Page 73 of Courting the Country Miss

The other man let out an uneven breath. “He loved to race. He once said he felt most alive then. He usually steeple chased. I had no idea he had ambitions for racing curricles, but it doesn’t surprise me. He was always looking for a new challenge, something new to conquer.”

“I shouldn’t have let him race in a new curricle. I don’t know what I was thinking…” Tristan cleared his throat. “I vow, if there were any way I could go back to that day and do it over…”

Mr. Appleton nodded. “I’m sure you do.”

They sat in awkward silence until Tristan spoke again. “I didn’t mean to intrude, sir. I wanted to tell you that your son was a good friend and…I’m sorry.” His throat thickened, and his voice shook. He stood to leave.

Mr. Appleton stood with him and took a step closer. “I don’t blame you, not really. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. And from what witnesses told me, he lost control and ran into you.”

Tristan nodded. “So they say.”

“A piece of advice, young man; let go of the blame and live.”

Let go of the blame and live. Could he?

“Thank you, sir…” Tristan’s voice trailed off as emotion closed over his throat.

They shook hands, Tristan blinking back tears, and he left the Appleton home.

Let go of the blame and live.

Yes. That’s exactly what he would do—live. Live the way he should. He paused halfway down the steps. With a final, long breath, he released the guilt and self-loathing and set off to become a brother worthy of Richard’s good name. And Leticia’s paragon.

Chapter Twenty-One

Flattening herself against the wall outside the door so as not to be too visible, Leticia peeked into the classroom of the charity school. Mrs. Harper’s voice rang out with calm authority as she taught the alphabet to a classroom of seven children, and one girl in her teens, while the pot-bellied stove warmed the room. The girl from Mrs. Goodfellow’s organization who’d asked to be taught her letters sat at the back of the classroom, gazing at the teacher as if she’d never seen anything so wondrous. Next to the letter A on the chalkboard, Mrs. Harper drew a picture of an apple and an angel with wings and a halo. Her artistic skills and unconventional approach had the children enraptured. Smiling, Leticia tiptoed away so as not to disturb them.

In her office near the foyer, Leticia sat at a desk. She glanced about, remembering Tristan moving furniture with confidence and strength and cheer. She sighed happily and went over the latest figures from the solicitor. She nodded in satisfaction. They still had their year’s worth of cushion, so they had plenty of time to garner more pledges before they’d need money again.

The door swung open and footsteps crossed the wood floor. Curious, she arose and went out into the foyer.

Tristan stood there, looking around as if he’d never seen the place. Crossing the room to him, she frowned. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be abed?”

He grinned, despite his drawn and pale face. “The doctor said as soon as the pain in my head passed and my vision cleared that I could get up.”

“You’ve been up too much today; you look like you’re about to swoon.”

“I never swoon.” His outrage came out fainter than he intended.

She took his hand and gave it a tug. “Come sit.”

“Weren’t the walls red?”

She almost laughed until she realized he was in earnest. “No.”

“I remember them being red.”

Leticia eyed him in concern. She led him to the nearest chair and tugged on his hand until he sat. From a nearby tea service, she poured him a cup of tea and added two lumps of sugar the way he liked it. “No, we had them whitewashed before the furniture arrived, but they were unpainted before.”

He frowned. “Huh.” He sipped the tea.

She waited to see if the color came back into his face. “How do you feel?” She resisted the urge to touch his face.

“Better.” He finished the tea and set down the cup. “Where did you find that doctor? He seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Lord Bradbury recommended him. He practices in the country but comes frequently to London to help children in an orphanage. We’re lucky he came to town.”

“Bradbury.” Why did his tone sound more like a grumble?