“You missed me?” repeated Caroline. “We were together yesterday, and will be today, unless you do not wish it.”
“I always wish for that, Caro,” he answered. “But I also enjoy your conversation; everyone else wearies me, but I am always refreshed after speaking with you.”
“What a pretty compliment,” she said. “I—I enjoy your conversation as well.”
Gresham smiled at her and they watched for a few minutes in silence as Jonathan and the nursemaid stood at the edge of the lake, watching the ducks that gathered there.
“I should have brought some bread, so that he could feed them,” Caroline said absently. “He does enjoy that.”
Tristan looked down at Caroline’s golden head. “Do you ever worry that you may be breeding?” he asked softly.
Caroline started. “What?”
“I thought perhaps you might be concerned about becoming enceinte,” he said. “We have taken no precautions these past weeks.”
She stared up at him, not sure how to respond. “I drink pennyroyal tea,” she said shortly.
“Ah.” Tristan looked at her thoughtfully. “And if that does not work?”
“That will be my problem, not yours,” responded Caroline crossly.
“How gracious of you to say that. But I believe it would also be my problem,” he said. “What would you do?”
Caroline blinked. “It would hardly be the first time this has happened to a lady. I would lace as tightly as long as possible, then retire to Eskmaine for some months and re-emerge with no one the wiser. If anyone suspected there was more to the story, it would hardly matter. I am a widow, and a child would have no claim to the estate.”
“And what of the child?” asked Gresham.
Caroline shook her head. “Why would you care? Tristan, you might easily have a dozen by-blows. I have never heard that you worried about any of them.”
Tristan gazed off into the distance. “I know of only one. Usually I am far more careful than I have been of late. Everything seems to be different with you, Caro.”
“You have a child?”
“A five-year-old daughter. She is with her mother. I have made sure they want for nothing.”
“Oh.” Caroline pondered this information. “What is her name?”
“Lydia,” Tristan said shortly. “Her mother writes to me occasionally of her progress. She does not wish me to visit; she does not feel that my presence would be beneficial.”
Caroline gazed at his profile, wondering if she should pursue the topic. Tristan’s mood seemed to be rather forbidding.
“So, I wonder, what would become of a child of ours?” he asked.
Caroline waved one hand vaguely. “I suppose he—or she—would be raised at Eskmaine. I would hire excellent nursemaids and tutors and settle a sum of money on him from my private fortune, so that he could become a respectable member of society. I would be able to spend time with him when I was at Eskmaine, and perhaps I could bring him to London with me if I said he was my ward, or a deceased relation’s child. He would be well taken care of, Tristan.”
“It sounds a rather sad existence,” Tristan responded.
“Well, I could not do more than love the child and try to make him as happy as possible,” said Caroline. “You know how Society feels about these things.”
“Indeed I do,” replied Tristan. “I do not like to think of a child of ours living such a life.”
“Well, it is very unlikely there will be a child of ours,” said Caroline peevishly. “I don’t know why you are worrying about this. It is no concern of yours.”
He gazed at her pensively. “For some reason, it does—and you do—concern me.”
“Now you are being ridiculous,” said Caroline. She gave him a perplexed look. She was unused to Tristan in this mood, and found it unsettling. “Surely there is a better way to spend our time than talking about an event that will never occur.”
The familiar glint of laughter returned to his eyes. “I believe I once suggested we find a secluded spot in Green Park and we would see if we could shock the cattle. But Jonathan’s presence precludes that, of course.”
“Of course,” said Caroline, feeling a slight tingle of excitement. “Perhaps another day.”
Tristan looked delighted. “I will hold you to that.”
“Do,” she said with a laugh, happy to have the Tristan she was familiar with restored to her. “I should return to Brook Street. Jonathan must have his lessons for the day, and I must pay a call or two before I come to Mount Street.”
“May I walk with you?” asked Tristan politely.
Caroline blinked, slightly surprised. “Certainly,” she said. “If you don’t mind the company of Jonathan and Betsy.”
“Not at all,” said Tristan. “He seems to be a delightful boy. We agree that you are clever and that we are fond of you.”
“That is probably the only thing the two of you have in common,” laughed Caroline. But she waved to summon the nursemaid, and the foursome was soon walking toward Brook Street in complete amiability. Caroline hid her amazement at the way Tristan engaged in conversation with Jonathan as they strolled, and when they reached her home, the boy seemed very reluctant to give up the company of his new friend.
“You must do your lessons now, and Lord Gresham must—do whatever it is that he does all day,” said Caroline.
“You wound me,” said Tristan. But he solemnly said good-bye to the child, and then kissed Caroline’s hand lightly. “Until later,” he said. He turned and strolled up the street.
Caroline gazed after him for a moment, but then pulled herself together. “Come along, Jonathan,” she said, and walked up the stairs to her house.
Gresham walked away idly; he had woken early, with Caroline in his thoughts. So he had risen, and almost without thinking, had walked to Green Park to see if she was there. If any of his acquaintances had seen him, in an unfashionable location, chatting amiably with a widow and her young son, they would have been astounded, though probably no less astounded than Tristan was at himself.
He realized that since they had begun what Caroline, adorably to his mind, still referred to as their liaison, he had not had another woman. Of course, she exhausted him each day, but it was still odd for him not to share his favors freely. He had never lacked for stamina, and he was quite certain that their afternoon in Mount Street would be more than pleasurable. But why should he think only of Caroline?
Tristan was startled from his reverie by the approach of another gentleman. “Gresham!” he called out. “I haven’t seen you in days!”
“Hello, Anthony.” Tristan shook his friend’s hand casually. “How are you?”
“The better for seeing you. Where have you been?” Anthony Belvoir gave Tristan an arch look.
Tristan frowned. “I have been here, in London. Where did you imagine me to be?”
“I haven’t seen you in any of the usual places in days. Not at Mrs. Hayes’ pleasure dome, nor at Lady Buckinghamshire’s tables. Is it true what they say?”
“What is it that they say?” asked Tristan, his voice dampening.
“Why, that you’re hanging out for a wife. You have been sighted at balls, and soirees, and routs over the past weeks. No one can imagine another reason that you might be there, and not with your friends at White’s.”
“A wife? Surely no one believes such nonsense,” said Tristan dismissively. He paused a moment. “Who is the unfortunate lady on whom I am reported to have set my sights?”
“Lord, no one knows,” said Mr. Belvoir. “Some say the lovely Widow Jepson, others suspect Lady Quedgeley, and some even have put money on the Ashdown chit.”
“Miss Ashdown?” asked Tristan, with a slight chuckle.
“Well, they say you seem to be thick as thieves with her cousin, Lady Eskmaine. But I know there’s bad blood between you and Gravesmere, so I don’t see it happening.”
“You certainly won’t see that happen,” agreed Tristan. “Are they trul
y wagering on my possible brides?”
“Indeed they are,” said Mr. Belvoir. “I don’t suppose you’d care to let me know your mind, so that I can bet on the right horse, do you?”
Tristan laughed. “I would help you if I could, Anthony, but I have no intention of offering for Mrs. Jepson, or Lady Quedgeley, or Miss Ashdown.”
“Is it another lady, then?” asked Mr. Belvoir, with a conspiratorial look.
“There is no lady, Anthony. I am desolate to disappoint you.”
Mr. Belvoir shrugged. “Well, no harm done. I hadn’t laid a wager yet, so I have lost nothing. I tell you, Gresham, if you aren’t of a mind for another dashed dull soiree tonight, come to my card party. There will be good company, decent wine, and perhaps other amusements as well.” He gave Gresham a significant look.
Tristan started to refuse, but then reflected that Caroline would hardly miss his presence; indeed, she had never asked for it at all outside of their afternoons together. It occurred to him that he had been attending various entertainments solely to see her, which, in light of the fact that he had obtained his goal and she was now his paramour, made no sense. She did not expect him to dance attendance upon her. For the most part, she seemed positively vexed when he did.
“I will be there, Anthony,” he replied. “I look forward to the amusements.”
Mr. Belvoir clasped his hand once more and said his thanks, and the two parted ways. Tristan gazed back at Caroline’s house briefly, and then continued on his way.
Chapter 17
Much later that night Tristan sat at a card table in Mr. Belvoir’s apartments, gazing abstractedly at the cards he held in his hand. The candles burned low in their sockets, and the gentlemen around him shared a bottle of burgundy, laughter and coarse talk passing between them. The amusements, consisting of several dancers from the opera, were scattered about, flirting with the guests; one or two of them had already disappeared with a gentleman into other rooms. Tristan stifled a yawn.
Mr. Belvoir rolled a bleary eye at him and filled his glass again. “Damn it, Gresham, do you never get foxed?”
Tristan threw the glass back in one gulp and filled it again. “I’m trying, Anthony. I have a reasonably hard head, but this burgundy is damned poor.”
Mr. Belvoir took the insult with a wave of his hand. “We aren’t all as rich as you, Gresham.”
“I’ve been without funds many times in my life, but I never bought inferior wine,” observed Tristan. He drained his glass again, and Mr. Belvoir refilled it.
Tristan’s opponent tossed his cards on the table. “You win again, Gresham,” he said. “I’ve never seen the like. You cannot lose, it seems.”
“’Tis a new development,” said Tristan. “But a pleasant one. Another hand.”
“Good God, no. I’ve lost enough to you tonight. If we play again I’m like to lose everything.” The man stood up, swaying slightly. “I’ve a mind to try my luck with one of the ladies instead.”
Tristan glanced across the room. “You should find them welcoming. If you don’t like noise, don’t choose the brunette. She squeals when she becomes excited.”
The man leered at him, and staggered away. Tristan swept up his winnings and pocketed them.
“I didn’t see you with the ladies earlier tonight,” said Mr. Belvoir. “How do you know she squeals?”
Tristan shrugged. “I’ve encountered her before. For all I know, I’ve encountered them all before.”
“Aye, you’ve vast experience,” said Mr. Belvoir. “I wonder you aren’t enjoying them tonight. You always had a way with the ladies.”
“I’m not in the mood,” said Tristan shortly.
At that moment one of the women approached them. She was clearly tipsy, but still able to stay on her feet. Her red curls were slightly askew, but she was pretty enough, with twinkling blue eyes and a neat figure. She leaned over Tristan’s shoulder, pressing her breasts into his back, and running her hands down her chest.
“Lord Gresham, how lovely to see you again,” she murmured. “Would you care to spend some time with me?”
Gresham raised her hands from his chest with a look of distaste, and, turning, very gently put her away from him. “No thank you, Melissa,” he said.
She pouted. “But my lord, I can make you very happy,” she said. “I remember well—”
“I’m sure you do,” Tristan interrupted. He fished in his pocket and produced several guinea coins. “If I give you these, will you leave me alone?”
Melissa’s eyes widened at the sight. “Certainly, my lord. I did not mean to offend you.”
The coins clinked dully as Tristan dropped them in her open hand. “I am not offended,” he said, and turned back to Mr. Belvoir, who was gaping at him.
“Stap me, but I’ve never seen you turn away a woman before!” he said.
“I said I wasn’t in the mood,” said Tristan.
“Well, I’ve never seen you not in the mood before, either,” returned Mr. Belvoir. He leaned in closer. “Mayhap the rumors are true, and you mean to find a wife.”
Tristan laughed. “If I meant to be married, surely I should be all the more likely to enjoy the company of these ladies, as I would soon be deprived of it.”
“Ah, but if you fancied yourself in love you would not,” observed Mr. Belvoir.
“Don’t be a fool, Anthony. When have you known me to be in love?” asked Tristan.
“Never,” said Mr. Belvoir flatly. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
“Not for that,” said Tristan, putting his glass down with a snap.
Mr. Belvoir gave him a calculating look. “I venture to think I might know who the lady is. You have been spending a great deal of time with a certain widowed countess, and today I found you outside her home. Others think you have some interest in her little cousin, but me, I think you would prefer a more experienced sort of woman.”
Tristan’s lazy gaze suddenly became acute. He leaned in very closely to Mr. Belvoir. “Your drunken maunderings make no sense, Anthony. But, just in case I did harbor some feelings for the lady, it is very possible I might take offense at your bandying her name about.” His voice was calm, but very firm.
Mr. Belvoir’s eyes widened. Tristan was known to be a crack shot as well as a master of the small sword. “I—I meant nothing by it, Gresham,” he protested. “’Twas only a jest.”
“See that you don’t repeat it,” said Tristan. The angry gleam slowly faded from his eyes. “And now, Anthony, I will take my leave. Thank you for an enlivening evening.” He drained his glass one last time and sauntered out.
If Caroline missed Tristan that night at the ball she attended after the Venetian breakfast, it was not apparent. She danced with any number of gentlemen, including Sir Geoffrey Arkwright, who assured her that he while he rarely danced, his admiration for her made it imperative. She watched indulgently as Cecilia flirted with her beaux, and listened to the gossip of the other matrons. Returning home in the early hours, she tumbled into bed, exhausted, and slept. The content of her dreams did not bear examining, perhaps, but she resolutely put them out of her mind in the morning.
The following morning Caroline repaired to her sitting room to attend to her correspondence. First she dashed off a note to Allegra, inquiring whether she would be able to join Cecilia that afternoon. Then she paused over a new sheet of paper, wondering what to say to Lord Gresham. A few sentences telling him she would meet him at one-o-clock would suffice, but the past few days had been confusing; she could hardly believe her behavior with him the day before, courting scandal so closely.
Caroline pondered Lady Lansdowne, and Gresham’s attentiveness to her; surely, she thought, it would be best to conclude their affaire before it came to a very bad end indeed. And yet, she had no desire to tell him she could not meet him today or ever again; not only did she enjoy their afternoons together, she would miss his company if she were to be deprived of it. Not that she had any undue feelings towards his lordship. I
t was simply that she knew so few people who amused her as well as he did.
As she considered the question, Bunton appeared in the door. “Lord Gresham,” he intoned in accents that indicated disapproval. Caroline jumped in her chair.
“Lord Gresham,” she said in what she hoped was a calm voice. “How—how surprising.”
Tristan bowed elegantly over her hand, and looked into her eyes, his own twinkling slightly. He waited patiently until Bunton reluctantly left the room.
“Don’t worry, I am not here to repeat my last morning visit to you,” he said softly. “You may even leave the door open if you choose.”
Caroline stared at him. “Pray be seated,” she said, and watched as he disposed himself in a satin-covered armchair. She admired for a moment the strength of his legs and his elegant posture, before pulling her mind back to the matter at hand.
“I did not see you last night at Lady Embersley’s ball,” she ventured, as the silence between them lengthened.
“No, I had other matters to attend to,” he said.
“I was just going to write to you,” said Caroline, indicating the blank piece of paper on her desk.
“And what were you going to say?” asked Tristan.
“I wasn’t sure, to be truthful,” she replied.
“It is always best to be truthful,” he said. “I suppose that is why I am here.”
She gave him an inquiring look, but didn’t respond.
“It has come to my attention that some individuals have been pairing our names,” said Tristan, a shade uncomfortably. “I fear we may not have been as discreet as we thought.”
“I have encountered the same circumstances,” said Caroline. “I have not let it bother me. You are aware that Society loves nothing more than gossip.”
“I know that better than most people,” agreed Tristan. “And if it were only my name, I would have no concerns. But I would not want to see your reputation besmirched by your association with me.”
“Is that not my decision?” asked Caroline.
“It is, perhaps, but I may still decline to contribute to the sullying of your name.”
Sense & Sensuality: Caroline's After Dark Georgian Romance (The Gravesmeres Book 3) Page 17