Page 20 of Courting the Country Miss

Captain Kensington inclined his head, looking somehow more elegant than before. “I’ll be in London on official business, but I doubt I’ll attend many social events.”

Leticia smiled. “By choice, you mean, of course. Surely you aren’t implying that you won’t receive invitations by the cartful?”

“A bit of both.” His tone suggested an end to the topic.

Leticia plunged ahead. “Shame on you, Captain. Think of all those hostesses who’ll need you to even up their numbers, and with a military hero, no less.”

His lips curved. “I’m confident they’ll survive the blow, Miss Wentworth.”

As she opened her mouth, Tristan sent her a quelling glance. She raised her brow at Tristan, who shook his head. Later, his look stated. Why so secretive?

She changed tactics. “To be honest, Captain, I’m not attending the Season for the reason you suppose. I’m accompanying my sister who’s having her first Season, and to seek pledges to help us fund the opening of a school for the poor.”

The captain nodded. “Lady Averston already wheedled a pledge out of me.”

“Very sensible of you, Captain. We’d have to hound you the entire time, else.”

He smiled. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

A chill wind blew and they quickened their pace back to the stables, seeking the warmth of a fire. The guests gathered in the drawing room and, after enjoying some refreshment, began a game of charades.

Mrs. Hunter took a seat nearby. Leticia stiffened and managed a civil incline of her head.

“Miss Wentworth,” the widow said with a low voice. “I feel I owe you an apology.”

Taken aback, Leticia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

The temptress glanced about. “I didn’t realize you and Tristan Barrett had an understanding. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have flirted with him.”

Leticia let out a weak laugh. “Oh, no, there’s nothing between Tristan and me. We’re merely childhood friends.”

“You don’t say? Then you don’t mind if he and I become…involved?”

Leticia looked down and strove to keep her tone even. “Why would I mind? It’s his business, after all.”

Mrs. Hunter paused, her gaze heavy on Leticia. “Are you quite certain?”

“Yes,” she ground out.

“Then why are you angry?”

Leticia drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to rein in her temper that always seemed to flare at the sight of the beautiful, sultry woman. “I’m not angry.” She mustered a smile and turned to the woman. “Forgive me if I haven’t been friendly. I’m preoccupied.”

A moment passed. The game of charades went on around them, but they ignored it. Then, Mrs. Hunter spoke. “I’m not after his money, if that’s what worries you.”

“No, you don’t strike me as a fortune hunter.” To be a fortune hunter, she’d have to be after marriage, clearly not on her agenda.

Mrs. Hunter nodded but her eyes reflected sadness. “Do not judge me, Miss Wentworth. Life can alter one beyond what you may imagine.” She folded her hands together until the tips of her fingers turned white.

Something melted inside Leticia. “It’s not my place to offer judgment.”

Mrs. Hunter stood. “Thank you for your reassurance regarding Mr. Barrett.”

Leticia glared at the woman’s back, then chided herself. Tristan could conduct himself as he saw fit. If he wanted to spend time with an attractive widow, his earlier words notwithstanding, Leticia had no business interfering. Besides, the school should be Leticia’s first priority. Tristan’s quest to seek out a suitable husband for her might help him meet enough upright men to have a calming influence on him, but she rather doubted it. While she’d love to put saving Tristan at the top of her list, it all came down to whether or not Tristan wanted to be saved.

Chapter Six

Several weeks after the Sherwoods’ house party, Tristan stood on the sidewalk and took one last glance at the bow window next to the front door of White’s, one of London’s most respectable gentlemen’s clubs. He’d requested membership a few years ago, on principal, but hadn’t entered since—too full of boring stuffed shirts trying too hard to prove their self-importance by pontificating about politics. After another bracing breath, Tristan waded through the London fog and up the stairs to the door.