Page 98 of Courting the Country Miss

“Not much. Bread and milk in the morning, apples and bread and sometimes cheese at noontime. We found that they are more alert and learn better.”

Tristan nodded. “It’s difficult to concentrate when one is hungry.”

“Exactly!” She smiled.

Tristan always understood. She hugged her music and led the way to the kitchen. Tristan’s presence filled the room. As he strode next to her, again came that fluttering sensation. His bay rum aftershave tickled her senses, familiar, and yet more, as if his unique scent had shifted subtly, from one that reminded her of their long-standing friendship, to a sensation of, well, something entirely uncomfortable. And yet, she wanted to bury her face into his neck and inhale.

All her senses sharpened and focused on him, magnifying his breathing, the rustle of his clothes as he set out food, each shift of his arms and shoulders, the thickness of his lashes, the tumble of his hair over his forehead.

Good gracious. Whatever ailed her?

In the kitchen, while Leticia cut slices of crusty bread and placed them on a plate to take to the classroom, Tristan spread out the contents of the basket, enough to feed four grown men. After she delivered the food, she returned to share her meal with him. He sat across from her, casting occasional glances at her as they ate and chatted of inconsequential topics.

Mrs. Harper entered but stopped short. “Oh, forgive me if I’ve interrupted.”

Tristan stood as if a lady had entered. “Not at all. Please join us.” He indicated a chair at one end of the table. “Does the footman—er, Peter was it?” At her nod, he continued, “Would he like to join us as well?” At Mrs. Harper’s surprise, he added, “We’re in a school kitchen. I’m not one to stand on ceremony.”

The young teacher smiled at him, then turned her head to the doorway. “Peter,” she called. “Do join us. Mr. Barrett has enough to feed a small household.”

Tristan grinned at the teacher in friendliness and a touch of humor—no sign of the rakish flirt. Had he really changed so much that he would not show a trace of interest in the pretty young widow?

The footman appeared. They ate luncheon together, Tristan including all three of them in the conversation as if they were great friends. She watched Tristan, again lost in the admiration of his handsome face. A new maturity had settled over him, making him more handsome and dynamic than ever before. In many ways, he had transformed into the man Leticia had always believed he could be. Of course, this new lifestyle may be temporary as a way of dealing with the accident and the loss of his friend, and nearly the loss of his own life. She should not place too much hope in his behavior becoming permanent.

But oh, if it did…

What? What did that mean for her?

She’d never considered Tristan as anything more than a friend—until lately. No, she would be wise to focus on Lord Bradbury and Captain Kensington as potential husbands. They were steady and reliable.

Yet they did not add the same excitement to her life as Tristan, the same sense of belonging. That sense of belonging probably arose from her lifetime friendship between them—not because of a future as a couple. Didn’t it?

After luncheon, Mrs. Harper returned to the classroom. Peter divided his time between lounging in the back of the classroom, patrolling the exterior, and casting adoring glances at the teacher.

Tristan and Leticia settled in the front parlor in a pair of chairs next to a small pot-bellied stove opposite the pianoforte Lord Bradbury donated. He had proven himself a kind and supportive man. She should not judge him too harshly based on one conversation.

Leticia pulled her shawl more closely around herself. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a bit. Mrs. Harper has a firm schedule. Today, she made some alterations to create time for the dancing lesson, but not until they finish mathematics.”

“There is nothing I would rather do than spend time with you.” That soft smile reappeared, flirty and …affectionate? Yes. Affectionate. He’d been unusually affectionate of late in a way that transcended their usual friendship.

Did her interpretation of his affection arise from the strange, womanly attraction she’d developed for him over the last few weeks?

Footsteps pounded up the front stairs and the front door banged open. “Where is she?” A male voice roared. A bearded man in a coarse coat burst inside, his face purple and his fists held upward on either side of his body. “Molly!”

Leticia and Tristan leaped to their feet, Tristan stepping in front of Leticia protectively.

“Molly, you stupid wench, come! Now!” shouted the man.

Mrs. Harper stepped out of the classroom, her eyes wide. Molly peeked her head outside the doorway, surrounded by other faces.

Leticia drew herself up and stepped around Tristan. “You are interrupting our school, sir. Please leave.”

The man turned his gaze her way. “My girl will ’ave no part of this. Molly! Come ’ere. Now!”

With a whimper, Molly shuffled to him. He cuffed the back of her head. “I tol’ ye to stay away.”

Molly shivered. “I wanna read, Papa.”

Oh, dear. Surely this vile man wasn’t this sweet child’s father?