you know. There are plenty of women here I could introduce you to.”
Tristan shook his head, looking perfectly at ease. “I have found the woman I would like to marry, Caro.”
Her heart picked up its pace. “Be reasonable.”
“I feel that is exactly what I’m doing. There are no rash declarations nor going to your father to beg him to allow me to marry you. I am being practical, discovering a way we can be comfortablebeforeI approach him.” He stopped before they reached her mother, tugging lightly on her arm so she would swivel to face him. “Trust me, I will hit uponsomething. Surely with the right economizing and careful investments, we could be perfectly comfortable.”
He spoke so reasonably, she found herself falling into his explanation with easy acceptance. Tristan’s confidence buoyed her spirits. Reality crashed heavily on her as well, though.
“You are forgetting my brother. My family estate. It was not only my dowry that my father lost.”
Tristan’s face melted into concentration. “Yes, there is that.”
“So, as I mentioned, it will not work.”
“There must be a way,” he countered. “Surely we will find a way.”
Chapter Nineteen
Tristan had done everything in his power over the following days to strike upon a scheme that would provide him an income. Nothing seemed to work—nothing that would supply the immediate funds he needed, anyway. Short of posting up on the Bath Road and tying a kerchief about his face to hold up carriages, he was stuck.
Friday morning he went out, walking along Curzon Street until it curved into Berkeley Square. He had no particular reason for visiting the Whitbys, but he was consistently drawn to their house. A phaeton clattered down the road toward him. As he stepped back to allow it more room to pass, he glanced up to find Dennison driving the pair and Caroline seated beside him.
She sent Tristan a rueful smile as they rumbled by.
Tristan frowned. It was uncharitable of him, but he strongly disliked seeing Caroline seated beside any other man who was not him. Gads, but when had this change occurred? Just over a month ago, he had been telling James that his sister was too young to be married. Now?
Now, Tristan wanted to be the man to marry her.
Which was why he maintained his pace. If Dennison was going to drive out with Caroline, they wouldn’t be gone above a half hour. Tristan would wait as long as it took for her to return. He took himself up the front step of the Whitby house and lifted the iron knocker, tapping it.
Pomfrey opened the door to him.
“I’ve come to see James.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like to wait inside?”
Tristan stepped into the warm entryway and removed his hat. He looked at the vase of fresh flowers on the table, wondering if they were a gift from Dennison or a whim of Mrs. Whitby’s.
This jealousy was not an enjoyable experience, and Tristan would be glad to put it behind him.
Pomfrey returned. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”
Tristan followed him up the narrow set of stairs toward the parlor. The gloomy weather made the house darker than he was used to, and he wondered when the summer sunlight would make its appearance.
