Page 42 of Courting the Country Miss

“Come,” he murmured. “We’d best find a constable before the blackguard tries that with someone else.”

Leticia nodded. Tristan took her hand and they walked, hand-in-hand like children. Tristan hailed a constable, described the knifeman, and pointed out his last known location. The constable went to investigate. Leticia hadn’t been able to utter a single word.

He turned to her. “Tish?”

She looked up into Tristan’s concerned eyes and tried to pull herself together. “You were amazing. When did you start carrying a gun?”

“Since those men snatched Richard last year. I rather like defending myself and others.”

She let out a shaky breath. “My hero.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Come, Love. Let’s find the others.”

Love. He’d never called her “love” before. Perhaps he frequently addressed women of his acquaintance by that term of endearment, but it enfolded her in joyful bliss. Grandmama had called her “beloved” with such sincerity that Leticia never doubted that she meant it. That same sincerity rang in Tristan’s voice now. Could she trust that he meant it?

Walking on Tristan’s arm, Leticia straightened her shoulders and released the last of her fears. She was safe with Tristan. Her friend. Her champion.

Chapter Twelve

A week after the unforgettable excursion to Vauxhall Gardens, Tristan arrived at Averston House in Mayfair a few minutes early for the ball. He found Elizabeth flitting about, giving final instructions to the footmen and adjusting flower swags adorning the room. Maids lit the remaining candles in the ballroom while the chalk artist packed away a pallet of chalks next to an ornately decorated floor. Tristan studied the chalk drawing on the parquet with a practiced eye—cherubs and flowers intertwined the Averston family crest, giving the fierce falcon a decidedly tamer look. Fitting, considering how Elizabeth had tamed Richard, transformed him from an unyielding, pompous stuffed shirt into a man of warmth.

Tristan shook his head. No woman would tame him. He liked himself as he was, thank you very much—free and unfettered.

“Tristan.” Elizabeth smiled and held out both hands as she came to him. “You’re early.”

“I thought I might lend a hand, if needed.”

“How kind, but I believe everything is in readiness.” His sister-in-law fluttered her hand above her head in a gesture that encompassed the room. “What do you think?

“I’ve never seen anything grander.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Is it too much?”

“Oh, no. All the biggest snobs will be green with envy and they’ll fall all over themselves to try to match what you’ve done here.” He looked around again. “My mother used to throw balls and such, but nothing on this scale.”

As a child, he’d peeked out through the railings, awed by the glittering display. Mama had always kissed him good night before going downstairs to join her guests. Tristan had always followed, and sat watching until his nursemaid had shooed him back to the nursery. Mama had been so beautiful and seemed happiest the day of a party. If Tristan hadn’t been such a misbehaved boy, she might have loved him enough to stay.

“Tristan?”

He remembered himself. “It’s perfect. All the Averston ancestors are nodding in approval.” He turned away from her probing gaze.

Leticia and Isabella arrived, so deep in conversation with their aunt, Mrs. Tallier, that none of them saw him. “…don’t want any kind of censure to touch your name,” Leticia said.

“If Lady Averston says it’s acceptable, I’m sure it is,” Mrs. Tallier said.

Leticia frowned, a familiar mulish look in her eyes. “It’s all well and good for old maids and widows and married women, but I’m not sure it’s proper for a young miss newly out.”

“What do you think, Tristan?” Isabella said.

Four pairs of eyes turned to him. Leticia’s glance slid away and a faint blush touched her cheeks. The memory of his hand on her soft cheek sent his heart racing. He couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her. Leticia, of all people—his oldest and most trusted friend! What had he been thinking?

Would she have enjoyed his kiss?

“You ought to call him Mr. Barrett,” Mrs. Tallier gently chided.

“I do in public, Aunt, but I’ve known him most of my life so it seems overly formal to do so in private,” Isabella said. She addressed Tristan. “Do you think it would be wrong for me to take part in the auction?”

Leticia let out a sharp laugh. “It’s futile to ask Tristan anything about propriety. I doubt he knows the meaning of the word.”