Tristan looked at the clock on the wall. It was two minutes after seven o’clock. He’d told Caroline to be in his study at seven sharp, and he’d given Evaline instructions to deliver the children five minutes later. Did anyone listen to him anymore?
Apparently not.
Intending to find Evaline, he stepped into the hall. As he turned, he saw the housekeeper coming in his direction. She wore an impish smile and a paper crown decorated with leaves and pine needles. Tristan gaped at her. “What in the world—”
“You’re late, sir!”
How could he be late to a meeting he’d arranged? Noah came up behind Evaline. As he passed her, Tristan saw a dozen medals pinned to his chest. Some were medals the man had earned in the army. Others were made of tin and buttons and resembled playthings. To Tristan’s consternation, Noah handed him a stick horse that had been painted black. “You better hurry, Major. You’re late.”
He took the horse without thinking. “Late to what?”
“Supper, of course.” Noah assumed a formal pose, but his eyes were twinkling. “Mrs. Caroline requested the meal be served on the veranda. She and the children are waiting.”
Tristan glanced again at the medals on Noah’s chest. Maybe he was seeing things. Occasionally the fevers made him delirious. Maybe he was having an attack and didn’t know it. Perhaps he’d imagined the crown on Evaline’s head. As for the stick horse in his hand, it felt real enough to remind him of his boyhood dreams of being the finest horseman in England. He scowled at Noah. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself, sir.”
“I intend to do just that.” He strode past Noah and Evaline, down the hall and through the children’s playroom to the veranda. Through a window he saw lanterns on the railing, each one casting a circle of yellow light into the dusk. The glow reminded him of making camp with his men. He’d enjoyed the camaraderie around a campfire, but today he felt none of that ease.
Noah stepped ahead of him and opened the door to the veranda, indicating he should pass with a sweep of his arm. Tristan noticed the makeshift medals again and stopped. “What are you wearing?”
“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Caroline.”
“I certainly will.” He raised the stick horse as if it were a king’s scepter and instantly felt ridiculous. Annoyed, he marched out the door and saw Caroline and the children seated around a small table set with the china Molly had loved.
Caroline stood. “Good evening, Major.”
They hadn’t yet told the children of their marriage, so she’d addressed him formally.
“Miss Bradley,” he acknowledged. “Children.”
Before he could fully take in the gown Caroline had chosen, Dora ran to him. Instead of her usual pinafore, she was wearing a white dress with ruffles and pink ribbons. Molly had stitched it before she’d fallen ill. It had been for another child’s birthday party, an event Dora had missed because her mother had died. Did the child remember? Tristan did... He’d found the dress with a needle still stuck in place, waiting for Molly to finish adding the trim. He didn’t recall bringing it to The Barracks. Evaline must have packed it, though he felt certain Caroline had finished the ribbons and perhaps let out the side seams. The dress was a bit short, a sign that Dora had grown.
His daughter executed a curtsy. “Do you like my dress, Daddy?”
“It’s lovely.”
He hadn’t seen Dora smile in a long time. To her the dress was a carnival of ribbons and lace, not a sad reminder of what she’d lost. Tristan looked at Caroline, wordless because he didn’t know whether to thank her or scold her.
Dora tugged on his hand, the one not holding the stick horse. “We’re having a party for us!”
“I see that.” He disliked parties.
He glared at Caroline. When she answered with a smile, he felt like a curmudgeon. He had no idea what to say, so he turned his attention to Freddie. The boy was wearing his Sunday best but nothing outlandish. He looked as uncomfortable as Tristan.
Like father, like son.
The thought brought no comfort. Tristan wanted Freddie to enjoy life. Instead he was looking at Tristan the way Tristan had looked at the duke, stubbornly silent while yearning for approval. Whatever Tristan did, Freddie would copy him. If he disrespected Caroline, so would the boy. Aware his reaction would mark everyone at the table, he paused to give his wife of seven hours an opportunity to explain herself.
Her eyes brightened with the challenge and she stood, lacing her hands at the waist of a blue calico covered with a white apron. This morning her hair had been piled on her head in a mass of curls befitting a wedding. Now her brunette tresses were wrapped around her head in a braid. Compared to everyone else, she looked ordinary.
“What’s going on?” he finally asked.
“We’re playing a game.” She spoke sweetly, but Tristan heard a dare in her voice. “Each one of us is dressed as the person we want to be someday. I thought we’d tell each other about our dreams for the future.”
“I see.”
“Sit down, Major.” She indicated the chair across from hers. “We’ll start with the children.”
He wanted to get the silliness over with, but he had to admit her game had a certain charm. He’d been younger than Freddie when a groom in his father’s stable had made him a stick horse like the one in his hand. He’d spent hours dreaming of being a cavalry officer. Looking at his children, he realized he had no idea what they dreamed of becoming. In his effort to protect them, somehow he’d stopped knowing them.
With his chest tight, he sat in the chair across from Caroline and propped the stick horse against the table. “Who goes first?”
“I do!” Dora jumped to her feet. “Guess what I am!”
“I have no idea,” he said, teasing her a little.
“I’m a princess!”
“And a lovely one.” He could hardly speak. Dora looked just like Molly, bright and eager and full of fun. She’d lost her mother, yet somehow she’d remained a hopeful child.
Caroline smiled at the girl. “Why do you want to be a princess?”
She thought a minute. “Princesses live in castles and they have ponies.”
“I see.” Caroline turned to him with a shine in her eyes. “Shall we ask Freddie to go next?”
In the most gracious of ways, she’d handed over the reins for the party and acknowledged him as head of the family. Looking carefully at her outfit, he realized the game had a deeper purpose than entertaining the children or getting to know them better. They’d each worn something to symbolize their deepest wishes. Caroline had worn a dress a mother would wear while baking bread or wiping a child’s tears. Uncomfortable with the game but wanting to honor her, Tristan looked Freddie up and down. The boy was wearing a white shirt and a black tie, dark pants and a coat he’d soon outgrow. He looked formal and owlish, far more serious than the typical ten-year-old boy.
Tristan tried to sound cheerful. “You’re dressed for business, I think.”
“In a way,” the boy replied.
“Are you a lawyer?”
“No.”
“A banker?” The weight of not knowing his son hit Tristan hard. He should have known the answer without asking.
Freddie looked hurt, but he covered it up the way Tristan had covered hurt at the same age. He looked bored. “I’m a scientist. And I don’t like games.”
Caroline ignored the slight. “Science is a worthy pursuit.”
“It is,” Tristan agreed. So were silly games that revealed a child’s dreams. “Why do you want to be a scientist?”
“Because they find answers.”
“To what?” he asked.
“To everything,” Freddie announced. “Even the cure for malaria.”
Tristan felt his son’s fear like a kick. It nearly broke him. “That’s a worthy goal, Freddie.”
The boy stared straight ahead, every bit as stalwart as Tristan had become in his fight against the malaria. He wanted to give Freddie hope, but his tongue refused to move. Even more powerful was the urge to pull the boy into a hug and never let go. Instinct told him to do it. Years of restraint kept him rigid in his chair.
Why, God?
Tristan stifled the angry cry. Whether he respected God or not, he had no choice but to take the Commander’s orders. Caroline’s gaze flicked from his face to Freddie’s and then back to his. Just as she’d needed rescuing when she fell in the river, he needed someone to pull him out of his confusing flood of emotion.
She tipped her head. “It’s your turn, Major. Knowing how you feel about horses, the children guessed you’d wanted a horse like Cairo since you were a boy.”
“I did,” he said, feeling more tense than ever.
Dora smiled at him. “We painted the horse to look like Cairo. Do you like him?”
“I do.”
“It’s fun to pretend,” Caroline said. “But it’s even more fun when our dreams come true.”
She looked directly at Tristan, prompting him to lead the way across the bridge she’d built to his children. Taking a breath, he took the first step in what would be a major change in their young lives. “Children, do you know what Miss Caroline wants to be?”
Dora looked at her with grave intensity, biting her lip as if her life depended on the right guess. Freddie looked bored, though Tristan saw worry in his eyes. “She’s the governess,” Freddie said coolly.
“No,” Tristan said quietly. “Keep looking.”
When she smiled, Dora’s eyes got wide. “She’s a...lady.”
“She’s that,” Tristan said gently. “She’s also dressed in her everyday clothes, the clothes a mother would wear. Caroline is going to be more than your new governess. We were married this morning. She’s to be your new—”
“Friend,” she interrupted.
Tristan bristled at the rudeness, then realized she’d saved him from a grave mistake. No one could replace Molly and she didn’t want to try. He wished he could touch her foot under the table to acknowledge the correction. That’s what he’d have done with Molly, and Caroline deserved the same gesture of apology. He offered a tiny nod, an acknowledgment that she knew best, then waited for her to continue.
She looked from Dora to Freddie. “Your father and I know this is a surprise, but we’ve given the situation a great deal of thought. We’ve been corresponding and—”
Dora flung herself into Caroline’s arms and hugged her hard. Holding the child close, Caroline kissed the top of her brunette head.
Tears threatened to well in Tristan’s eyes. He fought them off, but his heart turned into an aching bruise. He looked at Freddie, saw confusion on the boy’s face and realized he had a choice. He could act like his own father and be cold, or he could treat his son the way he’d wanted to be treated at that age.
“Freddie,” he said quietly. “Let’s speak outside.”
His son’s frown deepened into a sneer.
Tristan stood and waited. Still Freddie didn’t budge. The child was glaring at Caroline with an arrogance Tristan recognized all too well. He’d seen in it himself. Even more frightening, he’d seen it in his father. Somehow he had to undo the damage done by his months of coldness. He touched Freddie’s shoulder and felt bone. Squeezing gently, he eased the boy off the chair and led him down the steps to a patch of weeds. With the sky turning purple, they stood face-to-face.
Looking into his son’s eyes, Tristan said words he couldn’t recall ever hearing from his own father. “I love you, son.”
Freddie look stunned, embarrassed...and like a child. “You do?”
“Yes.” He spoke with authority. “I’m proud of your dreams and intelligence, your desire to be a scientist and how you help with your sister. We all miss your mother. I certainly do—”
“But you’re marrying Miss Caroline.” The boy sounded offended.
“Yes.” Peace in the house hung on his next words. “I admire her, Freddie. I respect her and trust her. Dora needs someone, and—” So do you. At the defiant look in Freddie’s eyes, Tristan held back. His son was still a boy, but his journey to manhood would be fueled by respect. “We men need her, too. A woman is a gentling influence. I hope you’ll accept Caroline as a member of the family, not as a mother, but as a friend. Perhaps you could call her Aunt Caroline.”
In the boy’s turbulent expression, Tristan saw grief for his mother, the longing for peace and another time-honored male tradition. Freddie wanted to fight and win. The mask of indifference was gone. In its place was a boy who didn’t quite know what to do. “She makes good pies,” he finally said.
“She does?”
“She baked them before supper,” Freddie explained. “Dora helped and she let me have a taste.”
Tristan liked pie. “Then perhaps we better get back for the meal so we can have dessert.”
“I guess so.”
The boy hadn’t agreed to call Caroline “aunt,” but Tristan counted the exchange as a start. Wanting to show affection but not sure how, he clapped Freddie on the back the way he slapped privates who’d done a good job. As if something had been jarred loose, Freddie turned and hugged him hard. “I love you, too, Father.”
They didn’t need to say or do anything else. In the way of men, they went back to the veranda where the females were seated at the table awaiting the arrival of supper. Dora looked like a real princess, and Caroline looked like a real mother, a bit worried but hopeful as they climbed the steps. As soon as Tristan’s foot hit the veranda, Dora ran to him and hugged him. The three of them—Tristan, Freddie and Dora—hugged for a very long time, with Caroline watching from a distance, but not joining them.
Just as she’d dreamed, Caroline was sitting at the supper table with a husband and children. The three of them told her stories and she laughed, but it soon became apparent her success in uniting Tristan and his children came with a single failure. The three of them were a family. She didn’t belong except as an observer. When Evaline served the pie Caroline had made for dessert, the three of them praised her baking but quickly returned to remembering pies Molly had baked. Caroline didn’t mind talking about Molly at all. The children’s memories needed to be enjoyed. What hurt was being forgotten.
Tristan had finished his pie and was looking affectionately at Dora. The child had kept her dress clean, but she had a ring of cherry pie around her mouth. With Caroline watching, Tristan dipped his napkin in his water glass and cleaned her face, a bit awkwardly because he wasn’t accustomed to such things, then he said, “I believe it’s bedtime.”
“Will you read to me?” Dora asked.
“Of course.” He turned to Freddie. “Are you too old for bedtime stories?”
“I read to myself,” the boy answered. “But you can say goodnight. Mother used to do that.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.” Tristan turned to her, his eyes shining with love for his children. “Will you excuse us, Caroline?”
“Of course.”
She managed a smile, but disappointment welled in her middle. He’d said nothing about returning to her. She’d wait a bit but not too long. She stood with the three of them, watching as Tristan hoisted Dora to his hip and followed Freddie into the house. The candles burned bright, but the darkness pressed at the edges. She wondered which story Tristan would read to Dora, and if the child had a favorite.
Next she imagined him knocking on Freddie’s door. They’d trade a joke or a remark about the meal, then he’d say goodnight. In her dreams he came back to the veranda...he came to be with her.
The door creaked and her eyes opened. Instead of Tristan, she saw Evaline still wearing the crown that made her a queen. Caroline thought of Noah’s medals and his desire to be a commissioned officer. Their dreams would never come true. Neither would hers, it seemed. She thanked Evaline for the fine meal, then went upstairs to the little room adjacent to Tristan’s suite. In the dim light, she took in the narrow bed, a white chest of drawers and a rocking chair. The room was intended to be a nursery. Caroline couldn’t help but think of the children she’d never conceive. She longed to rock a baby to sleep, to hold it to her breast and feel its breathing turn deep.
It was her wedding night.
There would be no children. There would be no love, physical or otherwise. There would be nothing but restless dreams. She scanned the room again, feeling the rise of a lump and the taste of regret. “Oh, Lord,” she murmured. “What have I done?”
Dropping into the rocker, she buried her face in her hands and wept. This morning she’d been confident that she belonged with Tristan and the children; now she felt all the pain of being an outsider. Even worse, she’d seen a side of Tristan she deeply admired. As annoyed as he’d been by the dream game, he’d played along. When he saw the wisdom of it, he’d embraced it. He’d hugged his children and they’d hugged him back.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Lord,” she whispered. “This is why You brought me here. I know it. But it hurts to be alone.”
Alone in a crowd...alone in a family.
She felt the stirrings of self-pity, then the pounding of resentment. Abruptly she lifted her head. “I will not be bitter... I will not be bitter.” She slid to her knees, laced her fingers in a knot and prayed. “Father God, bless Tristan and his children. Bring them close to each other and close to You. Heal their sorrow and their fear.”
Masculine footsteps interrupted her prayer. Already she could recognize the cadence of Tristan’s walk. It matched the beat of her heart as she listened, growing louder as he approached her room, then fading as he passed her door. Disappointment welled in her chest, but she pushed it aside. Considering the lines they’d drawn, a private talk in her bedroom would have been too personal. With the silence heavy, she fought the ache of loneliness by counting her blessings.
She was a wife instead of a governess.
The dream game had been a resounding success.
She liked Evaline and Noah, and Jon had befriended Bessie. And Tristan... The quinine had helped already. She thanked God for his improved health.
She had a roof over her head and food to eat, warm clothes and shoes without holes. She’d survived a stagecoach robbery, ridden a horse and not been drowned when she’d fallen in the river. She had much for which to be grateful, and yet she wanted more...she wanted a husband and a baby of her own. She couldn’t stop the tears that welled. “Why, Lord?” she murmured. “Why can’t I be satisfied—”
A soft knock startled her. Eyes wide, she stared at the door to the storage area between her room and Tristan’s. It had to be him... He’d come to her.