by Hatch, Donna
“Tish.” His voice came out hoarse and grim.
She looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”
She seemed pleased to see him. What did that mean?
Her smile faded. “Is something amiss?”
Tristan broke out into a cold sweat. He tried to pull together his mask of flippancy but only managed to feel more desperate. He glanced at Elizabeth.
His sister-in-law stood. “I believe I am in need of a cup of tea.” She glided out.
Tristan balled his fists. “Did I misunderstand you yesterday?”
Leticia’s brow puckered and true confusion touched her eyes. “About what?”
He rubbed at the space between his eyes and pushed his fingers through his hair. “About…what we said…after we kissed.”
Her expression softened, and though a faint blush pinked her cheeks, no shame revealed itself in her face. “About me finally realizing that I love you?”
The wind rushed out of his lungs. He struggled a moment to breathe. “Do you?”
She came around the desk and placed a hand on his chest, the other touching his cheek. “I always have. I was slow to realize it. I do love you, Tristan—so very much.” Her eyes darted between his, searching, probing. Gently, she asked, “What is it?”
“Why did you kiss Bradbury after I left?” Giving voice to his question scraped out the inside of his heart, leaving him ragged and empty.
She paled. “Oh, heaven above. How did you find out about that?” True guilt wrote itself all over her face.
He stepped back out of her touch. “I saw you. I came back for my gloves, and I saw you…and him…”
She pressed her hand over her mouth and let out a strangled noise. “I’m so sorry you saw that. But—”
“Stop.” He laughed sharply. “All this time you were so worried I’d betray you, and I was trying so hard to prove to you I wouldn’t, it never occurred to me you would betray me. Or did you plan on leading us both on a merry chase until you decided which one you wanted? Have you been kissing Kensington, too?”
Her guilty expression stepped back and hurt took center stage. “You don’t think I was leading you on?”
“Either that, or I have a different definition of the word love.” His words came out bitter.
Leticia frowned and her gaze darted to the door. “Do you smell smoke?”
“Fire! There’s a fire!” Peter’s panicked voice boomed through the school.
Tristan rushed to the main room, Leticia next to him.
Peter bounded toward them, pointing to the narrow staircase leading down to the ground level. “The kitchen!”
Tristan and Peter, followed by the other footman, raced to the kitchen stairs, but smoke billowed up, too thick to breathe. Covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, Tristan took the stairs two at a time. Squinting through eyes tearing from smoke, he glanced around. The entire kitchen burned from multiple locations. The back door stood open, the frame splintered as if someone had kicked it in, and an oily liquid moved across the floor leading from a broken lamp on the floor.
Coughing and blinking, his face burning from the blistering heat, Tristan backed up the stairs.
Peter pushed past him, using a blanket to try to put out the fire, but flames leaped up all around him.
“It’s too late,” Tristan shouted. “The whole thing is ablaze. We need to get everyone out of the building and organize a bucket brigade.” He raced up the stairs.
Swearing, Peter followed. “Everyone out of the building. Get out now! Matilda! Get the children!”
Mrs. Harper sprang into action. Leticia raced to the schoolroom. Within minutes, they had collected the frightened children and ushered them to safety across the street. Elizabeth rushed out, her arms loaded with papers and a satchel. Outside, a small bucket brigade had formed with Peter at its head.
“Do you have fire insurance?” Tristan called to Leticia.
“Yes!” She pointed to a distinctive plaque on the outside wall.
“Someone already ran to fetch them!” the footman yelled.
Leticia, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Harper kept the children together and tried to calm them while Tristan, Peter, and several neighbors joined the brigade to douse the flames. Finally, a modern fire engine with a water pump arrived and poured water on the blaze.
To let the firefighters work, Tristan backed off and wandered to Leticia. She stood with her arms around two children, three more clutching her skirts, all staring in fascination at the billowing smoke. Silent tears streamed down Leticia’s cheeks. A grim Mrs. Harper quietly comforted children gathered around her. Peter went to the teacher and stood next to her, not touching her but sending concerned and sympathetic looks her direction.
“It’s all gone,” Leticia said. “Everything—furniture, books…the pianoforte.”
As the firefighters quenched the blaze, impotent smoke billowed into the sky. Volunteers wiped their brows, no doubt sighing in relief that the flames had not damaged their homes or businesses, and drifted away. The school children left one by one. Leticia, Elizabeth, Tristan, Mrs. Harper, and Peter remained alone but together.
“There’s nothing left for us to do here,” Tristan said.
No one had the heart to respond.
Again, Tristan spoke, “It’s time to go home.”
Elizabeth’s coach carried the silent, ashen-faced group to Mrs. Tallier’s house. Though Elizabeth offered to give him a ride home, Tristan declined. He walked. He still had not yet resolved anything with Leticia. Seeing her so bereft at the loss of the school had softened his heart toward her, but the truth remained; she had kissed Lord Bradbury after pledging herself to Tristan.
What did it mean? Had it been anyone less virtuous than Leticia, he might have dismissed it as a farewell kiss. But she’d looked so guilty when he confronted her that it could not have been anything so simple.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Leticia spent an agonizing day and night, sobbing until her head would surely split.
The school, the object of her hopes and dreams, had vanished—literally—in a puff of smoke because of one tragic, malicious act. Yet that loss paled compared to losing Tristan.
Oh, why had she been so foolish as to allow Lord Bradbury to kiss her? It had been a faithless act of weakness and betrayal. After that kiss, guilt had devoured her, and she’d spent a sleepless night wrestling with what to tell Tristan and how to convince him she’d never do anything of the kind again.
Now, Tristan not only knew, but had witnessed her perfidy. At least if she had found a way to tell him about it and to beg his forgiveness, she might have been able to salvage their relationship. But he wouldn’t soon forget what he saw. He might never forgive her. Nor could she blame him.
He probably viewed her as selfish and dishonorable. Perhaps she was. Who professed her love to one man and kissed another? She deserved a lifetime of spinsterhood if she failed the first test of her faithfulness.
A horrifying thought brought her up short. Would the heartbreak she caused Tristan drive him to his former reckless behavior of drinking and debauchery? Pain shot through her abdomen and she burrowed into her pillow. If she destroyed all the progress Tristan had achieved, she would never forgive herself.
Her judgmental, hypocritical behavior, and her selfishness stared back at her in all its ugliness. She’d constantly questioned Tristan’s motives, his heart, his sincerity, and yet she had been the one to behave like a hoyden. If the earth swallowed her up now, nothing would make her happier.
Her aunt entered. “Leticia, dear. I know you are overset at the loss of your charity school. But surely you needn’t go on so.”
Leticia closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her shame. She should confess her kissing Lord Bradbury and allow all her aunt’s condemning words to punish her. She deserved losing her aunt’s good opinion. However, it might reflect on Lord Bradbury as well, and he didn’t deserve that.
Instead, she said, “Forgive me, Aunt. I am sure
you are right. But my head aches so badly, I cannot possibly attend a social event tonight.”
Her aunt clucked. “I’ll have a tray brought to you, along with some chamomile tea. Shall I send laudanum as well?”
“No, thank you.” Every pain of her throbbing head served as punishment for her stupidity, her weakness, her betrayal.
Leticia’s maid brought in a tray and cool compress, and slipped out. When Leticia’s tears dried, she stared in numb desolation as shadows moved across the floor.
As darkness fell, Isabella entered, smelling of the new perfume she’d purchased and wearing a cream silk creation trimmed in pink that lent her a fragile, luminescent beauty. She called softly, “Leticia?”
“I’m awake, Bella,” Leticia murmured, pillows muffling her voice.
“I heard about your school. I’m so sorry.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
Leticia wrestled with whether to unburden herself on her sister, or carry her guilt in silence.
“I know it’s a terrible loss.” Isabella paused. “I’m surprised you aren’t your usual stoic self. You were less overset when Richard married Lady Elizabeth.”
Leticia shuddered in a breath. “It’s not only the school. It’s Tristan.”
“What has happened?”
“I’ve ruined everything.” A sob worked its way out of her.
Laying a hand on Leticia’s back, Isabella leaned over. “Tell me.”
Leticia did—everything from Tristan’s proposal, to Lord Bradbury’s kiss, to Tristan’s discovery. “And now I’ve hurt him and he’ll never trust me and I don’t deserve him!” She burst into tears.
Isabella removed her hand and sat back. She said nothing while Leticia wept.
Pulling herself together, Leticia dried her tears and blew her nose. “Whatever am I to do?”
“Do?” Isabella let out a derisive huff. “I don’t know if there is anything you can do. You have broken the hearts of two good men. I’m ashamed of you.”
Leticia blinked at the condemning tones from her normally mild sister. “I’m ashamed, too. Although, to tell you the truth, I don’t think I broke Lord Bradbury’s heart. I’m not certain he truly loved me. I think he liked me, but we didn’t have a deep emotional connection. But Tris—”
Isabella stood. “You can tell yourself that if that makes you feel better.”
Again, Leticia stared. “Lord Bradbury wasn’t in love with me. He didn’t support my involvement in the school, and I had the distinct impression that he hoped I’d give it up if I married him.”
“He doted on you!” Isabella shouted. “He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And he did support your school; he donated a pianoforte and participated in your auction. You were too blind to see how much he admired and loved you. I wish I’d known you would cast him aside—I would have encouraged him.”
Stunned, Leticia pushed herself up to a seated position. “You have dozens of admirers.”
“I suppose we all want the one we can’t have.” Isabella left the room, slamming the door.
Leticia gaped. Isabella’s words knifed through Leticia.
Perfect. Through her narrow-mindedness, selfishness, and weakness, she had lost the good opinion of everyone who mattered to her. Worse, she’d ruined Isabella’s chances with a man to whom she had formed a secret attachment. Leticia had been too selfish to see the truths in front of her.
She was the most wretched person in all of England. She deserved to live out her life in solitude and misery.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tristan gave up on sleep and paced his bachelor’s rooms. Perhaps he deserved nothing less. He’d been a rake of the worst kind. Leticia had no use for such men, and he had no finger of blame to point at her behavior.
The question remained: what to do now?
As morning dawned, he dressed and began walking. He walked for the better part of the day, coming no closer to a course of action. He could leave now for the country estates as he’d promised Richard he would do and let Bradbury have Leticia. He could stay and fight for Leticia—wrest her away from Lord Bradbury. If he succeeded, did he dare trust her to love a wretch like him—enough to be faithful to him? Or should he cut his losses, accept his loneliness as penance for all his past misdeeds, and immerse himself into helping Richard make the estate more prosperous than ever?
He found himself at the front steps of Averston House. Richard. Could he confide in him without giving away too many details that would reflect poorly on Leticia? As he stood on the steps, Elizabeth stepped out.
“Why, Tristan!” she exclaimed.
He faltered. “Is Richard home?”
“No, he said he planned to stop by White’s for an informal gathering of some of his friends.”
He nodded.
She fixed a searching gaze on him. “Is something amiss?”
“Nothing of import.”
He backed away and continued on foot, ignoring his fatigue. Inside White’s, Tristan squared his shoulders and mustered up enough dignity to greet his new friends with a smile and a few casual, light-hearted quips so as not to appear a kicked dog.
Deeper in the club, he spotted Lord Bradbury seated at a table alone. Tristan’s blood heated. Torn between the desire to warn him that Leticia might be playing them both, and the urge to flatten the lord for pressing his advantage, Tristan marched to the good-for-nothing lord and glowered at him.
Bradbury raised his gaze and stared at Tristan as if he were a watercolor painted by an unskilled novice. “Barrett. Come to glo—”
“I should call you out.”
Bradbury’s expression went blank. Then pained. “She told you?”
“I saw you. How long have you been taking such liberties?”
Glancing around, Bradbury leaned forward. “Lower your voice lest anyone overhear and suspect who the lady in question is.”
He was right, curse him. Regardless of what Leticia had done, Tristan had no desire to smear her reputation. He settled for wishing for the lord’s demise.
Bradbury spread his hands. “I know it was beneath a gentleman. I assure you, that it went no further. You, of all people, should understand that sometimes a man—”
“I expect you to behave as a gentleman from this moment on,” Tristan snarled. How dare that arrogant scoundrel throw Tristan’s past into his face as a way of excusing his own bad behavior? Tristan planted his hands on the table and leaned in. “If I hear that you’ve insulted her or hurt her, I will call you out.”
“You don’t—”
“Be warned.” Tristan strode away before he struck Bradbury in truth.
Tristan came within a hair’s width of colliding with a waiter, and made his escape into another room.
The Duke of Suttenberg passed him. “Barrett.” The duke inclined his head in a greeting.
“Suttenberg,” Tristan managed.
The duke checked his steps. “I say ol’ chap, you seem rather blue-deviled.”
Tristan swallowed and grappled with his self-control. “Have you seen my brother, perchance?”
“I’m about to meet him in the coffee room. Care to join us?”
Tristan nodded and fell in step. In the coffee room, Richard sat surrounded by his peers in an animated discussion. Suttenberg took a seat at the table. Tristan had no stomach for conversation. Instead, he caught Richard’s eye, turned on his heel, and walked out. He found an empty reading room nearby. A waiter came by with the offer of a brandy. Tristan almost accepted, but hesitated. A difficult decision lay ahead; having a mind numbed by drink would not help him. He declined.
He picked up something to read in the hopes that people would leave him alone, but the words blurred into nonsense.
“Did you wish to speak with me?” Richard’s voice drew him out of his fog of sorrow.
Tristan looked up, unable to give words to the pain crushing him.
Richard peered at him. “I promised Elizabeth I wouldn’t be late. Care to
join me in my carriage?”
Tristan dragged himself out of his chair and kept pace with his brother. Once inside the Averston coach, Richard settled back and eyed Tristan. “You look the very devil, little brother, but you’re sober.”
Tristan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I rather wish I were roaring drunk at the moment.”
“Drinking yourself to a state of unconsciousness never solves anything—it only assures a ‘roaring’ headache on the morrow.”
Tristan stared without seeing out the window and reached futilely at his stormy thoughts but they slipped away before he could name them. “I love Leticia.”
Solemn and subdued, Richard said, “I know.”
Tristan searched for words to identify his chaotic thoughts. “But she’s…”
Richard supplied, “She’s being courted by Lord Bradbury?”
Tristan closed his eyes but that brightened the haunting image of her in Bradbury’s arms. “She told me she loved me, and that she was going to tell Bradbury they don’t suit. Then I caught them…kissing…”
“Leticia?” Richard’s surprise revealed itself in his tone.
“Either she’s playing us both, or…”
“Stop.” Richard said. “You know her better than that.”
Rage knifed through him. “She kissed him!” he roared.
“Did she?”
“I saw them!”
“I know that’s what you saw. But often that is not what really happened. You know her. She is not the kind of woman who plays men.”
Tristan would not have thought so, either.
“Trust me,” Richard continued. “I made the mistake of jumping to conclusions with Elizabeth, a great number of times, and it almost destroyed any chance of happiness in our marriage.”
Tristan digested his words but they seemed to bang against each other in meaningless litany.
“Remember that night I thought you and Elizabeth had gone for a tryst during the ball?”
The reminder hit Tristan like a cold slap. He knew all too well how it felt to be so misjudged. Tristan rubbed his jaw to show Richard he remembered.
