Courting the Country Miss

by Donna Hatch

  She seemed out of reach today, as if the connection between them had been stretched. He dropped the flirtatious guise and settled for some honesty.

  “Today is the first time I’ve driven since the accident,” he said quietly.

  She touched his arm, looking into his eyes. “Are you…well?”

  Her hand on his arm warmed him by degrees all the way to his heart. “It took a bit of courage at the beginning, but it feels comfortable now.”

  She removed her hand and ran it along Dancer’s perspiring back. Lucky Dancer. “You’ve been driving for a good long while, now.”

  Tristan nodded. “Since early this morning. I wanted to get the feel of the team and carriage, see how they handled, before the traffic started.”

  Leticia glanced over her shoulder at the young woman and a footman who murmured to one another, sending darting glances at Leticia.

  “I’m keeping you from your plans,” Tristan said. “Can I give you all a ride? There’s enough room in the footman’s seat if they are willing to sit close.”

  “Thank you.” She gestured to the pair. “Mr. Barrett will give us a ride, if you don’t mind squeezing into the back. Oh, forgive me; Mrs. Harper, have you met Tristan Barrett?”

  Mrs. Harper nodded. “I have, indeed. Thank you for all your help with the school,” the teacher said in a cultured accent at odds with her position and plain attire.

  “My pleasure.” Tristan helped the teacher up and stepped back to let the footman climb in.

  Mrs. Harper gestured to the footman. “This is Peter. He’s been kind enough to watch over us at the school.”

  Peter touched his forelock. “Sir.”

  Tristan nodded a greeting at the footman and offered a hand to Leticia. Leticia climbed in, somehow managing to make it look graceful despite her skirts. “The lower height certainly makes it easier to get in.”

  “Would you believe I decided to lower it for that very reason—so you could get in easier? And it’s safer.” If Tristan’s plans played out, she would be the only woman who ever rode next to him in his new carriage.

  Leticia smiled. As she settled on the seat, she gave a little bounce. “Oh, my, I don’t recall ever sitting in such a soft seat.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”

  As he drove, Leticia’s presence comforted him. His tension faded and his confidence strengthened. Dogs barked, vendors called, men strolled, and carts rattled, all in a familiar orchestra of the symphony of London. Mrs. Harper and Peter sat in the back, conversing.

  He glanced at Leticia sitting in comfortable silence next to him. “Does Mrs. Harper double as a chaperone for you when your aunt or Elizabeth are not with you?”

  “My aunt approves. Mrs. Harper is very respectable and genteel. Circumstances have…not been kind to her of late.”

  “Young.”

  “Widowed.” She glanced sharply at him and he could almost hear her condemning thoughts.

  He’d once had a preference for widows, but now he had eyes for Leticia alone. Time would prove his intentions to her.

  “Why do you need someone to watch over the teacher?” Tristan asked.

  Leticia’s brows lifted before a light of understanding came into her expression. She glanced at the footman. “To ensure her safety.”

  “Has there been trouble?”

  Her gaze slid his way. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  She waved her gloved hand in a dismissive gesture. “Someone…” she glanced anxiously at him. “Well, a man waved a knife at me and told us to close the school.”

  A cold bolt shot straight through him. “What!”

  The horses danced and sidestepped. He swallowed and relaxed his shoulders.

  She touched his arm again. “I’m sure it was nothing more than the idle threat of an ignorant man who fears what he does not understand. Still, Elizabeth and I felt it prudent to have Mrs. Harper stay with me and to send someone to keep watch over her in case there’s any real trouble. Really, it’s nothing.”

  The idea of someone threatening Leticia twisted his gut. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, censoring the first thing he wanted to shout at her. He fought to keep his voice steady. “You are unharmed?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  If he ever got his hands on that despicable villain who dared pull a knife on a lady—on his Tish…

  He drew another breath. “When did this happen?”

  “Oh, a few weeks ago.”

  “And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” His attempt to keep his voice down failed.

  Her tone turned defensive. “You were hurt, and had other things on your mind. And then later, well, an opportune moment never presented itself.”

  He let out a sigh. “Oh, Tish. Don’t wait for an opportune moment to tell me something like that.” He glanced at her. “Please.”

  The brim of her bonnet hid her face too much for him to see her expression. “I’m sure nothing more will come of it.”

  “Still, don’t keep things like that from me.” Anger and hurt knotted in his gut. She must have been terrified when it first happened. Yet, she had failed to tell him.

  Softly, she said, “I didn’t want to add to your worries.”

  “True friends don’t keep secrets.”

  “I wasn’t keeping it a secret…oh, very well. I see your point.” Again, that touch. “I’m sorry, Tristan. Please don’t be angry. Don’t worry; nothing has happened since. I’m sure that’s the last we’ve seen of that man.”

  His anger dissipated, but the hurt remained. Had she told Bradbury? Kensington? Did everyone know except him?

  He pulled up in front of the school and helped her out. The teacher and footman leaped out and mounted the steps, leaving Tristan alone with Leticia.

  She put a hand on his face, her expression apologetic. “I wasn’t shutting you out.” As she lowered her hand, her mouth curved upward, part rueful, part sad. “Do you remember that summer you were so angry and hurt that I wouldn’t let you inside the tree house?”

  A faint memory surfaced of standing at the bottom of the tree calling up to her and being denied admittance. The sting of rejection had cut him. He nodded.

  “When I went to apologize, I offered you a piece of peppermint candy, but you didn’t truly forgive me until after I had hugged you.”

  “Sometimes I wish we were still children.” Perhaps he could arrange another balloon ride so as to once again have her in his arms.

  She took his hand and tugged. “Come inside.”

  He gestured to the horses. “I can’t leave the cattle standing. They’re tired and need a rubdown.”

  “I will be but a moment.”

  He allowed her to lead him inside. She closed the door, removed her bonnet, and turned to him. The voices of the teacher and footman echoed to them from another room. Leticia threw her arms around him and held him. The air rushed out of his lungs. Her soft body pressed against him, creating alternating hot and cold tingles racing down his backbone. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  The sweet, pure pleasure of holding Leticia shone light deep inside his soul. Dark, shriveled parts of his heart opened up to receive her light.

  He could no longer resist. He loved Leticia. Loved her! He would do whatever he must to ensure her happiness, her safety. If he ever lost her, every good and wholesome part of him would surely perish.

  He swallowed. “If something ever happened to you…”

  She pressed a hand to the nape of his neck. “I’m unharmed.”

  With her comforting, intoxicating scent enfolding him, he squeezed her, basking in her touch, the sensation of her arms around him, her body pressed against him, filling him with hope.

  “Um, Tristan? I can’t breathe very well.”

  He loosened his grip.

  She stepped back, her breath unsteady and her cheeks flushed. He cocked his head. There it was again; signs that Leticia felt an attr
action for him as a man, and not merely as a friend.

  She glanced up at him with enlarged pupils and her breathing sounded like a series of sighs. Yes, she wanted him. Satisfaction curled inside. They’d taken a step in the right direction.

  “Forgiven?” She offered an unsteady smile.

  He shrugged. “I might need another embrace to make sure.”

  She swatted his arm. “Don’t leave poor Dancer and Willow out there too long.”

  The horses. Right. But the thought of leaving her side… “I’ll take them home and return.”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “Very well. I should be done with the music lessons by the time you return. In fact, after luncheon, we will have our first dance class. Do you think you could help us teach a country dance? We could use some males to act as partners.”

  “I would be honored.” After bidding her good bye and promising to return soon, he danced out to the gig and sang all the way home, mentally penning sonnets to Leticia.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Leticia peered inside the classroom at the street urchins-turned-students. Thin bodies, ragged clothing, unkempt hair and shabby shoes, and in some cases, bare feet proclaimed them the poorest of the poor, the cast offs, the ones no one acknowledged that they existed. Yet their eyes lit up with curiosity and delight. They had hope for a better future. They’d even recruited other students. The school now had over two dozen eager learners. How could anyone not see the value of this effort?

  While she let her gaze rove over their happy faces, she gave a little start. Molly, who had been missing the last few days, had returned. As the girl turned her head, Leticia let out a gasp at the swollen, bruised face.

  Poor thing. No wonder she’d been absent. She must have met with an accident and needed time to recover. If Leticia had bothered to check, perhaps she could have been of some assistance. Perhaps she still might help the child in some way.

  As Mrs. Harper ended her lesson and invited the students to practice their reading, Leticia leaned in and caught her eye. Mrs. Harper nodded.

  “Molly,” Leticia beckoned. “It’s time for your music lesson.”

  The girl stood and came to her, not quite meeting her gaze. As they left the classroom together for the smaller front room they’d taken to calling the music room, Leticia eyed the girl.

  They sat and Leticia smiled. “I’ve missed you, sweeting. How did you get hurt?”

  Gaze downward, Molly mumbled, “Fell.”

  An inner warning sounded inside Leticia. “What happened?”

  The girl’s breathing grew rapid. “Oh, nuthin’. Jes’ clumsy. Tripped an’ ’it a table.”

  Leticia touched her arm. “Sweeting, did someone hurt you?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “You can tell me if someone did.”

  Molly nodded. Letting it go for the time being, Leticia pulled out the simple etudes she’d brought for the children to learn, and began the lesson. In the background, children’s voices rose as they repeated lessons in unison. Leticia corrected Molly’s hand position, reminding her to curl her fingers and sit up straight, and reviewed counting the rhythm.

  At the music lesson’s conclusion, Leticia sat back. “Very good. You may tell Sarah it’s her turn and return to your seat.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  As the girl stood, Leticia said, “Molly, you can tell me if something is amiss. I will do anything I can to help you.”

  Again, the nod. Leticia sighed. Did some neighborhood boy hurt her? They tended to travel in packs and sometimes got rough, even with girls. Leticia must keep a sharp eye out.

  Throughout the day, the music lessons continued, crowding out other thoughts. As the last music student left, a shadow drifted into the room.

  “You’re very good with them.” Tristan’s voice, rich and low rumbled, and a spot inside her heart warmed.

  He stood leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, handsome and smug, but with a softness in his clear eyes that had never been there before. Wind-tossed dark curls tumbled over his brow invitingly. A bottle-green tailcoat gave his handsome looks an exotic slant. Had he always looked so good in buff breeches that fit him like a second skin?

  Her pulse leaped and pounded double time.

  But this was Tristan. Her childhood friend.

  She stood and made a point of gathering her music. “Your arrival is timely. We will be stopping for luncheon soon. Then we’ll begin our first dance lesson. Are you still willing to help us demonstrate?”

  “Of course.” He pushed off the wall and strode to her, all fluid grace. “What are you going to teach them?”

  “My aunt’s servants said reels are popular. I thought we’d start with a Scottish Reel.”

  “Good idea.” In the main entryway, he stopped and picked up a large basket. “I brought luncheon.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of you. I only have a bit of fruit and cheese. We can eat in the kitchen. Mrs. Harper will let the children have a recess soon, so they can eat as well. You know, I suspect what little we feed them here is more than they get any other time.”

  “You’re providing food?”

  “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 Cap
tain 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.”