Page 36 of Courting the Country Miss

Isabella watched her. “He’s what?”

“At times, he seems to be a frightened little boy willing to accept anyone who might love him.”

Isabella looked at her as if she’d stood on her head. “He’s hardly a boy.”

“You know what I mean. I think he’s lonely, but afraid to open up his heart because that would make him vulnerable. So he tries to forget about his loneliness by spending time with women who promise no complications.”

Isabella’s stare turned pensive. “Lonely, but afraid to trust.”

“I think so. But then, what do I know?” Leticia flushed. She’d speculated about something rather too private about Tristan that she ought to have kept secret. “I’ve been reading a great number of gothics of late, so it’s possible that I’m creating a fantasy about him that has no basis in truth. Have you read A Lady in Peril by E.L. Windover?”

“I stayed up all night to finish it. It was her best book yet.”

With a silent breath of relief that she’d diverted the conversation away from Tristan, Leticia nodded. “So, I have heard. I can’t wait to read it.”

“You’ll love the hero. He’s so wonderful! Dark and forbidding at first, but then he is so gentle inside, and capable of such passion.”

Leticia smiled. “I’ll borrow it tonight.” Silently, she chided herself. She ought to mind her tongue, even to Isabella. Her observations about Tristan’s heart should be kept in the same strict confidence he gave her.

Tristan trotted up to them. His infectious grin flashed. “Good afternoon. A fine day for the gardens.”

Leticia returned his smile. “I admit I am rather looking forward to it. I’ve never seen them.”

“No? Well, then, I’m delighted to be the first man to introduce you to such a pleasure.” His voice took on a sultry tone, and she looked up sharply, but the rakish gleam in his eyes softened into one of teasing.

He offered them each an arm and escorted them to the rest of the group.

The tongue-tied Miss Seton and her equally bashful brother arrived last. Tristan greeted the shy siblings and treated them with upmost courtesy, playing the perfect host, attentive, charming, seeing to everyone’s comfort.

A moment later, he called out over the group. “I believe we are all here. Shall we go?” He gestured to the line of boats waiting to ferry them across the river to the gardens.

As groups began entering the boats, Tristan offered an arm to Miss Seton, who blushed. He leaned in and murmured something to her, the word ‘Whist’ mingled in. Miss Seton straightened and smiled. He guided her to Mr. Rowley and said something to them both that initiated a conversation between the charming Mr. Rowley and the shy Miss Seton. They stepped into the boat together.

Tristan arrived at her side with two men in tow.

“Miss Leticia Wentworth, Isabella, may I present Mr. Finley and Mr. Dixon.”

Leticia greeted the two gentlemen, both of whom appeared to be under thirty, well-heeled and without that rakish gleam that most of Tristan’s friends all seemed to have. But then, he had assured her that his guests were all perfectly respectable.

If she remembered her Debrett’s peerage, Mr. Finley was the grandson of a viscount, and Mr. Dixon was the third son of a marquis. Tristan seemed to be reaching high for potential husband candidates. She awarded Tristan a knowing smile, and he opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. She and Isabella exchanged greetings with the gentlemen and enjoyed polite, if a bit stiff, conversation.

They stepped into the boats and cast off. As the ferryman guided them across the river, Mr. Finley pointed out birds along the way and explained their traits to a degree that she couldn’t decide if it were impressive or frightfully dull. Still, ever courteous, he asked her questions about herself. Mr. Dixon offered Isabella livelier dialogue, but his self-importance would grow tiresome. Eventually, Isabella and Mr. Dixon fell into conversation of him speaking and her nodding as if interested.

The boat bobbed in the gentle waves, but Leticia kept a white-knuckled hold onto her seat. The water lapped at the edges as if hungry to consume them. Mr. Finley’s litany, though dry, helped keep her anxiety down to manageable levels.

They reached the other side of the river by Vauxhall. Mr. Finley extended a hand to help her, and they waited for Isabella and Mr. Dixon to disembark.

“That was a lovely lead up to the thrills of the gardens.” Isabella exchanged glances with Mr. Dixon who grinned back at her. His air of self-importance appeared to have diminished.

Out of the group, the diminutive Mr. Seton approached Leticia, offered her a nervous smile, then examined his feet.

She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mr. Seton.”

“Miss Wentworth.” The small man shot his gaze at her before returning to his study of his feet. It was a wonder he managed to ask her to dance at the house party.

Mr. Finley pointed to a branch in a nearby tree. “Oh, look, that’s a blackcap—a male. Blackcaps have a jaunty little song. Many call it a Northern Nightingale.”

Leticia pretended interest in Mr. Finley’s description of the bird while Mr. Seton darted glances at her.