Page 78 of Courting the Country Miss

She smiled and all seemed right with the world. If only that smile could greet him every morning and be the last thing he’d see at night.

She approached him. “Are you sure you’re well?”

He grinned and took her hand. “Never better. It’s a sunny day. Come enjoy it with me. We could ride to the park. Go on the balloon, if you so desire.”

“The gas balloon?”

“Have you ever done it?”

She faltered, cast a glance in the direction of her sister and aunt. “No, but I can’t today.”

“No? You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?” he teased.

“I can’t go today. I…already have plans.”

“Oh? It’s too late for shopping. What are these plans?” He gave her his most charming smile.

She hesitated again. “I’m going riding with Captain Kensington.”

He deflated. Kensington. Curse the man. He had claimed no interest in marriage, so why take Leticia riding?

Tristan mustered on and collected his smile. “No matter. How about the theater tomorrow? Richard and Elizabeth will be there, too. You are all welcome.” He spread his arms to encompass the other two ladies.

A pained expression overcame Leticia. “We are already going with Lord Bradbury.”

He swallowed. His brilliant plan to find her a respectable husband appeared to be paying off…too well.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I can go with you Friday afternoon, if you wish.”

He clawed at his composure and summoned a savoir faire expression. “Of course, Tish. No matter. The weather may dictate our actions. If the weather is clear again, we shall brave the gas balloon. If not, perhaps…” he had no clear social calendar and could think of nothing to suggest.

“I have yet to view the Parthenon Sculptures,” she suggested.

He raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you were a connoisseur of art.”

“Not necessarily, but I do enjoy seeing items of historical interest and taking in sights unique to London.”

“Your wish is my command, fair lady. We shall view the marble sculptures at the British Museum.” He released her hand, stepped back, and made a low, flourishing bow. Turning to Leticia’s aunt and sister, he bade them all good day and left.

Outside, Tristan let out a huff. So much for his plan. At least he had Friday. He toyed with the idea of joining Palmer and his other friends at the White Stag and drinking away his cares. The lure of mind-numbing drink and laughing with his old friends called to him like a siren’s song.

That would put him back on that same path leading to the same dead end where he’d wallowed far too long. People counted on him. Cared about him. He had a reason to live—not exist for the next mindless pleasure.

Taking advantage of the clear, cloudless day, he walked, not paying attention to his direction as he scrambled to find his own place in the world. Richard had always known his place; as a child, he’d been groomed to be the next earl and he excelled at his duties. When they were younger, Richard had taught Tristan some matters of estate as a side-thought in the unlikely event something happened to Richard, but Tristan had never paid much attention to the instruction, instead studying literature and poetry for his own enjoyment. He got his degree at Cambridge almost by accident.

But now, now he wanted—needed—more. An identity. A purpose. Perhaps he could help Richard by taking over the management of one or two of the properties. It would have the dual purpose of lightening Richard’s heavy load so he could focus on his wife. Helping Richard could be a gesture of gratitude for all the years that he’d watched over Tristan, and it might help in Tristan’s search for his own purpose.

He sent a note to Richard, asking to meet him outside of Parliament tomorrow after the next session. Richard’s reply came promptly.

The following afternoon, he dressed in fashionable yet understated clothing and set out for Parliament. Outside, he gazed up at the timeless structure that had helped shape British history and law. To be a part of that felt a sobering responsibility.

Members of Parliament left the building in small groups and Tristan wandered up the long sidewalk to the front steps, staring like a gawking child at the graceful spires pointing heavenward. He felt small. Yet, to be connected with something that grand, that important appealed to him.

Richard strode down the steps between the Duke of Suttenberg and Lord Bradbury, their expressions light. Richard’s laugh rang out and he shook his head. Tristan grinned at the contagious sound. Since his marriage, Richard smiled and laughed more often. He gave all the credit to Elizabeth.

The moment Richard caught sight of Tristan, his posture changed—not tense, but…what? Wary? Expectant?

“Tristan,” he called. “Come to White’s?”