Male voices could be heard coming from the drawing room before Caroline reached it, causing her no small amount of excitement. She pushed the door open and paused on the threshold.
Tristan was indeed present, surrounded by James and Father. Mama sat in a chair closer to the fire, pulling embroidery thread through her hoop, seeming comfortably occupied. The vision was a warm family picture, making Caroline’s stomach clench with a hunger for this to be her future. It was much more pleasant than the last forty-five minutes she had spent listening to Mr. Dennison drone on about his cold. Of course, her husband would have the right to complain of his maladies, but a lifetime of never once being asked howshefared would certainly be a trial.
Tristan looked up and smiled, his brown eyes warming upon seeing her, even from across the room.
“Caro is home,” James said. “We should leave this discussion for another time.”
“Nonsense,” Father argued. “I want to hear more.”
James pressed his lips together tensely.
Mama lowered her embroidery. “Should we see about dinner, George? We ought to dine early this evening if we are going to attend the Buxtons’ card party. They never share very palatable refreshments, in my experience.”
Father looked confused, and rightfully so. Why would Mama need his help in a kitchen matter? But she held his eyes with meaning until he relented. “Very well.”
“Would you care to join us for dinner, Mr. Shepherd?” Mama asked. “It will be simple fare, of course. Just a family meal.”
“I should like that very much. Thank you.”
Caroline would like it as well. She walked closer to the sofa but took the chair across from it, gesturing to Tristan and James not to stand on her account. Mama led Father from the room, leaving the door open behind them.
“Did you have a pleasant ride?” James asked.
“Do I ever?” she countered.
He laughed. “Dennison doesn’t realize what a viper you can be. He’s in for a surprise.”
“I rather hope not,” Tristan said.
James leaned back, appraising his friend. “Boldly stating it, are you? I suppose that means you and my sister have left no secrets between you.”
“None,” Tristan said.
James clicked his tongue. “Yet still you chose to ride out with Dennison, Caro.”
“I will not be impolite to a man who is more than likely to become my husband.” A sinking feeling filled her at that thought, but she knew it to be the case. She ran her fingers over the patterned brocade armrest, tracing the leaf stitched there.
Tristan leaned back comfortably on the sofa. “Not if I have anything to say on the matter.”
“Or your man of business,” James muttered.
“Harry works for my friend, but he has written to me, and I think he will be amenable to meeting with the both of us.”
James rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Do you think it a wise venture? It is certainly a great risk. We’ve lost so much already in risky endeavors.”
Tristan hesitated.
“I did not wish to discuss the matter around my father,” James explained. “Deuced bad luck having him overhear us and join the conversation. But Caro doesn’t mind it; she can be trusted.”
Tristan looked at her for confirmation.
“What is this venture?” she asked.
“A cotton mill up north.” James waved his hand through the air. “I don’t know more than that. It might amount to nothing, but it is worth looking into, at the very least.”
Tristan nodded. “Shall I request a meeting with Harry Plumstead?”
“Yes, that would be grand.”
