Courting the Country Miss
Page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Donna Hatch
Courting the Country Miss
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Before Leticia got tempted to do something
unladylike, such as crack her fan over his head, Tristan turned to Wynn. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. John Wynn. He’s here with his family, including a rather spirited sister, I understand.” He hoped Wynn heard the warning in his voice.
Wynn flashed a debonair smile, but at the last second, his gaze flitted toward Tristan as if he feared Tristan might reveal a secret.
After a last look of challenge, Tristan said, “Mr. Wynn, meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Miss Wentworth.”
“A delight to make your acquaintance, Miss Wentworth.” Wynn bowed low.
Leticia smiled as if she’d found a missing puzzle piece. “Wynn? Oh, yes, I met your sister. Spirited, indeed.”
Wynn wasted no time. “Miss Wentworth, if I may be so bold, will you do me the honor of standing up with me?” He gestured toward the dance floor where dancers lined up for the next set.
“I’d be delighted.” As she placed her hand on Wynn’s proffered arm, she glanced at Tristan as if to say, ‘I know you’ve put him up to this.’
Tristan would take the earliest opportunity to ensure she knew he did not put Wynn up to it, and that the scoundrel failed to meet the criteria for a suitable husband, by Leticia’s own list. And his own.
Perhaps this matchmaking business would be a greater challenge than he first supposed.
Praise for Donna Hatch
“Donna Hatch weaves together a compelling love story with emotionally damaged characters and skillfully moves them along with attention-keeping happenings that lead to healing and redemption and, of course, a heart-satisfying happy-even-after.”
~Long & Short Reviews
~*~
“If you like reading Regency Romance, trust issues, a little mystery, learning to love, clean read (lots of kissing), and finding where you are meant to be, then this might be for you!”
~Kindle and Me
~*~
“Written with heart and depth, Donna Hatch’s books are absolute must-reads for any fan of swoon-worthy historical romance.”
~USA Today best-selling historical romance author Sarah M. Eden
~*~
“No one creates chemistry between Regency Historical characters better than Donna Hatch. If you want a “sweet” read, but with lots of sizzle, you have to read her books.”
~Author Carol A. Spradling
Courting the Country Miss
by
Donna Hatch
Courting Series, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Courting the Country Miss
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Donna Hatch
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Tea Rose Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1580-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1581-2
Courting Series, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my husband,
whose love and unswerving support
always sustains me.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Airial Hot Air Balloons and their pilot, Bill, for giving me an unforgettable ride in a hot air balloon and tons of information about the history of balloons to help me research this book.
Also, I thank Lynda Crispino at the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta for providing more information regarding hydrogen gas balloons similar to those used in Regency England.
I would be remiss without thanking my editor, Cindy Davis; my amazing critique partner and all around cheerleader, Jennifer; and Julie, Liz, Charlotte, Laura, and Nichole for dropping everything to do a final proof read for me out of the kindness of their hearts.
And I want to thank Vicki, who begged me to write Tristan’s story.
Chapter One
England, 1817
Leticia Wentworth was twenty times a fool. Richard Barrett never cared for her beyond a childhood friendship, and Leticia had been naive to believe he would love her as she loved him. With savage ferocity, Leticia squelched the cry of pain her heart made every time Richard turned a gaze of adoration upon his wife—the kind of look he never gave Leticia, not even when she’d been certain he’d approach her father to ask for her hand in marriage. She’d pinned all her hopes and dreams of love and family on a man she would never have.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Here she stood, watching Richard kiss his wife’s fingertips—the way she’d always imagined he’d do with hers—at a house party much like the one last year when her future had crumbled to dust.
Of course, Richard had never looked at Leticia the way he looked at his wife. He never loved Leticia—not really. That thought lessened the heartache that he’d been snatched from her.
Or so she told herself as she left the party for the quiet serenity of the garden.
She bolted down the gravel pathway and stopped as she came upon a garden fountain—very much like the place where it all started. And where it all ended.
“Weary of the noise inside?” drawled Tristan’s familiar voice.
Leticia didn’t turn around. Instead she sank onto a nearby stone bench and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of roses. “I need a moment away from all that.” She made a loose wave toward the house.
Tristan’s clothi
ng rustled as he sat with her. “Makes you want to move to the continent, doesn’t it?”
“What does—the house party?” She looked up at Tristan Barrett, his handsome face and midnight hair so like his brother Richard’s. Tristan’s presence filled her with the warmth of childhood friendship.
His grin turned sardonic as his coal-black gaze slid her way. “The lovebirds inside.”
“It’s lovely.” Did her voice sound as devoid of sincerity as she felt?
Tristan let out his breath in a huff of amusement. “Admit it; it’s nauseating.”
“I’m happy for them. They have what marriage should be.” Softer, she added, “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” She stiffened, cursed herself for her confession, and looked away before her long-time friend saw too much. They used to confide in one another; it had been so easy, so comfortable. But everything had changed.
He fingered his signet ring. “Sorry, Tish. You must hate me for making a muddle of your future.”
She sifted through possible replies. “He’s happier…with Elizabeth than he would have been with me.”
“You don’t truly believe that.” He paused. “Do you?”
“Of course I do. He never loved me the way he loves her.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
She wound her fingers together in her lap.
He laid a gentle hand over hers. “You’ll have that with someone else.”
She let out a sharp exhale that doubled as a mirthless laugh. “I think not. I have no prospects.”
“That’s what the London Season is all about, isn’t it? You’ll meet a duke or some other stuffed shirt and there you go.” He snapped his fingers. “The problem of spinsterhood solved.”
She shook her head. “I’m no longer in the first bloom of youth, and my dowry is unremarkable; I have little to offer. Besides, I’ll never love anyone else. And my sister Isabella is out now, and will have her first Season this year. We can’t afford a Season for us both.”
“Never love anyone else?”
Leave it to Tristan to pick up on what she least wanted to discuss. She pretended not to hear him. “Besides, the money I might have spent on clothes for a London Season would be better used helping educate the poor. Have I told you about Elizabeth’s and my newest project?”
“Never love anyone else?” he persisted.
Tristan could be annoyingly relentless at times. She adjusted her glove. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”
He made a tsking sound. “Since when won’t you discuss your thoughts with me?”
Long-suppressed anger roiled up inside her. “Since you ruined a duke’s daughter and forced my intended to wed her to save you from a duel!”
Tristan stared as if she’d slapped him, blinked, then hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees.
She turned away, her anger fading at the obvious sign that she’d hurt him. “Pray, forgive me. I didn’t mean that.”
“Of course you meant it. All of it.” He pushed out a breath. “I’ve known it all along. You’ve barely said a word to me since then. I deserve your hatred.”
“I could never hate you, Tristan.”
“Then you’re kinder than I deserve. I made an enormous mistake on so many levels. I should have dueled her brother and spared all of you the heartache.”
“No!” she almost shouted. Catching herself, she softened her voice. “No, you most certainly should not have dueled. You might have been injured or killed, or done the same to her brother.” She affected a tone her mother would have used. “Perhaps what you ought to be telling yourself is that you should never have lured an innocent out to a secluded garden.”
“How could I have known some of London’s biggest gossips would have a sudden need to go for a walk?” He trailed off. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been alone with her.”
No, he most certainly should not have coaxed a gently bred lady out for a moonlit kiss. No young lady should be unchaperoned in the company of a known libertine such as Tristan.
She halted that line of thought. No need to agonize over the past. Tristan had the wisdom to learn from his mistakes, she hoped. As her life-long friend slumped, clearly so full of regret, she had to say something. “It all worked out for the best.”
“Except you still hate me.”
She attempted to laugh lightly but it sounded as forced as an old key in a rusty lock. “I don’t hate you. I haven’t been avoiding you—I’ve been in Suffolk helping my sister Luciana with her new baby.”
He said nothing, his usual smile absent. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Tish. I’d only pursued Elizabeth as a flirtation, an interesting diversion. I never dreamed it would go that far, to feel…” He shrugged. “A mistake in many ways, all of it.”
Had Tristan formed a true attachment for Elizabeth? Leticia reached for the brother-sister-like banter they’d used so much of their lives. “Yes, well, the last several years, you’ve had a terrible time behaving as a gentleman and have taken a great many things too far.”
He feigned outrage. “I’m always a gentleman.”
She opened her eyes in mock wide-eyed innocence. “Since when is the word rake synonymous with gentleman?”
“Oh, you mean a gentleman by behavior and not by birth? Well, now, that’s another matter.” A touch of that familiar, teasing smile tugged at his expressive mouth, a mouth with full, kissable lips so like his brother’s, a mouth Tristan had probably used on dozens of women. How could two brothers be so alike in appearance and yet so different in behavior?
Unable to keep up the banter, Leticia turned her knees toward him. “What happened to that sweet, dreamy boy who loved poetry and clouds? You didn’t used to be so dissipated.”
Some inner pain passed over his expression so quickly that she might have imagined it. His grin flashed in the near darkness. “Merely living well, Tish.”
“Men can live well without becoming debauched.”
His mouth pulled to one side. “Yes, well, my dear brother is perfect enough for the both of us.”
“So, since you’ll never reach Richard’s level of perfection, you’ll be the perfect roué?”
He adopted a Byronic pose. “But of course.”
His fears of not measuring up to Richard didn’t touch that inner pain she glimpsed earlier. What secret did he hide? Had it been there all the time?
“Is it because you dislike women?”
He choked. “How can you say that after calling me dissipated, a rake, and a roué?”
“I’m not suggesting you don’t like to be in a woman’s arms, so to speak.” She cleared her throat while she blushed with such heat that she wished for a fan. “But no man who cares for the heart or sensibilities of a woman would use her in such a casual manner.”
“Trust me, none of the women I use, as you say, are innocent, or pretend to have true feelings for me. None of their hearts are involved.”
She let out a noise of disgust. “So it’s meaningless to you.”
“Well, there certainly aren’t any pretenses or promises.”
Fury at his nonchalant attitude brought her to her feet. “This is an improper conversation to have, even between us.”
He rose to his full height, like a cat uncurling after a nap, his smile lazy. “You brought it up.”
“Well, I’m ending it. Please don’t ruin anyone else’s life with all your pleasures, you heartless cad.” She turned and marched deeper into the garden.
His clothes rustled as he stood and his footsteps trailed after her. He caught up to her, matching her stride. He spoke in a voice as soft as silk on her skin. “Tish.”
She kept marching.
“Leticia.” He took her arm firm enough to halt her strides. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“For being who you are?” she shot back.
“For disappointing you.” True regret rang in his tone and in his expression.
His contrition smoothed the edges of her anger. Honestly, the infuriating man kn
ew how to raise strong emotions in her, sending her from one extreme to the other.
“’Tis of no consequence.” She resumed her march back to the house.
Still keeping pace with her, he said, “I’m troubled that you believe you’ll never love or marry. Someone like you should not live as a spinster.”
“Someone like me?” she echoed.
He made a helpless gesture. “You have much to offer. You’re gracious and constant and…well…you’d make a good wife and mother—not run off when life gets dull or when your children misbehave.”
She stopped walking and stared at him. That same pain returned in Tristan’s eyes but this time it lingered as he stared out into the darkness. Not run off…the way his mother had. Is that what haunted him? Did he feel that no woman would ever love him enough to stay with him, that she’d leave him as his mother left when Tristan was a child?
She went deeper with that thought. Perhaps he believed his mother left because of something he’d done to drive her away. She’d heard of that happening. This, then, might be the source of that pain. Perhaps the source of his debauchery.
He seemed to catch himself. With a self-conscious smile curving his mouth, he pulled his gaze back to her face. “There are other dull stuffed shirts like Richard all over England. You have only to find them.”
She smiled. “Dull, stuffed shirt, eh? I’d almost believe that, except I know that you would die for your brother.”
Memories flitted through her mind of the daring rescue Tristan and Captain Kensington and one of Elizabeth’s reformed servants had orchestrated when Richard had been held captive during the peer trial last year. She’d prayed for Tristan when she’d heard he had been shot freeing his brother. To her regret, she’d been too far away at the time to offer assistance for his care.
Tristan shrugged as a sardonic smile played on his mouth. “Taking a bullet for my brother doesn’t mean I like him.”
She almost laughed. “I see.”
He cleared his throat. “I think all you need is to meet a new crop of eligible bachelors. Surely you’ll find one who can steal your heart.”
Leticia had no desire for anyone to steal her heart. She’d rather willingly give her heart to someone who loved her. She shook her head. “I’m going to dedicate my life to helping the poor. Elizabeth and I are planning to open a charity school for girls. Won’t that be wonderful?”