Courting the Country Miss

by Donna Hatch

  Richard’s chest puffed in obvious pleasure that his bride had fetched such a handsome sum from another gentleman. Tristan grinned. Elizabeth had thought herself plain next to her beautiful sister; perhaps the bid tonight would help dispel that belief.

  When Isabella stood, several young bucks bid, each growing more and more reckless. Three hundred pounds also won the supper dance with Isabella. Tristan craned his neck until he spotted the winning bidder, a friend of Richard’s known as a kindly, respectable gentleman. Tristan could trust him not to take advantage of the sweet young lady. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief. Next to him, a young man muttered as he watched Isabella take the man’s hand and stand next to the winner until the bidding ended.

  Lady Tarrington stood, wife of the Earl of Tarrington. The bidding heated as men vied for the attention of the lady whose beauty had not diminished with age. Her husband won her bid, paying nearly as much for Lady Tarrington as Elizabeth’s bid had fetched.

  Leticia stood. Tristan’s stomach tightened. Wearing a stunning gown of ivory trimmed in leaf-green, almost the shade of her eyes, she smiled out at the crowd but he recognized that nervous pull to her mouth. Surely she didn’t fear she would fail to bring a high bid, did she? He must make an effort to compliment her more. Without the near kiss, of course.

  She would bring the most money of all, if he had to pay it himself.

  “Twenty pounds,” he said at the exact same time as another voice. He glanced around to locate the other voice.

  “Thirty,” called someone else.

  “Fifty,” bid a third.

  Unexplainably annoyed and unable to locate the other voices calling out, Tristan shouted, “Two hundred pounds.”

  A brief silence followed his jump in the bidding.

  “Two hundred fifty.” Ah. Kensington. Good man to keep his word to help to drive up the bids.

  “Three hundred.” Lord Bradbury.

  Tristan glared at the back of the lord’s head. “Three hundred twenty-five.”

  Bradbury stood. “Four hundred.” His focus fixed upon Leticia who looked stunned.

  A collective gasp arose.

  “Why, she’s not that beautiful,” a woman whispered to another behind her fan.

  “Someone must love her,” said her companion in reply.

  “Or be trying to woo her.”

  Tristan would not be outdone by the smooth Bradbury. He fisted his hands. “Four hundred twenty-five.”

  “Five hundred pounds.” Lord Bradbury’s voice rang out.

  Tristan growled. Five hundred pounds? How dare that encroacher step in Tristan’s territory! As he opened his mouth to bid higher, he caught himself. What had gotten into him? He wanted Leticia to spend time with Bradbury. Tristan had picked out the lord for her because he matched all of Leticia’s criteria. Bradbury was perfect for Leticia.

  So why did his hackles raise at the thought of that man waltzing in—literally—and having supper with his Tish? Tristan laughed to himself and unfisted his hands. He had no designs on Leticia, and no urge to dig that deep into his pockets.

  Richard glanced at Tristan to see if he would bid again, but Tristan made a wave of surrender.

  Richard grinned, a regular occurrence since his marriage to Elizabeth. “Lord Bradbury, for the modest sum of five hundred pounds, you have won the supper dance with the incomparable Miss Wentworth.”

  Laughter and applause rang out. A few more ladies stood, received bids, then Mrs. Hunter arose and lifted her chin.

  Tristan gaped. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Wearing a scandalously low-cut gown of icy blue silk, Mrs. Hunter stood looking out over the crowd. Her eyes met his boldly, daring him to bid.

  The bids flew then, and Tristan called out a few, so as not to hurt her feelings, but her bid reached well over three hundred pounds. Mr. Wynn came in as the highest bidder. She smiled and took his hand, avoiding Tristan’s gaze. Wynn grinned like the rake he was and in a scandalous move, kissed her hand, clearly hoping he’d won more favors than a dance and supper. She gave Wynn the same come-hither smile she’d used on Tristan a few weeks ago.

  Tristan had probably ruined all his chances of ever taking the beautiful temptress as a lover. The thought should have bothered him—it had been too long since he’d had a woman in his arms. Instead, he felt as if he’d dodged a bullet.

  The bidding ended and Tristan glanced about seeking Leticia. There. Next to Bradbury. She lit up all of London with her smile, no doubt delighted her evening had been such a successful venture. He couldn’t blame her for being happy; she’d created a heated bidding war. Surely her delight had nothing to do with being won by Lord Bradbury. Surely.

  Shaking his head over his own reaction, Tristan laughed it off. If all progressed as it appeared to be, Leticia would be as disgustingly happily married to Lord Bradbury as Richard and Elizabeth. Then Tristan’s troubles would all be over. He’d be free to pursue whatever, or whomever, he wished. He’d be free.

  Free and alone.

  As the music began, Tristan moved off the dance floor while the winning bidders and their partners began the waltz. Leticia’s face glowed as she laughed at something Lord Bradbury said.

  Tristan had the sudden urge to plant a fist in the center of Bradbury’s nose.

  Kensington ambled over to Tristan. “A good bluff, Barrett. You took quite a chance, though.”

  Shaking off his irritation, Tristan raised a brow at Kensington. “Chance?”

  “If Bradbury hadn’t come through, you would’ve paid a pretty price for a dance with Miss Wentworth.”

  Tristan shrugged. “Ah, well, good cause and all that rot.”

  “You played the part of the outraged suitor.”

  “All part of the act, old man.”

  “You should take to the stage.”

  Tristan eyed him but Kensington wore a mild expression.

  “You played your part well, too,” Tristan said.

  “As you said, a good cause. Since I didn’t win the hand of a fair maid for the supper dance, I shall have to make my donation in private.”

  “Good of you.”

  “She is pretty.”

  Tristan followed his line of sight. Leticia waltzed by in the arms of Bradbury, blast the man.

  Wait. Kensington admired Leticia now, too? “What about your being uninterested in marrying?”

  Kensington’s mouth quirked. “Not saying anything about marrying—merely that she’s a pretty lady. She has the kind of quiet beauty that grows on a man, like a flower opening up from a bud into a vibrant blossom.”

  Oh, so now Kensington waxed poetic? Perhaps Kensington’s nose ought to be rearranged as well.

  Kensington seemed to come back to himself. “How is your sister? Selina, isn’t it?”

  “She’s well.”

  “Italy, right?”

  “Last I heard. She’s been to France and Greece, too. She is supposed to come home this summer but her last letter indicated no interest in returning.”

  The waltz ended and they went into supper. Tristan kept quiet and consumed enough food to impress a horse. After a few minutes, he realized his rudeness to those sitting near him, so he donned his famous charm like a suit of armor and flirted with all the females within earshot.

  Wynn and Mrs. Hunter appeared to enjoy each other’s company, as did Leticia and Lord Bradbury, blast him. Tristan made a renewed effort to avoid the couple and focus on the ladies he presently slayed with his wit and charm, not to mention his dangerous good looks, of course.

  After dinner, Tristan sauntered along the terrace to take in some air. Mr. Seton stood looking out over the gardens lit with Chinese lanterns. Tristan wandered over to him and offered the quiet man a smile. The cold air turned their breath to puffs of smoke.

  Tristan tilted his head at Seton. “How are you enjoying London this Season?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Odd weather we’ve been having, eh?”

  “Yes. Nice enough for our day at
Vauxhall, though.” Seton took a pinch of snuff.

  “Good thing my petition to the weather god wasn’t in vain.”

  Mr. Seton gave a start. “What?”

  “A poor jest. Glad to hear you enjoyed it.” Tristan clapped the diminutive man on the shoulder.

  “I did. Thank you for including me.”

  They made small talk over the next few minutes until the conversation turned to people they knew.

  Tristan saw his chance. “Say, what do you know about Lord Bradbury?”

  “Lord Bradbury? I admit I don’t know him well.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  Mr. Seton looked thoughtful. “He thinks before he speaks. He’s even tempered. Genuine.”

  “The type the ladies would like.”

  Seton nodded. “My sister admires him.”

  “Any public affairs?”

  “None that I know of. I see him at soirees or the opera on occasion, often with a different lady, and all of them respectable.”

  “He never consorts with actresses or opera singers? No mistresses?”

  “I haven’t heard that of him. Why?”

  Tristan shrugged. “He seems to have taken an interest in my friend Leticia. I don’t want him to break her heart.”

  “I noticed that. At Vauxhall.” He let out a sigh and stared down at his drink. “And tonight.”

  Tristan winced. He’d forgotten Seton had feelings for Leticia or he wouldn’t have brought up the topic of Bradbury.

  “Lord Bradbury isn’t the type to break hearts,” Seton added. “He is every bit as honorable as your brother; he’d never show interest in a lady and then walk away.” Seton sounded unhappy rather than admiring. He let out another sigh. “I suppose I never had a chance with her anyway.”

  Tristan nudged him. “Come, let us get a drink. I’ll bet you a guinea Mr. Wynn loses at cards tonight.” He pointed his chin toward the game table visible through a window.

  Seton shook his head, declining the bet. “Wynn always loses. You’d think he’d learn how to bluff.”

  Tristan grinned and mulled over what Richard and Seton had said about Bradbury. They both seemed to think the young lord worthy of Leticia. From what Tristan observed of him while they were at Vauxhall, they were right. Bradbury had behaved with upmost propriety without a trace of rakishness or recklessness. He’d be a perfect husband for Leticia.

  The thought didn’t quite ring of victory.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Leticia stood next to Elizabeth staring up at the ramshackle building that would soon become a school. “Are you sure it won’t fall down around us?”

  Elizabeth stared up doubtfully. “The agent said it’s in good repair. The roof is new. And the improvements we are making are going well.”

  “Let’s go inside.”

  They pushed opened the door. Inside, their solicitor stood examining the ceiling. The main hall echoed with their footsteps as they crossed the room.

  The older man greeted them. “It’s taking shape. The furniture will begin arriving tomorrow and the books and slates should be here any time.”

  “You’ve done a wonderful job,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know where we’d be without you. And the teachers?” She turned to Leticia.

  Leticia nodded. “I’ve been corresponding with the applicants. There are three I’m going to interview this afternoon. Are you able to attend?”

  “Of course, but I trust your judgment.”

  “I hope one of them will be suitable,” Leticia said. “The applicants all seemed to have a proper education.”

  The solicitor interjected. “Are they aware of the wages we can offer?”

  “The three I’m interviewing today are.”

  “We hope to garner more supporters, then we can give the teacher a raise if she works out.” He made a gesture to the rest of the school. “Come, let me show you around.”

  They toured the kitchen. A broken-down table stood in the middle of the room with four rickety wooden chairs but the stove looked capable enough. A small room off the kitchen could board the kitchen help, if the need arose, and one of the rooms upstairs would board the teacher. Perhaps in time, they could house a few children, as well, as a type of charity boarding school. A large room near the main door could provide a place for the children to gather after their studies.

  “This would be the perfect room for dancing.” Elizabeth fell into a waltz pattern.

  “Dancing would aid them in finding future spouses, since even among working classes, social activities involve dances,” Leticia agreed. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could bring in a piano to accompany them, and perhaps teach some of them to play?”

  The solicitor coughed into his fist. “I doubt teaching penniless orphans to play the piano would help them find employment.”

  “A piano to provide music so they could learn to dance would be nice.” Elizabeth cast a guilty glance at the solicitor.

  The man adjusted his spectacles. “I suggest you focus on the basis of reading and mathematics first before you consider things like dancing and music.”

  “We will. For now.” Leticia and Elizabeth smiled like a pair of naughty children in perfect accord with their plans.

  They completed the tour, discussing where to place the furniture. Leticia frowned at the small hearth in the schoolroom. “I doubt this will provide adequate heat. Do you think we could squeeze the cost of a second stove out of our budget?”

  The solicitor frowned and made calculations. “I believe so, especially if we can find a used one. That would leave us with barely enough funding to keep the school open for a single year, and I don’t recommend having less than a year’s cushion for expenses.”

  Leticia imagined little fingers too cold to hold their slates and pencils. “At least they’d be learning. And we may yet receive more pledges.”

  The solicitor nodded and turned to leave. “Shall I remain here while you conduct your interviews?”

  “No, don’t bother.” Leticia waved her hand. “Two of Lady Averston’s footmen are here if we need anything.”

  “In fact, if you’d be so kind as to send one of them in on your way out,” Elizabeth added.

  He nodded, bowed, and took his leave.

  One of Elizabeth’s footmen came in. “My lady?”

  “Oh, Cooper, do light a fire for us, please.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  The former-thief-turned-footman, thanks to Mrs. Goodfellow’s agency and Elizabeth’s dogged belief in the man, worked a tinderbox. As he leaned forward, Leticia caught sight of a pistol tucked into his breeches. A pistol? She caught Elizabeth’s eye and nodded toward the firearm in an unspoken question.

  Elizabeth smiled down at the man. “Cooper always carries a gun when he leaves the house with me.”

  Cooper grunted. “Can’t be too careful. Spec’ly after th’ trouble las’ year.”

  Leticia nodded, picturing the burly servant helping Tristan and Captain Kensington rescue Richard from the terrible men who’d captured him. No doubt his caution sprang from a loyalty to his mistress who had given him a second chance, in addition to the scare they’d had when Elizabeth had nearly been captured as well. But then, Elizabeth’s gentle nature inspired devotion from everyone who knew her, both servant and lord.

  Cooper blew on a flicker in the hearth. A moment later, a flame crackled. A humble knock sounded at the door in the other room and Cooper hurried to open it. A girl barely out of the schoolroom entered and stood in the threshold. Golden-blonde hair peeked out of her limp bonnet and eyes as blue as a china doll’s stared at them through a thin face. Her threadbare pelisse hung from her body. Leticia wanted to hire her to save her from starvation. The young woman gripped a ragged valise as if it contained all her possessions.

  She curtsied and spoke in cultured tones at odds with her appearance. “Ma’am. I’m Matilda Harper—Mrs. Harper.”

  Leticia motioned her in. “I’m Miss Wentworth and this
is Lady Averston. Do come in.”

  They sat on the hard wooden chairs and Leticia began. “In your letter, you mentioned you were a governess?”

  “Yes, ma’am. After my husband died in the war, I worked as a governess. I have no children,” she hastened to explain as if fearing having children would render her unsuitable.

  “Have you references with you?” Elizabeth asked.

  Young Mrs. Harper paled. “No, ma’am. I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “None at all?”

  Mrs. Harper wrung her hands. “I left under…unfavorable circumstances.”

  “You were dismissed?” Leticia asked.

  “No, ma’am—I left.” She swallowed and kept her gaze on the floor.

  “You left without giving notice?” Leticia exchanged looks with Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth leaned forward and eyed the girl. Two bright spots appeared on the girl’s cheeks and her shoulders fell.

  “Mrs. Harper.” Elizabeth’s voice gentled. “Did you leave because you were handled roughly?”

  The girl’s mouth pressed together and her chin started quivering.

  Anger roiled up inside Leticia. “Your employer took advantage of you?”

  Mrs. Harper snuck a look up. “I rebuffed him. Over time, he grew so forceful that I felt I had no choice but to run.”

  Elizabeth clenched her hands in her lap. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

  “No, ma’am. I have no family.”

  “We can offer you a room in which to sleep, rent-free, until we’ve made a decision.”

  The girl looked up, hopeful. “Here?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said. “I wouldn’t want you to stay here alone; our caretaker has not arrived yet. You’ll come home with me. We aren’t promising you a position yet; we have other applicants to interview, but I vow you won’t sleep in the streets.”

  Leticia almost hugged Elizabeth. Fortunately, Richard owned many lucrative estates and investments, or he’d never be able to feed all the lost waifs his wife kept bringing home.