Page 125 of Courting the Country Miss

Once the carriage stopped in front of Aunt Alice’s house, Leticia murmured her thanks to Richard and Elizabeth, and vacated. Tristan kept pace with her up the front steps. As they stepped inside, she turned to him. “May I speak with you in private before we join my aunt and sister?”

He nodded, his expression blank.

She led the way to the open front parlor, the exact place where she had foolishly allowed Lord Bradbury to kiss her. If only she’d been more decisive about her refusal, or pushed him away. If she’d slapped him, that would have removed all doubt about her feelings.

No, she couldn’t fault Lord Bradbury for his intentions. Still, it had cost her Tristan’s trust.

Leticia drew a breath. To give herself a moment, she removed her gloves and bonnet, and smoothed back her hair. Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “I owe you an apology. After you left, Lord Bradbury asked me to marry him. I refused—I told him I love you. He tried to discourage me from choosing you because of your past, and then he tried to show me how much he cared about me by”—she took another breath. Making herself say the words, she blurted—“kissing me. I never meant to do it; he caught me off guard. He hoped I’d enjoy the kiss enough to consider a life with him. He realized that my heart wasn’t in it—I didn’t reciprocate, I vow it—and he withdrew his offer. That doesn’t change the fact that we did kiss, though.”

She turned to him to let him see her desperate sincerity. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please know that I never meant to play you false. I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

He said nothing. There was no forgiveness then. Perhaps at least he would no longer be so hurt.

She twisted her hands together. “I will always love you. I know you don’t want me now. I’ve been such a hypocrite.” Her eyes burned. “That’s all I wanted to say. Thank you for giving me the chance to explain myself.” Miserable, she turned to leave. Silently, she bade farewell at all hope of a loving marriage with Tristan, the only man she’d ever truly loved.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

After delivering her apology, Leticia turned to leave. Tristan should have known Bradbury was to blame, that Leticia had been innocent. Tristan should have flattened the blackguard in White’s. There would surely be words—or more—between them in the future.

Tristan caught her arm. “Tish.”

Leticia halted, looking at the ground. Tears dropped from her eyes, some falling to the floor, others carving out streaks on her cheeks.

He slid his hand from her arm down to her hand. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

Raising her head, she peered at him with tearful eyes.

He touched her cheek. “Forgive me for assuming the worst. I doubted you, not because you are untrustworthy, but because I doubt my own ability to be loveable.”

She stepped closer, disbelief and sorrow in the narrowing of her eyes. “You are lovable.”

“I don’t deserve you. I don’t meet the criteria you outlined when we first made our ridiculous wager. I can only do everything possible to make you happy within my limited ability, and hope it’s enough…hope you will be happy enough to stay.”

She put a hand on his cheek. “Your mother didn’t leave because you disappointed her; she left because she was selfish.”

Memories overwhelmed him and he was transported to when he was a small boy searching for his mother, running through the house calling for her. The head housekeeper had pointed out the window where his mother climbed onto a carriage. He’d raced outside, but the carriage had already begun rolling forward. Though Tristan had run as fast as he could, the carriage continued at a steady pace, more quickly than his legs could keep up. When the carriage with his mother disappeared from view, and he’d come to a crossroads with no way of knowing which direction they’d taken, he’d stopped, fallen to his knees, and sobbed.

Richard had found him then. Silent and grim, he’d picked up Tristan, hoisted him onto the back of the horse he’d ridden, and taken Tristan home.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Leticia pressed her lips together, studying him.

“If you’ll forgive me for believing you could have played me false.”

Leticia put her other hand on his chest and smiled so lovingly into his eyes that it almost undid him. Leticia. She was constant and driven by both duty and honor. No dutiful, honorable woman would leave her family, betray her husband, abandon her children.

Leticia was right. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt. His mother hadn’t left because Tristan had been a bad child; she left for her own reasons. Perhaps she suffered from some form of mental illness. She may not have really loved her husband and had run off to be with another man. Whatever her reasons, she wasn’t committed enough to stay—even for her children.

However, Leticia embodied selflessness and sincerity and honor.

She stood with one hand in his, the other on his chest, and so much love in her eyes that it nearly brought him to his knees.

With a tender smile curving her shapely lips, she said, “You do meet my criteria of an ideal husband.”

With a huff of disbelief, he shook his head. “Hardly.”

She pulled away, humor brightening her eyes. “Let’s see. If I recall correctly, my list for a husband included monogamy, integrity, kindness, a sense of humor and a means of supporting me.”

He managed a smile. “You’re a very demanding wench, you know that?”