Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  Lottie swallowed hard. Not even a lone farmhouse where they could beg a cup of tea stood there. It was simply the wild Northumberland moors. Even though it was late May, the wind whistled from the north. Lottie wrapped her pelisse tighter about her and wished the paisley silk had been made of heavier cloth.

  Lottie watched the faint dust of the cart with a sinking heart. ‘How long will the walk be?’

  ‘Five miles, an hour or two.’

  ‘An hour of walking?’ Lottie looked down at her daintily shod foot. She had been so proud of these slippers with their bright blue ribbons when she had purchased them at Bainbridge’s in Newcastle last autumn and now they would be in shreds. She should have insisted on buying boots in Gretna Green or Carlisle, on spending Lord Thorngrafton’s money, but she hadn’t thought beyond the train. ‘Surely you must be wrong…Mrs Foster assured me…a country mile.’

  ‘You were the one who insisted on taking up Mrs Foster’s offer,’ Tristan replied firmly. ‘Mrs Foster is a country woman and her notion of distance is somewhat different from yours or mine. I tried to tell you differently, to hire a conveyance, but you chose to believe a stranger.’

  ‘I am not dressed for walking. Something you pointed out to me. Only yesterday.’ Lottie fought the temptation to wail. She tilted her chin and glared at his deep black eyes. ‘Mama will undoubtedly send several trunks with my clothes and other items from my hope chest eventually, but I was under the impression I was eloping, not marching through the moors.’

  The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Are different clothes required? I doubt we will meet anyone along this country lane and, if we do, they will forgive your strange attire.’

  ‘I fail to see what is so funny. Nobody ever instructed me in the proper wear for an elopement. It failed to be included in my social deportment classes.’ Lottie started off down the nearest track, tired of arguing with him, tired of being teased. She had been so proud of her coup, of finding a way to save money and it had all gone wrong. She had thought he might pet her and look after her, but he clearly expected her to stand on her own two feet, feet that would be blistered and torn. ‘If we are going, I suppose I best begin. Each step is going to take me closer.’

  ‘Are you often like that?’

  ‘If I can’t change things, I can make the best of them. Or at least try to. A lady should never show her distress.’

  ‘Do you always live your life through rules?’ His eyes danced.

  ‘I like to know which rule I am breaking. It makes it much easier to live up to people’s expectations.’ Lottie kept her head high. He would be laughing at her now. He seemed to think this whole predicament was a big joke. He was not the person who would be suffering. ‘Five miles, you say, and probably not even a cup of hot tea at the end.’

  Tristan’s hand closed around her upper arm, hauled her back against his hard body. His breath tickled her ear. She stilled as a wave of warmth washed over her. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on something other than his mouth or the way his eyebrows arched, but her mind refused to work.

  ‘If you want to go marching off to the Hall, you might enquire the direction. Go that way, and you will only increase the distance.’

  Lottie fought against the urge to relax into him and to feel the hard leanness of his body against hers once. All the way in the farm cart, he had sat next to her, his leg brushing hers. Her body tingled with awareness, with the memory of how it had felt to wake in his arms. ‘Why didn’t anyone come to meet us? This whole thing could have been avoided.’

  Her hand lifted up and touched his cheek. He turned his face slightly, brushing her glove with his lips.

  ‘I don’t know. There was no time to get a reply to yesterday’s letter. If one of the tenants was sent out and preferred to go drinking in the Railway Arms or the County, there will be hell to pay.’ His hand moved up to her shoulder, stroked the sensitive skin under her chin, made her lean forwards until their breath intermingled. ‘A lady—Mrs Elton does look after the Hall. She will have obeyed my request. It is not a complete ruin.’

  ‘So we will have a roof over our heads.’ Lottie glanced up at the sky. All day the grey clouds had rolled in. There was a faint chill in the late afternoon sun that foretold of rain before daybreak.

  ‘A roof over our heads and a cup of hot tea for those who require it. Or perhaps something stronger.’ His hand stroked down her shoulders until his fingers intertwined with hers. ‘And a soft bed with clean sheets, lots of pillows and bed curtains to shut out the world.’

  ‘It sounds heavenly.’ Lottie concentrated on breathing. Each breath she took, she inhaled more of his spicy scent, which was intermingled with the fresh scent of the hay, an intoxicating aroma that swirled around her and held her fast. Her lips tingled as if he had kissed her. She wanted to be brazen and demand that he kiss her—out here in the open where anyone could spy them.

  ‘Will you come with me? Some day, I promise I will get you a new dress, one far more suited to walking than that one, if you are good.’

  ‘And you always keep your promises.’

  ‘To the best of my ability.’ He stood perfectly still, and his hands fell away from her. ‘Will you come and be my bride, despite the inappropriateness of your attire?’

  Lottie tried for a frown, but the corners of her mouth twitched and a great bubble of happiness burst through her. He did want her for his bride. She glanced up and saw the echoing twitch of his mouth. Their shared laughter rang out and caused several woodpigeons to take off with a noisy clap of wings.

  ‘It would appear I am stuck with you,’ she said with a catch in her throat.

  ‘It would appear to be the case.’

  He drew her unresisting body to him and lowered his head so that their foreheads brushed. The ribbons of her bonnet loosened and then fell away as he pressed butterfly kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose; finally he claimed her lips. Her arms came up and held him there. The nature of the kiss changed and he demanded more, demanded entrance. She opened and tasted the cool inner recesses of him. Molten heat ran through her, causing her body to arch and her breasts to tighten. She pressed closer, wanting, needing something, something only he could give.

  ‘Would you settle for a haystack instead of the bed?’ he said against her lips. ‘You and I together with the stars for a coverlet.’

  ‘You promised the bed.’ Her voice was a raw, husky sound that she barely recognised. The hot pulsating feeling frightened her a little. ‘You always keep your promises.’

  His eyes searched her face with a dark intensity. She took a half-step backward. ‘A bed. My wife insists on a bed.’

  ‘A bed with clean sheets and curtains.’

  ‘It might be possible…if you truly require it.’ His thumb traced the outline of her swollen lips, sending fresh waves of molten heat through out her body. She was grateful for the steel bones of her corset as they were the only thing that kept her upright.

  ‘You knocked my bonnet off and it is lying in a puddle,’ she said to dampen down her desire.

  ‘Awkward things, bonnets.’ A smile tugged at Tristan’s features.

  Lottie picked up the mud-soaked straw bonnet, held it gingerly away from her body as it dripped. A sense of despair swept through her. The bonnet seemed to echo her current state—once pristine and perfect, but now grubby, soiled without hope of redemption. ‘I can’t wear that. Even the ribbons will be stained beyond repair. I will have to purchase a new one. This one cost me three guineas.’

  ‘The money is needed elsewhere. You must have other bonnets.’

  ‘It will be days before they reach here, and my nose will freckle before then. I have worked so hard to keep my complexion perfect.’

  ‘You will look sweet with a spray of freckles.’ His fingers brushed the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Flattery will not save you. And the thought fails to make me feel better.’

  ‘Isn’t that better than trying to make you feel worse?’ Tri
stan picked up her satchel and tied the ruined bonnet to the outside handle. ‘I will examine your hat tomorrow. It may not be as bad as you think.’

  ‘It will be worse. Mud-stained straw cannot simply be covered by retrimming. I know hats and their awkward ways.’

  ‘We should go, Lottie. There will not be a horse and cart trundling along here, if that is why you kissed me.’

  ‘It is not why I kissed you.’ Lottie stared at him. How could he think that of her? She had been certain no one would see. She was far from being brazen or wanton. She knew that. ‘I have lived in the country for the past few months. I know about country roads and how few people travel them. That could take days.’

  ‘Why did you kiss me?’

  A tide of heat washed up her face and Lottie turned on her heel. ‘You are an impossible man.’

  ‘That is no answer.’

  She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘So you would carry my satchel.’

  Tristan set the satchel down. ‘And if I refuse to carry it any further?’

  ‘Are you asking for another kiss?’ Lottie’s insides trembled. Always before she had been able to play the flirtation games, but suddenly they seemed to matter. She wanted them to matter and to be about more than bandying words. ‘I won’t be held to bribery.’

  ‘Then I won’t be held to carrying this.’ Tristan set it down.

  ‘We send a cart for it when we get to the hall. In fact, you could go to the Hall and send back a cart for both the satchel and me.’

  ‘A cart could take days to arrange and you will want to sample Mrs Elton’s fruit cake.’

  ‘Mrs Elton?’

  ‘The widow who has been looking after everything for me.’

  ‘Then she can help with my dressing.’ Lottie’s back became straighter. Maybe it would not be so bad. If Tristan touched her again, she knew she would melt and she was determined to show the proper amount of wifely devotion. Devotion, not passion. There was a difference.

  ‘No, Mrs Elton will be leaving. There is little need to employ a housekeeper at the hall when I have acquired a wife who wishes to wear expensive bonnets.’

  ‘Mama has a housekeeper. She has had a succession of them.’

  ‘Does your mother have a hard time keeping servants?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Lottie said with reluctance. ‘She has the tendency to hire the wrong sort.’

  ‘Rather than hiring the wrong sort, you can learn. My mother was always her own housekeeper.’

  Lottie stared at him in disbelief. Learn housekeeping? This marriage had brought many unintended changes. ‘It will be a change from making patterns with pins.’

  He laughed. ‘Were you exceptionally fond of pinning?’

  ‘I loathed and detested it,’ Lottie said without hesitation. ‘It is one of those things I did because it was expected of me.’

  ‘Then it is best to give it up immediately. I will have no pincushion mottos at Gortner Hall.’

  ‘Will I have no help at all? Will I have to do everything? Although I can do preserves, chutneys and jams, I am no cook. I have burnt cakes before.’

  Tristan caught her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Ah, Lottie, you do say the sweetest things. If you look at me like that, I am sure I will not beat you for burning cakes.’

  ‘Would you beat me?’ Lottie hated the way her voice squeaked. She had never taken Tristan for a wife beater. Had she truly mistaken the man she had married? However, the instant she said the words, his brow darkened.

  ‘No, and neither do I whip or indulge in any such behaviour. Although I know some consider it acceptable, I think men who resort to such measures are cowards, and I am no coward!’

  ‘I never said you were.’ A weight rolled off her back. He did not beat women. The words were said purely in jest. There was so much that they did not know about each other. So much she had to learn.

  His face suddenly cleared, like the sun coming out after a thunderstorm, warming her all over. ‘But what I will do is help you with your corset. I am determined to play a good lady’s maid.’

  A delicious shiver went through Lottie. She wanted to feel his hands on her, undressing her. A tide of fire burnt within her. She tried to hang on to her mother’s words about a wife being respectable. She was his wife, not a courtesan or a mistress.

  ‘I believe we were on our way to Gortner Hall,’ she said. ‘I would like to get there before it gets too dark.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Chapter Ten

  Tristan regarded the darkened house with a frown. The Gothic towers that his grandfather had installed gleamed silver against the night sky. Quite near them a barn owl swept low, pale and ghostly, winging its way into one of the broken windows and disappearing. But the house revealed few signs of human inhabitation.

  He had expected Mrs Elton to have one lamp lit at least. The note he had sent before they had left Shaw’s had been precise, followed by the one from Gretna Green. He had indicated the date they could be expected. The cart had been an oversight, but he had been willing to believe that one of the farmhands had become drunk and forgotten, but this was inexcusable.

  ‘Is this the Hall?’ Lottie spoke, breaking the silence she had maintained ever since they had started down the road. ‘It appears straight out of a Minerva Press novel, but somehow it suits you and your reputation. I cannot see you living in a neat and tidy Georgian house or even something from Queen Anne. But it has a certain amount of charm.’

  ‘It belonged to my uncle and I have inherited it.’ Tristan advanced towards the shadowed door, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘The Duke of Northumberland’s remaking of Alnwick Castle heavily influenced my grandfather. They shared a love of the Gothic. The roof badly needs repair, the guttering has seen better days and a family of owls has taken up residence in one of the upper bedrooms, but a few rooms remain habitable.’

  ‘Beggars have little choice.’

  ‘I had hoped you would like it.’

  ‘No doubt in time…when I get used to it. For now it appears awfully big and…well…ruined. Still it has a roof and it can’t be worse than that inn.’

  ‘You may be right, but I am at a loss as to why Mrs Elton isn’t here.’

  ‘Perhaps your staff believed that you would need to make a run for the Continent again.’ Lottie crossed her arms and gave a strangled laugh.

  ‘Mrs Elton knows all about that. There will be some other reason.’

  ‘You mean she doesn’t consider you wicked and beyond redemption?’ Tristan heard the merriment in Lottie’s voice.

  ‘She thinks of me as a little boy in long trousers who had lost his mother.’

  ‘I am sure you were adorable as a little boy.’

  ‘You will have to ask Mrs Elton as I can’t possibly comment.’ Tristan resisted the temptation to pull her into his arms. He could afford to wait for a few more minutes.

  ‘And you are going to dismiss her because you have married me? Is that fair?’

  ‘She will not starve.’

  ‘You can’t do that to people.’ Lottie tapped her finger against her mouth and her brow furrowed. ‘There must be other ways to make economies. I will go out without a new bonnet, or a new dress.’

  ‘Why such concern for a woman you have never met?’

  ‘Because there are standards to be upheld. The world would cease to function otherwise.’ Lottie gave a little laugh, but Tristan saw through the act. Lottie was no snob. Her friendship with Mrs Foster and her concern about two lost children showed that. He knew what she meant, what she was trying to say. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘Mrs Elton will thank you for your concern, once we discover where she is.’

  ‘Please consider it, Tristan.’ Lottie’s arm dropped to her side and it took all of Tristan’s self-control not to swing her into his arms and whisper that Mrs Elton would be well looked after and Lottie might have as many servants as she desired if only she would continue looking at him like that in the moon
light.

  ‘I shall consider your request.’ He turned away from her luminous starlit eyes and rapped sharply at the door, but there was no answering sound from within. He reached into the lantern and withdrew a key. The tiny act did much to restore his calm. He had to be resolute and to not be tempted to end the experiment before she had been truly tamed. ‘Mrs Elton is usually very efficient. It is unlike her to be away.’

  ‘I thought you recently inherited this.’

  ‘Mrs Elton was my father’s housekeeper when I was growing up. After my father’s death, my uncle decided to employ her. I know the hours she keeps. We corresponded.’

  ‘And where is the esteemed Mrs Elton? Only the thought of hot buttered toast, fruit cake and tea has kept me going this past mile or so.’

  ‘Was it truly that difficult?’ Tristan glanced at Lottie. Her face was slightly pinched with pain and she appeared to be limping. An unexpected tug of remorse hit him. Once they had begun their trek, she had not complained. He had not considered about boots or ladies’ footwear until now. He pushed the thought away, surely she would have said something. Lottie had always been vocal about her discomforts before.

  ‘I have had more pleasant days, but I coped.’ Her bottom lip trembled and she blinked rapidly, but she kept her back straight. ‘I had really wanted hot buttered toast and fruit cake, though.’

  ‘I am sure I can find something. Mrs Elton will have left a cake in a tin. It is odd that she is not here.’

  ‘Perhaps one of the tenants has taken ill,’ Lottie said as he opened the heavy door, pushing his shoulder into it as it stuck slightly.

  A scent of cold and damp with an undertone of beeswax polish assaulted his nose. On the small table to the right of the door stood a candelabra and a bottle of Lucifer matches. Tristan lit the lamp and scanned the note.

  ‘Mrs Elton’s niece has had twins and she has gone to look after her. She trusts I won’t be inconvenienced as she expects to return by midday Thursday. Written two days ago. It explains much.’