Page 72 of Courting the Country Miss

Tristan cleared his thoughts. “I’ll walk to the mews and have a horse saddled.”

The valet opened his eyes wide in alarm. “Are you sure you should walk that far, sir?”

“I’m well enough for a little stroll, thank you.” He headed for the door but stopped and turned around. “Bentley…”

“Sir?”

“Thank you for your aid during my incapacitation. I’m most grateful.”

“Oh, sir, I would have done more, but your family insisted on caring for you ’round the clock.”

“I appreciate your faithful service. I fear I’ve taken you for granted.”

Bentley bowed. “You are a kind master, sir, and it’s my pleasure to serve you.”

Uncomfortable with all the emotion, Tristan nodded and left. After walking to the mews, which left him surprisingly fatigued, he had to sit down while a groom saddled his favorite riding horse. Once astride, Tristan made his way to Appleton’s family home. After handing the reins to a lad to take care of his horse, he stood on the steps, looking up at the façade, sick with dread and remorse.

He didn’t have to do this. He could leave now and no one would be the wiser. The Appleton family did not expect him. They may not welcome his visit. Would he meet with blame? Hostility? Undiluted grief?

He must do this. He owed it to the Appleton family.

Tristan sucked in a ragged breath and wiped the perspiration off his brow. It was like marching to a firing squad. With another deep breath, he strode up the steps, tugged firmly on the brass knocker, and let it fall.

A butler opened the door, took one look at Tristan’s obviously battered face and blinked. Understandable. Tristan looked like he’d gone twenty rounds with the champ in fisticuffs.

The butler glanced down at Tristan’s attire and opened the door a little wider. “May I help you, sir?”

Tristan handed him his card. “I’m Tristan Barrett—a friend of Ronald Appleton. I was in the accident with him.” His voice failed him. He cleared his throat. “I wish to convey my condolences to the family.”

The butler opened the door wider. “Come in, Mr. Barrett. I’ll inquire if the family is receiving.”

Black cloth covered all the pictures, and a pall hung in the air. As Tristan waited nervously in the foyer, he brushed an imaginary speck off his sleeve and resisted the urge to adjust his perfectly tied cravat.

Footsteps neared. “This way, Mr. Barrett.”

Tristan steeled himself and followed the butler into a front parlor. Inside, a gentleman stood, dressed head to toe in severe black. He bore a striking resemblance to Appleton but with silver hair and a little extra thickness around the middle. He eyed Tristan, making careful note of every inch of him.

Tristan swallowed against a dry mouth, half expecting the man to pull out a gun and start shooting.

The gentleman spoke. “You were in the accident with my son, Mr. Barrett?”

“Yes, sir. I came to express my deepest regrets. And my condolences.” A bead of perspiration ran down his back and he fisted trembling hands.

The man continued to take measure of him. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Tristan tried to fill the silence. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

Finally, the senior Mr. Appleton spoke. “Please sit.” He gestured to a settee. “I understand you nearly lost your life, as well.”

“I still don’t know how I survived.” Tristan looked the father in the eye. “I am so sorry about your son, sir. Truly I am.”

Mr. Appleton met his gaze, his expression blank. “Did you challenge him?”

Tristan let out his breath in exasperation. “I don’t remember that day or the events leading up to it at all.”

“I see.”

“In fact, I don’t remember him having a new equipage and team. He used to say when he got a good carriage and cattle that he’d put an end to my winning record, but I do not know if I challenged him or he challenged me. Regardless, I should not have raced him. He was inexperienced. I should have known better.” Tristan resisted the urge to sink his head into his hands, and instead remained sitting upright.