Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘Charlton, our bargain has ended.’ Sir Geoffrey’s voice resounded across the veranda. Strident. Furious. ‘She is damaged goods, sir. Given towards lewd and licentious behaviour. I wish you luck in finding a husband for that baggage. No gentleman will have her. Thank God I discovered what she was like before I married her. She’d have run away with her dancing master, soon as look at you.’

  Lottie heard the swell of voices rise around her, echoing Sir Geoffrey’s harsh sentiments. Everyone speaking at once. Ruined. She was ruined. The dreaded consequences that Lucy had so confidently predicted for her all those months ago had happened. There would be no London Season. No triumphant return to Newcastle. Nothing, all because she had not been able resist the temptation of Tristan Dyvelston’s mouth.

  ‘I…I…’ Lottie put a hand to her head and groped for words, something that would explain it all and that would restore everything to its natural order. Her mother and Henry had to see that it was not the end of the world, that she was still an asset to the family. In time, she might once again have marriage prospects.

  She scanned the rapidly expanding crowd for a friendly face and found none.

  ‘What do you intend to do about it, Dyvelston?’ Sir Geoffrey shook his stick at Tristan. ‘You have ruined this young person. Taken advantage of her youth. The tales they whispered about you were true, even though I have always vigorously denied them. No son of your father would behave in such a libertine manner.’

  ‘Do? Why should he do anything?’ Lord Thorngrafton came forward. ‘All he did was kiss the girl. She asked for it. There was that incident in Newcastle—’

  ‘Stay out of this, Peter!’ Tristan Dyvelston thundered. ‘You have done enough damage already.’

  ‘Lord Thorngrafton is right. He simply kissed me. Nothing more.’ Lottie hated the way her voice shook. She tried for a smile. She might be ruined, but Tristan should not be held entirely to blame. ‘Might this whole thing be…?’

  The faces turned towards her were less than encouraging. Several of the old ladies lifted their fans to gossip behind. The tale was already being embroidered. By morning she’d be a harlot and there would be no hiding from the scandal.

  Lottie took a step backwards, encountered the railing. The enormity of what she had done washed over her. She had kissed a man, passionately kissed him, without expectation or forethought. A huge gaping hole opened in her middle. She wished she could turn back the hands of time.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, whatever shall we do? All the love and attention I gave her and she repays me like this.’ Her mother stood next to Sir Geoffrey, white-faced and wringing her hands. Her ample bosom trembled as she raised an accusatory finger. ‘Carlotta, look what you have done to the family. To me. It is not just your reputation you have tarnished. You have shamed the family.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’ Lottie held out her hands and willed her mother to smile at her, to make some small sign that she would stand by her. Her mother buried her face in her hands and the sound of sobbing increased.

  ‘You only have yourself to blame, Mother.’ Henry put a hand on their mother’s shoulder and turned his furious gaze on Lottie. ‘You encouraged her far too much. I knew one day she would go too far and she has. You have disgraced us, Carlotta.’

  Lottie kept her back straight. She had to get through this somehow, and then she’d decide what she could do. Perhaps there was a way to hush the whole thing up. If only everyone would stop yelling at once.

  ‘He has ruined her, I say. I demand to know what he intends to do about it!’ Sir Geoffrey drew himself up to his full height. ‘I may be old, sir, but I am not without influence. I will have it known that you are debaucher of virgins, a man not to be trusted. What are you going to do? Are you totally devoid of honour?’

  Tristan stared at the elderly man as the diatribe washed over him. He knew Sir Geoffrey was correct. Doors would be closed to him. He’d spent ten years in the wilderness. He did not intend to go there again. He glanced at Lottie Charlton. At first she had winced every time someone said something, but now she stood, straight, not moving a muscle. It would not just be he who was ruined, but also this woman.

  He gave an ironic smile. He should have remembered his own advice—virgins were complicated. He should never have tasted her lips. He wanted to taste her skin again. He wanted her lips to softly yield under his again.

  ‘Marry her. I will marry Miss Charlton.’

  The veranda went silent.

  ‘You are going to do what?’ Mrs Charlton squeaked and began to furiously wave her fan.

  ‘As I have ruined her, there is only one course open to me, I will take the responsibility and marry her. My honour demands it.’

  ‘I knew you had it in you, Dyvelston,’ Lottie’s brother said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘There, Mama, problem solved. Dyvelston will marry Lottie. We will have a quiet wedding and no one in the business community will turn their faces from us. While Dyvelston might not be what we would have wished, he will at least do the decent thing.’

  ‘I am so grateful you solved the problem, Sir Geoffrey.’ Mrs Charlton grabbed on to the elderly man’s arm. Her plump face was very close to his. ‘Eternally grateful.’

  Sir Geoffrey patted her arm absentmindedly. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Where will the marriage take place?’ Henry Charlton’s eyes became crafty. ‘It is all well and good to agree a marriage, but does he have any intention of actually marrying her? I know how these rakes operate. When do you intend to marry my sister?’

  Tristan rubbed his chin. He could see Mrs Charlton’s eyes gleaming. How much did she know? How much of this had been planned? ‘I don’t want banns. It might cause talk.’

  ‘Let it be a special.’ Mrs Charlton’s eyes lit up. ‘I always wanted my daughter to be married by special licence. So much more status than an ordinary license.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mama, a special licence would be splendid.’ Lottie clapped her hands, like a child in a sweet shop. ‘What a wonderful idea. Can you arrange that, Mr Dyvelston?’

  ‘No special,’ Tristan said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Her bottom lip trembled like a child who had sweets taken away from her. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. ‘We are going to marry, aren’t we? An ordinary licence, then.’

  Tristan looked at where Lottie stood. It would be easy to indulge her when she looked at him like that. He wanted her to go on looking at him like that for the rest of his life, but he was a realist. Lottie Charlton, through no fault of her own, had all the hallmarks of a spoilt child who would grow into a spoilt woman. He knew what sort of trouble a woman like that could cause, if left unchecked. He would marry her, but she needed to be taught a lesson. If he confessed now who he really was, he would always wonder.

  Had tonight’s events been fabricated for her benefit? Did she really know who he was and was that the reason she had kissed him so passionately? And asked him to kiss her?

  He needed to know; until he discovered the truth, he would keep his identity a secret.

  ‘Gretna Green is but a few miles from here.’

  The entire crowd fell silent.

  ‘You mean to elope?’ Mrs Charlton’s shawls quivered. ‘You are proposing to elope with my daughter.’

  ‘It is the most sensible solution in the circumstances,’ Sir Geoffrey said, giving a decisive nod. ‘I will vouch for this man’s honour, madam.’

  ‘My sister is to elope? Married under Scottish law?’ Henry Charlton’s face expanded and he bore a distinct resemblance to a walrus. ‘Do you know what you are on about, man?’

  ‘I have agreed to do the decent thing and marry the woman, but it will be at Gretna Green, and not in some church wedding.’ Tristan straightened his cuffs. ‘It will save gossip.’

  He took great pleasure in watching Henry Charlton’s mouth open, but have no sound come out. Three times he started to say something, but somehow the words would not appear. He tried jabbing with a finger. ‘You�
�you bounder. You will create a scandal if you marry her in that fashion.’

  ‘I have agreed to marry your sister. I am hardly a bounder. And there is already a scandal of sorts.’ Tristan gave a shrug. ‘I am sorry if the terms of my offer are not to your liking, but there they are. You must decide which is the greater scandal—your sister unwed but kissed, or your sister married at Gretna Green.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘You must decide. Or, better yet, let your sister decide. It is her life and reputation we are discussing.’

  ‘I suppose you do have a point.’ Henry Charlton gave a harrumph. ‘Carlotta?’

  Tristan watched Lottie. What would she do? Would she risk it? A wild exultation grew within him. The risk. The gamble. What would she choose?

  ‘Thank you for allowing me to make the choice, Henry.’ Lottie came forward and tucked her hand into Tristan’s. He glanced down at her, impressed with her dignity in the face of her brother’s blustering and her mother’s shrieking. She appeared to have accepted her fate. ‘Mr Dyvelston is correct. Banns and the like will simply point to a harum-scarum marriage. I will make a runaway match. Far more romantic.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘Not the watercolours, Lottie. And only one satchel, you heard Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie’s mother hurried into the room where Lottie sat packing. ‘You will need a complete new wardrobe now that you are married. I dare say that he plans to buy it. It is the best way.’

  Lottie tucked the watercolours and brushes into her bag. The first words her mother had said to her were a complaint. ‘I heard Mr Dyvelston the first time, Mama, and I intend to paint on my wedding trip. I am being practical.’

  ‘You have dashed all my hopes and plans for your future.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘And now all you can talk of is painting. Have you no consideration for my nerves? For what you have done to your brother? To me? You were supposed to wed a titled man. It was to be the culmination of everything.’

  ‘I am getting married, Mama. He is connected to a title.’

  ‘Yes, but will anyone know? I should never have let Sir Geoffrey sway me. I should have insisted on a proper marriage.’ Her mother buried her face in a handkerchief. ‘Lucy warned me that you would come to a bad end with your tricks and you have. You are a lucky woman that Mr Dyvelston turned out to be a gentleman. Goodness knows what you were thinking…Sir Geoffrey had made an offer for you. How could you do this to me?’

  Lottie slammed another pair of stockings into the satchel. She refused to dignify her mother’s remark with a reply.

  ‘Well, Carlotta, what do you have to say for yourself? How can you explain away what you did? The man has no title, nothing to recommend him. Why did you kiss him?’

  ‘You were quite prepared to marry me off to Jack Stanton.’

  ‘Lottie, you ungrateful child!’ Her mother gave a sharp intake of breath, went white and she waved her hand in front of her face, choking. ‘My medicine, Lottie.’

  Lottie rushed to the washstand, picked up the small vial, pulled off the stopper and held the smelling salts under her mother’s nose. Her mother inhaled deeply; gradually, her colour returned to normal. Lottie breathed again. ‘Are you better, Mama? I did not intend to give you another attack. You should take more care.’

  ‘Me? You are the one who should have been cautious. I had everything arranged.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You threw it all away, you ungrateful spoilt child. Well, young lady—’

  ‘I am marrying Mr Dyvelston, Mama.’ Lottie fastened the satchel. She adjusted her pelisse and bonnet. It made a charming picture over her paisley silk afternoon dress. The cut was fashionable and Lottie had made sure the corset was laced extra tight in order to show off her waist. She wanted Tristan to look again at her with those smouldering eyes. ‘Neither of us planned it, but it will save me and the family from ruin. I cannot undo the past. And Tristan does have connections, Mama. He is Lord Thorngrafton’s cousin.’

  ‘Lottie, Lottie. I cannot help but worry. Though Sir Geoffrey says that this is the best way and I must trust him.’

  ‘And it saves the expense of a London Season. You might remind Henry of that, if he intends on huffing and puffing.’

  Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘Yes, I suppose Dyvelston is doing the decent thing. But I care about my daughter’s future. You were given every advantage.’

  ‘I believe in my case, if I fail to marry, the advantages will mean nothing. I will be ruined, Mama. And won’t I spend my life repenting that as well?’

  ‘Oh, you young creatures are all the same. You think you know everything.’ Her mother threw up her hands and Lottie wondered if she was going to have to retrieve the smelling salts again. She shifted uneasily, hating the disloyal thought, but she had seen how her mother had used the attacks before. ‘A man should respect his wife. If you keep giving in to your passion, it will be the road to ruin. Your poor papa and I had a good marriage based on mutual respect and duty.’

  And what about love? Or desire? Lottie stopped the words and allowed the remainder of her mother’s diatribe to flow over her. She did not love Tristan, but she knew that there had to be more to a marriage than respectability. And she certainly did not want a title if Sir Geoffrey Lea was offering it. She was not a pawn to be sacrificed for her mother and brother’s social ambition. She would lead her own life.

  ‘You are not attending, Carlotta.’

  ‘Mama, it is time to go.’ Lottie leant forward and kissed her mother’s cold cheek. ‘I am getting married today to a good man. I can sense it in him.’

  ‘Lottie, Lottie. There is more to being a good man than a pair of broad shoulders and a smooth dancing step.’ Her mother’s hands grasped Lottie’s upper arms and she made a clucking noise at the back of her throat. ‘You are such a child, Lottie. I blame myself. There is so much I should tell you, warn you about. Men do not like wanton creatures. They use them and discard them. When I think of your poor dear departed papa…’

  ‘Papa would have wanted me to be happy.’ Lottie stared at her mother, seeing for the first time the attempts to hold age back, the slightly over-garish jewellery, the petulant expression. Then she shook herself, hating the disloyal thoughts. Here was her mother, the woman she should revere above all others, but who had wanted to sell her for a title and reflected status. ‘It was all he ever wanted. It is why he worked so hard. He wanted to give us everything we wanted.’

  ‘Happiness is a fleeting thing. Security and connections are all.’ Her mother shook her head and buried her face once again in a handkerchief.

  ‘It just happened, Mama.’ Lottie touched her lips, remembering the sensation of Tristan’s lips against hers and knew that she would yield again.

  ‘That is no excuse. I trust you will remember where your duty lies. A woman must take responsibility for a family’s status. Remember that and behave accordingly, if nothing else. Try to grow up, Lottie…before it is too late.’

  ‘Mama, I will be a good wife.’ Lottie curled her fingers around her satchel. ‘I will make sure the marriage prospers.’

  She marched out of the room, head high and shoulders back. She would show her mother that her dire predictions were wrong. She would make this marriage a success.

  Lottie sat opposite Tristan in his borrowed carriage and watched the sunrise begin to appear on the horizon. Her bonnet had slipped over her nose and the wild exhilaration she had felt as she’d waved goodbye to the assembled throng of people had vanished. Her back ached and her feet were numb.

  What had she done? Had she done the appropriate thing? She had done the only thing.

  Each turn of the carriage wheel took her farther away from her mother, her family, her former life and closer to Gretna Green and marriage, marriage to Tristan. She would snatch a sip from the cup of happiness. Somehow. She refused to believe her mother’s dire predictions about marrying for passion.

  The carriage hit a rut, and her shoulder met the side of the carriage with a thump. Lottie winced at the pain, stifled
the gasp behind her gloved hand.

  ‘Careful.’ Tristan, from where he sat, put out a hand to steady her. The touch of his hand burnt through the thin material of her dress. ‘You don’t want to injure yourself.’

  ‘I will be fine.’ She sat up straighter. Her hands curled around the edge of her seat, holding her there. ‘I was unprepared. The road to Gretna Green is heavily rutted.’

  ‘It is a well-travelled route.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lottie agreed. Well travelled. As if she needed reminding how many people went there to get married because they had to or because their families objected. Some might call it wildly romantic, but the doubts had started to circle around the edges of her brain. The Tristan Dyvelston who sat opposite with his top hat, black frock coat, cream-coloured trousers and hands lightly resting on a cane was very different from the excitingly attractive man who had kissed her earlier. No less handsome, but somehow more reserved, as if he were waiting and watching for something. Self-contained.

  Lottie searched her mind. What did one say politely to the man who was about to become one’s husband, but appeared now more than ever to be a stranger? And in such a fashion? How could she explain that she was terrified of what the future might hold?

  She had no wish to appear a ninny or a brainless fool. She thought of topics like the weather or music, only to reject them. Some were too impersonal. Others far too personal. It was difficult, particularly as she simply wanted to curl up next to him and feel his arms about her. The silence seemed to hang between them, growing with each turn of the wheel until it was a palpable living thing that threatened to crush her.

  ‘Wasn’t it kind of your cousin to lend us his carriage?’ she said, finally, in desperation.

  ‘My cousin?’ He raised an eyebrow and his face did not invite further enquiries. ‘What does my cousin have to do with this carriage?’

  ‘His arms are on the carriage door,’ Lottie said, sitting up. Her hands adjusted the ribbons of her bonnet and tension appeared to ease from her shoulder. Finally a subject they could discuss—social niceties. ‘I noticed it when we got in. Little details make the world go round. It eases social tensions, if one does not have to explain everything. It is something one learns rapidly when you are required to do as much visiting as Mama and I.’