Page 58 of Courting the Country Miss

Urgency rippled through her. “Tristan, wake up!”

One of Tristan’s horses lay lifeless on the road; the other continued to scream. Both his forelegs hung at sickening angles. Leticia wanted to throw something. All of this loss for sport—so senseless. So foolish.

Aunt Alice found her and took command. “You, you, and you,” she pointed to three able-bodied men. “Pick him up—carefully—and take him to my carriage over there.” She looked back at her coachman and nodded. “Take care of that poor horse.”

The coachman nodded. Grim and silent, he pulled out a gun. After rubbing his hands over the horse’s neck to soothe it, he placed the barrel behind the horse’s ear.

Sickened, Leticia looked away. The crack of the gunshot ripped through her as if the ball had struck her. The horse’s screaming stopped. All the world fell silent.

Leticia focused on Tristan. His pallor faded to a ghostly hue.

Men carried Tristan as if he were a bowl of milk they were determined not to spill. The somber crowd parted to let them through, talking in low tones, or not talking at all. Some wept.

As the men lowered Tristan onto the floor of the carriage, Leticia glanced back at the tangle of the other carriage. The crowd parted enough to give her a glimpse of the other man lying with a coat over his face. Two horses sprawled in crumpled heaps on the road.

Leticia swallowed a sob. She climbed in and sat on the carriage floor with Tristan’s head in her lap. The men laid him crosswise, then bent his knees to allow the door to close.

After a command from Aunt Alice, the carriage started. No one spoke. Silently, Isabella sobbed and rested a hand on Leticia’s shoulder. Silently, Aunt Alice sat with her handkerchief pressed over her mouth. Silently, Leticia held Tristan’s head, her heart as still as Tristan. The silence drove a wedge of pain deep into her soul. Each bump, each jostle of the carriage, tore through Leticia, no doubt inflicting further damage to Tristan’s battered body.

They arrived at Averston House after an interminable drive. Aunt Alice left the carriage but Leticia sat cradling Tristan’s head, stroking his hair, searching for any more sign of life, terrified that his heart would stop. Faint, uneven breathing gave the one indication that he lived.

The front door of Averston House opened and two footmen darted toward the mews, no doubt sent to bring the doctor and notify Richard of his brother’s injury. Cooper and the two men who’d helped them move furniture in the school—had that been today?—dashed down the stairs toward the carriage.

Cooper nodded at Leticia. “Miss.”

Leticia opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. Elizabeth’s footman and bodyguard slid a hand underneath Tristan’s back. The other men got into position, lifted him, and carried him so smoothly he appeared to glide up the stairs. Leticia followed them in. Calm and in command, Elizabeth called out orders as she led the way. Servants scurried to obey her. Leticia followed them to a room in the family wing. Inside, they laid him on the bed. Without flinching, Elizabeth unbuttoned his clothing and removed his cravat, still calling commands. Her words faded to meaningless noise in Leticia’s head.

Leticia held back, uncertain what to do. Tristan’s family would care for him. But she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

There must be something she could do. She looked around. A pitcher and bowl sat upon a bureau. Water. She could bathe his face. Her hands shook as she poured the pitcher of water into the bowl. After throwing a linen towel over her arm, she carried the bowl of water to the nightstand and set it down. Using the towel soaked in water, she bathed Tristan’s face. The removal of dirt and caked blood revealed purple bruises and a raised bump surrounding a gaping cut on his forehead. It started bleeding again as she washed it.

While Leticia cleaned his face, Elizabeth felt along his arms and legs, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Leticia moved to the open V of his shirt, trying to overlook dark hair and rounded muscles on his chest.

They finished and sat back, unsure what to do now.

Elizabeth spoke. “I can’t feel any broken bones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. There may be much worse damage that I cannot feel. We’ll know more when the doctor arrives. How long has he been unconscious?”

Leticia shook her head. “Almost an hour, I think.”

Elizabeth looked down at Tristan. “From what I know, the longer he stays out, the worse it is.” She moistened her lips. “We should—” She stopped, breathed, tried again. “We should prepare ourselves…”

“No.” Leticia gripped Tristan’s hand, willing him to open his eyes.

Hushed, Elizabeth said, “I sent word to Richard.”

Leticia gripped Tristan’s unmoving hand with both of hers. Now, with nothing for her to do, the full impact of what had happened settled into her. Over and over, she relived the accident, slower than before, as the other man’s horses stumbled, crashed into Tristan’s curricle, his horses going down, their screams, the shattering of curricles, the crashing noises that rent the air, Tristan flying, falling, landing. Lying still.

She folded in half, resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead in her hands. A sob shook her body. And another. Elizabeth sat next to her and put an arm around her.

If she lost Tristan, she didn’t know what she’d do. How would she ever live without his teasing smile? He’d been her playmate, her dearest friend, her confidant, and of late, her hero.

“Leticia.” Aunt Alice’s voice sounded hollow. “There’s nothing you can do here, child. Come home. I’m sure Lady Averston will send word as soon as they know anything.”

Leticia lifted her head. “No, Aunt, please let me stay here.”

Elizabeth arose. “I’d appreciate her company, if you don’t mind.”

Aunt Alice’s expression softened. “Very well. I’ll have a change of clothing sent over.”