by Donna Hatch
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course. There are a lot of fine minds out there that don’t have the advantages of education. Reading and mathematics is crucial to any skilled profession. An education will help them better themselves.”
“I mean, is educating other people’s children what you want? Do you aspire to be an old maid?”
She flinched. No, of course she did not, but what choice did she have? She would never love another as she’d loved Richard. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him. That didn’t matter anymore. “I want to make a difference…”
“Getting married and having children won’t make a difference?”
She huffed in exasperation. “I told you, I have no prospects. I’m not likely to find one, nor do I want to try. They would all be compared to the ideal and fall short. And I will never, ever, open up my heart to that kind of pain again.”
He tilted his head. “I wager a hundred guineas I can find you a husband by Christmas.”
She waved her hand. “Pish! You’d lose that wager.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Besides all the reasons I listed, it’d never work because you’d introduce me to your dissipated comrades, and I refuse to marry someone one like that.”
“Someone like me, you mean?” Did she imagine that his smile faded a little?
“You’ve always been a good friend, Tristan. Well, mostly a good friend,” she teased. “But you’d make a terrible husband.”
“I would, I really would. Which is why I’ll never marry. I wouldn’t want to break my wife’s heart. No one deserves that.” His gaze drifted over the night scene, his expression growing solemn.
She squeezed his hand. When did Tristan become so enigmatic?
Her touch seemed to bring him back to their topic. “Very well, I will not introduce you to any of my associates. Tell me what you require in a suitable husband and I will search for him.”
Taken aback, she stared. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. How do you define the perfect husband?”
Amused, she shook her head but decided to play along. Perhaps his search for a good husband for her would do him good. It might, at least, put him in respectable company, which may temper his wildness. “Well, to begin with, he must be capable of monogamy. Contrary to current trends, I refuse to love a man who chases light skirts or keeps a mistress.”
He nodded. “Monogamy. A worthy virtue.”
“A crucial virtue.”
“Point taken. What else?”
“He must be a man of integrity.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less for you.”
“Are you mocking me?” She folded her arms.
“No, ma’am. Agreeing. Monogamy, integrity. Please continue.”
“He must have some means of supporting me. Nothing in excess—a vicar’s salary would be sufficient so long as he can afford to buy essentials such as food and candles.”
“Won’t let you starve or sit in the dark. Sensible.” He smiled.
“Now you are making fun of me.” She unfolded her arms and stepped forward so he might feel the full force of her glare.
“Why is it when I agree with you, you assume I’m mocking you?”
“Because you do it so seldom.”
“Mock you or agree with you?” A grin played around the corners of his eyes.
“Agree with me!” Exasperated, she almost stomped her foot.
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “I vow to agree with you whenever you are right. Pray, continue. Any other virtues you require?”
Her ire faded. She thought for a moment, the silvery tinkling of a fountain breaking the garden’s stillness. “He must be both kind and gentle. No selfish bully who thinks wives should be ignored or kept under his thumb.”
He shivered. “I’d never introduce you to such a boorish brute. So your paragon is faithful, a man of integrity, has a respectable fortune, and is kind-hearted. Is that all?”
“A sense of humor and some wit. He cannot be dull or stone-faced all of the time.”
“Of course not. A lively young lady like you must have someone with whom to converse and remind her not to take herself too seriously.”
She chuckled softly. “Do I take myself too seriously?”
“Perhaps on occasion. So, the wager is, if I fail to find you this paragon in possession of all these fine virtues before Christmas, I will give you a hundred guineas.”
“It won’t happen. First of all, you don’t know anyone who matches that criteria. However, if you’re itching to give me a hundred guineas, I’ll take it in the form of a donation to our school for the poor.”
He grinned. “Done. Now, what remains to be seen is; what will you give me if you lose?”
She thought a moment. “If I saved all my pin money for a decade, I could never come up with a hundred guineas.”
He waved it away. “Not your money. No, it must be something more personal. Hmm….” He stroked his chin, exaggerating his pensiveness. Then he snapped his fingers. “I have it. If you marry a man I find for you before Christmas, you must name your first son Tristan.”
She laughed at his vanity. “Very well.”
She’d never lose this silly wager. After all, who could measure up to Richard? And if she did meet this paragon, he’d never marry her, the daughter of a country gentleman with a paltry dowry.
Nor would she risk her heart to such a risky venture as love.
Chapter Two
Tristan grinned as Leticia tasted her future victory, so certain she’d win. She must have forgotten how tenacious he could be. Or perhaps she thought him incapable of rubbing shoulders with the kind of men who’d make an appropriate husband. But all he’d have to do is arrange to introduce her to some of Richard’s acquaintances. Surely among them, one would make a suitable husband for a prudish lady such as Leticia.
And if not, he’d play dirty and enlist Elizabeth’s help. His sister-in-law would no doubt feel obligated to help the girl who’d once planned to marry Richard. Elizabeth had been a willing participant in that kiss resulting in the challenge that set the rest of the events in motion. No doubt she still nursed some guilt over Leticia’s plight enough to help Tristan’s quest. Although, truth be told, Elizabeth would help him out of the kindness of her heart.
Tristan resisted the urge to rub his hands together, picturing his victory. He’d find Leticia a husband. Then maybe at last he’d stop feeling so confoundedly guilty about the whole sordid affair.
Leticia rubbed her arms and folded them tight.
“Chilled?” he asked.
“A little.”
He removed his superfine tailcoat and placed it around her shoulders. “Let’s return.”
She nodded and they turned, passing a fountain similar to the place where he’d been caught alone with Elizabeth, which had started all the trouble. Leticia stiffened and quickened her steps. Another bolt of guilt shot through Tristan.
Yes, he’d find some way to atone for his crime. Although, Richard so clearly loved Elizabeth, more than he had ever cared for Leticia, that Tristan couldn’t truly regret his actions. Once he found Leticia the love of her life, all would be well. Then he could return to enjoying his bachelorhood without a squirming conscience.
Before they reached the terrace, Leticia returned his tailcoat and stepped inside the ballroom. After donning the coat, Tristan entered, scanning the room for potential husbands for Leticia. More than the house party attended; all the families in the area had also come for the ball, including a few prospects for Leticia. He’d have to give them some thought.
Leticia gave him a knowing smile and moved to her mother. Tristan looked Leticia over with a critical eye. She’d grown from a knobby-kneed, freckle-faced little tag-along into a lovely young lady. Her figure, a bit fuller than strictly fashionable, curved in all the right places. Her brown hair held a touch of red that shone almost auburn in
the ballroom lamplight. Her features were pleasant if not striking, but her expressive eyes had an arresting quality that made men take a second look, eyes the color of…hmmm. What color, exactly, were her eyes?
Frowning, he sifted through memories. Odd that he’d known her all his life and yet couldn’t recall the exact color of her eyes. Lightish, he thought. No matter, he’d look again when next he conversed with her. Still, she had much to offer a man. Her dowry might be a deterrent for some but would prevent fortune hunters from sniffing around her like hungry dogs.
Tristan cast a casual glance about the room and moved in the direction of a group of bachelors in the corner, all holding glasses of brandy. He joined them, greeting the two he knew.
“Rowley, Seton.” He nodded.
Rowley clapped him on the back. “Ahh…Barrett. Good of you to join us. Jolly good hunt today, eh?”
“Yes, indeed.” Tristan accepted a glass from a passing tray. “I thought the hounds would actually climb the tree.”
They chuckled at his poor joke. Tristan sized up the men, searching his memory regarding their worthiness as a potential husband for Leticia.
Rowley gestured at the man Tristan didn’t recognize. “I don’t believe you know Wynn, here.”
“No, I’ve not had that pleasure.”
“Tristan Barrett, meet John Wynn.”
After inclining his head in greeting, Tristan looked Wynn over. Well-heeled, tall, lean. Wearing a knot in his cravat preferred by the Corinthian set and a tasteful evening tailcoat. Nothing unattractive about him. Leticia didn’t say it, of course, but Tristan knew enough about women to know that she wouldn’t want to wake up every morning to a hideous face.
“Yes, I believe I saw you at the hunt this morning,” Tristan said. “Do you live in the area?”
Wynn grinned. “Not when I can help it. Don’t much care for the country, unless there’s a steeple chase or a hunt.”
A pity, that. Leticia preferred the country to the city. “You’ll attend the ball tonight?” Tristan probed.
“Of course. Couldn’t offend the host or hostess, you know.” At Tristan’s searching gaze, he lowered his voice. “Very well, if you must know, my sister threatened to tell my mother about a little indiscretion I had if I didn’t come even out the numbers.”
Ah. Debauched. Wynn was not for Leticia.
Wynn glanced around. “Although, I must say, I’m not sorry I came. Quite a selection of delectables. The one at the head of the line looks promising. What’s her name?”
Tristan looked over his shoulder. He choked. Leticia danced at the head of the line.
“Miss Leticia Wentworth,” supplied Seton, who’d been silent until now. Did he detect a note of longing in the diminutive man’s voice?
“Leticia Wentworth,” Wynn repeated as if testing her name on his tongue. “Care to introduce me to her?”
“She’s not your type,” Tristan snapped. Chuckling at the sudden and unexplained protectiveness surging through him, he softened his voice, grinning. “I mean, she’s a lady. Not a delectable with whom you can dally.” A wicked thought entered his mind. “Her father is the one who made the kill in the hunt today.”
“The crack shot?”
“The very one.” There. That ought to make the rogue think twice about pursuing Leticia.
While Wynn digested Tristan’s information, Seton narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “She’s not your sister, you know, Barrett.”
Taken aback, Tristan raised a hand. “No, of course not. Still, I’ve known her longer than most so I can’t help but feel a bit brotherly toward her.”
A challenging gleam entered Seton’s eyes, his usual mild expression almost fierce. “Still, it isn’t your place to decide who may and may not stand up with her.”
Tristan shrugged. “Never claimed it was. Good heavens, Seton, if you’re mooning over her, go ask her for a set.”
Seton drew himself up to his less than impressive height. “Perhaps I will.”
Wynn brushed an imaginary speck off his sleeve and touched his cravat. “Right after one of you introduce me to her.”
Tristan glared at Wynn before looking away. He shook his head at his own reaction. It wasn’t his place to warn off men unworthy of Leticia. Besides, what harm would there be in a dance? And if men vied for her company at a ball, it might prove to her once and for all that men found her attractive. If nothing else, gentlemen’s attention might get her mind off Richard. It had the added advantage of bringing her to the notice of other, more suitable gentlemen. Men were always interested by women who intrigued other men. Must be the competitive nature of the beast. Or a desire to solve the mystery. Still, if a rogue like Wynn showed too much interest in Leticia, Tristan would warn him off.
Tristan searched for Leticia among the dancers. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed, painting a lovely picture.
“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” Rowley said.
“Perhaps you each should ask her for a set,” Tristan suggested in a nonchalant tone to no one in particular.
Wynn straightened further, Rowley looked thoughtful, and Seton appeared to be bracing himself for battle, gulping and tugging at the hem of his waistcoat.
Wynn glanced back at the others, his gaze resting longest on Tristan. “Deuce take it, lads, I cannot approach her without an introduction.”
“You could ask the hostess,” Tristan suggested.
Wynn looked around. “I don’t see her.”
Tristan growled under his breath. He’d rather introduce Leticia to a bug than to Wynn.
Wynn pinned Tristan with a look. “If you’d be so kind.”
Tristan sighed. “Very well.”
Flanked by Wynn, Tristan ambled toward the dance floor as the music ended. A laughing Leticia and her partner—a true dandy in a bright yellow and blue brocade waistcoat with a green tailcoat—left the floor. Her partner left Leticia with her mother, bowed, then pinched some snuff as he wound through the crowd.
“You’ve developed a liking for peacocks, I see,” Tristan teased Leticia.
Leticia gave his arm a playful swat. “Mr. Pottinger is a fine dancer and a pleasant conversationalist.”
Green. Her eyes were green—the exact shade of a new leaf in spring, moments after it opens. How could he have missed such an intriguing shade of green all these years?
“Uh huh.” Tristan raised his brows as if he didn’t believe a word of her assessment of the dandy. Which he didn’t. Before Leticia got tempted to do something unladylike such as crack her fan over his head, Tristan turned to Wynn. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. John Wynn. He’s here with his family, including a rather spirited sister, I understand.” He hoped Wynn heard the warning in his voice.
Wynn flashed a debonair smile, but at the last second, his gaze flitted toward Tristan as if he feared Tristan might reveal a secret.
After a last look of challenge, Tristan said, “Mr. Wynn, meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Miss Wentworth.”
“A delight to make your acquaintance, Miss Wentworth.” Wynn bowed low.
Leticia smiled as if she’d found a missing puzzle piece. “Wynn? Oh, yes, I met your sister. Spirited, indeed.”
Wynn wasted no time. “Miss Wentworth, if I may be so bold, will you do me the honor of standing up with me?” He gestured toward the dance floor where dancers lined up for the next set.
“I’d be delighted.” As she placed her hand on Wynn’s proffered arm, she glanced at Tristan as if to say, ‘I know you’ve put him up to this.’
Tristan would take the earliest opportunity to ensure she knew he did not put Wynn up to it and that the scoundrel failed to meet the criteria for a suitable husband, by Leticia’s own list. And his own.
Perhaps this matchmaking business would be a greater challenge than he first supposed.
Chapter Three
The following morning, while seated at the breakfast table, Leticia spread Devonshire cream on her scone as if she were attempting a fine wat
ercolor, and set the knife at the edge of her plate.
“You seem thoughtful today, dearest.” Mama stirred her tea. “Thinking about last night’s ball?”
“I was remembering a discussion I had with Elizabeth—er, Lady Averston,” she corrected out of respect for Mama’s sense of propriety, “regarding our plans to raise money for the school.”
Mama smiled indulgently. “It seems a daunting prospect but so kind to try to uplift the poor in London.”
“Perhaps, but we mean to go forth with our plans.”
“Speaking of plans, we’ve had a change.”
Leticia looked up at the odd tone in her mother’s voice. “A change?”
“About all of us going to London…”
Leticia’s thoughts raced. “I understand, Mama. T’isn’t necessary that I go this Season. This is Isabella’s time to—”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Mama sipped her tea and set down the cup as if she feared she might shatter the china.
Leticia gave Mama her full attention. Mama glanced around, but they were alone in the breakfast room. Few of the other guests had risen yet, and most of the gentlemen had already left for another hunt.
Still, she lowered her voice. “I will be unable to attend as Isabella’s chaperone.”
Leticia blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Mama sighed. “’Tis unexpected, but excellent news. A bit later than I’d hoped…”
“Mama, don’t keep me in suspense. Have out with it.”
“It appears that I am in a…er…rather…delicate condition.”
Leticia blinked. Did she mean…
“The doctor has recommended that I not travel any long distances. He allowed this visit because it’s a scant few hours’ drive. Once I return home, he advises that I stay abed for the duration.”
Leticia put her hand on her cheek. “A baby?”
Mama beamed, her eyes shining, and said in an excited whisper, “Isn’t it wonderful? Perhaps I’ll give your father a son, at last. Of course we’d love another daughter, as we love all you girls, but a son…” She stared off into some distant view only she saw.
