Tristan had enjoyed a spirited reunion with Pennwright, but the rest of the day had been impossibly irritating. It was now late into the night. Alone in his bedroom, waiting for Caroline to come upstairs, he thought about his father’s obnoxious behavior.
The misery had started with the duke’s arrival at the dinner table. He’d walked into the dining room with his own valet, as if he were going to ask the man to taste-test the food for poison. He’d complained about Evaline’s cooking and had demanded his own pitcher of gravy. The children had eaten earlier with Bessie, and Jon had joined them rather than endure the duke. To Tristan’s consternation, Freddie had come into the dining room and announced he’d been invited by his grandfather.
Tristan didn’t have the heart to deny his son, though he now regretted the decision. The duke had fawned over the boy, flattering him with as much intensity as he insulted Caroline. Her conduct was impeccable, but he belittled her table manners. He had inspected the water goblets for spots and the silverware for tarnish. He’d even berated her for interrupting him when she’d merely taken a deep breath.
Tristan had intervened, but he couldn’t control his father’s tongue. When the man wasn’t making rude comments, he droned on about himself and England, excluding Caroline while enticing Freddie.
The meal had ended two hours ago, and the duke had retired to the guesthouse. Bessie had long ago seen to the children and Louisa. Caroline seemed to have disappeared. He’d been expecting her for an hour now, but still she hadn’t come upstairs. Not only did he want to apologize for his father’s rudeness, but he also had to tell her about his former feelings for Louisa.
When the clock on the mantel chimed eleven times, he wondered if she’d slipped into her room without him noticing. With his father staying in the guesthouse and Louisa bedridden, she didn’t have to use the main door to his suite, as they’d planned. Frustrated, Tristan paced through the storage room and tapped on her door.
No answer.
He tapped again more forcefully. “Caroline?”
Hearing nothing, he opened the door and stepped into the cubbyhole of a room. In the moonlight coming through the window, he saw the untouched coverlet on her bed and a Bible left open on her desk. He wondered when she’d read it and if she’d been seeking wisdom or comfort. He didn’t know, but words he’d memorized as a child came to him.
Our Father, Who Art in Heaven
Hallowed be Thy name
The verse had made him angry as a boy, but now he felt a longing to understand God the way Caroline did. She didn’t see Him as a distant commander-in-chief. She saw the kind of father Tristan had never known but wanted to be. Tonight she’d also seen the illness in the Smythe family tree. She’d been belittled by the duke the way Tristan had been belittled as a boy. He had to find her.
To signal he wanted to see her, he left both doors to the closet open, then stepped into the hall. He glanced at Bessie’s door, saw no light and figured she’d gone to sleep. He walked ten paces to Louisa’s room, paused and listened to the silence. She, too, seemed to be sleeping. Dora’s room was dark, and so was Freddie’s. Caroline wasn’t in the house.
Wondering if she’d been cornered by the duke, Tristan reconnoitered the downstairs as if searching enemy territory for a prisoner of war. Every room was empty, so he headed to the veranda. With still no sign of Caroline, he walked to the railing and found her at last. She was alone in the garden, thirty feet away and walking through the fallow rows. Moonlight rained down on her, giving shape to a shawl covering her shoulders and the neat arrangement of her hair. She reminded him of the deer that came and nosed the dead plants, scavenging for food when there wasn’t any.
He thought of Molly and her request that he remarry. He’d kept his promise, but he hadn’t fulfilled it completely. Molly would have wanted him to honor Caroline with all the love a wife deserved. She’d have wanted Freddie and Dora to have brothers and sisters. With the moon bright on Caroline’s face, Tristan admitted to wants of own.
He wanted to be free of the malaria.
He wanted to love again.
He wanted to honor his duty as the future Duke of Willoughby and be the best husband and father a man could be. He wasn’t sure how to do all those things at the same time, but he knew what not to do. Keeping his emotions in check wasn’t the answer. He’d learned the lesson playing the dream game.
“Help me, Lord,” he murmured. “I want to be well again. I want—” He felt like Dora asking for a cookie or Freddie dreaming of becoming a scientist. Like his children, Tristan had visions for a future that seemed beyond his grasp, but just as he was capable of giving Dora a cookie and paying for university for Freddie, his heavenly Father had the ability to handle the problems beyond Tristan’s control. With a hopeful heart, he prayed. “Father God, I want Caroline and the children to be happy and safe. I want to love them as a husband and father.”
It had been more than a week since he’d had a bout of fever. The daily quinine was helping. Tonight he felt good. He felt strong...and he very much wanted to be the husband Caroline deserved. Only he didn’t have that right. Until he could be sure of his health—at least more sure—he had to convince her of his loyalty without overstepping the lines they’d drawn. He’d start by telling her about his past with Louisa.
He ambled down the path to the garden, deliberately kicking a pebble so she’d hear him and wouldn’t startle. Deep in thought, she still didn’t notice him. When he was five feet away, he spoke in a hush. “Caroline?”
Gasping, she faced him. “Tristan!”
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He didn’t mean to scold her, but he was disappointed that she’d been avoiding him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I needed air.
“So did I.”
He saw no reason for small talk. “I’d like to tell you about Louisa.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said hurriedly. “In fact, I’ve been thinking. There’s something I need to say.”
A gentleman acquiesced to a lady. Caroline had endured a difficult day and deserved to vent her spleen. “I’m listening.”
“Today was...challenging.”
“Very.”
She ambled down the row, looking at the sky as she gathered her thoughts. He wouldn’t rush her. After an evening with his father, she could take all the time she needed. He stayed at her side as she walked, her skirt brushing the ridges of empty earth. With her face tilted up to the stars, she finally spoke. “I’m wondering if perhaps we were too hasty to get married.”
He’d been expecting her to complain. Instead she’d taken the duke’s insults to heart. “What are you saying?”
“You don’t need me, Tristan. I saw how you looked at Louisa—”
“Caroline, stop.” He clasped her arm. “It’s true that Louisa and I were once in love. She jilted me for Andrew and I still don’t know why. I stopped loving her years ago. There’s nothing between us.”
“But there could be,” she murmured.
“I’m not married to Louisa,” he said with authority. “I’m married to you.”
“Not really.”
“We took vows,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but it’s the physical union that truly binds a man and woman. As long as we haven’t consummated the marriage, you’re free to obtain an annulment. Perhaps we should consider it.”
He didn’t want to consider an annulment. He wanted to be a healthy man with a future. But he wasn’t. “Is that what you want? To end our marriage now?”
She didn’t answer, leaving him to weigh the events of the day. His father had harassed and belittled her. She’d also come face-to-face with a woman from his past. Even sick with the chicken pox, Louisa was English and aristocratic, kind, educated and poised. She’d been born and bred to be a duchess, whereas Caroline’s talents went in other directions. He could understand why she felt dispirited, and he wished he had the words to soothe her anxieties.
Finally she spoke to the sky. “Your father is a cruel man, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t right about certain things.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not fit to be your wife.”
“That’s utter nonsense. My father’s impossible. You shouldn’t listen to him.”
They were near the end of the row. The branches of a tree cast a tangled shadow and she stopped. “Your father spoke the truth tonight. I’m not schooled in English ways. Like he said, I’m a lowly American. You could do better.”
“I think not.”
She looked into his eyes. “Please don’t patronize me, Tristan. You hired me to be a governess, not your wife. You come from a world I don’t understand. Someday you’ll be the Duke of Willoughby—”
“If I live.”
“You will,” she said with confidence. “Every day you’re stronger. Earlier I saw you with a man down by the barn—”
“That was Pennwright,” he interrupted. “My father’s secretary.”
“You were at ease.”
“Yes. He’s an old friend.”
She took a breath. “So is Louisa. Don’t you think you should give your feelings a chance?”
“No!”
He didn’t know what to make of her willingness to step aside. She loved his children, yet she was willing to sacrifice herself for the happiness of others. The offer struck him as generous, noble...and pathetic. He wanted her to fight for what she wanted, not give it up in a misguided act of martyrdom. He understood why she’d be reluctant to be a duchess, but did the gesture mean she didn’t have feelings for him? There was a sure way to find the truth. If he kissed her as sincerely as he wanted, he’d know her heart. But they’d also set foot on a rickety bridge to the future, one missing planks and strung with old rope. With his health precarious, he had no business leading her into that kind of danger. At the same time, he had to convince her of his loyalty.
“I want to tell you more about Louisa,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
“You don’t have to explain—”
“Caroline.” He clasped her biceps. “I want to explain, though I’m not sure I can. I was twenty. She was seventeen. We’d spoken of marriage and had an understanding. Out of the blue, she became engaged to Andrew.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I tried to speak to her, but her family sent her away. To this day I don’t know if I somehow failed her or if she failed me.”
Caroline touched his cheek. “That must have been devastating.”
“It was, but it happened a long time ago. I haven’t thought of Louisa in years. I’d like to know why she married Andrew, but I’m very aware that I’m married to you. You need to know that I honor my commitments, especially when they pertain to marriage.”
They were back where they’d started, leaving Caroline with the same question. Just how much of a commitment had Tristan made to her? She couldn’t help but wonder if his feelings for Louisa were as dead as he indicated. She didn’t expect them to pick up where they left off. Fifteen years was a long time, but she could imagine them falling in love all over again.
She’d experienced Louisa’s graciousness for herself. Before supper she’d checked to see how the woman was doing. At least a hundred more pustules had erupted, including one on the tip of her nose. Louisa had joked about having polka dots and had entertained them by making funny faces. Not only did Caroline like the woman, she admired her. Louisa was Tristan’s equal, his mirror image with feminine beauty in the place of male strength.
It hurt to face facts, but Caroline refused to deny the obvious. She was second-best. They both knew it. She turned to Tristan. “Louisa admires you greatly.”
“And I admire her,” he said with British aplomb.
“You were good friends. You could be friends again, even more than friends. Don’t you think you should give those feelings a chance?”
He waited so long to answer that she knew she’d asked a hard question. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “You need time.”
“I certainly do not! I know my own mind, and I don’t love Louisa.” He looked into her eyes. “Time is the one thing I may not have.”
He meant the malaria. “You’re much improved. Bessie’s optimistic that you’ll make a full recovery.”
“I hope she’s right.”
“So do I.” Watching him in the moonlight, she saw a hesitation that matched her own. “You could be missing something wonderful because you’re afraid. Give Louisa a chance. Be brave.”
It hurt to speak the truth, but she refused to look away. She had loved Charles and seen him murdered, but she cherished their time together. She’d lost her mother as a child and her father to a heart ailment, but she had an abundance of happy memories. During the war, she’d seen women bury sons, brothers and husbands. Life was precarious for everyone. Love had to be cherished.
Hoping to share her courage, she smiled at Tristan. “I’m right, you know.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But not about Louisa.”
“About what then?”
“About us...”
In his eyes she saw the desire for a kiss. He cupped her jaw with his palm, his thumb brushing her cheek with a tenderness that could have been given to a child...or a wife. She stayed as still as the fallow ground, waiting, wondering, hoping...until footsteps on the path to the house caused them both to pull back.