Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘I have no idea what your settlement will be.’ Tristan finished dressing. The golden god of this morning had vanished and in its place was the remote man from the carriage, the one who had left her standing in the inn’s yard. ‘Your brother and I did not have time to discuss it. I have no doubt your brother will be fair when the time comes. Until my banker tells me it is there, Lottie, I have no wish to borrow against it. It is a good way to end up in Newgate or one of the other debtors’ prisons.’

  Lottie put her hand to her head. Her stomach reeled. Debtors’ prison. The workhouse. She busied her hands with retrieving the thin blanket. Tried to concentrate on breathing. She could not borrow trouble. ‘Have you been in one before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The single word fell between them. Lottie put her hand to her mouth and tried to prevent the gasp. A debtors’ prison. Her husband. There should be some polite remark to cover the incident, but her mind failed her. ‘You have been? Were you there long? Was it as awful as they say?’

  Tristan became made out of stone. Then his eyes creased and he stroked her hair, a simple touch, but comforting. Lottie resisted the urge to turn her face to his palm and rest her head.

  ‘I was visiting a friend who had fallen on hard times. It is far from a pleasant place, Lottie.’

  ‘You mustn’t tease me like that.’ Lottie released a breath and offered up a small prayer. Her husband wasn’t a feckless fortune hunter. He had gone to visit a friend.

  ‘You should believe better of me.’

  ‘Why?’ Lottie bowed her head. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because…I am your husband.’

  ‘Trust is something that is earned.’ She clasped her hands together. Her heart pounded in her ears. Tristan had to understand. She enjoyed expensive things, but she also understood the value of money and how quickly wealth could be lost. ‘I have learnt to be cautious. Far too many men see a wealthy woman as a way to end their debts and continue with their debauched lifestyle. A debutante rapidly learns or faces the consequences.’

  ‘You were not cautious the other night.’

  ‘That was different.’ She waved her hand. ‘Other considerations were in the forefront of my mind.’

  ‘And now you find out what I am like.’ He rubbed his thumb against her mouth, a featherlight movement that sent ripples of sensation flickering throughout her body. ‘I will be beholden to no man, Lottie.’

  ‘I have some money. We can send a message to Henry…’

  ‘I have no use for your money. Charity is nothing I have ever looked for.’

  ‘Being proud is one thing, but this is different. I am your wife.’

  ‘You just gave me a lecture about imprudent husbands and fortune hunters.’

  ‘But there are certain standards one must maintain.’

  ‘Must one?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’ Lottie heard the desperation in her voice. He had to give in. He had to see. ‘It must be miles to Gortner Hall. Days. Days we would waste if we walked.’

  ‘I have enough to get us back to Gortner Hall.’ His eyes were cold. ‘We will take the parliamentary trains. There is a connection at Carlisle. We can get off at Hexham and catch the coach. I purchased two tickets yesterday. I thought it best to be prepared.’

  A parliamentary train. One of the trains Gladstone had ordered to be run along each railway line once a day and stopping at all the stations. Lottie’s heart sunk.

  ‘But it is so slow, little faster than a stage coach, and it is all third class. All wooden benches and a tin roof.’ The words escaped from Lottie’s mouth. She winced as a muscle in his jaw leapt. ‘Surely we can take the express. How much more expensive is it?’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with being ordinary, Lottie. Keep your money for when it is truly needed.’ He pushed the reticule away, but tugged her towards him. Her unresisting body fell into his as his arms went around her. ‘It is about time you realised this. You married me. You did not marry someone like Sir Geoffrey who maintains a private railcar for his journeys. The parliamentary train with all its stops will get us there in good time.’

  ‘I never wanted to marry him. Ever. He was old, older than Mama.’ Lottie gave into temptation and placed her head against his shirt front, listened to the steady thumping of his heart. ‘That was my mother’s desire.’

  ‘And what was your desire?’ His fingers tilted her chin upwards and she wanted to drown in the warm pools that were his eyes. Lottie felt a tide of heat wash through her body. ‘Shall we find time to explore it?’

  His lips touched the corner of her mouth, one tantalizsing touch. Soft. Calling to her. She lifted her arms, placed them around his neck. Held him.

  Somewhere far away heavy footsteps pounded on the stair, recalling her to where they were and what might happen if she was not careful.

  ‘It appears that I have already explored it. I followed my desire rather than my mother’s. I married you.’ Lottie pushed herself away from his body. She forced her legs to carry her to where she had neatly placed her clothes last night. She rolled up her stockings, slipped on her petticoats and finally held out the corset. All she would need was to be entangled in Tristan’s arms and for the door to come crashing in. For the parish constable to be standing there. She had had enough embarrassment for one week.

  ‘Was that all you wanted—to be married to a young man?’

  Lottie ignored the comment and concentrated on tying the drawstring of her petticoats. ‘It would appear you will have to help me to dress if we are to leave this room and to catch the parliamentary. And I shall pack away two of my petticoats as there is bound to be little enough space on the parliamentary.’

  Tristan stood very still, but his eyes burnt with a fire as if he had watched every movement and memorised it. Lottie felt the tide of a blush wash up her cheeks as she remembered some of the illustrations from Aristotle’s Complete Master Piece. Did men like to watch women dress?

  ‘I am only doing this because we have an innkeeper breathing down our necks.’ Tristan gave the back of her neck a kiss before he rapidly laced up the corset. A warm glow infused through Lottie. It would be easy to turn and to be in his arms again. ‘I would far rather spend the morning with you in this room.’

  ‘You should pull the corset tighter.’ Lottie took a deep breath in. If she concentrated, these ripples of sensation would fade.

  ‘You will do yourself injury.’

  ‘What is a little pain compared to fashion?’ She gave a laugh. ‘I thought you liked my narrow waist. I felt your hand on it when we danced. It is one of my best features.’

  ‘What is fashion compared with pain? We are at an impasse, Lottie, and as I have to lace you, the corset will stay loose.’ His fingers spanned her waist. ‘Your waist is small enough.’

  ‘When I get my new lady’s maid…’

  ‘If you get her—who knows, you might enjoy my services.’ His breath tickled her ear.

  A shiver went down Lottie’s back as his voice held her. The temptation to lean backwards into him nearly overpowered her. Instead she pulled her dress over her head and stood while his firm fingers fastened up the back. When he had finished, his fingers trailed along her collarbone. She held herself stiffly, refusing to give in to the sensation. ‘The parliamentary.’

  ‘I see you are determined to catch this train.’

  ‘The innkeeper is determined to be rid of us and you delight in teasing me.’

  ‘That much is true.’

  ‘And if we miss this train, we will have to wait for the next one. We don’t have the money for that.’

  Tristan looked at her with hooded eyes. ‘Do you know how much money I have, Lottie?’

  Lottie drew a deep breath. She knew when she could not change things. She would have to make the best of it. Just as she had at Christmas when she was sent away or last birthday when she had been given a set of improving poems rather than the tortoiseshell combs she had longed for.

  ‘If we must go,
it is better to go now,’ she said brightly. ‘And who knows, I might enjoy the parliamentary. I have never been on one before. When I went to Haydon Bridge, I took the express.’

  ‘The parliamentary is an experience.’

  ‘My only wonder is how you managed to stay at Shaw’s. My brother was at pains to point out the expense to my mother and me. Several times in the course of the afternoon and at least once more at supper.’

  ‘Ah, Lord Thorngrafton managed that.’ Tristan’s eyes slid away from her. ‘The suite was rented in his name.’

  ‘But you are unkind about your cousin.’ Lottie clasped her hands. Tristan had to lose his unreasonable prejudice towards his cousin. ‘He obviously wanted to promote you in society. He had no cause to befriend you.’

  ‘This much is true. My cousin did appear rather put out that I had arrived. He thought me safely on the Continent, lost for all eternity, never to set foot in England again.’

  Lottie wrinkled her nose. ‘You really must refrain from disparaging him. It would be dreadful if it were ever reported back. He…he even gave me money.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Tristan stilled. A watchfulness came about him.

  ‘In case I changed my mind—at least, that is what his coachman said when he handed me the bank note.’

  ‘The coachman told you this.’ Tristan’s voice was ice cold. ‘What else did he tell you? What did Lord Thorngrafton want from you? What was the payment to be?’

  ‘He did not inform me.’ Lottie kept her head up. How could she tell Tristan that Lord Thorngrafton had thought his own cousin would abandon her? How could she divide the two further when she knew how important it was that they have good relations with him? She gave a laugh that sounded more like fingernails grating on a slate. ‘Perhaps he entertained notions of me becoming his mistress in gratitude. His intentions were far from honourable last autumn. I know this. A woman can tell.’

  ‘And you thought my intentions were honourable at Shaw’s? Was that why you went out on the terrace with me?’

  ‘I didn’t think at all.’ Lottie knew she had to be truthful. She could not lie to Tristan about that. ‘For the first time in my life, I forgot to think about the consequences.’ She paused and continued in a very small voice, ‘If I had, perhaps we would not be here.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Tristan reached down and picked up the satchel. He paused, his back towards her. ‘Would you become Lord Thorngrafton’s mistress? He has the reputation of being an excellent lover. The life of a mistress can be exciting to some women.’

  ‘How can you say such things! I am your wife!’

  ‘Lord Thorngrafton is…unique,’ Tristan replied. ‘Some women are entranced by a title.’

  ‘All the more reason for not antagonising him. But rest assured that had I wanted that outcome, I would not have waited until now…until after my marriage to his cousin.’

  Lottie reached for her bonnet and fastened it with expert fingers. She attempted a bright smile, but inside her blood boiled. Lord Thorngrafton held no attraction for her. The only man who had ever made her melt was standing before her, being annoying. It was as if his touch had been infected with some loving disease and all she could crave was another touch of his hand, another smile. These things had become necessary to her. And she would die before she ever admitted it. Before she would admit his failure to come to her bed last night until after she was sound asleep had hurt.

  ‘Why did you tell me now about the money? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

  ‘I was ashamed.’ Lottie twisted the iron ring about her finger. ‘I thought you might think that I had no faith in you. That I had begged him for the money and was planning on running away at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘And why did you tell me just now?’

  Lottie turned her head. She couldn’t confess her reasons, not to him. They were too new and raw. She could not risk his mockery. ‘Shall we depart? There is only one parliamentary per day.’

  ‘You are a puzzle, Lottie Dyvelston. I would have expected you to be in tears.’

  ‘Some things I can change, and others I can’t. It is up to me to know the difference, as my old nurse used to say.’ Lottie glanced back at the pillow, grateful that, after her sleep, her eyes betrayed no sign of redness. It would not do to have Tristan know that she had shed tears over him on their wedding night.

  Lottie gave one last look at the mean room. There was nothing except the rumpled bedclothes to show they had ever been there. She was a married woman. She had spent a night with her husband, the first of many to come. But now she had to face the parliamentary and her fellow passengers.

  Chapter Eight

  Everyone crowded towards the doors when the parliamentary arrived in Carlisle, pushing past and not really caring that others might want to get off. A rather large lady elbowed Lottie in the ribs with a basket and then glared at her as she started to protest.

  Lottie stepped gingerly down from the train, one of the last to disembark. Her bottom ached from the short time she had spent on the overcrowded wooden benches. She had carefully kept her skirts away from the other passengers and had declined any overtures from their fellow passengers.

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’ she asked Tristan as, with a great roar, the train chugged away, leaving them standing on the platform. She fumbled for her one remaining handkerchief. She regarded the soot-spotted cloth with distaste and put it back in her reticule.

  ‘About two hours,’ he said, checking his fob watch. ‘The parliamentary to Newcastle leaves quite late in the day.’

  ‘Isn’t there a train before then?’

  ‘Not a parliamentary.’ Tristan gave her a dark look.

  Lottie straightened her shoulders and took a breath. She would be dignified. ‘What will happen when we get to Hexham?’

  ‘We will find transport somehow. There has been talk of building a railway up the North Tyne, but nothing has come of it yet. There are still many more profitable places to build.’

  ‘Then we shall have to hope there is transport.’

  ‘I did send a letter to the hall. There should be transport waiting for us.’

  ‘A carriage?’ Lottie sent up a prayer for a well-sprung carriage, one like Lord Thorngrafton’s with deep seats and a roof to keep the rain out. Not a bone-shaking pony cart that was exposed to the changeable English summer weather like the one she’d had to use at Aunt Alice’s.

  ‘Whatever Mrs Elton can arrange. It won’t be the last word in luxury.’

  Lottie mentally whispered goodbye to the carriage. She had to think positively—it could be worse. She had to believe in the word—transport. She lifted her chin. ‘As long as I don’t have to walk, I will be fine.’

  ‘I will do my best.’ Tristan put his hand under her elbow and led her to the third-class waiting room. It did not have the armchairs or the fire that the first-class waiting room did, but it was clean and neat. Respectable, but barely. ‘You may wait here, if you like.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Lottie fought to keep the note of panic from her voice.

  ‘I am going to try to find a newspaper. W. H. Smith recently started a newspaper train to Carlisle and I would like to have a look at one of the London papers.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Can I trust you to stay here in the train station? Unless you would like to tramp around the streets of Carlisle with me?’

  ‘You pointed out before, my dress is not made for walking.’ Lottie gave a shiver. She had no wish to be stared at from carriages. What if she encountered someone she knew? How they would all laugh at her. Lottie Charlton… Dyvelston, not dressed properly. She could not take the humiliation.

  ‘If that is what you want…’

  ‘I have learnt my lesson.’ Lottie looked around the small waiting room. Several men in ill-fitting frock coats and tight collars sat reading papers, and in a corner some children played a game of marbles. Peaceful. ‘It appears to be safe enough. I want to rest for a little while.’

&nb
sp; The pads of his fingers brushed her chin, a featherlight touch, but one that stilled her, left her longing for more. ‘I will keep you safe. Trust me on this.’

  ‘You earned my trust yesterday,’ Lottie whispered back. Her mouth ached for his kiss. The heat began to rise on her cheek at the boldness of her thought. Even thinking about kissing her husband in public showed how wanton and wicked she was becoming.

  ‘Thank you for that.’ He raised her gloved hand to his lips and was gone.

  Lottie pressed the glove against her mouth and stared after him. Her whole body tingled, remembering what it was like to wake up in his arms. Tonight, surely, he would find time for her and she would be able to control her passion. He would not be disgusted with her behaviour again. She would not give him any excuse to leave her.

  She settled down on one of the vacant benches to wait. She smoothed her dress and winced slightly at the stains and mud that were now engrained on it. No one would ever think that it was this season’s silk paisley. It far more closely resembled a cast-off to a second housemaid. She gave a wry smile. At least no one would say that she shouldn’t be in the third-class waiting room.

  The time dragged and she began to amuse herself by making up little stories about her fellow passengers. Anything to keep her mind off Tristan and the shape of his mouth. It seemed impossible how important he had become to her already. And he was a good man. Against the odds, she had found a man who was honest and true.

  ‘Pretty lady, can you help?’ A hand tugged at her skirt. A young girl about eight stood there. Her young brother clung to her hand and regarded Lottie with big eyes in a tear-streaked face. ‘Our nurse is missing.’

  ‘I am not sure if I can do anything.’

  ‘Please, miss, please help. You have a kind face. We are lost.’

  Lottie regarded the children. Their clothes were well made but dirty and the little boy’s trousers had a rip in one knee. Tracks of tears showed on the girl’s face. And the boy’s face was smudged with coal dust and mud as if they had scrambled about the railway yard.