Page 110 of Courting the Country Miss

“Ah. Has he declared himself to you?”

Leticia choked. “No. Well, not really.” Although his words last night might have been taken for a declaration of sorts.

“I’ve never seen a more smitten young man. You are wise to consider a man like Lord Bradbury, and he’s a fine catch, of course, but you are a very subdued version of yourself in his presence. When you’re with young Mr. Barrett, you come alive.”

Leticia hugged herself. “I’m comfortable with him because I’ve known him all my life.”

Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “What is it that makes you disregard him as a prospect?”

“You know what.”

“He comes from a long and distinguished family, he has a generous allowance, he’s delightful, and clearly devoted to you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hailed as one of this Season’s most eligible bachelors. Why, all Season the gossip columns have been comparing Tristan to the likes of the young Viscount, Cole Amesbury, his youngest brother Christian Amesbury, Lord Bradbury, and even the Duke of Suttenberg. One of my favorite columnists is calling them The Five Incomparables, and declares they’ve put all of London into a collective swoon.” She leaned forward. “Although, truth be told, I’d add Captain Kensington into that list.”

Leticia waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Tristan’s handsome face is not the issue.”

“You’re worried about his reputation.” Aunt Alice clasped her hands and regarded her.

Leticia sank into a green striped armchair. “How do I know he won’t revert back to his dissipated lifestyle?”

“If you are asking me how does one person know if another person has repented, that is for God to judge—not us. All we can do is believe by their words and their behavior that they are sincere, trust that they are strong enough to persevere, and offer encouragement when they weaken.” She poured herself another cup of tea and sipped. “It sounds to me that you are afraid.”

“I am. I’m afraid if I fall irrevocably in love with him, he’ll eventually fall back into his old ways. That would break my heart.”

Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “You cannot be so afraid of twisting an ankle that you never allow yourself the joy of dancing.”

Leticia turned that thought over. “You’re saying the joy of love is worth the risk of a broken heart.”

“That’s right.” Aunt Alice leaned forward. “Do you believe his feelings are genuine?”

“I’m…not certain what, exactly, his feelings are. We’ve been friends forever. Now, there’s something new between us. I’m not sure I understand fully what is happening, or what he wants to do about it. Even if I did, I don’t know if I dare.”

Last night Tristan had surprised her. Twice. She’d watched as he’d rejected not one, but two offers from women who he would normally… Well. She wouldn’t go into details. Had Tristan’s changes really become permanent? During the house party, Tristan had showed no signs of succumbing to the alluring Mrs. Hunter, if Mrs. Hunter’s frustrated expression were any indication. Last night, she’d overheard two people commenting on how Tristan appeared to be growing out of his dissipated youth and turning into a steady young man. Did they all see something she failed to recognize?

Aunt Alice picked up her cup. “As his oldest friend, don’t you think you, of anyone, should believe in him?”

Guilt wagged a finger at Leticia. She looked away. “As his friend, yes, I should be. But if I am to become more than a friend—”

“You need to decide once and for all; do you trust him? If so, give him a chance. And let Lord Bradbury know your heart is otherwise engaged. You cannot keep them both dangling.”

“Dangling?” Leticia rocked back as if her aunt had thrown hot tea in her face. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Some may view it that way.”

Sinking down into her hands, she let out a moan. What to do? Lord Bradbury resembled a bed of coals, warm and steady and constant. Tristan reminded her of fireworks, bright and explosive and exciting. Would he vanish in a blink?

Leticia remembered the gun he carried, and the deadly calm with which he’d wielded it at the thug in Vauxhall. In the balloon ride, when she’d been frightened, he’d held her in a comforting embrace. She’d never experienced such a sensation of safety than she had with Tristan. Even his kiss had been respectful, an offer, a question, letting her take what she wanted, demanding nothing in return. She’d felt beautiful and cherished and…loved.

Did Tristan love her?

More importantly, did she love him?

The front door knocker broke the silence. Leticia stood as the butler opened the door and greeted Tristan.

“Good morning, Aunt,” Leticia murmured.

“Have a wonderful time, dear.”

As Leticia entered the foyer, Tristan’s face, so familiar, so dear, and yet somehow different, guided her to his side like a lighthouse guides lost sailors. His lean, broad-shouldered frame filled out his riding coat in a way that no doubt drew envy from gentlemen and admiration from ladies—far too handsome for his own good. If he’d been born plainer, perhaps he would not have been the object of every lewd woman who saw him. If only he’d had the wherewithal to have refused them.