by Donna Hatch
Richard fixed a pointed stare at Tristan. “Talk to Leticia again. This time, give her a chance to tell you what’s in her heart. Listen.”
Tristan leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.
“For all you know,” Richard continued, “She didn’t welcome Bradbury’s kiss. You might have left before she spurred him.”
Tristan lifted his head. What if it were true? What if she’d been the victim of an unwanted advance, and now the one person who should be defending her was instead condemning her?
“Go home and rest,” Richard said. “Seek her out on the morrow when you have a clear head. Isn’t she worth giving the her the benefit of doubt? Isn’t she worth a second chance?”
Richard was right. Tristan owed Leticia the chance to explain. Either way, he, of all people, understood the concept of second chances.
Very well. He’d give her another chance. As Richard said: she was worth it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As dawn glimmered, gray and cold, Leticia picked her way through the rubble of what was once their charity school. Most of the outer brick walls remained standing, but all the rest of their dreams lay in charred timber and ash. She passed under what used to be the front door, stepping around holes in the wooden floor and heaps of rubble. At the smoldering remains of the pianoforte, she stopped. The wooden frame and keys had crumbled to little more than blackened dust. The metal harp inside remained like a skeletal reminder of slain hope.
Somehow, she would find a way either to rebuild the school, or start an orphanage, or…perhaps on a smaller scale, she might content herself with helping her sisters raise their children. She would make herself observe their happy marriages and children as a constant reminder of what she might once have had, and had thrown away. She would love her nieces and nephews with all of her heart.
For now, she’d allow herself this moment to mourn.
“Miss?” A child’s voice broke through her haze of grief.
“Please leave me,” Leticia said.
“We come to—came—to h-h-help, we did.” the child emphasized the h in her word as if trying to make it a part of her speech. “Don’t cry, Miss. We can rebuild, can’t we?”
Footsteps approached. “She’s right,” Mrs. Harper said.
Leticia raised her head. One of the students held a homemade broom. Next to her, Mrs. Harper and Peter stood, their expressions hopeful. Behind them, scattered on the steps and spilling out onto the street, all the students, as well as several adults, held brooms or shovels or rags and buckets. Among the adults, she recognized a baker’s assistant, several chimney sweeps, a blacksmith, and a fruit peddler.
Speechless, she stared at the army of support. She climbed to her feet. “Thank you all, but cleaning up is a small part of what we need. We’d have to rebuild, and replace all the books. We don’t have the money for that, nor could we purchase desks…”
“You don’t need desks to teach children, do you?” Tristan’s familiar voice sent warm ripples all over her.
She resisted the urge to run into his arms. His expression, though not hostile, was still guarded. “It’s only a building, Leticia.”
So handsome, so solemn, and even vulnerable, he met her gaze. Her heart broke all over again. He was here. Had he come as a friend, or was he still willing to make a future with her if she managed the right apology? She owed it to him to try. If he rejected her, she’d be no worse off.
Tristan took another step toward her. “All you need for a school is a teacher and students. All of this”—he gestured at the remains of the building—“is nice but not necessary.”
“I agree with Tristan.” Elizabeth pushed her way through the crowd with Richard helping clear a path for her. “We had grand hopes. One day, we can do all of that again, and more—have the charity boarding school as we dreamed. For now, we can concentrate teaching them their letters. I don’t think they’d mind sitting on the floor to learn, would you, girls?”
A chorus of “no, m’lady” came in response.
“I spoke to our solicitor this morning,” Elizabeth continued. “He ran the figures and said that we can rebuild the exterior of the structure and buy enough coal to get them through the winter. If we wish to add desks or anything else, we’d need to have another method of raising funds.”
“We are here to help.” Lady Petre called. “Excuse me.” She wormed her way through. “When I heard of the fire, I informed my husband I intend to help.”
Leticia gaped. “And he agreed to it?”
Lady Petre smiled. “I can be persuasive if I put my mind to it. He still disagrees with your venture, but allowed me to help as I wish.”
Elizabeth took Leticia’s hand. “Lord and Lady Tarrington donated a pianoforte.”
Leticia looked at each face, overwhelmed.
Tristan stood near enough to touch if she stretched out her hand. “You are doing a good thing here, Tish. Don’t throw it all away because of a setback.”
If Tristan, of all people, still believed in her, she didn’t dare quit now. She swallowed hard and blinked at tears stinging her eyes. She nodded. “You’re right. If we have enough to restore the building, we can make do and add the rest a little at a time. I would never wish to throw away all we’ve worked so hard to achieve.” She raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming. By all means, let’s get to work.”
All the volunteers got busy. Within a few hours, they’d made a noticeable improvement. By the time the adult helpers started leaving, making apologies that they needed to return to their places of business, the ground floor had been cleared of rubble. Much work remained to be done, but they had made progress.
“We’ve done all we can for now,” she said. “We’ll hire workers to finish the rest and to rebuild the main floor. Perhaps we should go home.”
“I believe you’re right,” Elizabeth said.
“I have a meeting this afternoon with my steward,” Richard added.
While Peter trotted off to find a hackney, Richard said, “The four of us can fit in our coach. Can we offer you both a ride?”
“Thank you.” Leticia glanced at Tristan. “You’re probably hungry. Would you care to come back with me and have luncheon?”
Again, that hesitance mingled with something else that she wanted to identify as longing but couldn’t hope for that much. He nodded. “I would like that.”
Dear Tristan! How badly she must have hurt him to put such hesitation in him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him until his inner wounds healed. He might never forgive her enough to marry her now, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Tristan living with emotional injury.
Peter returned with a hackney and helped Mrs. Harper inside. When the earl’s crested carriage arrived, Richard handed in Elizabeth and took a seat next to his wife, leaving Tristan to hand in Leticia. He held out a hand, his gaze so shielded she couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts. She looked into his eyes, hoping her regret and deep sorrow were revealed. He gave no reaction. Placing her hand in his, she stepped into the family coach. Tristan swung in and sat close enough that his thigh brushed hers.
As the carriage rolled along the streets, Elizabeth and Richard kept up a stream of conversation in a clear attempt to pretend they didn’t notice the tension between Tristan and Leticia. Leticia focused on holding back her tears.
Once the carriage stopped in front of Aunt Alice’s house, Leticia murmured her thanks to Richard and Elizabeth, and vacated. Tristan kept pace with her up the front steps. As they stepped inside, she turned to him. “May I speak with you in private before we join my aunt and sister?”
He nodded, his expression blank.
She led the way to the open front parlor, the exact place where she had foolishly allowed Lord Bradbury to kiss her. If only she’d been more decisive about her refusal, or pushed him away. If she’d slapped him, that would have removed all doubt about her feelings.
No, she couldn’t fault Lord Bradbury for his intentions
. Still, it had cost her Tristan’s trust.
Leticia drew a breath. To give herself a moment, she removed her gloves and bonnet, and smoothed back her hair. Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “I owe you an apology. After you left, Lord Bradbury asked me to marry him. I refused—I told him I love you. He tried to discourage me from choosing you because of your past, and then he tried to show me how much he cared about me by”—she took another breath. Making herself say the words, she blurted—“kissing me. I never meant to do it; he caught me off guard. He hoped I’d enjoy the kiss enough to consider a life with him. He realized that my heart wasn’t in it—I didn’t reciprocate, I vow it—and he withdrew his offer. That doesn’t change the fact that we did kiss, though.”
She turned to him to let him see her desperate sincerity. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please know that I never meant to play you false. I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”
He said nothing. There was no forgiveness then. Perhaps at least he would no longer be so hurt.
She twisted her hands together. “I will always love you. I know you don’t want me now. I’ve been such a hypocrite.” Her eyes burned. “That’s all I wanted to say. Thank you for giving me the chance to explain myself.” Miserable, she turned to leave. Silently, she bade farewell at all hope of a loving marriage with Tristan, the only man she’d ever truly loved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After delivering her apology, Leticia turned to leave. Tristan should have known Bradbury was to blame, that Leticia had been innocent. Tristan should have flattened the blackguard in White’s. There would surely be words—or more—between them in the future.
Tristan caught her arm. “Tish.”
Leticia halted, looking at the ground. Tears dropped from her eyes, some falling to the floor, others carving out streaks on her cheeks.
He slid his hand from her arm down to her hand. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”
Raising her head, she peered at him with tearful eyes.
He touched her cheek. “Forgive me for assuming the worst. I doubted you, not because you are untrustworthy, but because I doubt my own ability to be loveable.”
She stepped closer, disbelief and sorrow in the narrowing of her eyes. “You are lovable.”
“I don’t deserve you. I don’t meet the criteria you outlined when we first made our ridiculous wager. I can only do everything possible to make you happy within my limited ability, and hope it’s enough…hope you will be happy enough to stay.”
She put a hand on his cheek. “Your mother didn’t leave because you disappointed her; she left because she was selfish.”
Memories overwhelmed him and he was transported to when he was a small boy searching for his mother, running through the house calling for her. The head housekeeper had pointed out the window where his mother climbed onto a carriage. He’d raced outside, but the carriage had already begun rolling forward. Though Tristan had run as fast as he could, the carriage continued at a steady pace, more quickly than his legs could keep up. When the carriage with his mother disappeared from view, and he’d come to a crossroads with no way of knowing which direction they’d taken, he’d stopped, fallen to his knees, and sobbed.
Richard had found him then. Silent and grim, he’d picked up Tristan, hoisted him onto the back of the horse he’d ridden, and taken Tristan home.
“Can you ever forgive me?” Leticia pressed her lips together, studying him.
“If you’ll forgive me for believing you could have played me false.”
Leticia put her other hand on his chest and smiled so lovingly into his eyes that it almost undid him. Leticia. She was constant and driven by both duty and honor. No dutiful, honorable woman would leave her family, betray her husband, abandon her children.
Leticia was right. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt. His mother hadn’t left because Tristan had been a bad child; she left for her own reasons. Perhaps she suffered from some form of mental illness. She may not have really loved her husband and had run off to be with another man. Whatever her reasons, she wasn’t committed enough to stay—even for her children.
However, Leticia embodied selflessness and sincerity and honor.
She stood with one hand in his, the other on his chest, and so much love in her eyes that it nearly brought him to his knees.
With a tender smile curving her shapely lips, she said, “You do meet my criteria of an ideal husband.”
With a huff of disbelief, he shook his head. “Hardly.”
She pulled away, humor brightening her eyes. “Let’s see. If I recall correctly, my list for a husband included monogamy, integrity, kindness, a sense of humor and a means of supporting me.”
He managed a smile. “You’re a very demanding wench, you know that?”
She grinned. “I am. But don’t you see? You are that man.”
He paused, working backward through her list. “Well, I do have ten thousand a year so unless you want to buy a castle, that would be adequate. We laugh a lot together. I hope I am kind more often than not.” He stumbled over the remaining two qualities.
She finished. “You are a man of integrity. You always keep your promises and you act within your principles.”
He swallowed, waiting for the final stumbling block, given his history.
“As far as monogamy, I have every faith in you. In your heart, you are a new man—a better man. You haven’t changed much; you’ve always lived by your own code of honor. Recently, you’ve elevated that code. I know you would never betray me.”
The trust and love in her eyes gave him courage. “I vow it. I vow I will always be faithful to you. Only you.” He leaned in and kissed her, full of promise and love.
She molded herself against him and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with such pure love and passion that it healed him. Its strength and beauty reached through years of pain and isolation to that small boy who thought he’d disappointed his mother and driven her away. If a woman as remarkable as Leticia loved him, he was a worthwhile person—strong and noble and brave—and so very much in love that his heart expanded. The sensation washed over him, bathing him in light and joy.
In his heart, he sailed across an ocean to an island big enough for the two happiest people on earth.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Leticia found her sister in the library working on a watercolor, humming a melancholy tune in a minor key. With the library windows framing her, and the pale gray, silver, and charcoal clouds behind her, she looked like a portrait painted with masterful strokes.
“Bella,” Leticia murmured.
Isabella’s gaze flitted to her but focused on her watercolor. After a moment, she tossed her brush into a tin cup, leaned back, and eyed Leticia with a weariness of an older woman.
“You look happy,” Isabella said. “Am I to understand that you and Tristan have come to an understanding?”
“We have. He forgave me.” Leticia let out a breath. “I only hope you will, some day. I am so sorry, Bella. I was too self-absorbed to realize you had formed an attachment to Lord Bradbury.”
Isabella wiped her hands with a cloth. “Many gentlemen are courting me. Perhaps my feelings for one of them will change. Aunt assures me that if I do not find my heart’s desire this year, she’ll bring me back every Season until I do. I’m only sixteen—I’m not exactly on the shelf.”
“It’s true that you have plenty of time, but the fact is, I encouraged someone whom you preferred. That must cut you deeply.”
Isabella poured mineral water onto the cloth, its pungent scent filling the room, and continued wiping her hands. “It matters not. He chose you.”
Leticia let out a sigh. “I hope you will forgive me.” She arose.
“Leticia.” Her sister’s voice halted her movement. “I am glad you and Tristan finally realized you were meant to be together. I know you will make each other happy.” She offered a faint smile.
“I know it, too.”
Isabella lifted a chin. “I don’t believe I am in love with Lord Bradbury. I held him in high regard but I hardly conversed with him enough to form a true tendré for him. So really, it’s not as if you wounded me so greatly.”
“I’m sorry to have lost your good opinion.”
Isabella’s expression lightened. “You’re my sister; I will always love you.”
Leticia knelt at her side, and threw her arms around her. “I love you, too, Bella.”
A servant arrived. “Mr. Barrett to see you, Miss Wentworth.
Tristan!
Leticia practically skipped to the front parlor where he stood grinning. Her knees went weak at the sight. He drew her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Her entire body turned to the consistency of lemon curd. When he lifted his head, Leticia hung on to his arms to keep upright.
Chuckling, he led her to a nearby Ottomane couch and they sank into its soft cushions together. “I love how flushed you get when I kiss you.” He tapped her nose and wrapped his hands around hers. “I have two purposes for my visit today.”
“Is one to kiss me?”
He grinned. “Very well, I admit it; I have three purposes.”
“Oh, good. Then you’d best kiss me again.”
He raised a brow. “Is that a request?”
“No. A command.”
“Your command is my wish.” As he lowered his head, she lifted her face and kissed him first. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest but he let her take the lead. She explored his lips as if finding them for the first time, each new sensation washing over her.
When she pulled away, he blinked, his face flushed, his breath as unsteady as hers. “Heaven help me,” he muttered.
She swallowed to cover up her own breathlessness, and asked in an overly sweet voice, “What are the other two reasons for your visit?”
“I can’t imagine…” He swallowed. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Right. Visit. I wanted to let you know that I am on my way to call upon your father.”
She affected an innocent look. “Oh? What business have you with him?”