Chapter Two
Tristan grinned as Leticia tasted her future victory, so certain she’d win. She must have forgotten how tenacious he could be. Or perhaps she thought him incapable of rubbing shoulders with the kind of men who’d make an appropriate husband. But all he’d have to do is arrange to introduce her to some of Richard’s acquaintances. Surely among them, one would make a suitable husband for a prudish lady such as Leticia.
And if not, he’d play dirty and enlist Elizabeth’s help. His sister-in-law would no doubt feel obligated to help the girl who’d once planned to marry Richard. Elizabeth had been a willing participant in that kiss resulting in the challenge that set the rest of the events in motion. No doubt she still nursed some guilt over Leticia’s plight enough to help Tristan’s quest. Although, truth be told, Elizabeth would help him out of the kindness of her heart.
Tristan resisted the urge to rub his hands together, picturing his victory. He’d find Leticia a husband. Then maybe at last he’d stop feeling so confoundedly guilty about the whole sordid affair.
Leticia rubbed her arms and folded them tight.
“Chilled?” he asked.
“A little.”
He removed his superfine tailcoat and placed it around her shoulders. “Let’s return.”
She nodded and they turned, passing a fountain similar to the place where he’d been caught alone with Elizabeth, which had started all the trouble. Leticia stiffened and quickened her steps. Another bolt of guilt shot through Tristan.
Yes, he’d find some way to atone for his crime. Although, Richard so clearly loved Elizabeth, more than he had ever cared for Leticia, that Tristan couldn’t truly regret his actions. Once he found Leticia the love of her life, all would be well. Then he could return to enjoying his bachelorhood without a squirming conscience.
Before they reached the terrace, Leticia returned his tailcoat and stepped inside the ballroom. After donning the coat, Tristan entered, scanning the room for potential husbands for Leticia. More than the house party attended; all the families in the area had also come for the ball, including a few prospects for Leticia. He’d have to give them some thought.
Leticia gave him a knowing smile and moved to her mother. Tristan looked Leticia over with a critical eye. She’d grown from a knobby-kneed, freckle-faced little tag-along into a lovely young lady. Her figure, a bit fuller than strictly fashionable, curved in all the right places. Her brown hair held a touch of red that shone almost auburn in the ballroom lamplight. Her features were pleasant if not striking, but her expressive eyes had an arresting quality that made men take a second look, eyes the color of…hmmm. What color, exactly, were her eyes?
Frowning, he sifted through memories. Odd that he’d known her all his life and yet couldn’t recall the exact color of her eyes. Lightish, he thought. No matter, he’d look again when next he conversed with her. Still, she had much to offer a man. Her dowry might be a deterrent for some but would prevent fortune hunters from sniffing around her like hungry dogs.
Tristan cast a casual glance about the room and moved in the direction of a group of bachelors in the corner, all holding glasses of brandy. He joined them, greeting the two he knew.
“Rowley, Seton.” He nodded.
Rowley clapped him on the back. “Ahh…Barrett. Good of you to join us. Jolly good hunt today, eh?”
“Yes, indeed.” Tristan accepted a glass from a passing tray. “I thought the hounds would actually climb the tree.”
They chuckled at his poor joke. Tristan sized up the men, searching his memory regarding their worthiness as a potential husband for Leticia.
Rowley gestured at the man Tristan didn’t recognize. “I don’t believe you know Wynn, here.”
“No, I’ve not had that pleasure.”
“Tristan Barrett, meet John Wynn.”
After inclining his head in greeting, Tristan looked Wynn over. Well-heeled, tall, lean. Wearing a knot in his cravat preferred by the Corinthian set and a tasteful evening tailcoat. Nothing unattractive about him. Leticia didn’t say it, of course, but Tristan knew enough about women to know that she wouldn’t want to wake up every morning to a hideous face.
“Yes, I believe I saw you at the hunt this morning,” Tristan said. “Do you live in the area?”
Wynn grinned. “Not when I can help it. Don’t much care for the country, unless there’s a steeple chase or a hunt.”
A pity, that. Leticia preferred the country to the city. “You’ll attend the ball tonight?” Tristan probed.
“Of course. Couldn’t offend the host or hostess, you know.” At Tristan’s searching gaze, he lowered his voice. “Very well, if you must know, my sister threatened to tell my mother about a little indiscretion I had if I didn’t come even out the numbers.”
Ah. Debauched. Wynn was not for Leticia.
Wynn glanced around. “Although, I must say, I’m not sorry I came. Quite a selection of delectables. The one at the head of the line looks promising. What’s her name?”
Tristan looked over his shoulder. He choked. Leticia danced at the head of the line.
“Miss Leticia Wentworth,” supplied Seton, who’d been silent until now. Did he detect a note of longing in the diminutive man’s voice?
“Leticia Wentworth,” Wynn repeated as if testing her name on his tongue. “Care to introduce me to her?”
“She’s not your type,” Tristan snapped. Chuckling at the sudden and unexplained protectiveness surging through him, he softened his voice, grinning. “I mean, she’s a lady. Not a delectable with whom you can dally.” A wicked thought entered his mind. “Her father is the one who made the kill in the hunt today.”
“The crack shot?”
“The very one.” There. That ought to make the rogue think twice about pursuing Leticia.
While Wynn digested Tristan’s information, Seton narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “She’s not your sister, you know, Barrett.”
Taken aback, Tristan raised a hand. “No, of course not. Still, I’ve known her longer than most so I can’t help but feel a bit brotherly toward her.”
A challenging gleam entered Seton’s eyes, his usual mild expression almost fierce. “Still, it isn’t your place to decide who may and may not stand up with her.”
Tristan shrugged. “Never claimed it was. Good heavens, Seton, if you’re mooning over her, go ask her for a set.”
Seton drew himself up to his less than impressive height. “Perhaps I will.”
Wynn brushed an imaginary speck off his sleeve and touched his cravat. “Right after one of you introduce me to her.”
Tristan glared at Wynn before looking away. He shook his head at his own reaction. It wasn’t his place to warn off men unworthy of Leticia. Besides, what harm would there be in a dance? And if men vied for her company at a ball, it might prove to her once and for all that men found her attractive. If nothing else, gentlemen’s attention might get her mind off Richard. It had the added advantage of bringing her to the notice of other, more suitable gentlemen. Men were always interested by women who intrigued other men. Must be the competitive nature of the beast. Or a desire to solve the mystery. Still, if a rogue like Wynn showed too much interest in Leticia, Tristan would warn him off.
Tristan searched for Leticia among the dancers. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed, painting a lovely picture.
“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” Rowley said.
“Perhaps you each should ask her for a set,” Tristan suggested in a nonchalant tone to no one in particular.
Wynn straightened further, Rowley looked thoughtful, and Seton appeared to be bracing himself for battle, gulping and tugging at the hem of his waistcoat.
Wynn glanced back at the others, his gaze resting longest on Tristan. “Deuce take it, lads, I cannot approach her without an introduction.”
“You could ask the hostess,” Tristan suggested.
Wynn looked around. “I don’t see her.”
Tristan growled under his breath. He’d rather introduce Leticia to a bug than to Wynn.
Wynn pinned Tristan with a look. “If you’d be so kind.”
Tristan sighed. “Very well.”
Flanked by Wynn, Tristan ambled toward the dance floor as the music ended. A laughing Leticia and her partner—a true dandy in a bright yellow and blue brocade waistcoat with a green tailcoat—left the floor. Her partner left Leticia with her mother, bowed, then pinched some snuff as he wound through the crowd.
“You’ve developed a liking for peacocks, I see,” Tristan teased Leticia.
Leticia gave his arm a playful swat. “Mr. Pottinger is a fine dancer and a pleasant conversationalist.”
Green. Her eyes were green—the exact shade of a new leaf in spring, moments after it opens. How could he have missed such an intriguing shade of green all these years?
“Uh huh.” Tristan raised his brows as if he didn’t believe a word of her assessment of the dandy. Which he didn’t. 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.