Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘And what did you get, Tristan? Was it worth the price?’

  ‘That is for me to decide.’ Tristan turned on his heel and left his cousin bleating in the grimy stables.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lottie sat on the library sofa with her feet curled under her for a long time. Her body ached from the passion she had shared with Tristan, and she worried slightly about what he wanted to tell her. She had nearly whispered her love for him and for one awful moment had thought she had.

  He must care something for her. What they had shared had gone beyond all understanding.

  If those men had not come for him on urgent business, perhaps he would have said more. All she could do now was wonder what he had meant about after the honeymoon. This was not a wedding trip. This was where they were going to live—both of them together. He wasn’t going to abandon her here, was he?

  A small sigh escaped her. Perhaps she had ruined everything and he did not care for her. Perhaps he wanted to escape her. He had been warm and caring before the men had arrived, but then he had changed. It was as if the shutters had come down again, and he wanted to keep parts of his life from her. Was it too greedy of her to want to be involved in everything? She wanted to be his chief confidante, the one he would turn to first. That was the sort of marriage she had dreamt about, one that seemed like a castle in the clouds.

  Unable to sit and let her doubts overwhelm her, she began to straighten the library and to plan ways of improving it. The sofa needed pillows and the table legs should be covered.

  Her hand hovered over the mess of papers. Tristan had told her to leave them, but that was when… Her cheeks grew hot. Surely he could not have meant these to be left on the floor indefinitely. She picked them up and placed them on the table, making a neat pile. Idly she picked up one and began to read, starting in surprise. She flicked through the next few. They were all addressed to Lord Thorngrafton. Papers that Lord Thorngrafton should have, not Tristan. Or maybe his man of business. It was not unknown for a lord to employ one of his relations to take charge of the day-to-day running of his business so that he could concentrate on those that mattered to him. Lottie pressed her hand against her mouth, comprehension dawning.

  Why had Tristan pretended that he and Lord Thorngrafton were not close, when in fact he was his man of business? He had to be. It was the only explanation. It was why Lord Thorngrafton had Tristan at his side at Shaw’s Hotel and why Lord Thorngrafton provided the carriage. A tiny pain developed behind her eyes. It had to be the explanation. There could not be any other.

  She didn’t want to think about Tristan acquiring papers that were not rightfully his, deceiving someone as to his true identity. Tristan had far too much integrity for such a thing. Lottie put her hand to her throat. But that did not explain the queer look he had given her when they’d first met and she said that she knew Lord Thorngrafton. Unless… She dismissed the idea as irrational and the product of a fevered imagination. Tristan would have told her. He would have had to have given his full name to the blacksmith when they married.

  She ran out to the hallway and gazed at the portraits. A long line of Dyvelstons. This was no minor estate. And why had the former Lord Thorngrafton left it to Tristan when he hated him so? Had he had a choice? She reached out and grasped the banister, struggled to hang on to the fact that she had met the new Lord Thorngrafton.

  Her footsteps echoed down the corridor as she hurried to the kitchens and barged into Mrs Elton.

  ‘You startled me, pet,’ the older woman said, smoothing her apron and cap. ‘You appear distressed. Master Tristan will be back as soon as he can be.’

  Lottie pressed her hands against her stomach and took a deep breath as she fought to keep the nervous tone from her voice. ‘I wanted to learn more about Tristan’s family.’

  ‘His family, ma’am?’ Mrs Elton developed an interest in her apron. ‘Shouldn’t you ask Master Tristan about them? Begging your pardon, ma’am, but he might be the right and proper person.’

  ‘Tristan has gone off on business and failed to tell me when he might return. I require some information, now.’ Lottie paused and counted to ten. ‘His father. I wanted to learn more about his father.’

  ‘Lucas Dyvelston?’ Mrs Elton’s face cleared. ‘Mr Dyvelston was a kind master, unlike his brother. He had time for people. It was such a shame that he died so young and his dear wife as well. A tragedy. And such a love story. Tristan was their only child.’

  ‘Exactly what was his relation to Lord Thorngrafton? I know Tristan told me, but I have forgotten.’ Lottie batted her eyelashes and gave her winsome smile. ‘My mind can be like a sieve.’

  ‘Lucas was the younger brother. He married against his father’s wishes and was cut off, but managed to amass a small fortune.’

  ‘Were there only the two brothers in the family?’ Lottie made her voice sound light. ‘You said—younger brother.’

  ‘Did I? There were three children in the family. Lord Thorngrafton was the eldest.’

  Lottie felt certain that Mrs Elton could hear her heart thumping. ‘Ah, that explains it. I was wondering where Peter Dyvelston, the present Lord Thorngrafton, fit into the picture. I understand that Tristan’s uncle did not have any children.’

  ‘Master Peter?’ The woman’s eyes flicked about the room and her hands plucked at her apron. ‘Now, that reminds me—something did come for you and what with Master Tristan departing and everything, I forgot to give it to you.’

  She hurried over to the butcher’s block and held up a letter.

  ‘Who could be sending me things?’ Lottie turned it over. ‘I don’t recognise the handwriting.’

  ‘Master Peter sent it. I’d recognise his writing anywhere.’

  ‘Why has he sent me a letter?’ Lottie pressed her lips together. First the money and now this. Every single time she encountered Lord Thorngrafton, something went wrong.

  ‘An answer to your letter, maybe?’

  Lottie smacked her hand against her forehead. ‘Dear, sweet Mrs Elton. Of course. I had not even considered the possibility. That must be what it is. Lord Thorngrafton is being gentlemanly.’ Lottie turned the parcel over in her hand. ‘And Tristan was wrong. Lord Thorngrafton does want to be friends.’

  ‘Master Tristan and Master Peter were boys together.’

  Lottie sat down on the kitchen bench and began to attack the parcel, tearing the letter to reveal the bank note. Was this a hint? Another move in his attempt to make her his mistress? The thought made her flesh crawl. The only man she wanted to touch her was Tristan.

  ‘I shall have to send it back. Immediately.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you wait to hear what Master Tristan says?’

  ‘I have no desire to have Tristan find out about this.’ Lottie shoved them away from her. ‘There are enough problems with Lord Thorngrafton as it is. One simply does not send money like that to a married acquaintance.’

  ‘Maybe Master Peter sent a note. He must have a reason for sending it.’ Mrs Elton pressed her hands together. ‘You may say many things about Master Peter, but he was never deliberately rude. His heart is in the right place. He used to idolise Master Tristan, follow him around.’

  Lottie rubbed her eyes. She wanted to cry. Families and their politics. Tristan’s sounded worse than her own. The only thing she was pleased about was that Tristan was not here. He need never know.

  Lottie searched through the packaging and found a calling card inscribed: To Lady Thorngrafton, who has done me much honour by loaning me money, but I am not so lost in feeling to borrow from a lady.

  ‘Is he mad?’ Lottie held the card away from her. ‘I am not Lady Thorngrafton. I have never been and will never be. I am married to Tristan!’

  ‘And…’ Mrs Elton made a motion with her hand.

  Lottie stopped. Stared at Mrs Elton. ‘Who is Peter Dyvelston? What relation is he to Lord Thorngrafton?’

  ‘They are cousins. Peter’s mother was Lucas Dyvelston’s sister. He was born P
eter Burford, but changed his name to inherit Lord Thorngrafton’s wealth, that portion that wasn’t covered by the entail.’

  The words hung in the air and Lottie’s brain buzzed. Cousins. ‘First cousins? And Tristan was the son of the next male heir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But that would make Tristan Lord Thorngrafton, and he isn’t.’ Lottie backed away from the table, the full horror starting to dawn on her. Had she made a dreadful error all those months ago? Had she assumed wrongly? ‘Is he?’

  Mrs Elton nodded. ‘I promised Lord Thorngrafton that I would not lie, nor would I volunteer the information, but my lady, it would appear that you have guessed correctly.’

  ‘But why? Why did Tristan…Lord Thorngrafton do this?’ Lottie looked at the money. ‘What purpose did this whole charade serve?’

  ‘That, my lady, is something that you will have to ask his lordship.’ Mrs Elton shook her head. ‘I did warn him, you know.’

  My lady. Lady. Lady Thorngrafton. She had a title, or so Mrs Elton assumed. The words tasted like bile in Lottie’s mouth. She might have a title, but Tristan had lied to her. Deliberately lied to her. How did he plan to keep her in ignorance? Had he truly intended to abandon her here?

  ‘I have been so blind.’ Lottie put her hands on either side of her head to block out the echo of Lady Thorngrafton in her head.

  What else had he hidden from her?

  She paused and wondered how delicately she could ask the question about Tristan’s finances. She wanted to rush back to the library and examine his business papers, but that would be prying. Henry had not allowed her to be entirely ignorant of business matters. She could read a balance sheet, but not much else. She had to maintain some sense of dignity.

  ‘Not blind, my lady, simply misled.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Lord Thorngrafton had the reputation of being a fearsome card player in his youth, my lady.’ Concern creased Mrs Elton’s face. ‘He keeps hidden what he wants hidden. I did warn him that you might guess.’

  ‘Am I to understand that Lord Thorngrafton can restore this estate without recourse to my fortune?’

  ‘It would not be for me to say, my lady, but I believe his lordship has been very successful in his endeavours. He knew the late lordship’s position and knew that he would be inheriting a plundered estate.’

  ‘Do you know what he has business in?’

  ‘Railways. He was much enamoured of the waggon-ways when he was a boy, but I could be wrong. And I ain’t said nothing.’

  Railways. He was a railway king. Lottie closed her eyes. She should have known something was up when he mentioned Jack Stanton. They were friends, close business associates. She had never even considered the possibility. She had been so quick to label him an adventurer.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Elton.’

  Lottie stumbled out of the kitchen and into the morning room. She sat down on the little armchair and put her face in her hands. Tristan was titled and had money. Everything she thought she had ever wanted, except he had chosen to hide it from her.

  He had led her to believe they were penniless. Why had he done that? Why had he deceived her? All the things that he had allowed to happen to her! All the things she had accepted with a cheerful smile, never suspecting that he might be laughing at her.

  He had betrayed her trust. And she had believed in him. Her heart still wanted to believe in him.

  A cold fury descended on her. She would show him that she was not to be treated in such a cavalier fashion.

  The early morning sun’s golden rays had reached the top of Gortner Hall’s tower when Tristan arrived back. The single shaft of sunlight gave the stone a slight pinkish tinge. A white mist shrouded the walls. A slumbering fairy castle. But was it worth restoring? Would Lottie prefer a new house made to her specifications with all the latest modern conveniences? She could be happy here. He knew she could be.

  He’d ask her after he had explained about the slight deception. She would be delighted, he was positive, to know that she had received a somewhat mistaken impression of their finances. He would do it his way and she would understand the reasoning. First he wanted to waken her as she lay slumbering.

  His boots resounded in the entrance. Tristan stopped and stared. Lottie was seated at the end of the entrance-way, dressed in her much-mended afternoon dress, with her satchel at her feet and a determined glint in her eye.

  ‘Tristan, you have returned.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that you waited up all night.’ Tristan attempted a smile, tried to banish the faint feeling of unease.

  ‘I felt it was important.’

  ‘It was kind of you, but unnecessary.’

  ‘I am a considerate person. I am a generous person. Everyone says so.’

  ‘I know, but someone has to look after you.’ He reached out and gathered her hands in his, pulled her to her feet. He wanted to smooth away the wrinkle between her brows. ‘Aren’t you going to greet me properly?’

  He captured her cool lips with his. She made no resistance, but her kiss did not hold its usual passion. He let her go and she stepped away from him as if he had burnt her. She put her hands on her cheeks and turned her face away. Tristan frowned as he noticed she wore gloves as if she was about to depart on a round of visiting. A shiver ran down his back. ‘Is there something wrong, Lottie? Has something happened?’

  ‘Should there be anything wrong, Tristan?’ Her voice sounded tight and high and her eyes were far too bright.

  ‘I am in no mood to play a game of riddles.’

  ‘Funnily enough, neither am I.’ Lottie crossed her arms. ‘I am not enamoured with riddles and masquerades.’

  A wave of tiredness washed over Tristan. He had no wish to start a fight. All he wanted to do was to go to bed with Lottie, sink into her softness. Then when he awoke with her in his arms, he’d explain everything. When she was in his arms, he knew that she’d forgive him.

  ‘Nothing should be wrong.’ Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted the feeling to go. ‘I have been up all night, but my business has been resolved satisfactorily.’

  ‘That is good. I am glad.’

  She continued to stand there. Did not take the hint that he might like to retire to bed…with her.

  ‘What has happened, Lottie?’

  ‘A letter arrived while you were out. A letter addressed to Lady Thorngrafton.’

  ‘Peter told me that he had sent it.’ Tristan silently cursed his cousin. He would consign Peter to whichever hell was appropriate. He was not ready for the conversation. When they had the conversation, he had planned how it would go and it would not involve his misbegotten cousin. ‘He enjoys playing practical jokes. I think he saw the humour in it. I had hoped that it had been delayed.’

  ‘Humour? Sending a large sum of money to a married woman is humorous? Some people would take offence at being given such a gift.’

  ‘Peter knows who Lady Thorngrafton is.’

  ‘And she is? I will send the money directly to her.’ Lottie ignored the trembling of her stomach. She had given Tristan an opportunity. She had not accused him, but had given him a chance. Even now, she wanted to believe that there had been some horrible misunderstanding, that he had not attempted to deceive her.

  ‘The wife of Lord Thorngrafton.’ Tristan regarded her with dark eyes and an enigmatic expression but the tone of his voice told her that the matter had ended.

  It had not. It would only end when she had her answers.

  Lottie drew herself up to her full height, squared her shoulders. She would do this. She had a right to know the truth. ‘Are you Lord Thorngrafton?’

  ‘You would not be asking the question if you had not already made up your mind. What do you believe, Lottie?’

  He reached towards her, but she stepped backwards, away from him. Lottie knew if she went into his arms, she would forgive him, even before he asked her to. She was not yet ready to forgive. He had to suffer. She wanted him to suffer. He
needed to learn that she was not to be trifled with in this manner. She had stopped playing his game, had stopped dancing to his tune. He had hurt her. ‘Belief has nothing to do with it. It is a simple fact of life. Who is the current Lord Thorngrafton?’

  ‘Do you want me to be?’ he asked softly. ‘Is that what you desire? A title? Or do you desire your husband?’

  ‘Do not answer my question with another question!’ She slammed her fist against her open palm. Her voice broke as anger rushed through her. ‘I want the truth! I deserve the truth!’

  ‘I am Lord Thorngrafton.’

  Lottie’s stomach reeled for instant before righting itself. A wall of ice came down, surrounded her. Not red-hot, but ice-cold fury. He was Lord Thorngrafton. He had deliberately tried to make her believe otherwise. He had tried to make her think that he was a pauper without any prospects. He had made a fool of her. He had lied to her. She had trusted him, and he had lied. ‘Then why did you deny it?’

  ‘I have never denied my title. How could I? It is something I inherited. It is something I obtained because of my birth.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Can I help what others think? I never said to you one way or the other. You simply assumed.’

  ‘You actively encouraged me to think differently. That was wrong.’ Lottie clenched her fist. ‘Very wrong.’

  ‘I was not aware that you needed any encouragement.’ His eyes were cold hard lumps of black granite. ‘You seemed intent on believing that my cousin was Lord Thorngrafton.’

  ‘He told me that he was.’ Lottie kept her head straight and her voice even, but inside she wanted to weep. He blamed her for the mix-up. Her! She refused to start screeching. She would behave rationally. ‘He told everyone. He presented credentials in Newcastle. I had no reason to doubt it.’

  ‘He lied.’

  ‘But at Shaw’s? You were there. You should have taken steps.’ She pressed her fingers against her temple. This time she would not forget what she was going to say. She would discover the truth. She had to. ‘This whole misunderstanding is your fault. Do not attempt to twist the truth.’