Someone who was previously known to the men separately, of course, since James had been in the West Indies for the last five years and didn’t know Mr. Dennison. Caroline hunted her brother and future husband in the crush. When her gaze alighted on them speaking jovially, her heart jumped in anticipation, only to dive like a poorly shot arrow shortly after.
Gracious heavens, what was Tristan Shepherd doing here? It had been years since she’d laid eyes on the man, and the blasted sight of him still sent her heart into a flutter. He was taller than she recalled, his broad shoulders filling his dark gray coat with the perfection only a fine tailor could make possible. His dark hair was styled away from his face, his brown eyes deep and thoughtful, even from here.
Which was a hoax. The man didn’t have deep thoughts. His tongue could only produce whimsical jests. There was no bigger flirt in Surrey, and Caroline would do well to remember that.
“Is it Mr. Shepherd?” Mama said, heedless of the winding road Caroline’s thoughts had traveled.
“Looks to be,” she said lightly, proud of the offhand way she had delivered her remark. Mama had known her to hold atendrefor the man when they were younger, but surely she would believe it to be in the past.
Itwasin the past.
Caroline was minutes away from becoming engaged tosomeone else. Old feelings had no place in this ballroom. She snuffed them at once.
“Your brother must have called on him,” Mama muttered. “Foolish boy.”
Perhaps she remembered more than Caroline had given her credit for. “I see no harm in it,” Caroline said. “We’ve not met with him in years. Surely the reunion was sweet.”
Mama gave her a disbelieving look, but since they had nearly come upon their quarry, the conversation was blessedly at an end.
“Mother,” James said through a wide grin, pushing his golden hair from his brow. “Do you remember Tristan Shepherd?”
“Of course I do. Your mother is one of my dear friends, Mr. Shepherd. We regularly share tea when I am home.”
Tristan’s smile flashed, causing him to look even more handsome. Unfair, really. How was Caroline meant to focus when the past was being forced upon her?
“My mother has mentioned more than once the benefit of having such lovely neighbors. Will you be returning to Dorking after the Season?” Tristan asked.
“As soon as we are able, in fact,” Mama said, looking to Mr. Dennison. This caused everyone to look to the man, as though it was now his turn for an introduction.
He coughed under the scrutiny. He was tall and thin with a straight nose. “I only just had the pleasure of meeting your brother, Miss Whitby.”
She smiled broadly at Mr. Dennison.
“Surely it is not little Caro?” Tristan said. “Thisis your sister, James? How can she possibly be?”
“I did tell you she was of marrying age.”
Caroline’s gaze whipped to James. What the heavens were they doing, discussing her? Curiosity battled with maturity,and the latter won. “I don’t believe my situation is any of your concern, Mr. Shepherd.”
“She does remember me, then,” he said triumphantly. “I was beginning to worry I had not made a mark in your mind.”
His mark was a large stain—abhorrent, ugly, and difficult to be rid of. “You’ve met Mr. Dennison?” she asked instead, swerving the topic into safer waters.
“We attended Cambridge together,” Tristan said, then swung his attention to Mr. Dennison. “I’m certain there was no other man more horse-mad than you, sir.”
“Guilty.” Mr. Dennison’s green eyes roamed Caroline for an appreciative moment. He was not the most handsome man in the room, perhaps, but he was the steadiest. “Though Miss Whitby is perfectly aware of this. She has allowed me to speak of it without censure.”
“Her ears did not bleed?” Tristan asked, displaying his magnetic smile. “The Caro I recall would sooner eat a twig than be forced into conversation about a horse.”
Caroline’s stomach dropped.
Mr. Dennison turned a confused look upon Tristan—whether about the topic or his continued free use of her name, an honor she had not yet given to Mr. Dennison.
Though, in her defense, he had yet to ask.
“You must not know her as I do,” Mr. Dennison said confidently. “Miss Whitby is enormously fond of horses.”
Tristan chuckled. “If by fond, you mean she detests them most passionately, I daresay you are correct.”
