by Hatch, Donna
Leticia obliged her. “Thank you.”
“My, you’ve grown into a charming young lady—so poised compared to how awkward you were when we met years ago. I suppose there’s hope for my dear Hermione, too.”
Leticia barely managed not to gape and stammered out, “Er, thank you.”
The young Miss Seton flushed scarlet and slumped her shoulders.
Mrs. Seton said to her daughter in a sotto voce, “Sit up straight, dear. Gentlemen will never look at you if you slouch like that.”
The poor girl stiffened her spine, her face still red.
Leticia ached for her. “I adore your gown, Miss Seton. You look lovely in that shade of ivory.”
Miss Seton made eye contact for a split second and replied in a voice barely above a whisper, “How kind of you to say.”
Leticia continued, “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Seton?”
The shy young lady stammered a reply. Leticia glanced at the girl’s mother, Mrs. Seton. She had not seemed so dominant until now. Perhaps her overzealous attempts to ensure her children turn out well had worsened their shyness. Leticia cast off her discomfort as they chatted about the weather, the newest young ladies to have come out, and other social niceties. Leticia tried to include the young Miss Seton but that seemed to make her shyness worse instead of better. Eventually, Leticia steered the conversation to London.
“I assume you’ll be there since your husband has a seat in the House of Commons?” Leticia asked.
Mrs. Seton’s feathers bobbed as she nodded her head. “Of course. We never miss a Season. My Hermione had a delightful time last Season and is looking forward to this year as well.”
Miss Seton closed her eyes and let out a long breath, clearly unhappy to be thrust into another social whirl.
Leticia gave her a sympathetic smile before returning her attention to the girl’s mother. “I admit I know little of politics, but Lord Averston is hoping his brother, Tristan Barrett, will run for candidacy for the House of Commons. I understand there’s a borough in one of the earl’s landholdings without a representative, so Tristan could run for that one the next election, is that correct?”
Mrs. Seton nodded. “If the borough is rotten—meaning uncontested—the election would be a mere formality. I doubt anyone would bother running against him since everyone knows the earl controls the seat.”
“So, all Tristan must do is decide to run.”
“Probably.” Mrs. Seton lowered her voice. “Don’t tell my husband that I told any of this to you; he thinks I don’t have a thought in my head except fashion and embroidery.” An impish twinkle sparked in her eye making her look ten years younger, and her mouth twitched to suppress a smile.
Leticia placed a hand over her heart. “I vow your secret is safe with me.”
The young Miss Seton met Leticia’s eye and almost smiled before looking down.
“I must say,” Mrs. Seton said. “I’m surprised young Barrett is considering Parliament. He doesn’t seem the type to take on something so sober.”
“’Tis more his brother’s idea than his own, but he is considering it.” Of course, every time Richard brought it up, Tristan rejected the idea, but she didn’t volunteer that. “I believe he will embrace the idea soon.” Which may require considerable cajoling—and time—but it would involve him in something worthwhile and keep him too busy for the gambling establishments in London or consorting with loose women.
Mrs. Seton lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. “Tristan Barrett has the charm to garner votes.”
Nodding, the shy young Miss Seton sighed, a dreamy smile touching her mouth. Another victim of Tristan’s legendary allure.
Leticia leaned forward. “Tell me, Mrs. Seton, how do you feel about reform?”
The lady raised a brow. “What aspect?”
“Helping the unfortunate raise themselves out of poverty and ignorance, and sometimes out of criminal behavior.”
“I applaud the efforts of reformers. Occasionally, I make contributions to Mrs. Goodfellow’s institution and have employed a few of those she has helped reform.”
“Lady Averston and I also feel that helping those wishing to leave undesirable activities would be beneficial to society. We’d like to provide a way to teach them basic reading and mathematics so that they may qualify for honest vocations—shop girls, clerks, and so forth.”
Mrs. Seton wore a thoughtful expression. “I believe that would much improve their chances to pursue such work.”
Leticia touched the lady’s hand. “As do I—most emphatically. That’s why Lady Averston and I, along with a group of sponsors, are raising money to fund the opening of a school for the poor and the orphans—especially girls. We hope in particular to enroll children, to give them a better chance to be law-abiding, hard-working citizens.”
“Oooh,” said young Miss Seton, her eyes shining. “How admirable.”
Leticia smiled. How sweet that her charity school had piqued the shy girl’s interest enough to finally speak her thoughts. “I’m so glad you agree.”
Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “I fear not everyone will appreciate your venture.”
With a resigned sigh, Leticia shook her head. “No, many don’t feel it’s worthwhile, more’s the pity.”
“It’s more than that.” Mrs. Seton lowered her voice, but this time no twinkle danced in her eyes. “Many of the nobility fear if we educate the poor, it will result in a repeat of the French Revolution, right here in England.”
Oh, that. “I understand their concern. Still, we aren’t talking about any kind of grand scale—merely a school for a few children who have fled either brothels or living in the streets. Surely anyone can see the advantage of that.”
“My husband doesn’t agree. He’s one of those who fear the possibilities. His uncle lost his life to Madame Guillotine in the French revolution, you see.”
Leticia shivered. “Dreadful.”
Sobered, they fell silent. Mrs. Seton drew a breath. “Still, saving children is a most charitable venture. I assume you approached me because you’d like my help?”
Sheepish, Leticia nodded. “If it won’t put you at odds with your husband.”
Mrs. Seton smiled. “He doesn’t need to know; I have my own money. I’d be glad to make a donation.”
“Truly?” Leticia clasped her hands together. “How generous of you.” Perhaps Leticia’s assessment of Mrs. Seton’s character had been overly uncharitable. She might be a bit heavy-handed in her methods to help her daughter have a successful Season, but she seemed to have a good heart, at least as far as helping the down-trodden. If only she could see how badly her daughter needed gentler treatment.
The gentlemen joined them and soon young ladies took turns on the pianoforte and sang to provide entertainment and show off their skills for any interested parties. Leticia played to please her mother, although she had no real talent, while her sister, Isabella sang. Poised and beautiful, Isabella sang like an angel and Leticia’s heart swelled in pride.
After the musical performances, a group of young men engaged Isabella in conversation. Leticia melted back to give her sister her moment in the sun and found a seat near her mother who sat with Mrs. Seton, Mrs. Wynn, and their daughters. “Perhaps a Season in London won’t be necessary,” Leticia said to Mother. “Isabella may receive a proposal sooner.”
“Perhaps. But these things take time,” Mother said.
Leticia admired a collection of figurines on a nearby shelf before letting her gaze drift over the other members of the party.
With the ease of a skilled dancer, Tristan mingled with the guests, reducing most of the ladies to blushing, tongue-tied fools—except the sensual Mrs. Hunter, who flirted with him in bold confidence.
Colonel Sherwood announced a game of Whist. As servants set up tables, partners paired off.
Mr. Rowley bowed to Miss Wynn. “Will you do me the honors, Miss Wynn?”
She inclined her head, all signs of her goose adventure
erased from her expression. “Of course.”
Tristan and a handsome, dark-haired gentleman strode to Leticia. She cocked her head. Why did he seem familiar?
“Leticia, do you remember Rhys Kensington?” Tristan said.
She smiled. “Of course. Richard and Tristan often speak of you.”
“It has been a long time, Miss Wentworth. I am delighted to see you again.” He made a polite bow, his smoky gray eyes sweeping over her as if trying to make up his mind about her.
She curtsied. “A pleasure, Captain Kensington.”
A third voice joined in. “A sea captain?” Mrs. Hunter sidled up to them.
Captain Kensington’s eyes danced in amusement. “No, Mrs. Hunter. Captain was my rank in the cavalry. No ships or pirates or anything exciting.”
“Just war,” Leticia added wryly.
He made a brief gesture of acquiescence. “There was that. Exciting isn’t the word I would have chosen, however.”
Tristan glanced at a group of ladies clustered nearby. After excusing himself, he moved to the shy Miss Seton, and extended a hand, executing a half bow. “Would you do me the honors of partnering with me for Whist, Miss Seton?”
Miss Seton turned the color of a ripe tomato and let out a choking sound, looking two parts terrified and one part smitten. She managed a nod, took his hand, and let him bring her to her feet. A surprising turn of events. Leticia had been certain he’d choose Mrs. Hunter for a partner. His choice in the wallflower, Miss Seton, left Leticia reeling. What drove him to it? Pity? Kindness? Some game he played with Mrs. Hunter? Or worse, did he view her as a challenge, the way he’d viewed—and hurt—Elizabeth last year at the house party? A surge of protectiveness toward the shy young girl arose in Leticia. He’d better not break her heart the way he’d broken Elizabeth’s!
Captain Kensington offered Leticia an apologetic, if somewhat uncomfortable smile. “I believe that leaves me in need of a partner as well. Would you be so kind?”
Leticia faltered. “Of course.” Leticia caught Tristan’s eye and shot a knowing glare that all but screamed, ‘I know you arranged this.’
Tristan, curse him, looked the picture of innocence except for a smirk playing around his mouth. He returned his focus to his partner and shuffled the cards.
“Shall we join them?” Captain Kensington gestured to Tristan and his blushing partner.
Leticia nodded. “As you wish.”
As she sat across from Captain Kensington, she scanned the room for the sultry Mrs. Hunter. Sitting with Mr. Wynn, Mrs. Hunter laughed, her gaze moving to Tristan. Whether she longed for his presence, or reminisced about a tryst they’d already had, Leticia couldn’t be certain. Not that it mattered. Leticia deliberately avoided looking at him. Scoundrel.
She turned her attention to the game. Captain Kensington proved a skilled ally in whist, but Tristan and Miss Seton were downright dangerous. Leticia had to admire Tristan’s skill at drawing Miss Seton out and getting her to talk. The shy young woman even revealed a witty side to her Leticia had never seen before. Engaging in her own quiet way, when Miss Seton smiled she transformed into a pretty girl. Hopefully, others would see that in her as well.
Regardless of his motives, Tristan gave the sweet girl a memorable evening. Perhaps now that such a well-connected and handsome gentleman had paid her special notice, others would take an interest in her and realize what a kind heart and charming wit lay under her shyness.
As the last game ended, Leticia smiled at Captain Kensington. “A worthy showing, sir, but I fear we were outwitted.”
“Luck did not favor us, I fear,” the captain said.
Tristan smoothed a wrinkle from his sleeve. “All skill, my man. No luck needed.” He turned to Miss Seton, who’d gained a measure of poise. “My thanks to you for partnering with me, Miss Seton. I daresay we make a formidable team.”
Miss Seton’s smile turned mysterious. “Indeed we do, sir.”
Leticia suppressed an amazed chuckle. Leave it to Tristan to draw out the most reticent girl. Perhaps she should enlist his aid in garnering pledges for their school. He could coax a few guineas from the tightest purse with a mere twitch of his roguish lips.
Now that she thought of it, Tristan’s kindness came as no surprise. He’d always had that soft spot for those he viewed in need of rescue. As children, she’d often had to be the lady in distress while he played the gallant rescuer. How like him to still fulfill that role…unless he truly harbored an interest in the girl. Leticia frowned. Surely not.
Did Tristan find Miss Seton attractive? Did this attraction motivate his interest in the wallflower?
Why did that thought inspire a sudden disliking for the girl, who, only moments ago, Leticia wished to champion? As the evening games ended, many guests bade goodnight, and the group dispersed. Leticia joined her mother and sisters who chatted with the hostess, Mrs. Sherwood. Other guests gathered in clusters to talk and drink. Tristan sauntered to the far end of the room. Mrs. Hunter wandered to him, trying to make it appear as if she’d been taking a turn about the room and happened to pass by, but Leticia knew better. Mrs. Hunter had no apparent qualms about approaching a man instead of waiting for him to approach her. By the evening’s end, their heads were close together. Mrs. Hunter let out a sultry, throaty laugh and touched his arm—just Tristan’s type, curse him. Curse them both. And curse her for letting it irritate her.
Unable to watch another moment, Leticia turned away in disgust. “I believe I’ll go to bed now, Mama.”
Her mother nodded. “Good night, dearest. I’m sure to follow soon.”
Isabella arose. “I will, as well.”
They bade good night to the others. Leticia raised her chin and searched for pleasant thoughts to replace her annoyance about Mrs. Hunter’s clear motives toward Tristan, who would willingly succumb, no doubt, if he hadn’t already, and her fear of Tristan’s motive in showing an interest in Miss Seton. Was it kindness? True interest? A repeat of last year? She barely managed not to groan.
“A diverting party, is it not?” Isabella said as they headed toward the grand staircase.
Leticia sighed. Surely she could find something positive to say about the evening. “Mrs. Seton made a pledge to our foundation.”
“Have you made any new friends?”
“Yes, indeed. I must say, I find it odd when people such as the Sherwoods and the Einsburghs have house parties at this time of year. Of late the weather seems to have obliged them.”
“It does. This is the warmest spring I’ve ever seen.” Her brows raised, Isabella glanced at her. “Is something amiss?”
“No, of course not.”
“You seem a trifle out of sorts. Didn’t you enjoy partnering with the very handsome Captain Kensington?”
“I worry about Tristan. He’s so reckless. I fear he’ll get himself into trouble.”
“He’s already been in a great deal of trouble over the course of his life, I’d say.”
“Yes, and one of these days it will be something that destroys him.” The thought of Tristan coming to any kind of harm tied her stomach into knots.
“What concerns you?” her sister asked.
“The way that Mrs. Hunter woman fawns all over him. And he lets her.” She threw her hands up into the air. “He can’t resist a pretty face.”
“It seems that a great many men have that failing.”
“Not to his extreme. It’s more than the women, it’s the drinking, the gambling, the reckless living.” She let out a huff. “He’s become one of the worst rakes I’ve ever heard of.”
“Have you heard of many rakes?” Isabella teased.
Leticia couldn’t lift her present mood. She made a helpless gesture. “I wish he’d grow up and take some responsibility. Richard can’t go around fixing all his problems.”
Isabella’s smile faded. “You’re quite overset by all this.”
Leticia pushed out a long exhale. “It’s the house party and all the memories of the Einsburghs
’ party last year. I don’t want him to ruin anyone else’s life.”
“The way Tristan and Lady Elizabeth ruined yours?”
Leticia clamped her mouth shut.
“I don’t blame Tristan for that scandal,” Isabella announced. “I blame Lady Elizabeth. She behaved badly.”
Leticia turned to her. “Oh, no, Bella, don’t. A nun couldn’t resist Tristan. And besides, Richard is so happy with Elizabeth now so I’m sure it worked out for the best.”
“For everyone except you.” Isabella glanced at her.
Leticia put an arm around her sister and gave her a warm squeeze. “Do not concern yourself with me; I am well enough.”
Her mother had told her heartache gets easier over time. Perhaps time really would heal all wounds.
Leticia rather thought not.
The following morning, Leticia walked her mount at a sedate pace to cool him after her brisk morning ride. As she rounded a bend in the path, Tristan, at a canter on his favorite gelding, appeared on her path. Leticia reined. She should cut him, she really should. After all, he’d probably spent last night in the arms of that vulgar woman. Leticia’s face warmed with righteous anger, and she trotted forward as if she hadn’t seen him. He waved, a smile lighting his face.
Softening, she let out her breath. She couldn’t cut him. He hadn’t changed. He was the same rake he’d been the last four or five years. Leopards never change their spots. Just because she’d been present to witness his latest conquest didn’t justify being rude to him nor throwing away their friendship.
“Good morning, Tish. Bit cold this early, huh?”
She narrowed her gaze in mock suspicion. “Who are you? You can’t be Tristan Barrett—it’s not yet high noon.”
He grinned. “Yes, I admit, I’m more acquainted with sunset than sunrise. Must be all this clean country air having an adverse influence on me. Or maybe it’s Colonel Sherwood’s not so subtle hints about retiring that sent us scurrying to our beds at an unfashionably early hour.”
Leticia ground out, “Yes, I’ll bet you scurried to your bed early.”
Tristan cocked his head at her peevish tone. “Meaning?”
