by Lisa Kleypas
"I have no plans," Nick said, thinking briefly of his dismissal. "Tomorrow will be as convenient as any other day."
"Thank you. I do want to see them. I only hope-" Lottie fell silent, her brows knitting together. The hem of the robe dragged in a long train as Lottie went to the fire. Nick followed immediately, wanting very much to cuddle and reassure her, to kiss her lips until they softened beneath his.
"Try not to think about it," he advised. "Distressing yourself won't change anything."
"It won't be a pleasant visit. I can't think of a situation in which two parties could feel more mutually betrayed. Although I am certain that most people would hold me at fault."
Nick stroked the sides of her arms over the silk sleeves. "If you had it to do over again, would you have stayed to marry Radnor?"
"Certainly not."
Turning Lottie to face him, he smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Then I forbid you to feel guilty about it."
"Forbid?"she repeated, arching her brows.
Nick grinned. "You promised to obey me, didn't you? Well, do as I say, or face the consequences."
"Which are?"
He unfastened her robe, dropped it to the floor, and proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he meant.
The Howard family lived in a hamlet two miles west of fashionable London, a residential outgrowth surrounded by farming land. Nick remembered the well-structured but shabby house from his much earlier visit, at the beginning of his search for Lottie. The irony of returning to them as their new, very much unwanted son-in-law would have made him smile, as the situation contained strong elements of farce. However, his private amusement was tamped down by Lottie's impenetrable silence. He wished he could spare her the difficulty of seeing her family. On the other hand, it was necessary for Lottie to face them and at least try to make peace.
The small Tudor-style home was one in a row of architecturally similar houses. It was fronted with small, overgrown garden plots, its red brick exterior sadly dilapidated. The front door was raised four steps from the ground, the narrow entrance leading to two downstairs rooms that served as parlors. Beside the entrance, another set of stone steps led to the cellar below, which contained a kitchen and a water-storage tank filled from the main in the road.
Three children played in the garden plots, brandishing sticks and running in circles. Like Lottie, they were flaxen blond, fair skinned, and slim of build. Having seen the children before, Nick had been told their names, but he could not recall them. The carriage stopped on the paved coachway, and the small faces appeared at the front gate, staring through the peeling slats as Nick helped Lottie descend from the carriage.
Lottie's face was outwardly calm, but Nick saw how tightly clenched her gloved fingers were, and he experienced something he had never known before-concern for someone else's feelings. He didn't like it.
Lottie stopped at the gate, her face pale. "Hullo," she murmured. "Is that you, Charles? Oh, you've grown so, I can scarcely recognize you. And Eliza, and-good gracious, is that baby Albert?"
"I'm not a baby!" piped the toddler indignantly.
Lottie flushed, poised on the verge between tears and laughter. "Why, no indeed. You must be three years old by now."
"You're our sister Charlotte," Eliza said. Her serious little face was sided by two long braids. "The one who ran away."
"Yes." Lottie's mouth was touched with sudden melancholy. "I don't wish to stay away any longer, Eliza. I have missed all of you so very much."
"You were supposed to marry Lord Radnor," Charles said, regarding her with round blue eyes. "He was very angry that you wouldn't, and now he's going to-"
"Charles!" A woman's agitated voice came from the doorway. "Hush and come away from the gate at once."
"But it's Charlotte," the boy protested.
"Yes, I'm aware of that. Come now, children, all of you. Tell the cookmaid to make you some toast with jam."
The speaker was Lottie's mother, a breakably slender woman in her early forties, with an unusually narrow face and light blond hair. Nick recalled that her husband was of stocky build with full cheeks. Neither of the pair was particularly handsome, but by some trick of nature Lottie had inherited the best features of each.
"Mama," Lottie said softly, gripping the top of the gate. The children promptly fled, eager for the promised treat.
Mrs. Howard regarded her daughter with a dull gaze, harsh lines scored between her nose and mouth, and across her forehead. "Lord Radnor came not two days ago," she said. The simple sentence contained both an accusation and indictment.
Bereft of words, Lottie looked back over her shoulder at Nick. He went into action immediately, joining her at the gate and unlatching it himself. "May we come in, Mrs. Howard?" he asked. He ushered Lottie toward the house without waiting for permission. Some devil prompted him to add, "Or shall I call you Mama?" He put a mocking emphasis on the last syllable of the word, as Lottie had.
For his effrontery, Lottie surreptitiously knocked an elbow into his ribs as they entered the house, and he grinned.
The interior of the house smelled musty. The drapes at the windows had been turned many times, until both sides were unevenly sun-bleached, while the aged carpets had been worn so thin that no regular pattern was discernable. Everything from the chipped porcelain figures on the mantel to the grimy paper on the walls contributed to the picture of decayed gentility. Mrs. Howard herself gave the same impression, moving with the weary grace and self-consciousness of someone who had once been accustomed to a far better life.
"Where is Father?" Lottie asked, standing in the center of the parlor, which was hardly bigger than a closet.
"Visiting your uncle, in town."
The three of them stood in the center of the room, while awkward silence thickened the air. "Why have you come, Charlotte?" her mother finally asked.
"I've missed you, I-" Lottie paused at the resolute blankness she saw on her mother's face. Nick sensed his wife's struggle between stubborn pride and remorse as she continued carefully. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did."
"I wish I could believe that," Mrs. Howard replied crisply. "However, I do not. You do not regret abandoning your responsibilities, nor are you sorry for placing your own needs above everyone else's."
Nick made the discovery that it was not easy for him to listen to someone criticizing his wife-even if that person happened to be her own mother. For Lottie's sake, however, he concentrated on keeping his mouth shut. Clasping his hands behind his back, he focused on the indistinct design of the ancient carpet.
"I regret causing you so much pain and worry, Mama," Lottie said. "I am also sorry for the two years of silence that have passed between us."
Finally Mrs. Howard displayed some sign of emotion, her voice edged with anger. "That was your fault-not ours."
"Of course," her daughter acknowledged humbly. "I would not presume to ask you to forgive me, but-"
"What's done is done," Nick interrupted, unable to tolerate Lottie's chastened tone. He would be damned if he stood by while she was brought to her knees in contrition. He placed a hand at Lottie's neatly corseted waist in a possessive gesture. His cool, steady gaze caught Mrs. Howard's. "There is nothing to be gained by talking about the past. We've come to discuss the future."
"You have no involvement in our future, Mr. Gentry." The woman's blue eyes were icy with contempt. "I blame you for our situation fully as much as my daughter. I never would have talked with you, answered your questions, if I had known that your ultimate design was to take her for yourself."
"It was not my plan." Nick let his fingers nestle in the curve of Lottie's waist, remembering the delicious softness beneath the confining stays. "I had no idea that I would want to marry Lottie until I met her. But it was obvious then-as it is now-that Lottie will be better served by a marriage to me than to Radnor."
"You are very much mistaken," Mrs. Howard snapped. "Arrogant scoundrel! How dare you compare yourself to a peer of
the realm?"
Feeling Lottie stiffen at his side, Nick squeezed her subtly in a silent message not to correct her mother on that point. He was damned if he would use his own title to compare himself in any way with Radnor.
"Lord Radnor is a man of great wealth and refinement," Mrs. Howard continued. "He is highly educated and honorable in every regard. And if it weren't for my daughter's selfishness and your interference, Charlotte would now be his wife."
"You've omitted a few points," Nick said. "Including the fact that Radnor is thirty years older than Lottie and happens to be as mad as cobbler's punch."
The color on Mrs. Howard's face condensed into two bright patches high on her cheeks. "He is not mad!"
For Lottie's sake, Nick struggled to control his sudden fury. He imagined her as a small, defenseless child, being closed alone in a room with a predator like Radnor. And this woman had allowed it. He vowed silently that Lottie would never again go unprotected. He gave Mrs. Howard a hard stare. "You saw nothing wrong in Radnor's obsessive attentions to an eight-year-old girl?" he asked softly.
"The nobility are allowed their foibles, Mr. Gentry. Their superior blood accommodates a few eccentricities. But of course, you would know nothing about that."
"You might be surprised," Nick said sardonically. "Regardless, Lord Radnor is hardly a model for rational behavior. The social attachments he once enjoyed have withered because of his so-called foibles. He has withdrawn from society and spends most of his time in his mansion, hiding from the sunlight. His life is centered around the effort to mold a vulnerable girl into his version of the ideal woman-one who isn't allowed even to draw breath without his permission. Before you blame Lottie for running from that, answer this question in perfect honesty-would you want to marry such a man?"
Mrs. Howard was spared from having to reply by the sudden arrival of Lottie's younger sister Ellie, a pretty sixteen-year-old girl with a full-cheeked face and heavily lashed blue eyes. Her hair was much darker than Lottie's, light brown instead of blond, and her figure was far more generously endowed. Coming to a breathless halt in the doorway, Ellie beheld her prodigal sister with a crow of excitement. "Lottie!" She rushed forward and seized her older sister in a tight embrace. "Oh, Lottie, you're back! I missed you every day, and thought of you, and feared for you-"
"Ellie, I've missed you even more," Lottie said with a choked laugh. "I didn't dare write to you, but oh, how I wanted to. One could paper the walls with the letters I wished to send-"
"Ellie," their mother interrupted. "Return to your room."
She was either unheard or ignored, as Ellie drew back to look at Lottie. "How beautiful you are," she exclaimed. "I knew you would be. I knew..." Her voice trailed away as she caught sight of Nick standing nearby. "Did you really marry him?" she whispered with a scandalized delight that made Nick grin.
Lottie glanced at him with a curious expression. Nick wondered if she disliked having to acknowledge him as her husband. She didn't seem disgruntled, but neither did she sound wildly enthusiastic. "Mr. Gentry," Lottie said, "I believe you have met my sister?"
"Miss Ellie," he murmured with a slight bow. "A pleasure to see you again."
The girl flushed and curtsied, and looked back at Lottie. "Will you be living in London?" she asked. "Will you have me there for a visit? I so long to-"
"Ellie," Mrs. Howard said meaningfully. "Go to your room now. That is quite enough nonsense."
"Yes, Mama." The girl threw her arms around Lottie for one last hug. She whispered something in her older sister's ear, a question that Lottie answered with a comforting murmur and a nod. Guessing that it had been another request to be invited for a visit, Nick suppressed a smile. It seemed that Lottie was not the only willful daughter in the Howard family.
With a shy glance at Nick, Ellie left the room and heaved a sigh as she walked away from the parlor.
Heartened by her sister's obvious delight in seeing her again, Lottie sent Mrs. Howard a glance of entreaty. "Mama, there are so many things I must tell you-"
"I am afraid there is no point in further discussion," her mother said with brittle dignity. "You have made your choice, and so have your father and I. Our connection with Lord Radnor is too entrenched to break. We will fulfill our obligations to him, Charlotte-even if you are unwilling."
Lottie stared at her in confusion. "How would you accomplish that, Mama?"
"That is no longer your concern."
"But I don't see-" Lottie began, and Nick interrupted, his gaze fastened on Mrs. Howard. For years he had successfully negotiated with hardened criminals, overworked magistrates, the guilty, the innocent, and everyone in-between. He would be damned if he couldn't come to some sort of compromise with his own mother-in-law.
"Mrs. Howard, I understand that I am not your first choice as a husband for Lottie." He gave her the wry, charming smile that worked well with most women. "The devil knows that I wouldn't be anyone's preference. But as things stand, I will prove a far more generous benefactor than Radnor." He glanced deliberately at their dilapidated surroundings and returned his gaze to hers. "There is no reason you shouldn't make improvements to the house and refurbish it to your satisfaction. I will also pay for the children's education and see to it that Ellie has a proper coming-out. If you like, you can travel abroad and spend the summer months at the coast. Tell me whatever you want and you shall have it."
The woman's expression was frankly disbelieving. "And why would you do all that?"
"For my wife's pleasure," he replied without hesitation.
Lottie turned to him with a round-eyed gaze of wonder. Casually he fingered the collar of her bodice, thinking that it was a small price to pay for what she gave him.
Unfortunately the intimate gesture seemed to harden Mrs. Howard against him. "We want nothing from you, Mr. Gentry."
"I understand that you're in debt to Radnor," Nick persisted, feeling there was no way to address the issue other than with bluntness. "I will take care of that. I've already offered to repay him for Lottie's years at school, and I will assume your other financial obligations as well."
"You can't afford to keep such promises," Mrs. Howard said. "And even if you could, the answer would still be no. I bid you take your leave, Mr. Gentry, as I will not discuss the matter any more."
Nick gave her a searching stare, detecting desperation...uneasiness...guilt. His every instinct warned him that she was hiding something. "I will call on you again," he said gently, "when Mr. Howard is at home."
"His answer will be no different than mine."
Nick did not indicate that he had heard the refusal. "Good day, Mrs. Howard. We take our leave with every wish for your health and happiness."
Lottie's fingers clenched tightly through Nick's coat sleeve as she fought to master her emotions. "Good-bye, Mama," she said huskily and walked out with him.
Nick handed her carefully into the carriage and glanced back at the empty garden plot. All the windows of the house were vacant, except for one on the upper floor, where Ellie's round face appeared. She waved forlornly and rested her chin on her hands as the carriage door closed.
The vehicle pulled away with a jolt before the horses settled into their rhythm. Lottie leaned her head back against the velvet upholstery, her eyes closed, her mouth trembling. The glitter of unshed tears appeared beneath her rich gold lashes. "Foolishly I had hoped for a warmer reception," she said, trying for an ironic tone and failing completely as a half sob escaped her throat.
Nick sat there unnerved and damnably helpless, his body tensing all over. The sight of his wife crying filled him with alarm. To his relief, she managed to gain control over her emotions, and she pressed the heels of her gloved hands to her eyes.
"They couldn't afford to turn down my offer," Nick said, "unless they were still receiving money from Radnor."
Lottie shook her head in confusion. "But it makes no sense that he would continue to support my family now that I've married you."
"Do they have any
other source of income?"
"I can't think of one. Perhaps my uncle may be able to give them a little. Not enough to keep them indefinitely, however."
"Hmmm." Considering various possibilities, Nick leaned back into the corner of his seat, his gaze fixed on the scenery that jostled past the window.
"Nick...did you really tell Lord Radnor that you would repay my school tuition for all those years?"
"Yes."
Strangely, Lottie did not ask why, only occupied herself with arranging her skirts and tugging her sleeves down to cover her wrists. Removing her gloves, she folded them and set them beside her on the carriage seat. Nick watched her through half-closed eyes. When she could find nothing left to adjust or straighten, she brought herself to look at him. "What now?" she asked, as if preparing for a new round of difficulties.
Nick considered the question, feeling a tug in the center of his chest as he saw the resolution in her expression. She had endured the past few days with an equanimity that was extraordinary for a girl her age. No doubt any other young woman would have been reduced to a sobbing heap by now. He wanted to remove the strained look from her eyes and for once see her carefree and relaxed.
"Well, Mrs. Gentry," he said, moving to the space beside her, "for the next day or two, I propose that we have some fun."
"Fun," she repeated, as if the word were unfamiliar. "Forgive me, but my capacity for enjoyment is rather diminished at present."
Nick smiled and settled his hand on the outline of her thigh. "You're in the most exciting city in the world," he murmured, "in the company of a virile young husband and his ill-gotten gains." He kissed her ear, making her shiver. "Believe me, Lottie, there is a great deal of fun to be had."
Lottie would not have thought that anything could shake her from her despondency after the cold reception from her mother. However, Nick engaged her so thoroughly during the next few days that she found it difficult to think about anything but him.
That night Nick took her to a theatrical tavern where music and comical acts were staged to draw in customers. Located in Covent Garden, the Vestris-named after a once-popular Italian opera dancer-was a meeting ground for theatrical folk, slumming nobles, and all manner of colorful characters. The place was dirty and reeking of wine and smoke, the floor so sticky that Lottie was in danger of walking right out of her shoes. She crossed the threshold with reluctance, as young women of quality were never seen in such places unless in the company of their husbands-and even then it was highly questionable. Nick was immediately hailed by the occupants of the tavern, many of them appearing to be complete ruffians. After a brief interval of backslapping and an exchange of friendly insults, Nick took Lottie to a table. They were served a dinner of beefsteak and potatoes, a bottle of port, and two mugs of something called "heavy wet."