Page 7 of Courting the Country Miss

Flanked by Wynn, Tristan ambled toward the dance floor as the music ended. A laughing Leticia and her partner—a true dandy in a bright yellow and blue brocade waistcoat with a green tailcoat—left the floor. Her partner left Leticia with her mother, bowed, then pinched some snuff as he wound through the crowd.

“You’ve developed a liking for peacocks, I see,” Tristan teased Leticia.

Leticia gave his arm a playful swat. “Mr. Pottinger is a fine dancer and a pleasant conversationalist.”

Green. Her eyes were green—the exact shade of a new leaf in spring, moments after it opens. How could he have missed such an intriguing shade of green all these years?

“Uh huh.” Tristan raised his brows as if he didn’t believe a word of her assessment of the dandy. Which he didn’t. Before Leticia got tempted to do something unladylike such as crack her fan over his head, Tristan turned to Wynn. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. John Wynn. He’s here with his family, including a rather spirited sister, I understand.” He hoped Wynn heard the warning in his voice.

Wynn flashed a debonair smile, but at the last second, his gaze flitted toward Tristan as if he feared Tristan might reveal a secret.

After a last look of challenge, Tristan said, “Mr. Wynn, meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Miss Wentworth.”

“A delight to make your acquaintance, Miss Wentworth.” Wynn bowed low.

Leticia smiled as if she’d found a missing puzzle piece. “Wynn? Oh, yes, I met your sister. Spirited, indeed.”

Wynn wasted no time. “Miss Wentworth, if I may be so bold, will you do me the honor of standing up with me?” He gestured toward the dance floor where dancers lined up for the next set.

“I’d be delighted.” As she placed her hand on Wynn’s proffered arm, she glanced at Tristan as if to say, ‘I know you’ve put him up to this.’

Tristan would take the earliest opportunity to ensure she knew he did not put Wynn up to it and that the scoundrel failed to meet the criteria for a suitable husband, by Leticia’s own list. And his own.

Perhaps this matchmaking business would be a greater challenge than he first supposed.

Chapter Three

The following morning, while seated at the breakfast table, Leticia spread Devonshire cream on her scone as if she were attempting a fine watercolor, and set the knife at the edge of her plate.

“You seem thoughtful today, dearest.” Mama stirred her tea. “Thinking about last night’s ball?”

“I was remembering a discussion I had with Elizabeth—er, Lady Averston,” she corrected out of respect for Mama’s sense of propriety, “regarding our plans to raise money for the school.”

Mama smiled indulgently. “It seems a daunting prospect but so kind to try to uplift the poor in London.”

“Perhaps, but we mean to go forth with our plans.”

“Speaking of plans, we’ve had a change.”

Leticia looked up at the odd tone in her mother’s voice. “A change?”

“About all of us going to London…”

Leticia’s thoughts raced. “I understand, Mama. T’isn’t necessary that I go this Season. This is Isabella’s time to—”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Mama sipped her tea and set down the cup as if she feared she might shatter the china.

Leticia gave Mama her full attention. Mama glanced around, but they were alone in the breakfast room. Few of the other guests had risen yet, and most of the gentlemen had already left for another hunt.

Still, she lowered her voice. “I will be unable to attend as Isabella’s chaperone.”

Leticia blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Mama sighed. “’Tis unexpected, but excellent news. A bit later than I’d hoped…”

“Mama, don’t keep me in suspense. Have out with it.”

“It appears that I am in a…er…rather…delicate condition.”