Page 90 of Courting the Country Miss

“For Mr. Barrett. And show him to a room where he may change. Do what you can for him. I’ll go to my room and change. Send for my maid, please.”

She vanished up the stairs. By the time Tristan had changed into some borrowed, but ill-fitting clothing from a decade ago, and warmed himself by the fire with a cup of tea, Leticia re-emerged. Her aunt and sister accompanied her, thus preventing a continuation of their earlier conversation. Her Aunt Alice chatted, amiable as always, and Isabella contributed, but Tristan said little as he watched Leticia. Though her earlier emotional state vanished, she continued to send occasional long looks his way.

Again, came that suspicion that she’d misread his intentions. Somehow, over the years, she’d made up her mind that he found her unattractive—the reason why he’d never flirted with her.

He’d have to clear up that misunderstanding.

What if he were wrong? If he declared himself to her, he risked rejection.

Still, if she could love him…

He would take that risk.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Leticia sat next to Lord Bradbury in his private box in the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane, and peered through her aunt’s lorgnette at the stage. From the box, the actors appeared healthy and attractive. However, the magnifying lens of the lorgnette revealed the young and handsome hero as a man twice her age wearing garish make up. Still, their comical facial expressions made up-close viewing enjoyable, and the music exceeded anything she heard back home.

Lord Bradbury shifted and draped his arm across the back of Leticia’s chair—not touching her but still too…close. She glanced at her aunt, who murmured something to Isabella. Both kept their focus riveted to the stage.

The murmur of voices from other boxes as well as from below gave evidence of how many came to the theater to see and be seen rather than to enjoy a comedy production. Tuning them out, Leticia returned her focus to the stage and paid attention to their dialogue, laughing at the mishaps, jests, and expressions.

When the curtain fell at intermission, Isabella clasped her hands together. “I’ve never seen a production so grand. What impressive costumes, and the set is glorious! Oh, and when the prima donna sang, I thought I would weep. I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight.”

Glancing behind him at Leticia’s sister, Lord Bradbury let out a low chuckle that bordered on paternal, as if he enjoyed the antics of a child—a rich chuckle, but nowhere near the infectious laugh Tristan often released. “I’m gratified you are enjoying yourself, Miss Isabella.” He turned his focus on Leticia. “And you?”

Leticia toyed with the lorgnette. “It’s very diverting, my lord. I share my sister’s enthusiasm. Although, I admit, I wish the peanut gallery would be quieter so I could hear better.” She indicated those in the pit who created the most noise. The chandeliers filled with candles illuminated them almost as brightly as the stage lights illuminated the actors. She expected Lord Bradbury to laugh at her peanut gallery comment, or rush to their defense that they were not as unfortunate as those who attended plays during Shakespeare’s time and had to stand.

He shrugged. “Many come for pleasures other than to enjoy a theatrical performance.”

Leticia decided to tweak him a bit. “Why do you attend?”

A charming smile touched his lips. “To spend time with you and your delightful family, of course.”

It should have pleased her that he’d taken her to the theater with the express purpose of spending time in her company. Instead, the compliment fell short.

Lord Petre and his mother, the ever-present dowager, stopped by the box. Leticia tried to keep a smile in place despite their rudeness to her in the teashop. Lord Petre’s wife, Lady Petre, always a silent shadow, stood next to her husband who never gave any indication that he noticed her existence. Poor thing.

“Bradbury,” Lord Petre said by way of greeting. “I haven’t seen you here in an age. You, usually rent out the box, eh?”

Bradbury stood in greeting. “Er, no, I let friends borrow it when I don’t attend a production.”

“Oh, of course.” Petre said. “I guess you don’t need blunt, eh?”

Bradbury stiffened. “I derive pleasure from letting others receive enjoyment without quibbling over cost.” He glanced at Leticia. “Forgive me, Miss Wentworth, Miss Isabella, are you acquainted with the Petres?”

She toyed with the idea of giving them the cut, but for Lord Bradbury’s sake, resisted. She smiled at Lord Bradbury, managing more warmth for him than for their visitors.

“Yes, we are. Lord and Lady Petre.” Leticia glanced at the lord’s silent wife who fixed her gaze on the floor. Leticia turned her gaze to the poor creature’s mother-in-law and inclined her head. “My lady.”

Aunt Alice had drawn herself up and stared at the visitors with open distain but they appeared oblivious of her.

“Dear Mrs. Tallier,” the dowager viscountess said with false friendliness. “You are looking well. You must be enjoying showing off your nieces to everyone.”

“Of course.” Aunt Alice gripped her fan with white fingers.

The dowager made a loose gesture to Leticia and Isabella. “I’m sure it must be vastly rewarding to do so since you never had children of your own. Such a pity.”

Aunt Alice’s mouth pinched.