Chapter Fourteen
As Tristan arrived at Richard’s London house, he followed Leticia’s sweet voice to the front parlor where he found her ensconced with Elizabeth. Strange how he breathed easier in her company.
“The furniture arrived at the school moments ago,” Leticia said to Elizabeth. “Shall we be there to ensure they put everything where we want it?”
Elizabeth stood arranging flowers in a vase. “Richard sent Cooper off on an errand so I will need to wait until his return. You know how they are.”
Letitia’s expression turned wistful. “I think it’s sweet how protective they are of you.” She straightened as if redirecting her thoughts. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible, but I understand.”
Tristan stepped into the room. “I’d be happy to escort you. I’ve never seen this school of yours. I vow to guard your lovely selves as well as Cooper would.” The weight of his pistol tucked into the back pocket of his coat gave him a sense of security.
“How kind of you to offer,” Elizabeth said, “but I’m afraid we’ll need some men to move the furniture.”
Tristan pretended to be affronted. “I’m a man. I can move furniture.”
Leticia laughed. “We weren’t insulting your manliness, Tristan, but it might be dirty work.” She gestured his clothes.
Tristan looked down at his attire—buff breeches, blue tailcoat, gray-and-white striped waistcoat. Nothing remarkable about his understated clothing. “Should I tie my cravat into a plainer knot, then?”
They laughed at his quip.
“No,” Elizabeth said, “but your cravat might get dirty, along with the rest of your fine clothes.”
“Good. It will give my valet something to do. He’s getting too lazy by half. Shall I summon the carriage?”
“If you would, please.” Elizabeth tucked another flower into her arrangement.
By the time Tristan returned to inform them that the carriage awaited, Leticia and Elizabeth had donned their pelisses, gloves, and hats. Inside the carriage, they chatted as a group until they reached a rather ramshackle building. New shutters and a new front door stood out in sharp relief against the weather-beaten wood of the structure. Did the whole building lean to one side?
When the carriage stopped, Tristan gaped. “This is your school?”
Two pairs of defensive eyes met his. “Yes, this is it,” Leticia said with a challenge in her tone.
He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “A good, stiff wind could blow it over.”
“It doesn’t look like much but an engineer assured us that it was structurally sound.” Elizabeth sounded hurt, as if he’d told her that her baby was ugly.
Leticia rushed to say, “It needed some fixing up, of course: a new front door, windows, shutters, repairs to the main stairs. We also decided to whitewash the main schoolroom.”
Tristan nodded as if he agreed. At least no one would try to rob such a poor-looking place.
Inside, furniture and crates lay strewn about in the small, dark foyer with doors leading off to each side. Two brawny men carried another box to the end of the room. They set it down with a thud.
Elizabeth spoke to them, gesturing. They both grabbed crowbars and started opening boxes.
Tristan removed his tailcoat, collar, and cravat, and set them on a box next to his hat and gloves. As he rolled up his shirtsleeves, he looked at Leticia and Elizabeth who stood looking at him with their mouths open. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
Leticia put her hand over her mouth and pretended to be shocked at his state of dishabille. “Oh, my.”
He offered her a rakish grin. “Is that a request to take off more?” He made as if to unbutton his waistcoat as well.
“No!” Leticia and Elizabeth shouted together.
Tristan chuckled. Sometimes it was too fun to tease very proper women. He gestured to the maze of furniture. “Shall we start at this end and work our way back?”
“Very well.” Leticia nodded and removed her pelisse. “I’ll show you where to put the bed frames. Elizabeth, do you want to start going through those crates?”
“Of course.”
“Here.” Tristan grabbed a crowbar leaning next to the nearest crate and pried off the lid. Inside laid a stack of primers. After he opened all the crates, he picked up a bed frame and nodded at Leticia. “Lead on.”
She took him to the small bedchamber off from the kitchen and scullery. To his surprise, Leticia helped him set up the frame. He carried in the mattress and tossed it on the bed. As he stepped back, he caught Leticia looking at him, with an expression that, on any other woman, would have been called admiration. Desire, even. But on Leticia…
He grinned. “Leticia Wentworth, are you admiring my muscles?”
She flushed bright red. “No. I mean, of course I’m glad you’re strong enough to help us with all this heavy lifting, but I’m not admiring you. You are such a vain creature!”
He couldn’t resist teasing her a little more. “Come now, admit it; you want to see my muscles. You want to touch them.”
“I most certainly do not. I’ll leave it to all your ladybirds to feed your impossibly large vanity. I’m sure Mrs. Hunter does that quite well.”
He blinked. “Mrs. Hunter?”
She made a sound of disgust that resembled a cat coughing up a hairball. “I don’t care!” She marched out of the room.
Tristan stood, stunned. Leticia thought he was having an affair with Mrs. Hunter? And she was angry about it? Did this require further consideration?
Leticia returned a moment later with an armload of bedding. “One of the other bed frames goes in the room off of the servants’ entrance over that way.” She gestured. “I’ll show you where the third one goes upstairs when I’m finished.”
Clearly dismissed, Tristan went back into the main hall. Women were such perplexing creatures. And no, he did not want to think any more about the reason for her anger.
Elizabeth’s footman, Cooper, and another man arrived. Cooper addressed Elizabeth. “I got yer message, m’lady. You oughtn’t leave withou’ me.”
“I know, Cooper, but we wanted to get started, and Tristan is here with us.”
Tristan acknowledged Cooper who gave him a nod of deference but his mouth still turned down as if he felt unneeded.
Soon, they had the whole group working, and Cooper’s usual grin returned. Tristan kept up a series of quips, throwing out absurd poetry he made up as he went along, and keeping them all laughing. Working together, they got all three of the beds set up, as well as chests and a clothes press. Once the staff quarters were set up, they went to work on the schoolroom, setting up shelves, which Elizabeth and Leticia filled with books, and then bringing in the desks one by one. Tristan worked every bit as hard as the laborers, enjoying himself more than he would have suspected. When they’d finished, they stood back to admire their work.
“It looks like a school.” Leticia’s smile lit up the building. He half-expected her to clap her hands and jump up and down.
“It does indeed.” Elizabeth beamed.
Leticia indicated the end of the room furthest from the small fireplace. “We found another stove to put at this end. It should arrive any day now.”
“We hope to have a pianoforte, as well,” Elizabeth added.
One of the men who came with Cooper brought in a bucket of water that he’d pumped from outside and they all washed off a surprising amount of dirt.
Tristan donned his discarded cravat and tailcoat. “I’m starved. Anything to eat in the kitchen?”
“No. We’ll have to go home.”
Tristan worked at the knot in his cravat that would probably leave his valet weeping. “Very well. Home it is.”
While Tristan handed Leticia and Elizabeth inside the Averston family coach, the workers perched outside. After settling himself in the rear-facing seat opposite the ladies, Tristan flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the tension and fatigue as if he’d spent hours boxing and fencing.
“Thank you for all your hard work, Tristan,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, you were wonderful.” Leticia’s smile turned impish. “I had no idea you were capable of lifting anything heavier than a riding crop or a hand of cards.”
He raised his chin and assumed a lofty air. “I can lift a gun, as you’ll recall.”
Her smile turned soft. “So you can, for which I am so very grateful.”
Tristan’s mouth dried. If she turned too many of those enchanting smiles on him, he might be tempted again to kiss her, and this time, do a thorough job of it.
He almost smacked his own forehead. Kissing Leticia would be a mistake for more reasons than he cared to enumerate. This threatened to get too serious. He searched for a change of topic.
“How is your mother?” Elizabeth asked Leticia.
Tristan let out a breath of relief that a benign conversation had started.
“She’s well,” Leticia said. “She is growing weary of spending so much time in bed, but she’s making the best of it. She’s taking up sketching again. She says my sisters sit on her bed and read aloud, and they’ve even put on theatrical performances for her.”
“I’m glad they’re keeping her company,” Elizabeth said. “Is she excited at the prospect of a new baby?”
Leticia smiled. “Very much. She’s hoping it’s a boy, of course. I’m sure my father is too, although he assures her he’ll love a daughter as much as a son, but I know it would be of great comfort to them both to have a son to inherit the estate.”
“When is she due?” Elizabeth asked.
“Late August or early September, she thinks.”
Elizabeth smiled, but wistfulness touched her expressive face. “I envy her.”
Leticia patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll be blessed with a family soon.”
“I hope so. It’s been a year since our marriage…”
Tristan tried to picture Richard as a father, getting his children out of one scrape after another the way he’d always done for Tristan.
The carriage stopped in front of Tristan’s rooms. He bid them both farewell and stepped out of the carriage.
After consoling his valet, Bentley, on the sad state of his soiled clothing, Tristan ate, bathed, and changed, then took a hackney to Leticia’s aunt’s house. Why he felt so compelled to seek her out, he didn’t dare consider. Perhaps duty drove him there to learn whether she’d enjoyed waltzing and dining with Lord Bradbury the other night. Never mind that she’d been smiling and laughing each time she’d danced with the man. Mere courtesy might prompt her pleased expression. But that sparkle in her eyes seemed genuine enough when she spent time with Bradbury. It appeared his plan was working very well.
Blast it all anyway.
Still, he ought to inquire about Lord Bradbury. He had failed to ask her earlier today; he might as well call upon her now.
During the drive, he entertained himself by fantasizing beating Lord Bradbury to a pulp, first at fencing, then at fisticuffs. By the time the hackney arrived at Mrs. Tallier’s house, Tristan found himself whistling. Inside the drawing room where they received guests, Leticia stood conversing with two ladies, and Isabella held court in another corner with five young bucks who tried too hard to impress her and ended up coming across like over-eager puppies.
Leticia’s aunt, Mrs. Tallier, greeted him. “Mr. Barrett. How kind of you to call upon us.”
Tristan bowed. “It’s always a pleasure, ma’am.”
Mrs. Tallier turned to someone behind him. “Lord Bradbury. Do come in. How delightful to see you again.”
Bradbury. Tristan ground his teeth.
Wait. What did Mrs. Tallier mean by saying “again?” How often had the lord been calling? The auction took place two days ago. Surely he hadn’t called since then. Had he?
Tristan stepped to the side and turned, eyeing Bradbury who greeted Mrs. Tallier with a formal bow.
Donning his mask of urbane boredom that he used with the upper levels of snobbery, Tristan inclined his head and drawled, “Bradbury.”
Bradbury’s gaze flitted to him and he returned the nod. “Barrett.”
Tristan made a grand sweeping gesture toward the room in general, as if he were inviting Bradbury in, and took another step back. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall and pretended to study the view outside. Bradbury strode to Isabella, greeted her, acknowledged the bucks, and chatted. A moment later, he moved to his true target—Leticia. Before he reached her, the Setons stood and bade Leticia good day.
Tristan tried not to watch as her face lit up when she spotted Bradbury or the way he sat as close to her as he could without breaching propriety. The dog.
Next to him Mrs. Tallier heaved a dreamy sigh. “Lord Bradbury. I can scarce believe it.”
Tristan watched the woman and her look of pure rapture. “Do you know him well?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes. I’ve known him since he was in leading strings. His mother and I are great friends, and he went to Oxford with my son. One of the finest young gentlemen I’ve ever known. Of course, he’s thirty now, but still young—especially compared to me.” Her smile turned self-deprecating.
Thirty—the perfect age for a man to marry, so they say, confound it.
“To think he’s considering my Leticia…” Mrs. Tallier’s voice trailed off and her eyes took on a faraway look. She seemed to remember herself. “Well, time will tell.”
Perfect. Three ringing endorsements for Lord Bradbury. Leticia would be married by summer and then all of Tristan’s obligations to her would end.
He should be happy.
Why this knowledge made him want to challenge Lord Bradbury, he couldn’t say. Perhaps because Bradbury too closely resembled Richard? Too perfect. Too proper. Too loved by everyone.
Tristan cast one final look at Leticia and Bradbury. Bradbury smiled and tapped her on the nose, and Leticia laughed. Very cozy. Intimate.
Nauseating.
“If he hurts her, I’ll kill him,” Tristan muttered.
Mrs. Tallier looked at him in shock.
“Good day.” He stalked out of the house.
Visions of his mother riding away without looking back flashed into his mind. He had an appalling urge to weep.