Courting the Country Miss

by Hatch, Donna

  As groups began entering the boats, Tristan offered an arm to Miss Seton, who blushed. He leaned in and murmured something to her, the word ‘Whist’ mingled in. Miss Seton straightened and smiled. He guided her to Mr. Rowley and said something to them both that initiated a conversation between the charming Mr. Rowley and the shy Miss Seton. They stepped into the boat together.

  Tristan arrived at her side with two men in tow.

  “Miss Leticia Wentworth, Isabella, may I present Mr. Finley and Mr. Dixon.”

  Leticia greeted the two gentlemen, both of whom appeared to be under thirty, well-heeled and without that rakish gleam that most of Tristan’s friends all seemed to have. But then, he had assured her that his guests were all perfectly respectable.

  If she remembered her Debrett’s peerage, Mr. Finley was the grandson of a viscount, and Mr. Dixon was the third son of a marquis. Tristan seemed to be reaching high for potential husband candidates. She awarded Tristan a knowing smile, and he opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. She and Isabella exchanged greetings with the gentlemen and enjoyed polite, if a bit stiff, conversation.

  They stepped into the boats and cast off. As the ferryman guided them across the river, Mr. Finley pointed out birds along the way and explained their traits to a degree that she couldn’t decide if it were impressive or frightfully dull. Still, ever courteous, he asked her questions about herself. Mr. Dixon offered Isabella livelier dialogue, but his self-importance would grow tiresome. Eventually, Isabella and Mr. Dixon fell into conversation of him speaking and her nodding as if interested.

  The boat bobbed in the gentle waves, but Leticia kept a white-knuckled hold onto her seat. The water lapped at the edges as if hungry to consume them. Mr. Finley’s litany, though dry, helped keep her anxiety down to manageable levels.

  They reached the other side of the river by Vauxhall. Mr. Finley extended a hand to help her, and they waited for Isabella and Mr. Dixon to disembark.

  “That was a lovely lead up to the thrills of the gardens.” Isabella exchanged glances with Mr. Dixon who grinned back at her. His air of self-importance appeared to have diminished.

  Out of the group, the diminutive Mr. Seton approached Leticia, offered her a nervous smile, then examined his feet.

  She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mr. Seton.”

  “Miss Wentworth.” The small man shot his gaze at her before returning to his study of his feet. It was a wonder he managed to ask her to dance at the house party.

  Mr. Finley pointed to a branch in a nearby tree. “Oh, look, that’s a blackcap—a male. Blackcaps have a jaunty little song. Many call it a Northern Nightingale.”

  Leticia pretended interest in Mr. Finley’s description of the bird while Mr. Seton darted glances at her.

  When Mr. Finley finished discussing the mating rituals of the bird, Leticia nodded at him. “I had no idea there was so much to know about birds.” She focused her attention on Mr. Seton. “Are you a bird watcher, too, Mr. Seton?”

  “Er, no.”

  She addressed them both. “Lovely afternoon for a visit to the gardens, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed it is.” Mr. Finley continued searching the trees, no doubt hoping he’d find some new exciting specimen.

  “Yes. Lovely.” Mr. Seton looked up at her with undisguised admiration in his eyes, then resumed his stare at the ground.

  Leticia’s heart swelled in sympathy. Poor man. She couldn’t help but be flattered that he liked her but she felt no attraction for him in return. Still, she couldn’t leave him stranded. A tense silence fell on them.

  She searched for a topic. “I understand you plan to run for the House of Commons, as your father did.”

  “Yes.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but then returned to stare at the ground.

  She hoped only ladies tied his tongue or he’d have difficulty getting elected to the House of Commons. Well, if Tristan could be kind to shy Miss Seton, she could do the same to the equally bashful Mr. Seton and the enthusiastic bird watcher, Mr. Finley.

  Leticia took a step nearer Mr. Seton. “I’m sure you’ll be a fine elected official.”

  He looked up again. “Do you think so?”

  “Certainly. Your parents both seem well informed and I’m sure you have the good of the people in mind.”

  “I do, I really do. I…” he stammered for a moment. “I admire your cause to help the orphans learn how to read. I want to help.”

  “Do you? Oh, that would be lovely.” She smiled at him and he offered a smile in return.

  “I…I can’t give as much as I’d like, but I’d be willing to make a pledge.

  “Oh, Mr. Seton, you are as generous as you are kind. Here is the name of our solicitor who is handling the account for the school.” She pulled a card out of her reticule and handed it to him. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Miss Wentworth.”

  Tristan arrived last, no doubt to ensure no one had been left behind. He led the way to the garden’s main entrance. As he moved so confidently among the guests, Leticia couldn’t help but admire the calm, efficient way he managed everyone, seeing to their needs, making them feel heard. He would be a great leader, if he’d give himself a chance. If only he’d settle down and look for a kind, loyal lady who would love and cherish him as he deserved.

  They proceeded forward, and Mr. Seton melted back into the group. Mr. Finley remained next to her, listing birds he’d seen at the gardens on previous trips. Leticia stifled a yawn. Apparently, Tristan equated respectable with boring. But then, men were often different with one another than they were with ladies so she ought not to blame Mr. Finley for his singular topic.

  As Kensington walked by, he glanced her way. A touch of humor touched his mouth as if he suspected her disinterest with her walking partner’s topic of conversation. “I say, Finley, I overheard Miss Wynn say she’s a birdwatcher. Perhaps you ought to compare notes with her.”

  “Is she, now?” Finley peered around. “I was not aware of that.”

  “I think she’s partial to geese,” Kensington deadpanned.

  As images of Miss Wynn’s incident with a flock of geese at the house party burst into her mind, Leticia tried to hold back a laugh but it ended up sounding like a cross between a cough and a snort.

  Kensington’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Finley bade her a good day and went off in search of a fellow birdwatcher. Leticia suspected he would be disappointed.

  Leticia gave in to her laughter. “I didn’t realize you had a wicked streak.”

  His smile grew. “I prefer to think of it as a rescue, Miss Wentworth. I feared you’d die of boredom if I didn’t intervene.”

  “It appears I owe you my life then.”

  She admired the breadth of his shoulders, the sunlight shining on his dark hair. Captain Kensington was, without question, an attractive man.

  They arrived at the gate of Vauxhall Gardens, paid admission, and moved inside. Leticia drank in the sight of the Grand Walk, a large, open pathway lined with trees and whimsical pavilions. Tristan and an unfamiliar gentleman approached. The newcomer held Leticia’s gaze. He stood a few inches taller than Tristan but less broad, possessing that enviable lean figure that the dandy set adored. His clothing oozed wealth and taste, almost too opulent for an afternoon outing, but fit the sinewy grace of his every movement.

  Tristan led the gentleman to her. “May I present Lord Bradbury. My Lord, Miss Leticia Wentworth.”

  Leticia lowered her eyes and sank into a curtsy as she greeted the newcomer. “Delighted to meet you, Lord Bradbury.”

  Lord Bradbury bowed. “Your servant, Miss Wentworth.”

  She looked up at the rumble to his voice and exchanged a rather direct stare with him. His dark hair had the faintest touches of auburn, and his blue eyes gave the impression of wisdom and kindness.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “And I believe you know Captain Kensington, my lord.”

  Leticia caught herself staring. Her cheeks warmed an
d she glanced at Tristan. With his head cocked to one side and his eyes widened with curiosity, Tristan looked so impish and adorable that she wished they were children again so she could throw her arms around him. Tristan glanced meaningfully at Lord Bradbury, and her cheeks burned hotter still. No doubt Tristan wanted to crow over his victory at having introduced her to a man that piqued her interest.

  Lord Bradbury inclined his head to greet Kensington. “Captain.”

  Kensington nodded but his posture changed subtly, as if he were preparing to spring into action.

  Bradbury’s gaze shifted back to Leticia with another piercing look, giving Leticia the distinct impression he viewed her as a beautiful lady rather than a dowdy country miss. Which was silly. She never claimed to be as elegant as this lord, and no one had ever called her beautiful.

  “I understand this is your first visit to this auspicious garden?” Lord Bradbury said.

  “Indeed it is,” she admitted. Further proof of her low gentry status.

  “Then allow me to show you around.” He offered his arm. “If you don’t mind, Captain?”

  Kensington held up a hand. “Not at all, my lord.”

  With a backward glance at Tristan and Kensington, who both looked too thoughtful for her comfort, she took Lord Bradbury’s arm and allowed him to lead her. Another glance backward assured her that Isabella stood in the middle of the group, surrounded by three men vying for her favor. Leticia returned her attention to the gardens and to her companion.

  A large marble statue of a man standing in a relaxed pose, wearing slippers and a banyon-like dressing gown greeted them. He looked neither a statesman nor a soldier and his state of dress mystified Leticia.

  “That’s the great composer Handel,” Lord Bradbury explained.

  “What an unusual way to sculpt a man—in such a state of undress.”

  “Indeed.” His eyes crinkled in humor. “I understand that idea belongs to the man who commissioned it, Jonathan Tyers, a music lover and patron of the arts.”

  They walked past lush flowerbeds and arbors. Street performers stood among the guests who roamed and danced, all mingling with the aristocracy, the gentry, and the working class. Leticia verbalized her delight as they strolled through the Grove surrounded by supper boxes. The orchestra building dominated the center of the Grove. Lord Bradbury led her to a pavilion where pastoral paintings hung.

  I understand you and Mr. Barrett are old family friends,” Lord Bradbury said.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Averston asked me to encourage his brother to run for Parliament but I must say, his reputation gives me pause.”

  “Lord Averston’s?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “Mr. Barrett’s.”

  “Oh, yes, well, I’m sure he was deserving of that when he was younger, but he seems to have turned over a new leaf as of late.”

  At least, she hoped he had. He did seem more clear-eyed and purposeful lately. If she had to exaggerate the truth to help him get elected, she would.

  “So I’m told,” Bradbury said. “He seems to be genuinely interested in the working class, an admirable quality for a candidate for the House of Commons.”

  “Yes, he is very compassionate toward the down-trodden. He’s helping Lady Averston and me with our school for the poor. I assume you’ve heard of it?”

  “My help with her rather unconventional auction has been enlisted.” Amusement colored his voice. “I found it difficult to say no.”

  They shared a smile, and Leticia breathed another sigh of relief that they’d gained the support of such a respected lord.

  They strolled through lawns and charming groves intersected with winding paths. Around every turn, they encountered floral bowers arching over benches of wrought iron and some of stone. Trees and thatched pavilions canopied the area.

  Isabella’s laughter floated over the air, and Leticia glanced back. Isabella walked between Captain Kensington and Mr. Dixon while two others tried to impress her with their wit. Most of Tristan’s group strolled nearby in groups of three or four. Music floated over the air, lending a magical quality to the already surreal beauty of the gardens. Lord Bradbury led her past a replica of a castle, complete with cannons, swings, and bowling greens.

  “Amazing,” she said.

  “There are ruins over that direction.” He gestured. “Replicas instead of the original, of course, but diverting, nonetheless.”

  While they admired the gardens, often stopping to exclaim over some charming statue or fountain or artwork, dusk deepened.

  Tristan called out. “We should head back to the dinner boxes.” He laughed at something Miss Wynn said. His gaze caught Leticia’s gaze and grinned meaningfully at her, no doubt pleased Leticia still walked on the arm of Lord Bradbury.

  Who was she fooling? Bradbury’s position in society soared above her. Tristan must be deranged to think a lord like Bradbury would make a match with a simple miss such as she.

  As they returned to the area of the dinner boxes, she looked for Tristan but only found other members of their group. The two ladies Tristan had been accompanying now walked with other gentlemen. Craning her neck, she scanned the darkening gardens for him.

  “Our group seems to be congregating by that fountain,” Lord Bradbury said. “Shall we join them?”

  “There’s Isabella. I wonder how she’s enjoying the gardens. Please excuse me.”

  Lord Bradbury bowed. “It was a pleasure to enjoy the sites thus far in your company, Miss Wentworth.”

  “The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

  He inclined his head and she curtsied before she moved toward Isabella, trying to appear casual as she let her gaze slip over the crowd, searching for Tristan.

  Where had he gone?

  She approached Isabella in the middle of the group admiring the fountain. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

  “It’s magical.” Isabella linked arms with her. “Tell me about Lord Bradbury.”

  “He’s very charming.” She craned her neck, looking out another direction for Tristan’s form.

  “And handsome.”

  “Yes.” Where could Tristan have gone?

  Isabella’s smile turned sly. “I haven’t seen him for a few minutes.”

  “Who? Lord Bradbury? He’s right back there.”

  “No, goose—your Tristan.”

  “He’s not my Tristan.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Leticia spotted him striding toward them from the main pavilion. A woman of questionable reputation wearing a rather low-cut red gown revealing most of her large bosom stepped in front of him, swaying suggestively. Leticia held her breath. Tristan shook his head. Stepping around her, he continued toward Leticia and the others with long, purposeful strides.

  Leticia let out her breath to release her tension. Tristan had refused. He hadn’t even seemed to deliberate. She should have known he would never associate with members of the demi-monde.

  “Our dinner boxes are ready for us,” Tristan said as he reached her side.

  Kensington appeared at Leticia’s side and held out an arm. “Shall we?”

  “Thank you.” She took his arm, mystified at the attention of so many distinguished gentlemen.

  “I haven’t been here in years,” Kensington commented. “They’ve made a few additions since then. Oh, and wait, any minute now they’ll…never mind. You’ll see.”

  “What?”

  He touched a finger to his mouth in a hushing motion. “It’s better as a surprise.”

  They strolled silently along the path as the deepening dusk made it difficult to see. Instantly, hundreds of variegated lanterns leaped to life in perfect unison. Leticia breathed out an oooh and the crowd let out a collective gasp. Nobility and shop boys alike exclaimed over the sight.

  “Remarkable,” Leticia breathed. “How do they do that?”

  Kensington said, “I assume with an army of servants and practiced timing.”

  Following Tristan, who no
w escorted Isabella, the group strolled along the Grand Walk through rows of whimsical pavilions all representing Chinese, classical and gothic styles of architecture.

  As their group gathered in two neighboring dinner boxes and chattered about the sights, musicians played a selection of Handel. Leticia found herself seated between Tristan and Captain Kensington, and across from Lord Bradbury. Isabella sat between Lord Bradbury and another gentleman. Servers brought out platters of food including an assortment of biscuits, thinly sliced ham, and some of the best wine she’d ever tasted. She glanced at Tristan, whose eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  “You’re enjoying yourself,” she commented.

  “I am indeed.” Tristan sipped his drink, then held it out to her. “Care to try some arrack punch?”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Rum mixed with other things including the grains of the Benjamin Flower. Quite a heady liquor.” He grinned.

  She held out her hands to ward it off. “Er…no. One of us should keep our wits about us.”

  He raised his glass to her in silent homage, then sipped it. Toward the end of the meal, a bell sounded. Several people sprang to their feet including Tristan. His glass of arrack punch remained half full.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “You don’t want to miss this.” Tristan offered his arm, exchanged meaningful glances with Lord Bradbury. “If you don’t mind?”

  Bradbury’s eyes narrowed briefly, but waved him off. “Not at all. Miss Isabella, if I may have the pleasure?”

  Her face lit with pleasure, Isabella took Lord Bradbury’s arm and disappeared into the magical garden.

  Leticia wound her arm through Tristan’s. “Where are you taking me?”

  Tristan looked over his shoulder. “My apologies, but I wanted to be the one to show you this. It happens at nine o’clock and lasts just a few minutes.” He walked on, glancing sideways at her. “What do you think of Lord Bradbury?”

  “He was an attentive companion, but I’m confident he has no designs on me.”

  “I’m confident he does, especially after that look he gave me when I wanted to spirit you away.” He grinned at her. “Of course, nothing quickens the chase more than healthy competition.”