Page 1 of Courting the Country Miss

Chapter One

England, 1817

Leticia Wentworth was twenty times a fool. Richard Barrett never cared for her beyond a childhood friendship, and Leticia had been naive to believe he would love her as she loved him. With savage ferocity, Leticia squelched the cry of pain her heart made every time Richard turned a gaze of adoration upon his wife—the kind of look he never gave Leticia, not even when she’d been certain he’d approach her father to ask for her hand in marriage. She’d pinned all her hopes and dreams of love and family on a man she would never have.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Here she stood, watching Richard kiss his wife’s fingertips—the way she’d always imagined he’d do with hers—at a house party much like the one last year when her future had crumbled to dust.

Of course, Richard had never looked at Leticia the way he looked at his wife. He never loved Leticia—not really. That thought lessened the heartache that he’d been snatched from her.

Or so she told herself as she left the party for the quiet serenity of the garden.

She bolted down the gravel pathway and stopped as she came upon a garden fountain—very much like the place where it all started. And where it all ended.

“Weary of the noise inside?” drawled Tristan’s familiar voice.

Leticia didn’t turn around. Instead she sank onto a nearby stone bench and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of roses. “I need a moment away from all that.” She made a loose wave toward the house.

Tristan’s clothing rustled as he sat with her. “Makes you want to move to the continent, doesn’t it?”

“What does—the house party?” She looked up at Tristan Barrett, his handsome face and midnight hair so like his brother Richard’s. Tristan’s presence filled her with the warmth of childhood friendship.

His grin turned sardonic as his coal-black gaze slid her way. “The lovebirds inside.”

“It’s lovely.” Did her voice sound as devoid of sincerity as she felt?

Tristan let out his breath in a huff of amusement. “Admit it; it’s nauseating.”

“I’m happy for them. They have what marriage should be.” Softer, she added, “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” She stiffened, cursed herself for her confession, and looked away before her long-time friend saw too much. They used to confide in one another; it had been so easy, so comfortable. But everything had changed.

He fingered his signet ring. “Sorry, Tish. You must hate me for making a muddle of your future.”

She sifted through possible replies. “He’s happier…with Elizabeth than he would have been with me.”

“You don’t truly believe that.” He paused. “Do you?”

“Of course I do. He never loved me the way he loves her.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

She wound her fingers together in her lap.

He laid a gentle hand over hers. “You’ll have that with someone else.”

She let out a sharp exhale that doubled as a mirthless laugh. “I think not. I have no prospects.”

“That’s what the London Season is all about, isn’t it? You’ll meet a duke or some other stuffed shirt and there you go.” He snapped his fingers. “The problem of spinsterhood solved.”

She shook her head. “I’m no longer in the first bloom of youth, and my dowry is unremarkable; I have little to offer. Besides, I’ll never love anyone else. And my sister Isabella is out now, and will have her first Season this year. We can’t afford a Season for us both.”

“Never love anyone else?”

Leave it to Tristan to pick up on what she least wanted to discuss. She pretended not to hear him. “Besides, the money I might have spent on clothes for a London Season would be better used helping educate the poor. Have I told you about Elizabeth’s and my newest project?”

“Never love anyone else?” he persisted.

Tristan could be annoyingly relentless at times. She adjusted her glove. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”