by Hatch, Donna
A charming smile touched his lips. “To spend time with you and your delightful family, of course.”
It should have pleased her that he’d taken her to the theater with the express purpose of spending time in her company. Instead, the compliment fell short.
Lord Petre and his mother, the ever-present dowager, stopped by the box. Leticia tried to keep a smile in place despite their rudeness to her in the teashop. Lord Petre’s wife, Lady Petre, always a silent shadow, stood next to her husband who never gave any indication that he noticed her existence. Poor thing.
“Bradbury,” Lord Petre said by way of greeting. “I haven’t seen you here in an age. You, usually rent out the box, eh?”
Bradbury stood in greeting. “Er, no, I let friends borrow it when I don’t attend a production.”
“Oh, of course.” Petre said. “I guess you don’t need blunt, eh?”
Bradbury stiffened. “I derive pleasure from letting others receive enjoyment without quibbling over cost.” He glanced at Leticia. “Forgive me, Miss Wentworth, Miss Isabella, are you acquainted with the Petres?”
She toyed with the idea of giving them the cut, but for Lord Bradbury’s sake, resisted. She smiled at Lord Bradbury, managing more warmth for him than for their visitors.
“Yes, we are. Lord and Lady Petre.” Leticia glanced at the lord’s silent wife who fixed her gaze on the floor. Leticia turned her gaze to the poor creature’s mother-in-law and inclined her head. “My lady.”
Aunt Alice had drawn herself up and stared at the visitors with open distain but they appeared oblivious of her.
“Dear Mrs. Tallier,” the dowager viscountess said with false friendliness. “You are looking well. You must be enjoying showing off your nieces to everyone.”
“Of course.” Aunt Alice gripped her fan with white fingers.
The dowager made a loose gesture to Leticia and Isabella. “I’m sure it must be vastly rewarding to do so since you never had children of your own. Such a pity.”
Aunt Alice’s mouth pinched.
“Let’s hope the younger one fares better than the elder, eh? What is this—your fourth Season, dear?” The dowager gave a patronizing smile to Leticia.
“Third,” Leticia said through clenched teeth. She refused to volunteer that her first Season had been years ago. Until Richard got married, another season had never been deemed necessary since her future seemed certain.
Aunt Alice drew a breath, but before she could give the dowager the scathing set-down she deserved, Lord Petre broke in. “Ah, yes, Miss Wentworth. Hardly noticed you. I hope you gave up on that foolish rot about a school for the poor.”
“Certainly not.” Leticia lifted her chin. “It is progressing in a satisfactory manner.”
“No good will come of it, mark my words.”
“I hardly think it is any concern of yours,” she shot back.
In a dismissive manner, Petre turned away and fixed his gaze on Lord Bradbury. “Bradbury, you’d do well to put a stop to such foolishness before you consider giving that girl another moment of your time.”
Bradbury went still. “On the contrary. I applaud the efforts she and Lady Averston have expended for the school and I have given them my full support.”
Lord Petre frowned. “Short-sighted, lad. Don’t lose your head over a female or you’ll grow to rue the day. Put your foot down from the start and she won’t give you any trouble.” He nodded once to punctuate his point.
If Leticia had a drink in her hand, she would have been tempted to throw it in Lord Petre’s face. His poor wife!
Bradbury’s hands fisted but his expression remained polite. “You are entitled to your opinion, Petre, but do not presume to counsel me.”
“That’s no way to speak to your elders.”
“Good evening.” Bradbury gestured to the doorway in a clear invitation to leave. The highest-ranking person in the box and unconcerned about offending an elder, Bradbury turned his back on Petre.
Sputtering, the unwelcome guests left.
Bradbury let out his breath as if he’d been holding it. “I hope you don’t think me ill-mannered for the way I dismissed them, but I might have been tempted to say or do something drastic to that boorish oaf if he and his mother had remained another moment.”
“I think you handled it quite well,” Aunt Alice said. “They deserved no better. If this had been my box, I would have cut them dead.”
Leticia nodded. “Indeed.”
Isabella, who’d been quiet throughout the entire exchange stood. “I believe I shall go for some refreshment.”
Aunt Alice stood. “Excellent idea. I could use some lemonade.” A chorus of agreements followed.
During their descent on the grand staircase to the floor below their box, Leticia tried not to gawk at the beauty of the grand saloon and its sumptuous décor. Lamps hanging from the ceiling provided adequate light and cast a warm glow over the wide array of visitors of all classes who flirted, laughed, and sized up one another.
Inside the retiring room decorated with crimson paper and carpeting, Leticia checked her reflection to be sure nothing was amiss.
Isabella joined her by the mirror. “Well?” Isabella nudged her. “Isn’t he wonderful? Aren’t you falling madly in love with him?”
“With whom?” Leticia felt along her chignon for loose hairpins.
Isabella laughed as if she found Leticia thick in the head. “Lord Bradbury, you goose.”
Leticia found herself at a loss for a moment. “Well…”
“Come now, Tish, you can tell me. Hurry before someone comes in.”
“He is…a very pleasant gentleman.” She pushed a loose hairpin back into place.
“Pleasant?” Isabella’s mouth twisted into an incredulous moue. “That’s hardly flattering. Aren’t you violently in love with him?”
Leticia let out a weak laugh. “Not violently, no. I may be starting to have…feelings for him. These things take time. I hardly know him.”
“Oh, come now. Mama and Papa fell in love at first sight.”
“It doesn’t happen that way for everyone. Most people must be better acquainted.” Satisfied with the state of her hair, Leticia inspected her gown in the mirror.
Isabella shook her head and smoothed her gown. “I don’t understand you. He’s perfect.”
“He is pleasant,” Leticia admitted. “And polite.”
Isabella waved her hand. “Hardly words of adoration. Does his nearness make your heart go all aflutter? Does his smile make you weak in the knees?” She clasped her hands together dreamily.
“Well…I do like to spend time in his company.”
Isabella peered at her in disbelief. “What is wrong with you? He’s a lord with a long and respected lineage. He is handsome and witty and intelligent. He’s also kind. He treats you like a princess.”
Leticia chuckled. “You mean he wants to marry me off to someone I’ve never met to strengthen England’s alliance with Spain or Nigeria?”
Isabella let out a sound that might have been interpreted as a snort on anyone less lady-like. “You know what I mean.”
Leticia affected a mournful tone. “I always felt sorry for princesses getting sent away to some new land to marry a stranger—pawns in the games of power and politics.”
“Honestly!” Isabella turned away from the mirror.
Sobering, Leticia said, “Forgive me, Bella. I don’t know what to say. You are right; Lord Bradbury seems to be the perfect man. I should be in raptures at his attention.”
So why didn’t she love him? Why didn’t his presence set her heart aflutter the way it did in Tristan’s company? In fact, her heart did more than flutter; it often pounded harder the closer she came to him.
Surely, her reaction centered around that accidental kiss in his sickroom. Every nerve in her body had exploded. And during the balloon ride, he’d chased away her fears and turned the experience into a lovely memory that brought a smile each time she thought of the sight of Lo
ndon all laid out below them like a colored map. Perhaps her initial and unexpected fright had prompted such a strong response. She closed her eyes and shook her head at her own foolishness. Her reaction lay squarely on Tristan’s skill as a master seducer, nothing more.
Isabella turned a penetrating stare on Leticia. “Do your feelings for Tristan Barrett impair your feelings for Lord Bradbury?”
Leticia’s face heated and she laughed, making a point of looking down at her gown and smoothing it as if she found a multitude of wrinkles. “What a foolish notion! Tristan has always been rather like a brother to me.”
“He’s not your brother. He’s lauded as one of the most handsome bachelors in all of England, and pursued by women and ladies of all ages. He is interested in you beyond mere friendship.”
“Hardly. Besides, I would never consider a rake, and he knows it.”
“I hear rakes make the best husbands,” Isabella sang out.
“No. They don’t. They break their wives’ hearts and bring their family to social and financial ruin.” Leticia shut out images of Tristan’s smile and the earnest expression when he swore he’d changed.
Aunt Alice joined them, then. “Very sensible of you, Leticia. I would not encourage you toward a rake. However, I caution you to remember not to judge people too harshly; they seldom fit into neatly labeled boxes.”
Before Leticia could question her further, a group of chattering young ladies filed in, probably from boxes in the upper levels. Aunt Alice led the way to a circular alcove at the one end of the salon. Though small, the room’s domed ceiling and Corinthian columns gave it a spacious appearance.
Lord Bradbury stood talking with Richard and Elizabeth. As they reached the others, Bradbury smiled. She returned the expression, searching for any sign of excitement. Nothing. What was the matter with her? She should be quivering for Lord Bradbury.
Bradbury gestured to the refreshment table. “May I get you something? Wine? Champagne?”
“Those oranges are tempting,” Leticia said.
“Of course.” He excused himself.
Richard took Elizabeth’s hand. “And for you, darling?”
“Surprise me.”
They shared a look that seemed to contain a private joke before he joined Bradbury. Within moments, a crowd of young gentleman surrounded Isabella, peppering her with questions and showering her with compliments. Aunt Alice kept a sharp eye out on the bucks vying for Isabella’s attention.
Elizabeth drew Leticia aside. “I haven’t been to the school all week. How is Mrs. Harper?”
“She’s a fine teacher—doing wonderfully well with the children.”
“Is she unhappy traveling to the school from your aunt’s house?”
Leticia shook her head. “Not that I am aware. I send a footman with her every day to keep watch over her.”
“Do you think the threat on you was an isolated incident or do you believe Mrs. Harper is in danger?”
“It was probably an idle threat but I rest easier with Mrs. Harper protected.”
“I hope he does not take more drastic measures,” Elizabeth said grimly.
“Who will take drastic measures?” Richard returned and handed Elizabeth a slice of cake.
Lord Bradbury offered Leticia a small plate with several neatly peeled orange slices and a napkin. His eyes brightened in curiosity over Richard’s question, but he remained silent.
“The man who attacked Leticia,” Elizabeth explained.
“What?” Lord Bradbury stared.
Leticia shot Elizabeth a warning look. “It wasn’t an attack, exactly. Someone told me no one wanted the school and that we should close it. It was nothing—the ramblings of the ignorant.”
“He had a knife,” Elizabeth said as if determined to exaggerate trouble.
Lord Bradbury’s eyes widened. He put a hand underneath her elbow. “Miss Wentworth, if you are in any danger, perhaps you should reconsider…”
“No.” Leticia shook he head. “As a mere precaution, the teacher is staying with my aunt, and we send a footman with her to the school, but surely nothing more will come of it. I refuse to disappoint the children. In fact, I’m teaching them to play the pianoforte—thanks to your generous donation—and we will also teach them to dance in the hopes of giving them access to potential husbands in the working class when they are old enough.”
Bradbury’s expression turned from concerned to incredulous. “Dancing as well as music? Don’t you think that’s raising their hopes too much?”
Leticia stared at him. “I thought you supported our efforts.”
“I do. It’s commendable. But thinking that they will rise very far above the situation of their birth—that’s not likely.”
Disappointment turned the tangy orange in her mouth to dust. How could he not understand? “Then why did you help us raise money at the ball? Why give me the pianoforte?”
A sheepish smile touched his mouth. “To impress you. Besides, I figured this would be a passing fancy and that you’d eventually realize the poor will never make anything of themselves.”
Stung by his dismissal of her cause, Leticia studied the last orange slice on her plate. “You never know.”
Tristan had been so supportive—excited, almost—that it never occurred to her that Bradbury felt differently.
He paused. “No, I suppose not.”
Intermission ended and they returned to their box. Leticia stared at the farce on stage while her mind turned over the new knowledge that Lord Bradbury had revealed a major flaw. Could she overlook it? Some husbands curtailed their wives’ involvement in causes. Would Lord Bradbury eventually forbid her to pursue such a noble cause if they married?
Chapter Twenty-Six
In the mews near his bachelor’s rooms, Tristan eyed his new phaeton and broke out into a sweat. He hadn’t driven since the accident that claimed Appleton’s life, and nearly his own. The horses stood as if awaiting his courage. Tristan had been driving since he was barely out of leading strings. One accident should not leave him quaking.
To take his mind off his almost paralyzing fear, he rubbed the noses of his new team. Their soft nickers soothed him. The gelding, Willow, gave Tristan’s neck a lippy kiss, the hairs of the horse’s chin tickling. Tristan ran a hand along their necks and backs. He checked the harness, and continued down the side of the carriage, admiring its graceful lines. The phaeton, built to his exact specifications, gleamed shiny black despite the dull light. New paint combined with leather and the warm scent of horses created a heady aroma.
He swallowed. He could do this.
After taking a bracing breath, he climbed inside the carriage and settled in the cloud-soft seat. Another swallow. He picked up the reins. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face. Dancer stamped and blew out her breath. Right. Get on with it.
He threaded the reins through his fingers, and took a firm hold. Another breath. He clicked to Willow and Dancer, and flicked his wrists. The horses stepped forward in near-perfect unison. As he guided the team onto the street, a rush of panic shot through him. The team responded to his tension by side-stepping.
“Easy,” he said. “Go easy.” He might as well have been speaking to himself.
The horses swiveled their ears back to listen to him. He drew another breath and relaxed his arm muscles, his shoulders. “We can do this, Dancer. Work with me, now, Willow.”
The horses fell into a comfortable walk. If Tristan hadn’t been so terrified, he would have shaken his head at the thought of him walking a team hitched to a beauty like his new phaeton. One step at a time. Literally. So early in the morning, a few people and the occasional cart rumbled along the street. He drove without a direction, following the streets to get a feel for the team and carriage. He calmed. He could do this.
He urged the team to a trot. They responded, matching their strides to one another. In the well-sprung conveyance, the bumps in the road were of little consequence. Exhilaration shot through him. How long he dr
ove, he could not have guessed, but the roads soon filled with other carriages and riders on horseback, many heading toward Hyde Park. The team trotted with matched strides, responding to his guidance, and ignoring the chaos of the London streets around them.
He had to show Leticia. He arrived at Mrs. Tallier’s house as Leticia stepped out of the front door, accompanied by a familiar-looking woman and a brawny footman.
He pulled up in front of the house and called out, “Where are you bound so early today?”
Leticia’s expression lit up and she waved as she descended the steps. “To the school. Is that your new rig?”
“Do you like it?” He puffed out his chest.
“It’s beautiful!” She moved up alongside the carriage. A teasing glint entered her eyes. “I’m surprised it’s black. How understated.”
He grinned. “You expected bright yellow with red wheels, no doubt.”
“Something like that.”
After securing the reins, he leaped down and gestured. “Well, I did get green seats. Too dark to match your eyes but…”
“Very elegant.” She walked up to the horses and rubbed their faces, missing his comparison.
Actually, ever since he discovered her eyes were green, he’d begun choosing that color more and more often. How had he not noticed the particular beauty of the color green?
She cooed at the horses. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“The mare is Dancer and the gelding is Willow.”
“They’re charming.”
Willow gave her a nibbly-horsey kiss. Leticia giggled.
“Oi!” Tristan pretended to scold the gelding. “For shame, Willow. You can’t go around kissing every pretty girl you see.”
Leticia grinned at him as she rubbed Willow’s nose. “Why? Are you the only one who can do that?”
“Leticia, Love, if I kissed every pretty girl I saw, I would have kissed you years ago.” He rested an arm against Willow’s back and eyed her.
She laughed, but did a double take as if searching for his sincerity. Her green bonnet brightened the green of her eyes, and little curls next to her cheek and temple framed her face. She was so lovely. She sobered and looked back at the horse as if unprepared to see the admiration in his expression.