Page 35 of Courting the Country Miss

Tristan gave him a cocky grin. “No, but I might if you would be so kind as to join me and a group of friends on an excursion to Vauxhall Gardens Wednesday.”

Bradbury said nothing for a moment—a methodical man, perhaps even cautious. Did the man do anything spontaneous?

“I haven’t been to the gardens in some time,” he said at last. “I admit I would like to see them again. It’s been deuced strange weather we’ve had this spring, though, so you may not have any cooperation on that front.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to make a request for fair weather,” Tristan said. “I’ve heard of tribal rain dances; surely there’s a sun dance, no?”

Bradbury smiled at Tristan’s quip, transforming his serious visage to one of a younger, more approachable man. “I’ll leave the sun dancing to you, but I’ll pay homage to the sun goddess, if it would help.”

A man of humor. Tristan mentally checked off another requirement on Leticia’s list.

A waiter brought Tristan his meal and as he ate, he asked careful questions and exchanged pleasantries, more and more certain that Leticia would like him, and yet, not sure he liked Bradbury—too much a stuffed shirt. Tristan couldn’t see Bradbury steeple chasing or flirting with barmaids, which boded well for Leticia. Very well, he’d make the introductions and see what happened. If the man proved unworthy of her in any way, Tristan would intervene.

After Bradbury left, Tristan finished his meal and eyed Richard. “You seem thoughtful this eve.”

“Elizabeth is worried. Leticia was insulted in public, and Elizabeth fears their involvement in the school may make Leticia seem unsuitable to potential husbands.”

A surge of protectiveness welled up inside. “Insulted by whom?”

“Petre and his dragon of a mother.”

Anger boiled in Tristan’s gut. “I should go give that pompous bore a piece of my mind.” Or a challenge to a duel.

“That would fuel his argument. We must expect opposition from the small-minded.”

“I won’t stand by while people besmirch Leticia’s reputation.”

Richard’s mouth curved into an indulgent smile. “Ignore small minds.”

Tristan quoted Alexander Pope, “‘At ev’ry word, a reputation dies.’”

Richard raised a brow. “I haven’t heard you quote poetry in some time.”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t read poetry in ages. Perhaps I should pick it up again.”

Odd, how past interests seemed to be returning. Perhaps this quest to marry off Leticia had put him in that frame of mind. Or the time he spent with a childhood friend resurrected old behaviors.

There was something liberating about returning to his former, more natural self.

Chapter Eleven

As Leticia climbed out of the hackney, she eyed a line of boats waiting at Westminster to take them across the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens. A group already gathered there. She glanced up at the blue, cloudless sky, the most pleasant day they’d had in weeks, which promised a perfect evening.

Tristan stood among the group, his tall, elegant form standing out as the others faded into gray shadows. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Tristan was too handsome by half—too handsome for his own good.

Isabella nudged her and said sotto voce, “Your Tristan appears to have this well organized.”

“He’s not my Tristan, you goose,” Leticia murmured.

Isabella cocked her head. “Do you think he will ever give up his wild ways and settle down?”

Leticia shook her head. “He shows no sign of that.”

“Perhaps if he stopped chasing loose women and got to know a lady, he’d find one he could love,” Isabella said.

A man as romantic as he ought to find a true love and settle down. Instead, he wasted his time with women who never knew or appreciated what a remarkable person lay under his flirtatious exterior. Such a travesty.

Leticia led the way toward the group, keeping her voice low. “That’s the odd thing. He doesn’t chase them. They chase him. He’s not a hunter. He’s…”