Page 60 of Courting the Country Miss

His words hit Leticia like a blow to her stomach and her knees buckled. She felt her way to a chair and fell onto it.

The doctor continued his horrifying prognosis. “If he does awake, he’ll be in severe pain and very disoriented. He may not remember the accident or other events—even people. The effects may last a matter of days…or be permanent. These things are difficult to predict. I’ll come back tomorrow to check on him.” The doctor left.

Richard, pale and grim, turned around. He spoke in flat, unemotional tones. “I should send word to Selina.”

“I’ll do it,” Elizabeth offered. She tugged on Leticia’s hand. “I’ll show you where you can clean up.”

Numb, Leticia followed her friend to a room and let a maid undress her and guide her to a bath. After redressing in the comfortable gown Aunt Alice sent, Leticia returned to Tristan’s room. She pushed the door open, her attention fixed on the figure in the bed. He lay on his other side, propped up by pillows, a bandage wrapped around his head the same whiteness as his pallid skin.

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Tristan. It’s time to wake up now.”

She laid a hand on his cheek, careful not to touch any bruises or cuts. Numb, she sat motionless with her hand on his cheek. He lay as if lifeless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Outside, the sun sank and darkness enshrouded the room, emptying it of color. A pall fell over the city.

Elizabeth came in and sat next to her. Putting an arm around her, she rested her head on Leticia’s shoulder. “I sent a tray to your room.”

“Thank you.” Leticia’s voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, someone without hope.

“Shall I bring it to you here?”

Leticia shook her head, too weary to reply.

“Don’t say good bye yet,” Elizabeth said. “Richard refuses to send for the bishop to give him Last Rites. Tristan may yet pull through.”

Helpless anger roared inside. Shaking with fury, Leticia leaped to her feet. “Of course he’s going to pull through. He’s going to be fine. He’s not going to die. He’s not.”

Elizabeth held up her hands and spoke to her as if she were talking to a skittish mare. “I know, Tish, I know. I hope and pray he’ll be whole and well.”

“Don’t call me that. Tristan calls me Tish. Richard called me Tish. You don’t call me Tish.” Unable to look at the naked hurt on Elizabeth’s face, Leticia whirled around and fled the room. At the end of the corridor, she ran into Richard so hard that she staggered backward. Wearing nothing more than his shirtsleeves and breeches, he steadied her.

She shrank from him. He was someone else’s husband. She oughtn’t see him in such a state of undress. A small part of her registered that the sight of him stirred nothing in her heart but a sense of familiarity.

“Tish?” He reached for her again, that almost constant look of apology in his expression, the same one that had been there ever since he found himself engaged to be married to Elizabeth returned in his eyes.

His pity raised her ire. She stepped back. “Stop. Don’t touch me.”

His hand fell away. “Forgive me.”

“I don’t love you,” she blurted out. “You can stop looking at me with pity and apology. I’m quite well.”

In a quiet voice, he said, “I know.”

“Lord Bradbury has been courting me. And Captain Kensington—both fine men.”

“Yes, I heard, and yes, they are.”

That melancholy compassion remained in his expression, his tone. She fisted her hands. “Lord Bradbury is much like you, but that is not why I have a preference for him.”

Serious and intense, but now less apologetic, he nodded. “I am gratified to hear that.”

She said nothing further.

He waited.

What had she hoped he’d say? She turned away as shame sank into her that she’d felt a need to make that point. Knowing he watched her, she marched back to Tristan’s room with her back ramrod straight and her chin high. Yet, she’d spoken honestly. Every word rang of absolute truth.

Inside Tristan’s room, she found Elizabeth rocking back and forth, sobbing.

Cold horror blasted through her. “No!”