Chapter Fifteen
Sitting next to Lord Bradbury on the settee, Leticia looked up as Tristan left. How odd. He hadn’t spoken to her.
“I hear your school is almost in readiness,” Lord Bradbury said.
She returned her attention to Lord Bradbury. “It is. We got everything moved in and arranged. Thanks to the success of the fundraiser, we purchased another stove. The schoolroom has one small fireplace and we feared it wouldn’t be adequate. We also dream of getting a pianoforte someday so we can teach dance but that may not happen for some time.”
Bradbury’s eyes took on a thoughtful stare. “I might be able to help you with the pianoforte. One of my properties has one. It resided in the vicar’s house but the new vicar’s wife didn’t want it taking up room in the parlor, so we stored it in the main house. No one is using it. I don’t know what kind of condition it’s in, but I can arrange to have it shipped to you and see to any repairs.”
Leticia clasped her hands together. “Would you do that?”
A slight curving of his lips softened his features and warmed his blue eyes. What a handsome gentleman, and so kind.
“If doing so puts that beautiful smile on your face again, then yes, I would consider that a small price to pay.”
Looking down, Leticia laughed, unaccustomed to such flattery. Only Tristan said such ridiculous things, and he did it to put on an act. “Then on behalf of the school, I do most humbly and gratefully accept.”
“Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements.” He met her gaze. “By any chance, do you enjoy visiting museums?”
“Very much, but I have not had a chance to do so this year.”
“Have you ever visited Bridgewater Collection at Cleveland House?”
“Oh, no.” She’d never imagined receiving an invitation to view such a private collection.
“It’s worth seeing. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me tomorrow?”
Surprised by his continued attentiveness, Leticia faltered for a moment. “Yes, of course. I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. I’ve already received permission to view it. May I come for you at four o’clock?”
“I’ll be ready.”
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I fear I must take my leave.”
Leticia followed his gaze. He’d stayed precisely twenty minutes. Lord Bradbury always did everything right.
He took her hand. “Until then.” As he held her hand, his blue eyes darted between hers as if he were trying to read her thoughts, then he released her hand, stood, and bowed. After another smile, he took his leave of her aunt and left.
Leticia sat alone. Could a man of his rank and means be interested in a frumpy little country miss like her? Tristan would chide her for calling herself frumpy and would no doubt come up with all kinds of ridiculously flowery adjectives to use instead.
Why had Tristan left so soon?
This morning as they’d labored side-by-side at the school, he’d been a hard worker and had hefted heavy objects without complaint. It had seemed easy to him. More than once, she’d caught herself admiring the breadth of his shoulders or his toned muscles underneath his linen shirt. Tristan joked with the men, his aristocratic accent at odds with the comfort with which he interacted with the low-born. He gave no indication that he felt any class distinction. Within minutes, the workers were joking with him as if he were an old friend.
She wondered if Lord Bradbury would have helped in such a personal way, or been so amiable to men of a class so far beneath him. She failed to conjure that picture.
“Leticia,” Isabella called. “We’re going to the milliner’s. Would you care to join us?”
Leticia looked up. While she’d been lost in thought, their callers had all said their goodbyes and taken their leave. “Yes. I’ll change into my half boots and get my wrap.”
Moments later, their carriage fell into the usual London traffic. Isabella chattered on about all the young men who’d called on her, relishing the attention. As well she should.
A pair of young men trotted by on horses, their voices carrying to Leticia. “My bet’s on Tristan Barrett. He’s fearless—never lost a race that I’ve seen.”
Leticia’s heart stopped. Tristan? She put a hand on her chest and drew steadying breath, trying to calm her fears. Tristan had been steeplechasing for as long as she could remember. An accomplished rider, he loved it and excelled at it. She had no reason to fear for his safety.
“Yeah, but Appleton’s got a new curricle that flies.”
“I’ll bet one hundred quid Barrett beats Appleton.”
“Hurry. We don’t want to miss the race.” Their voices faded away.
Curricle. Tristan wasn’t racing on horseback; he was curricle racing. Her heart did a slow, backward crawl.
“Leticia, my dear. You look as if you’re about to swoon.” Aunt Alice’s voice broke in through the fear squeezing Leticia’s lungs.
Every muscle in her body screamed to run after those men and find out the location of the race. She had to stop it. “Aunt. We must follow those riders.” She pointed to the two young men.
“What is it?” Isabella laid a hand on her arm.
“Tristan’s going to be in curricle race right now.”
Isabella paled and put her hand over her mouth.
Aunt Alice clucked her tongue. “Good gracious. Is that boy trying to get himself killed?” She barked out orders to the driver and the carriage lurched forward the instant they were seated.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, Leticia willed the carriage. If only she could get there in time to stop the race.
The longer she rode, the more her cold fear heated to anger. Selfish, stupid Tristan. Didn’t he know if he got himself killed, the blow might kill Richard? Didn’t he know how many people loved him and would mourn his death?
By the time they reached the outskirts of town, the carriage had to stop. Dozens of horses and carriages lined the highway as spectators all crammed in to watch the dangerous race.
Leticia got out and hailed a nearby man. “Excuse me, do you know where the starting line is?”
“Up that way a few miles.” He pointed. “The finish line is by that hedgerow.”
A ribbon fluttered in the breeze, marking the ending point. Since the carriage couldn’t get through, Leticia picked up her skirts and ran toward the starting line. In the distance, two tiny objects blocked the highway. Curricles. A gunshot crackled and the objects sprang forward.
Too late! She could only watch as Tristan risked his life for a meaningless race.