Page 103 of Courting the Country Miss

Her eyes burned. Why couldn’t she have remained mere friends with Tristan? Why did she start seeing him as a desirable man?

When she’d thrown her parting words at him, he’d stepped back as if she’d slapped him, and for a moment, his carefree, flirty exterior crumbled, leaving a wounded child in his place. The pain in his expression—pain she caused—nearly broke her heart. She’d hurt him. She, who used to comfort him when he’d needed solace as a child, and when Richard’s disappointment had stung him, she’d always offered him healing without censure.

How ironic that the moment she began seeing him as a mature man who created grown up stirrings in her, that her affection became conditional, judgmental.

Isabella put an arm around her. “Tish, what is it?”

She let out a weighted sigh. “I’m so confused. I should love Lord Bradbury for the honorable, virtuous man that he is. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about Tristan. But that’s absurd; he has always sworn he’d never marry, and besides, he’d make a terrible husband. Probably half the widows of the ton under the age of forty have seduced him. How could I be so foolish as to think of him as anything other than a shameless rake?”

“Because he’s changed.”

“So he claims, but has he really?”

“It’s all over London. Everywhere I go, people are whispering about how respectable he’s become.”

“They are?”

Isabella nodded. “Some matrons say it often happens when young men grow up and begin thinking of their future. I heard Lady Tarrington say most young gentlemen don’t do that until about the time they reach their thirtieth year. It seems Lord Tarrington was something of a rake in his youth, too. Tristan seems to be changing rather younger than normal.”

Leticia gaped at her. “Isabella, no young lady such as you should be hearing those things, and you should not know what that all means.”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “I have eyes and ears and a brain.”

Leticia groaned. When did her innocent little sister grow up?

Looking around as if about to divulge a secret, Isabella lowered her voice. “When our maid went away because she was in a family way, I asked Mama for details of how that happens, and she explained—enough that I understand when people talk behind their fans, now.” She grabbed Leticia’s arm, her eyes wide. “Oh, don’t worry, it hasn’t incited my imagination. I’m no more interested in any of that than before. In fact, I was so disgusted that I could barely look at men for weeks and weeks.”

Aunt Alice peered in. “Ladies, the carriage is here.”

“Be right there, Aunt.” Leticia stood and picked up her dancing slippers.

Rising, Isabella looked Leticia in the eyes. “You should give him a chance. Tristan has changed, and he is in love with you.” With that, she marched away, leaving Leticia standing, awestruck, in the room.

Tristan in love with her?

She stood grappling with the possibilities until Aunt Alice summoned her. Almost dizzy with conflicting memories both old and new, she picked up her reticule and shawl, and joined the others. When they arrived at the home of their host, they removed their wraps and changed from carriage shoes to dancing slippers. After greeting the hosts in the ballroom, Leticia stood with Isabella and Aunt Alice. Moments before the first set began, almost simultaneously, two gentlemen approached and asked Isabella for a dance.

Isabella smiled at the contenders. “Oh dear. I would be pleased to stand up with each of you fine gentlemen. Perhaps one of you might be willing to reserve the next set for me?”

The gentlemen eyed each other. One said, “I would be delighted to await your charming presence for the next set, Miss Isabella.” He bowed, cast a meaningful glance at the other, and strode away.

The victor inclined his head, looking rather too smug for Leticia’s preference, and held out a hand. Isabella glanced at Leticia before taking his hand, amusement dancing in her eyes and left with her dance partner.

Leticia cast a glance around, admiring the finely tailored suits and pretty ball gowns of the assembly. Tristan’s familiar form caught her eye. He stood conversing with none other than the incomparable Duke of Suttenberg and a gentleman Leticia did not know. Though society hailed the duke as one of the most handsome bachelors in all of London, and the other man a distinguished older gentleman, neither compared to Tristan’s stunning perfection. Her heart began a rapid acceleration, building with every beat. How handsome he was! And how dear he’d become to her—more than ever.

Nearby, a sultry, feminine laugh caught Leticia’s attention, as well as Tristan’s. A beautiful lady about Leticia’s age with golden curls held her fan in front of her, looking in his direction. Leticia searched her memory for the lady’s name but could only recall that she’d been widowed during the war. The widow shifted her hold and tapped the edge of her fan with her finger. Leticia almost gaped. Using the language of fans, the woman invited Tristan to come speak with her.

Tristan’s mouth froze, as if he’d stopped mid-sentence. Leticia held her breath. Tristan returned his gaze to his companions and resumed his dialogue. He hadn’t approached the beauty despite her invitation.

“Shall we take a seat, my dear?” Aunt Alice’s voice drew Leticia’s attention.

“Of course.” No need to stand so close to the dance floor looking desperate while a set had already begun. Nor would it do to keep watching Tristan.

They moved toward the edge of the ballroom and found a settee. Leticia sat and spoke with everyone who stopped to chat.

Lord Bradbury arrived. “Mrs. Tallier.” He bowed. “Miss Wentworth, how splendid to see you again. Please do me the honor of standing up with me.”

Lord Bradbury failed to have the slightest effect on her heart beat. Still, she always found dancing a pleasant diversion, and one did not refuse an earl.