Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  Chapter Two

  ‘I had expected my sister to be here.’ The sound of Henry’s pompous voice greeted Lottie as she entered Aunt Alice’s house. ‘You know, Aunt, what sort of mischief Lottie can get into when left to her own devices. It is precisely this sort of thing that I warned you about.’

  Her aunt’s soothing reply was muffled behind the door to the parlour.

  Typical, Lottie thought, the one time her brother decided to make the journey here, she was out, gallivanting across the country with an ungrateful Cousin Frances. It could have been worse. Frances could have spotted her with Mr Dyvelston. But Frances showed a singular lack of interest in her whereabouts or in the church. And nothing had happened, nothing at all.

  Lottie’s fingers explored the underside of her wrist. The imprint of his touch still burnt her flesh. What was it about that one particular man? Was it the danger he represented?

  ‘Do you have any idea of when she might return?’ Henry’s pompous voice brought her back to reality with a bump. ‘I have business to attend to and cannot wait around for ever. The train leaves for Gilsland in two hours. And there is not another one until morning.’

  ‘Henry, is that you? Are Lucy or Mama with you?’ Lottie called out as she removed her gloves and bonnet with trembling fingers. Why was her brother here? Had something happened? She would be brave.

  ‘Ah, Lottie, you make an appearance.’ Henry turned from her aunt and Lottie was surprised to see how fat he had grown. ‘Come and greet me. What do you have to say to your brother?’

  He had a well-fed look like a trained seal. If anything, the last five months had made him sleeker and fatter. She noticed he wore normal clothes and not mourning ones. Lottie gave a sigh of relief, thanking God for small mercies.

  ‘You should have sent word, and I would have been here.’

  ‘I had expected you would be here, doing your needlework or making another one of those pincushion mottos that you and my wife are enamoured with.’

  ‘Why?’ Lottie blinked rapidly and refused to let his cutting words hurt. She would have been here, sitting, doing needlework if only he had let her know. ‘We keep different hours in the country. I went for a stroll with my cousin. The fresh air is reputed to be good for most constitutions. You should try it some time.’

  Henry harrumphed. ‘I suppose there is no harm in a quiet walk.’

  ‘Now, tell me, Henry what is the news?’ Lottie came forwards and caught her brother’s hands. ‘How are Mama, Lucy and the children? They send letters, but it is not the same as hearing it. I do miss them so. Do say they are all well and that you are not here because of them.’

  ‘Lucy sends her regards. The children are well, or so Lucy tells me.’ Henry’s face softened. ‘Mama has gone to Gilsland Spa for the waters.’

  Lottie concentrated on her aunt’s patterned Turkey carpet. It could be that this was her best chance, far better than the marriage plans for Frances and Mr Shepard. She had to show that she had learnt from her exile. ‘Is my dear sister-in-law planning to come out to Haydon Bridge? There are some fine walks around here. I can tell her the legend of Cruel Sykes burn and she can look for the blood in the water.’

  ‘Yes, Carlotta and I went to the Cruel Sykes burn today.’ Frances nodded and her cheeks flamed to a bright pink. ‘It is quite a pleasant walk. I nearly fell in the burn, but Mr Shepard rescued me. Fished me out.’

  ‘I had no idea that Mr Shepard had accompanied you.’ Aunt Alice’s voice was chilling. ‘Who arranged this?’

  ‘He did not accompany us, exactly, Mama. We met him on the pathway and Carlotta suggested that he walk with us for a while.’

  ‘One can hardly be rude to one’s acquaintances, someone one has been formally introduced to.’ Lottie shifted uneasily. Perhaps she should have discovered Aunt Alice’s feelings towards Kent Shepard first, beyond noticing the warmth with which he was greeted at church.

  ‘Niece, are you going to explain further?’ Her aunt tapped her fan against the small table. ‘Is this some new scheme of yours? Why precisely did Mr Shepard join you and my daughter? Had he experienced difficulty with one of his cows? Goodness knows I have tried many topics with Mr Shepard but he always returns to his irksome cattle and their breeding.’

  ‘Our paths crossed,’ Lottie said, trying to forestall more of Frances’s confidences. From the thunderous look on Aunt Alice’s face, she was beginning to think that perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps Aunt Alice had not wanted the match for Frances. ‘And I…that is…we suggested that he might like to join us. He appeared quite willing to do so and in a jovial mood.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Carlotta made the suggestion. Mr Shepard is very good at rescuing, Mama.’

  ‘Ah, and did he rescue you from the burn as well, Carlotta?’ Her aunt gave her an icy stare, one that caused her to shift uneasily in her boots.

  Suddenly Lottie was very aware of the glaring and obvious flaws in her matchmaking scheme, fundamental flaws that she should have anticipated. She could not lie, but to tell the full truth would invite disaster. She had no wish to explain about Tristan Dyvelston, and the kiss on her wrist.

  ‘You might well ask that, but the truth is…’

  ‘Niece, none of your smoked gammon and pickles for me. You appeared to have outgrown the tendency once you were away from your mother and under an altogether steadier influence. Did or did not Mr Shepard fish you out of the burn?’ Aunt Alice raised her spectacles. And her piercing gaze appeared to look into the depths of Lottie’s soul. ‘You are rather less damp than my daughter. Your clothing shows no sign of being rumpled.’

  ‘No.’ Lottie kept her chin high, but she swallowed hard. How was she going to explain this away, particularly as Henry had put Aunt Alice into one of her moods? ‘He did not.’

  ‘He couldn’t.’ Frances gave a high-pitched giggle that echoed around the room. ‘She wasn’t there.’

  Lottie heard her aunt’s little screech of horror and wished the floor would open up. Why had she ever considered that today could be called a good day?

  ‘Was not there?’ Her aunt’s voice sounded like a church bell tolling out a funeral march. ‘Why not there? You depart together. You come back together. But Lottie was not with you at the burn when Mr Shepard oh so gallantly fished you out.’

  ‘Lottie, what were you doing?’ Henry thundered. ‘Are you up to your old tricks? I warned you.’

  ‘I had gone to look at the old church’s ruins with the Claude glass that Lucy sent me as an early birthday present and I could have sworn they were right behind me.’ Lottie opened her eyes, and used the slightly singsong voice she adopted whenever her mother accused her of anything untoward. ‘It was only when I arrived that I discovered my mistake. They had taken the turning to Cruel Sykes burn. Seeing that I was there, I had a look about the church…Cousin Frances had extolled its virtues as a…subject for a watercolour…’

  She glanced between Aunt Alice and Henry to see if they were going to accept the story. Cousin Frances made encouraging noises about the Claude glass.

  ‘Mr Shepard and Cousin Frances soon caught up with me.’ Lottie wiped her hand across her mouth and hoped. ‘And that is all to the story. A simple misunderstanding.’

  ‘Carlotta Charlton,’ her brother thundered, ‘how could you do such a thing!’

  ‘We were right behind Lottie. Only but a moment, once we realised there had been a mistake,’ Frances agreed, nodding vigorously, impressing Lottie with the way she entered into the spirit of the thing. Perhaps she had mistaken Frances’s intentions. Perhaps they could become friends. ‘Mr Shepard thought he heard voices. Lottie’s and a man’s.’

  Lottie put her hands over her ears and turned her head away as everyone began to speak at once. No, definitely not friends.

  ‘That settles it, then.’ Her brother’s tone boomed out over the rest.

  ‘Settles what?’ Lottie asked into the sudden silence.

  ‘Haydon Bridge has singularly failed to curb your wayward te
ndencies.’

  Lottie curled her fingers as she tried to suppress the wave of hurt that washed over her. ‘I think you are being harsh, Brother. I have led an exemplary life. Ask Aunt Alice, or Cousin Frances.’

  ‘Carlotta Charlton, you have been attempting to do mischief, serious mischief.’ Henry stabbed his forefinger into the air. ‘I told you at Christmas, I have had enough of your minx tricks! You treat your reputation with a casual contempt and a woman without a reputation might as well not live. Polite society certainly will not recognise her.’

  ‘I…I am entirely innocent,’ Lottie said through gritted teeth as Cousin Frances gaped, opening and closing her mouth like some demented cod fish. Right at that instant, she was not entirely certain whom she hated more—Cousin Frances, Mr Shepard or Tristan Dyvelston.

  ‘It is no matter.’ Henry brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his frock coat. ‘Mama is determined that her daughter will marry a title. There is no reasoning with her. You know what she is like with her enthusiasms.’

  ‘I am hardly likely to catch an aristocrat in Haydon Bridge.’

  ‘True, true.’ Henry gave an exaggerate sigh. ‘Mama has been bending my ear about the very subject. I had hopes when she left to take at the waters at Gilsland Spa that she would be distracted, but her experience has only served to renew her determination. She has sent me letter after letter on the subject. Hardly a post goes by without yet another epistle arriving.’

  ‘Do you mean to send me to London?’ Lottie felt the room tilt slightly. Perhaps today was not terrible after all. Perhaps everything was a blessing. She attempted to keep the eagerness from her voice. ‘I know I have missed the Queen Charlotte Ball, but a number of events remain in the Season. Mrs Fullen did say that she might be prepared to sponsor me and she is the sister of Lady Rowland. She knows the patronesses of Almack’s.’

  ‘Lucy considers otherwise. She thinks Mrs Fullen exaggerates about her connection with the patronesses.’

  ‘Lucy forgets what Mrs Fullen did for Ann Mason only two years ago. Lady Rowland is a respected member of the ton, Henry. I read her antecedents in Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage and Knightage, and if she is in Burke’s…’

  Henry held up his hand. ‘I am unprepared to countenance you set loose in London. Lottie, you would be ruined within moments of stepping on a dance floor. Were very nearly, by all accounts, ruined by an unknown man in a deserted churchyard. You have no sense with men, Sister.’

  ‘Then Newcastle? You are taking me back home.’ Lottie refused to let the disappointment of London bow her spirits. Once she returned to Newcastle’s society, she could work on her mother. Mama would realise the true importance of having a London Season to securing a title.

  ‘Gilsland Spa where Mama is taking the waters.’

  ‘Gilsland?’ Lottie’s heart sunk. ‘What is at Gilsland? Who is at Gilsland at this time of year? It is fine for Mama, but does she intend to marry me off to some gouty lord or a creaking count from some unknown European principality?’

  ‘Lord Thorngrafton currently resides there. He has taken a suite at Shaw’s Hotel, as have several other members of the aristocracy. Mama has sent a list of the titled currently residing there. The prospects quite excite her and I must say that they make for quite intriguing reading. I had never considered Gilsland Spa as a possibility before.’ Henry puffed his chest out. ‘I am given to understand that Lord Thorngrafton was very interested in you at an Assembly ball last autumn, Lottie.’

  Aunt Alice gave an audible gasp and Cousin Frances’s eyes gleamed as Lottie gave a sigh of relief. Here at last was an opening.

  ‘I believed Lord Thorngrafton’s attention was of a dishonourable nature than honourable.’ Lottie settled on the horsehair sofa, crossing her ankles and arranging the folds of her gown. If she could turn Henry’s attention away from Lord Thorngrafton, she might be able to return to Newcastle after all. It was a matter of persuasion, applying the right sort of pressure. He would yield.

  ‘Our mother believes otherwise. She has had a conversation with the man in question and he remarked on your fine eyes and how much he admired them.’

  ‘Lord Thorngrafton spent most of last November speaking to my bosom. I do not believe that he once noticed my eyes.’

  ‘Carlotta!’ her aunt shrieked. ‘Unmentionables in front of Frances! Cover your ears, Daughter!’

  ‘I have done so, Mama.’

  Lottie crossed her arms and glared at them. ‘It is true.’

  ‘Mama stated in her letter that he asked after you particularly.’ Henry’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do not play the sly puss with me, Carlotta. I have it on good authority that Lord Thorngrafton is possessed of a more than agreeable fortune. He saw the possibilities of railways, long before I. He is a business associate of Jack Stanton, a partner in some of his ventures. And you know how rich Stanton is. I have done some investigating.’

  ‘So rich that Mama would have happily forgone a title.’ Lottie made sure that her smile was sweet. ‘Letter or no, Lord Thorngrafton is up to no good. Why should a titled gentleman possessed of an agreeable fortune wish to ally himself with our family?’

  Aunt Alice began to fan herself rapidly at the outburst as Henry’s face turned a sort of mottled purple.

  ‘Explain yourself!’

  ‘I simply feel there are other better places where I could go.’

  ‘You do, do you?’ Henry jabbed his finger at her. ‘Let me tell you this, Miss Butter Would Not Melt in Her Mouth! Should you fail to bring Lord Thorngrafton up to the mark, I will marry you off to the next person who asks. In fact, I am tempted to marry you off to the next person—Lord Thorngrafton or whomever—after this latest outburst. I have it on good authority that Mr Lynch is currently on the lookout for a wife, or should I say nurse-maid, for his brood of seven children.’

  Lottie stared at her brother in horror. He could not do that. Could he? She fought against the panic that swept over her, struggling to breathe against the confines of her corset.

  ‘Where is Mama? Let me speak to her. You cannot do that, Henry. I forbid it. Mama will be distraught when she learns of your unkind and uncharitable attitude.’

  ‘Mama is at Shaw’s Hotel, waiting for your arrival. And despite Lucy’s misgivings, I must conclude that it is the best place for you. You will catch a titled husband there, so help me God.’

  ‘Why are you doing this, Henry?’ Lottie asked in a small voice. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  ‘My sister’s marriage is a matter of business. You have two weeks, Lottie. I am not an unkind man, but it is all the time I wish to be away from my family. You and our mother together…’

  ‘But…but…’

  ‘Perhaps we send for Mr Lynch now?’

  Lottie stared at her brother. Once she had thought him a god, but now she knew he was a hard, unfeeling monster. He did not care for her future happiness, merely for what prestige or power her marriage could bring to him. What business opportunities might arise. Her value on the marriage market. Lottie refused to cry or give way to temper. That, she knew from bitter experience, would not help the situation. She had to be calm. Somehow, she would find a way.

  ‘I will go,’ she whispered.

  ‘Good.’ Henry turned his back on her. ‘Now, Aunt, may I have another of your esteemed muffins?’

  ‘Lottie, dry your eyes.’ Cousin Frances patted her shoulder. ‘Things like this are always happening in my Minerva Press novels and they turn out all right in the end.’

  Lottie gave a small hiccup. Somehow, Cousin Frances’s sudden solicitude made everything worse.

  ‘Time to wake up, Lord Thorngrafton.’ Tristan strode across the darkened room, pulled apart the curtains and let the fresh air enter the wine-soaked room. ‘Or should I say, Cousin Peter? I had wondered who I might find at Shaw’s and had suspected that it might be you.’

  The prone figure on the bed groaned, mumbled a few incoherent words before pulling the pillow over his head. ‘Go away. It is the midd
le of the night.’

  ‘Time to be up, Peter. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Play time has finished.’ Tristan controlled his fury at his first cousin. ‘Quit your shamming or you will have cause to regret it. Can you give me any reason why I should not summon the parish constable?’

  At the mention of the parish constable, the man sat straight up. His florid complexion paled as Tristan regarded his first cousin with a dispassionate eye. There was a vague family resemblance, but nothing remarkable.

  ‘You…you…you are supposed to be on the Continent. Or, better yet, dead in some alleyway.’ Peter’s hand trembled as he passed it over his eyes. ‘I was sure you would never return to England. And Uncle swore it when I changed my name from Burford to Dyvelston.’

  ‘Changing a name and being acknowledged as his heir does not change the order of succession, Peter.’

  ‘I know that, but…’

  ‘I returned, Cousin, as I promised I would.’ Tristan stared at him. ‘I always keep my promises…unlike some.’

  ‘Allow me some moments to dress. This is quite a shock to me. You here. Alive.’

  ‘Not as big of a shock as it was to me to discover that Lord Thorngrafton had been responsible for a variety of actions. What amazes me is how brazen you have been about it.’

  His cousin stood up and started to dress.

  ‘Don’t begrudge me, Tris,’ he said. ‘I thought you dead. I was sure you were dead. Uncle Jeremiah swore it as well. He told me that you were seriously ill in Florence…or was it Venice? Don’t matter, but I didn’t expect you to appear.’

  ‘Reports of my demise were premature.’ Tristan paused and brushed a speck off his frock coat. ‘And never call me Tris. It implies a familiarity that does not exist between us.’

  ‘But I am your heir. There ain’t no other and if you were dead…’ Peter ran his hand through his hair. ‘Be fair, Tristan. Uncle’s obituary, of course, made the papers and everyone naturally assumed that I would be the one…Who am I to dissuade them?’