Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘For me to find, yes, but I chose to ignore it. She means nothing to me.’

  A shiver ran through Lottie and she tried not to think of the woman’s eyes, staring down at them, and the remains of her smile. ‘How awful. He must have assumed you cared for her.’

  He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Suzanne ceased to matter to me years ago. I had other things on my mind when I was last here.’

  ‘But…but…’

  ‘It is history now, Lottie.’ He trailed a hand along her flank. ‘A decade ago, and I escaped the worst of it. I had come of age and there was little he could do about it. Remind me some time to tell you of my other hair-raising adventures. The scandal sheets enjoyed themselves for a few years, until I learnt my lessons and grew up.’

  ‘And like the prodigal son, you have now returned home.’

  ‘That is one way of putting it.’

  ‘Is…Suzanne happy?’ Lottie raised herself up on one elbow.

  ‘She is leading a better life in the sunny clime of Italy. Italian counts with castles, money and an entrée to society were far more to her taste than young men with charming manners.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘A salutary lesson and one not easily forgotten.’

  Lottie pressed her lips together. Was that how he had seen her at Shaw’s? As someone intent on acquiring the trappings of wealth? Or as someone being sold to the highest bidder to further her mother’s ambition? Another Suzanne.

  ‘The scandal is the reason you felt unable to return home until after your uncle’s death.’

  ‘I had lots of reasons not to return here.’ Tristan came over and smoothed the hair off her forehead. He placed kisses on her nose and her eyelids, soft kisses that filled her with flares of heat. ‘But those have all gone. Vanished. We will make our home here—you and I. It is in my blood and I have no wish to leave it.’

  ‘Why did he leave the house to you?’

  ‘Because he did. But enough about history and long-ago scandals. You are here and in my bed. And that is all I need to know.’ Tristan began to move his mouth along her bare shoulder, nibbling, calling up the banked fire deep within her. She turned and his tongue plundered her mouth.

  It was not until much later that she realised he had never answered her question.

  The sun had moved across the room when Lottie next awoke. Only the indentation in the pillow showed that Tristan had ever been there. She looked at the tell-tale streaks of dried blood on her thighs and on the sheets. Winced. Evidence if she needed it of her change from virgin to wife.

  She crossed quickly to the basin and washed herself, grateful that Tristan had given her a bit of privacy. Somehow he had understood that she would need to be alone and would need time to make her toilette. Only she wished that he had kissed her before he had gone.

  Lottie held her mud-splattered dress out with two fingers and decided that she would have to make do with the dressing gown until she could discover if there were any clothes she could make over. The dress needed a good brushing and the stitches had worked loose on the tear. It would never be the magnificent dress it had once been, but it would do after mending. There was no one here to see her except for Tristan and he had already seen her naked. Her face grew rosy at the thought.

  A white cotton dressing gown was laid at the foot of the bed. Lottie slipped on a clean shift and then belted the dressing gown around that. She allowed her hair to hang down over her shoulders rather than twisting it into a simple knot.

  She picked up a silver-backed mirror. Very much the well-kissed look. Almost wanton. Her mother’s friends would whisper in shocked tones if they could see her and the worst of it was that she did not care. Lottie put the mirror down with a thump. She understood why brides had wedding trips. It must be the only time wives could be treated as mistresses.

  Mama had been wrong to say that men did not enjoy passion from their wives. Tristan appeared to.

  Lottie tapped her fingers together. Her mother had been wrong about many things. The thought failed to pain her as much today as it would have done two days ago. She had Tristan and she was determined to be the sort of wife he could be proud of. Eventually, they would make their triumphant return to society.

  She would explain it all to Tristan once she found him.

  A banging noise from downstairs gave her some indication where Tristan might be. It felt very strange to be in a house where she and Tristan were the only people. Generally she was surrounded by an army of servants—even at Aunt Alice’s there had been three.

  Lottie walked down the stairs gingerly. Her right heel still pained her, but otherwise her feet felt far better than she’d thought they would. It was the other parts of her that ached. Places where she never thought she’d had muscles.

  She glanced upwards. There was a dark square of turquoise paint where Suzanne, Tristan’s former aunt, had been. She thinned her lips. He had been true to his word and removed it. Lottie frowned as a stab of jealousy pierced her. Suzanne was long gone. Tristan had married her. They would have a good marriage based on honesty and integrity, sharing whatever the storms of fate had in store for them. She would not desert him.

  She peeped into the shroud-covered rooms, looking for Tristan and mentally noting everything that had to be done. A film of dust covered most everything and garlands of cobwebs festooned the chandeliers. A family of starlings had taken up residence in the drawing room, there were definite signs of damp in the dining room and the gilt around the ceiling lay in flaked piles. But for all of the neglect, Lottie could see that it had once been a magnificent house.

  It was little wonder that Tristan had been so cautious about money as it would take a fortune, if not two fortunes, to restore the house to its former glory. And it might be better simply to knock it down and start again. She would have to discuss it with Tristan. But in the meantime, there were little things, little touches she could do that would make the house appear more like a home.

  The banging increased and there was a smell of bacon. Lottie’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten.

  She opened the door and stopped in surprise at the scene that confronted her. ‘Are you supposed to be here?’

  A wizened woman looked back at her as the tiny terrier at her feet gave a sharp bark.

  ‘Who are you?’ the woman demanded after she had quietened the dog. ‘Does Lord Thorngrafton know you are here? I told him that he was not to bring any of his strumpets here, not if he wanted Mollie Elton to continue as his housekeeper.’

  ‘The house belongs to Tristan Dyvelston.’ Lottie kept her chin up and continued on a triumphant note, ‘Therefore, I doubt it is any concern of Lord Thorngrafton’s if I am here or not.’

  Mrs Elton’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth several times, but no sound came out. Lottie permitted a smile to cross her face. Some people had the insatiable urge to name drop, an affliction that was not simply confined to her mother or her mother’s friends. Mrs Elton had to know that Lord Thorngrafton would not simply come to his cousin’s house uninvited and certainly he would not bring any of his lady friends here. The notion was laughable.

  ‘If you could manage to find me a bit of breakfast, I would appreciate it,’ Lottie said to ease the awkwardness. She knelt down and waggled her fingers at the dog, who tilted its tan-and-white head and then came over to sniff her. The dog lifted its head to Lottie’s fingers.

  ‘So that’s how it is, is it?’ Mrs Elton cleared her throat. ‘The dog’s name is Joss. He’s right picky about those he befriends.’

  ‘He’s sweet.’ Lottie gave him another pat and tickled him under the chin as the dog lay at her feet. ‘Would it be possible to have you fix me a slice of toast to share with Joss?’

  Mrs Elton harrumphed, but she put two slices of toast on the range to brown. ‘Does Tristan Dyvelston know you are here?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lottie waited a beat, beginning to enjoy herself. She would see the woman apologise for her rude behaviour yet. She had to remember that one caught
more flies with honey than vinegar. Lottie batted her eyes and adopted her most innocent expression. ‘I am his wife. We married at Gretna Green two days ago.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard. I have been away. I arrived back only an hour or so ago. I have not had time to sort through the post.’ The woman made a clucking noise in the back of her throat as she turned the bread over. She looked Lottie up and down and something in her expression told Lottie that she was found wanting. ‘He married you at Gretna Green? Why did he feel the need to do that? Are you in the family way?’

  ‘You will have to ask him.’ Lottie adopted her best social stare. Then she held up her hand and showed the iron ring. ‘But we are married. It is a legal marriage. I am no strumpet.’

  ‘I never doubted it. And now that I look at you I can see that I made an error. I apologise, Miss…’

  ‘Lottie Dyvelston, Charlton as was.’ Lottie held out her hand. She could be gracious, even if she was dressed informally ‘We are waiting for my trunks to arrive. It was all very sudden. I didn’t think you would return for a few days.’

  ‘That I don’t doubt.’ Mrs Elton’s face creased up and she dabbed a corner of her eye with her apron. ‘It’s just a surprise that is all. I had never thought Master Tristan one for marrying. Now Master Peter is a different story. He has always been determined to catch himself a wife.’

  ‘I am acquainted with Lord Thorngrafton as well as Tristan. I have never been under the impression that he desired a wife.’

  Mrs Elton gave her another queer look before she turned to bang the pots and pans about. ‘That somehow was my impression.’

  Lottie pinched the skin between her eyes. She knew family retainers were given a bit of latitude, but Mrs Elton was distinctly odd. She decided to try another tactic with Mrs Elton. ‘As my trunks have not arrived, and my dress is entirely unsuitable for doing work around this house, perhaps I could trouble you for some clothes.’

  ‘I never thought I would see the day that Master Tristan’s wife worked in the kitchen or round the house. The late Lord Thorngrafton’s wife never lifted a delicate finger. It ain’t right and proper, if you will pardon my saying so.’

  ‘I believe in being practical.’ Lottie frowned. She disliked the comparison with Suzanne. She was more than a spoilt rich girl. She had always helped out at home. ‘Mama believed that a woman must be useful as well as decorative. It makes it easier to direct the servants if you actually know how to do the tasks.’

  ‘An interesting point of view.’

  Mrs Elton handed her a slice of toast. Lottie broke off a small piece and gave it to Joss. The dog gave her fingers a quick wash.

  ‘Ah, Lottie, here I find you.’ Tristan came into the kitchen. Lottie felt her cheeks begin to burn. Her entire body tingled with an awareness of him and the way he had held her last night. If anything, he looked more handsome in his shirtsleeves, cream trousers and black boots. His face had a healthy glow as if he had been out walking in the morning air. It frightened her how much she had missed him in the short time they had been apart. How much she had needed to see that glow in his eyes. ‘And Mrs Elton, what a surprise. I had not realised you were back.’

  He caught up the housekeeper and spun her around. Her white cap with its ribbons went flying as the little dog barked.

  ‘Master…Tristan,’ Mrs Elton said in a mock-scolding voice when Tristan had set her down and she had rearranged her cap. ‘That was my best cap, that was. With new ribbons and all. You are a caution. Let me have a better look at you. You have married.’

  ‘I have indeed.’ Tristan reached out and gathered Lottie to him. ‘I had expected my good wife to remain in bed all day. We had a strenuous journey yesterday.’

  The tide of red grew higher on Lottie’s cheeks and she stepped out of Tristan’s embrace. She expected to see disapproval on Mrs Elton’s face, but the elderly woman positively beamed at them.

  ‘I woke and was hungry.’ She reached down and fed the last of her toast to the dog. ‘I came in search of food and you. I met Mrs Elton. There was some confusion at first, but everything is sorted.’

  ‘Confusion?’ He lifted an eyebrow and his voice took on a much colder note. ‘What sort of confusion?’

  ‘Mrs Elton thought I was one of Lord Thorngrafton’s fancy fillies, but I have explained everything. It was, I suppose, an easily made mistake. She was not expecting to see us.’

  Tristan’s eyes darkened and he shifted his stance. ‘Did you now? What did you say to Mrs Elton?’

  ‘I explained about our runaway marriage. She appeared quite overcome by it all. I have made friends with her dog.’ Lottie plucked at his sleeve and dropped her voice as Mrs Elton turned back to the range and was busy banging pots and pans. ‘I am not sure if she understands that you mean to get rid of her. She did not mention leaving at all. And, Tristan, she has known you since you were in short clothes. There must be a way.’

  Tristan stroked his chin and his eyes became misty. ‘Lottie, if you will excuse me and Mrs Elton, there is something we need to discuss.’

  Lottie bit her lip. She wished she had not mentioned the housekeeping problem. It seemed wrong somehow to get rid of Mrs Elton. The woman appeared so pleased and happy to see Tristan and now her happiness was going to be dashed. But it was better that Tristan made the arrangements. Perhaps he could send her to Lord Thorngrafton—after all, the woman appeared to be fond of him. She would mention it to Tristan at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘I can wait in the drawing room until you are finished. There are probably a thousand and one things that I need to do. Simple things to make this house more like a home.’ Lottie bent down and gave Joss one more stroke of his head. ‘It was very pleasant meeting you, Mrs Elton.’

  ‘And you, my lady.’ The elderly woman bobbed a curtsy. ‘I will see if I can discover a serviceable gown or two for you. We are bound to have some in one of the attic rooms. It won’t be up-to-the minute, like, but it will be serviceable.’

  ‘Oh, I am not a lady. I have no title.’ Lottie gave a little laugh. ‘But I am handy with my needle and thread. It is amazing how quickly a dress can be transformed with a few tucks and a bit of lace.’

  Tristan waited until he heard Lottie’s footsteps receding down the hall. He went to close the door tighter, to be on the safe side.

  ‘I expect you are wondering what this is about,’ he said, turning to face Mrs Elton, whose face had grown dark.

  ‘Why I should need to know anything is beyond me.’ Mrs Elton gave a loud and long sniff and rattled a pan lid. ‘I have only been employed in your family for three generations. Three generations, Tristan Dyvelston, and I changed your napkins when you were small. Don’t you forget it!’

  Tristan put his hands on the shoulders of his old nurse and looked down at her wizened face.

  ‘I have never forgotten it, and I am grateful, but you must understand what I am trying to do here.’

  ‘What are you attempting to do?’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Don’t you try to pull the wool over my old eyes. I know your ways of old, Master Tristan. There is the same sort of look about you as when you stole the cakes meant for high tea.’

  ‘Hardly that.’

  ‘Out with it.’ Mrs Elton gestured with her spoon. ‘You are not so big that I can’t put you over my knee.’

  ‘I am trying to prevent what happened to my uncle from happening to me—I don’t want to be married to someone who only married me for my title and my fortune.’

  ‘Then why did you marry her?’

  ‘We were on the terrace,’ Tristan replied carefully. ‘She is a member of society. One does not ruin virgins.’

  ‘But you think she is as spoilt as a lace table cloth.’

  ‘I would have never married Lottie if I thought that. I have my reasons for this deception.’

  ‘And you seriously think she knows nothing of this?’

  ‘I am positive of it.’ Tristan leant against the sideboard. ‘Beyond positive. She believes that Peter
is Lord Thorngrafton.’

  ‘I gathered that might be the case.’ Mrs Elton gave the fire a poke. ‘I am not going to ask what sort of smoked gammon and pickles you and your cousin are up to.’

  Tristan rapidly related the details to Mrs Elton, whose expression did not change throughout the recital. ‘You can see why I have done it.’

  ‘And when she finds out that you have played flummery with her?’

  Tristan stared at his housekeeper. ‘I haven’t tricked her. I married her. And she chose to believe certain things. And once I am sure of her devotion, I will inform her of my wealth and position. She will be overcome with joy.’

  ‘You may know railways and business, Master Tristan, but you don’t know women.’ Mrs Elton shook her head from side to side.

  ‘You worry too much. Lottie likes pretty things. She wanted to marry a title. She will be delighted.’

  ‘And I am telling you now, Tristan Dyvelston, you can never predict how a woman will react. You should never have tried this deception. She might feel hard done by and I for one wouldn’t blame her.’

  Tristan paused. What was between Lottie and him was far too new and fragile. He wanted to savour it a bit longer and bind her closer to him. He had to be certain. He risked losing his heart to a woman who only wanted him for his material possessions.

  ‘I will tell her when I am ready. When I know she is devoted to me and not my title.’

  ‘Sometimes, you have to take a risk, Master Tristan, in love just as you do in business…if you don’t mind me speaking plainly.’

  ‘I am determined to have a marriage like my parents. My mother married my father knowing that he would more than likely not inherit the title.’

  ‘That was a love match, that one was.’

  ‘All I am asking you to do is to humour me. Let me be the one to explain everything and in my own time.’

  ‘I won’t lie to her. She has a good heart, that one. Real top-drawer quality.’ Mrs Elton crossed her arms and glared at him. ‘If that is what you are asking.’