Page 123 of Courting the Country Miss

Tristan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I rather wish I were roaring drunk at the moment.”

“Drinking yourself to a state of unconsciousness never solves anything—it only assures a ‘roaring’ headache on the morrow.”

Tristan stared without seeing out the window and reached futilely at his stormy thoughts but they slipped away before he could name them. “I love Leticia.”

Solemn and subdued, Richard said, “I know.”

Tristan searched for words to identify his chaotic thoughts. “But she’s…”

Richard supplied, “She’s being courted by Lord Bradbury?”

Tristan closed his eyes but that brightened the haunting image of her in Bradbury’s arms. “She told me she loved me, and that she was going to tell Bradbury they don’t suit. Then I caught them…kissing…”

“Leticia?” Richard’s surprise revealed itself in his tone.

“Either she’s playing us both, or…”

“Stop.” Richard said. “You know her better than that.”

Rage knifed through him. “She kissed him!” he roared.

“Did she?”

“I saw them!”

“I know that’s what you saw. But often that is not what really happened. You know her. She is not the kind of woman who plays men.”

Tristan would not have thought so, either.

“Trust me,” Richard continued. “I made the mistake of jumping to conclusions with Elizabeth, a great number of times, and it almost destroyed any chance of happiness in our marriage.”

Tristan digested his words but they seemed to bang against each other in meaningless litany.

“Remember that night I thought you and Elizabeth had gone for a tryst during the ball?”

The reminder hit Tristan like a cold slap. He knew all too well how it felt to be so misjudged. Tristan rubbed his jaw to show Richard he remembered.

Richard fixed a pointed stare at Tristan. “Talk to Leticia again. This time, give her a chance to tell you what’s in her heart. Listen.”

Tristan leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

“For all you know,” Richard continued, “She didn’t welcome Bradbury’s kiss. You might have left before she spurred him.”

Tristan lifted his head. What if it were true? What if she’d been the victim of an unwanted advance, and now the one person who should be defending her was instead condemning her?

“Go home and rest,” Richard said. “Seek her out on the morrow when you have a clear head. Isn’t she worth giving the her the benefit of doubt? Isn’t she worth a second chance?”

Richard was right. Tristan owed Leticia the chance to explain. Either way, he, of all people, understood the concept of second chances.

Very well. He’d give her another chance. As Richard said: she was worth it.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

As dawn glimmered, gray and cold, Leticia picked her way through the rubble of what was once their charity school. Most of the outer brick walls remained standing, but all the rest of their dreams lay in charred timber and ash. She passed under what used to be the front door, stepping around holes in the wooden floor and heaps of rubble. At the smoldering remains of the pianoforte, she stopped. The wooden frame and keys had crumbled to little more than blackened dust. The metal harp inside remained like a skeletal reminder of slain hope.

Somehow, she would find a way either to rebuild the school, or start an orphanage, or…perhaps on a smaller scale, she might content herself with helping her sisters raise their children. She would make herself observe their happy marriages and children as a constant reminder of what she might once have had, and had thrown away. She would love her nieces and nephews with all of her heart.

For now, she’d allow herself this moment to mourn.