by Donna Hatch
The door swung open and footsteps crossed the wood floor. Curious, she arose and went out into the foyer.
Tristan stood there, looking around as if he’d never seen the place. Crossing the room to him, she frowned. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be abed?”
He grinned, despite his drawn and pale face. “The doctor said as soon as the pain in my head passed and my vision cleared that I could get up.”
“You’ve been up too much today; you look like you’re about to swoon.”
“I never swoon.” His outrage came out fainter than he intended.
She took his hand and gave it a tug. “Come sit.”
“Weren’t the walls red?”
She almost laughed until she realized he was in earnest. “No.”
“I remember them being red.”
Leticia eyed him in concern. She led him to the nearest chair and tugged on his hand until he sat. From a nearby tea service, she poured him a cup of tea and added two lumps of sugar the way he liked it. “No, we had them whitewashed before the furniture arrived, but they were unpainted before.”
He frowned. “Huh.” He sipped the tea.
She waited to see if the color came back into his face. “How do you feel?” She resisted the urge to touch his face.
“Better.” He finished the tea and set down the cup. “Where did you find that doctor? He seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Lord Bradbury recommended him. He practices in the country but comes frequently to London to help children in an orphanage. We’re lucky he came to town.”
“Bradbury.” Why did his tone sound more like a grumble?
“Before Dr. St. Ives came, your head wounds were festering and you were burning up with fever. He cleaned out the sickness and applied herbs to the wounds.”
“I’m indebted to Bradbury, then.” His expression slumped.
“Well, yes, I suppose in a way since he sent Dr. St. Ives who, as I understand, was a doctor in the war but where he learned about herbs, I can’t imagine.”
Tristan hunched over and rested his head in his hands.
Leticia studied him. “Why have you come today?”
“I…” He paused. “I went to see Appleton’s family today, to pay my respects.”
Oh, poor Tristan! What a kind and thoughtful—not to mention courageous—gesture to make to the family. She put a hand on his arm. “That must have been difficult.”
He let out a long exhale. “His father forgave me. He told me to stop feeling guilty. I didn’t expect that.”
Leticia kneeled in front of him. “He’s right. Stop punishing yourself. You didn’t cause the accident.”
He nodded, his head still in his hands. A lock of dark hair tumbled over his brow, so much like the Tristan of her youth.
“Are you in pain?” She brushed his hair back away from his face and admired the way his curls caressed her fingers.
“My head hurts a little.” His gaze moved to a vase of flowers Lord Bradbury had sent her, his card nestled among the blooms. Pain flitted over his expression but he cast it off with a lazy smile. “So, you and Bradbury?”
She looked down. Why did discussing Lord Bradbury with Tristan feel so awkward? She’d never had trouble sharing her thoughts with him before. Since they’d kissed, everything changed. The mere mention of Lord Bradbury to Tristan resonated like an insult or a betrayal…to Tristan. But that made no sense. Tristan was not, could not, be a suitor. He would never settle down, much less be constant to any one woman.
Tristan waited, watching her.
Leticia shrugged. “He has called upon me. I have no true expectations at this point.” Marrying Lord Bradbury seemed a glamorous dream, but empty of true meaning, or joy.
She shook herself. He was perfect. She should be enthusiastic at the idea, not wishing he made her feel the way Tristan did. She should cast off these unfair comparisons. She knew Tristan. Lord Bradbury represented a mystery. That had to be the explanation for her conflicted loyalty.
“He seems to fit your criteria.” Tristan stared out the window.
“Yes, he does.”
His eyes narrowed, but when he returned his gaze to her, something akin to urgency entered his expression. “Don’t rush into promising yourself to him, Tish.”
His words took her aback. “I won’t.”
“I mean it. I know he seems a good match, and he’s a lord, but you have time and you have plenty of other prospects.”
“Captain Kensington, you mean?”
He winced. “And others. Please don’t hurry into accepting him because you think he’s your one chance.”
She took his hand and held it as warmth and friendship and something unexpected came over her. “I promise I won’t rush into anything.” She smiled. “I know you’re against the institution of marriage, but I seem to recall you encouraging me to find a husband.”
“I’m not against marriage. I…I might do it…someday.”
“Really?” she drawled. “You? I don’t believe it.”
He looked away. “Do you have any idea how it feels to believe you’ll be alone for all of your life?”
At his tone and expression, her teasing mood evaporated. She whispered, “Yes. I do.”
He put a hand over hers. In a hushed voice, he said, “I don’t want that for you.”
“I don’t want that for you either.”
He met her gaze. A new intensity she’d never seen in him overtook his features. “I know you think I’m a wastrel, Tish, but I—”
She put a finger over his lips. “Shhh. I think you’re a good man who’s a little lost.”
His eyes shifted back and forth as if searching for something. “I don’t think I’m lost anymore. I know what I want; I want my life to count for something, to have meaning.”
She smiled. Perhaps he truly walked the path to finding himself, after all. “I know you do.”
“Have faith in me, Tish.”
“I always have.”
The color drained out of his face and he slumped over again.
She put a hand on his back. “Come. Let’s get you back home.”
He lifted his head. “I wanted to see the school now that it’s open.”
“Another day. Did you come in a hackney?”
“My horse is outside.”
With his pallid skin and wilting posture, he didn’t look strong enough to ride a horse. “Wait here.” She found the school caretaker and asked him to hail a hackney. When she returned to Tristan, he had nearly folded in half. “Come, there’s a hackney outside.”
He didn’t resist as she helped him stand and put an arm around her. She snatched up her pelisse and reticule on the way out. Outside, she instructed the boy tending his horse to tie it to the back of the hackney. Though she ought to put Tristan inside and send him off alone, Leticia climbed in with him. Surely no one would know if she had taken a short ride in a closed carriage with him. Besides, this was Tristan; he was like a brother to her.
Tristan gave his direction to the jarvey and then leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed and his mouth drawn in pain.
Leticia pursed her lips. “You overdid it. You need to pace yourself.”
“Don’t scold. I wanted to see the school. And you. Maybe I should move back in with Richard and Elizabeth so you can visit me again.” His gaze slid her way.
“You probably should have stayed with them until your recovery is complete.”
“Yes, I should have, for more than one reason. Will you visit me if I do?”
“Technically, a lady never calls on a gentleman, but yes, I’ll come visit Elizabeth if you wish while you’re there.”
Smiling, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I can live with that. I’ll call on you, too.”
What he meant by that, she refused to guess. After seeing him home, she returned to the school. The children had already gone. Upon completing her paperwork, she bade Mrs. Harper a good day and stepped outside.
“No one wants yer school, ducks,” he hissed. “It ain’t righ’, teaching girls t’ read. Shut it down or I’ll do it myself, got it?” Eyes blazed underneath a hat drawn low over his face.
“Wh-who are you?” she managed through terrified gasps.
“Close the school, ya ’ear me?” The knife pressed against her neck.
Frantic, she nodded.
He removed the knife and slipped away. Leticia’s legs wobbled. She staggered back inside and shut the front door. Her knees buckled and she slid down to a seated position. With her hand over her eyes and her back against the door, she sat gasping while her heart thundered in her ears. She couldn’t think or move. Focusing on breathing, she sat until Mrs. Harper found her.
“Miss Wentworth!” Footsteps and rustling skirts hurried toward her. “Are you feeling poorly?” Mrs. Harper asked.
Did she dare tell her? It might have been an idle threat. If that were the case, Leticia would worry Mrs. Harper for no good reason.
Leticia moistened her lips. “I got set upon…by a thief.” Her fright crashed down on her, the reality of her peril and own vulnerability. A sob burst out of her.
Mrs. Harper gasped. “Did he hurt you?”
Leticia shook her head. When she could speak again, she managed, “No, I’m not hurt—only a bit overset.”
“I should say so. Come into the kitchen and we’ll get you a cup of tea.”
Grateful to allow Mrs. Harper to fuss over her, Leticia sat at the kitchen table while Mrs. Harper fixed tea all the while shooting worried glances in Leticia’s direction.
Leticia pulled herself together. “Forgive me for alarming you.”
“What did he take?” Mrs. Harper set the sugar and creamer on the table.
“Take?”
“The thief. What did he take?”
Blink. “Er, nothing.”
“A thief took nothing?”
Leticia let out a sigh. She couldn’t mislead Mrs. Harper. “I’m not certain he was a thief. He seemed to be more interested in warning me. About the school. There are some in the community who do not approve of what we do here.”
Mrs. Harper nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Ignorance breeds fear. Not so long ago, men believed women should never learn to read—forbidden in most places.”
“Perhaps they feared we’d no longer want families if we got an education.”
“Or that women would no longer submit ourselves to brutality,” Mrs. Harper said darkly.
Intrigued, yet almost fearful at what she would learn, Leticia eyed her. “Is that your experience?”
“The strong always prey upon the weak. Reading gives one strength, a power most don’t understand. When one is kept ignorant, he or she is easier to dominate. A lot of men feel women should be ruled. If we learn to read, we might decide we deserve honesty and respect. Not all men are willing to give that.”
Fortunately, all the men close to Leticia valued women’s minds and hearts. Not everyone did, as evidenced by the scene in the tea shop when Lord Petre tried to bully her, and the man with the knife today.
They sat sipping tea while outside a church bell rang and a child sang off key. Leticia’s nerves smoothed over, her fear giving way to anger. How dare people try to stop something as wondrous as reading! A proper education may very well be the key to reducing poverty and despair.
Leticia set down her teacup. “If you are to stay here, you need more protection than one caretaker and a maid-of-all-work.”
“Surely his was an idle threat.”
Leticia touched her throat. “No, I’m certain he was in earnest.”
Mrs. Harper straightened. “I refuse to be intimidated.”
The young teacher possessed admirable spirit. “Being intimidated would be closing the school, which we shan’t do. All I’m asking you to do is exercise caution. Come home with me tonight, and stay until we can arrange for other accommodations where you will have better protection.”
Mrs. Harper nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”
Within minutes, Mrs. Harper had packed a portmanteau and they took a hackney home. On the way, the teacher related the children’s progress and their delight in learning, all the while her face glowing with pleasure.
Leticia vowed to do whatever it took to continue the school and bring hope to the downtrodden.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inside the London study of the Duke of Suttenberg, Tristan shook the duke’s hand. “I thank you, Your Grace, for your guidance, and will give that serious thought.”
“My pleasure.” Grinning, the duke eyed him. “I must say, I am a bit surprised you are considering serving in Parliament. I admit, I don’t know you well, but your reputation does not paint you as that sort.”
Tristan winced. “I admit I had a few wild years, but I have grown dissatisfied with the emptiness of it all. I had a rather eye-opening experience that has given me reason to consider my purpose. I wish to do something that matters. This may be what I seek.”
The duke regarded him with thoughtful eyes. “Serving king and country is a great place to start. There are other ways one can find meaning—small and simple ways.”
“Like the school my sister-in-law and Leticia Wentworth have funded.”
“Yes, a worthy cause to be sure. Also, simply placing another’s wishes ahead of your own can be strangely gratifying.”
Tristan considered. Aware of a hovering servant who no doubt bore a message for His Grace, Tristan bowed, thanked him again, and left the ducal residence with clearer goals and a knowledge of requirements he must meet in order to serve as a Member of Parliament. He had only to decide now if he should take this path.
Wordsworth said:
“…And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows…”
Leticia would, no doubt, approve if he went into Parliament. However, he refused to take a position simply to impress her or prove to her he’d changed. No, he must be certain he wished to serve in order to make a meaningful contribution.
“Barrett!” Armand Palmer called and waved.
Tristan looked up at the familiar voice. “Good afternoon, Palmer.”
“I haven’t seen you in an age. Where’ve you been?”
Did he not know? “Recovering from the accident.” Not that Palmer or any of his friends had paid him a call.
Palmer sobered. “Oh right. Bad luck, that. Appleton was a good egg—miss the bloke. Miss you, too. Good to see you up and about. You looked half dead when they carried you off. Do join me. Catch up, and all that rot.”
“Where are you bound?”
“The White Stag.” Palmer launched into a favorite drinking song.
Tristan glanced around in the event anyone might have overheard the bawdy song, but no one of polite company seemed to be nearby. “Thank you, but I have another engagement. Perhaps another time.”
“As you wish. Good to see you. Truly.”
“You, as well.”
They bade farewell and parted. Odd, but Tristan hadn’t missed his old friends. He’d been so involved in finding prospects for Leticia, then recovering from his accident, he had failed to notice their absence. Still, he should have jumped at the opportunity to enjoy the comfortable familiarity of their friendship. Time in their presence held little appeal at the moment, however. Perhaps the group held less interest without Appleton.
How sad that he didn’t remember those last few moments of Appleton’s life. It seemed too cruel that fate snatched away their last moment as friends.
Or perhaps fate had given him a gift. Memories of Appleton’s laughing face as they steeple chased, their outrageous dares, bets and other tomfoolery, remained untainted by the scene of his death.
Tristan rode through the streets under a cloudless sky, passing St. James Park as a balloon rose from the trees like a silvery sunrise. As a child, he’d ridden a gas balloon, a rare, cherished memory with his father and brother. His mother had declined, choosing to wave at them from the ground. She’d been happy then, giving no indication she would one day leave.
Richard had hung on to the basket with one hand and to the back of Tristan’s coat with the other—always protecting Tristan. Tristan had laughed and leaned out as far as he could, exhilarated at the sensation of flight. As he grew, he considered such past times mundane. Still, racing and drinking and carousing had not eclipsed sweet family moments such as balloon rides.
He arrived at Mrs. Tallier’s house, but paused at the front steps. Was today their at-home hours? Did it matter? He and Leticia had been friends so long that they never used to stand on ceremony, but now that he sought to be respectable, should he observe social niceties such as a lady’s at-home hours?
If Tristan were to win Leticia’s heart away from either Captain Kensington or Lord Bradbury, he must use any advantage. Moreover, he was already here.
Leticia, Isabella, and Mrs. Tallier greeted him in the parlor. Tristan’s focus narrowed on Leticia.
She eyed him. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, yes, no need to worry. I am feeling quite the thing.”
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.
