Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive, Lord Thorngrafton.’

  A muscle jumped in Tristan’s cheek as her barb struck home. He had hoped that she might show some signs of missing of him. Had he inadvertently destroyed everything between them? ‘Indeed they can.’

  Lottie led the way into a drawing room that groaned with knick-knacks and pincushions. Every chair leg was carefully hidden. Up-to-the-minute good taste and sensibility, but somehow, despite its fussiness, it also seemed comforting.

  ‘Your sister-in-law provides a comforting home,’ Tristan said to fill the silence as Lottie removed her bonnet and gloves, handing them to the butler.

  ‘Henry and Lucy are proud of it, but it is too cluttered for my taste.’ Lottie began straightening the cushions and moving the figurines.

  ‘You would decorate differently?’

  ‘I shall have to see when the time comes.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘There again, perhaps I will develop a sudden affinity for neatly picked-out mottos and shell pictures.’

  ‘Mottos and shell pictures.’ Tristan was unable to stop the brief shudder of horror as Lottie’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘As I am unlikely to have my own establishment, it is not a problem.’

  ‘There is Gortner Hall,’ Tristan said quietly and waited.

  ‘That belongs to you. You may reside there if you wish.’

  ‘But you are my wife. You should be making my house into a home; while I may not care for the decoration of this house precisely, it does exude a homely atmosphere.’

  He went to close the door, but she held up her hand, stopping him. ‘Leave the door open, please.’

  His hand lingered on the doorknob. Not as indifferent as she might pretend. He had something to work with, something to build on. ‘Who is it that you don’t trust, Lottie, you or me?’

  ‘That sort of teasing is obvious, Tristan.’ Lottie wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘And unworthy of you.’

  ‘I merely asked the question.’ Tristan took a step closer, invaded her space. She had called him Tristan. It was the tiniest sliver of hope and he found his mind clinging to it with all its energy. ‘You refused a ride in my carriage and now insist on the door remaining open.’

  ‘I should not like anyone to think that you are taking advantage.’

  ‘I promise you that I have not come here to ravish you.’ Tristan adopted his most innocent face. Not here. Not until he had her on his own, without fear of being disturbed. He wanted to show her that he intended to devote his life to her.

  ‘Why have you come?’ She toyed with a Dresden shepherd.

  ‘Because our conversation at the Stantons’ was unsatisfactory,’ Tristan said, looking at her and trying to think beyond kissing her mouth. He had missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone and she appeared not to have missed him one bit. ‘I wanted to speak to you about more than the weather.’

  ‘This morning has been very enlightening to me.’

  She placed the china dog closer to the shepherd, arranged them in a pleasing tableau, taking her time, concentrating on the figurines instead of him. Tristan watched her long tapering fingers. The memory of how they felt against his skin swept thorough him, nearly destroying his sanity. ‘Has it? I am afraid I found the whole proceeding deadly dull.’

  ‘Yes, it has now become clear to me why we married. I was blind before.’ She widened her eyes and gave him a brilliant smile.

  ‘Pray enlighten me, Lottie.’ Tristan leant against the door frame with crossed arms. Exactly how much had she guessed? And, more importantly, how could he show her the true reason? ‘Why did I marry you?’

  ‘You are a business associate of Jack Stanton’s.’ Lottie began ticking the reasons off on her fingers. ‘You had no wish to be outside his society. It could be bad for business. You were very unsubtle today, Tristan.’

  ‘You are very blind.’ Tristan clung on to his temper. How dare she think that!

  ‘Not blind now,’ she retorted, her voice becoming chips of ice. ‘Once, definitely. I have stopped believing in fairy tales.’

  Tristan stared at her in amazement. He had thought to show her that he was willing to meet her halfway and she had twisted it! He gritted his teeth. His plan was not going the way he had intended. ‘This is what you have decided. Irrevocably.’

  ‘Yes, and, as such, I can see why you feel that we need to show our marriage is a success.’ Lottie pressed her hands together. ‘Why we need to show a united front. Why you are here in Newcastle, rather than staying on the estate or wherever you wanted to be.’

  ‘And you are willing to accept this sort of marriage?’ Tristan asked as every fibre of his being strained to hear her response.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered and then her voice grew firmer. ‘It is the only solution to the problem. An annulment is not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’ Tristan felt the tension drain from his shoulders. She wanted to stay married. It was a small straw. He had to have patience, despite the desire of his body. He could not force her. She had to come to him, to forgive him.

  ‘Because I am unwilling to lie. I am no longer a virgin.’

  ‘And this is what you want. A formal marriage.’

  ‘For now.’ Lottie kept her head high. ‘I will make a good hostess, but I have no wish to be buried alive in the country.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘We will lead separate discreet lives.’

  ‘If that is what you wish…’ Tristan clenched his hands. Refrained from shaking her. There had to be a way of getting her to see that it was not what he wanted. This interview was going much worse than he had planned. This was her territory, her bolt hole. He had to hope the surprise he had planned worked. That she would realise what he wanted.

  ‘It is the only solution.’

  ‘I can see that there is nothing to speak about. You have decided everything.’

  ‘It is the way it has to be.’

  ‘For now.’ Tristan put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a slim box. ‘I would ask you to wear the Dyvelston pearls, even if you don’t want to wear my ring. Every Dyvelston bride has worn them. I retrieved them from Peter’s pawnbrokers.’

  ‘They do not appear to have brought the Dyvelstons much luck.’ Lottie held the box with two fingers.

  ‘Nevertheless, wear them. It is expected.’ Tristan replaced his hat on his head. ‘I will take you to the ball, Lottie, and then we will discuss our exact marriage arrangements.’

  Lottie touched the pearls that hung about her neck as she waited for the first quadrille of the Assembly’s Summer Ball to begin. She did not like the pearls any better now than when she had first seen them, but she had worn them, determined to show Tristan that she could play her part. She wanted to be his wife. Her rose silk with its décolleté neckline did set them off, but she made sure the lace was properly tucked and that she looked more like a matron than a debutante.

  Her stomach clenched slightly as she struggled to remember the intricate steps. She had always thought that leading the dancing must be the pinnacle of success. Now she knew it for a hollow sham. It had nothing to do with what sort of person she was.

  ‘What are you doing in Newcastle, Tristan?’

  ‘Waiting for the quadrille to begin, standing next to my wife.’

  ‘You did not even know this gathering existed before Martha said something.’ Lottie gave a little laugh. She tried to ignore how handsome Tristan looked in his evening clothes. How, without him even touching her, every bit of her was aware of him. ‘I don’t need the pretence, Tristan. I have had enough of that.’

  ‘You are wrong there. I knew about this ball before this morning,’ he said firmly. ‘Do be quiet and let the man start the ball, Lottie. The sooner the speeches are over, the sooner the dancing can begin.’

  And the sooner they would be finished. Lottie heard the unspoken words. With every breath she took, this charade of being happy became more and more difficult. The candles blazed down on them, throwing heat
into an already crowded room. It appeared everybody who was anybody in Newcastle was there, and all eyes were turned towards her and Tristan. She wanted to run screaming from the ball. This was all fake, all shadows and mirrors without any real substance. This was not life.

  The master of ceremonies began speaking. Lottie listened with half an ear and then froze as the man proceeded to thank Lord and Lady Thorngrafton for their generous support.

  She glanced up and saw the amused twinkle in Tristan’s eye. ‘But why did you do that?’

  ‘I was determined to force you into the first quadrille. It is what you want—to be a social success.’

  ‘I wanted it once.’ Lottie began to dance and was grateful that the steps led her away from Tristan, away from danger. She had considered her heart immune this afternoon, but here she knew it was not. She had pieced it back together, determined to keep it whole, but within a few hours of seeing him again, she was making castles in clouds.

  ‘Did you miss me?’ he asked when they next joined hands.

  ‘How can I miss someone I don’t know?’ Lottie tilted her head and peered up at him. ‘Lord Thorngrafton is a stranger to me. We have never been formally introduced.’

  He missed a step, Lottie noted with satisfaction, but his bland mask remained firmly in place.

  ‘I asked you to call me Tristan,’ he said finally. ‘It is the name I want to hear from your lips.’

  ‘But which one are you?’ Lottie’s steps faltered and his hand went to hold her up. ‘Lord Thorngrafton or Tristan?’

  ‘I am your husband.’

  The dance swept them apart again and Lottie made pointless conversation with the other man in the set. Then the music stopped and the quadrille ended.

  Lottie stood there, ready to begin the long march over to the side to join the other matrons, but Tristan’s hand closed about her wrist, held her there. Imprisoned.

  ‘The dance is finished.’ Lottie gave a slight tug on her hand, but his fingers slipped down her palm, held it gently.

  ‘The newlyweds’ waltz is about to begin.’ Tristan gave a brief smile. ‘I have made my enquiries. Everything has been carefully explained to me. Jack and Emma Stanton are on the floor. You would not want to give people cause to comment.’

  Lottie pressed her lips together. She remembered how once she had dreamed of dancing with her titled husband, being the envy of all the unwed women. How she had boasted that she would do that at this very ball. It seemed so childish now. Titles and money were not as important as the person. She knew that if Tristan had neither, she would still be proud of him, still want to be here in his arms.

  She wet her lips and held her head high. She could do this. She could waltz with Tristan, without remembering exactly what it meant to be in his arms. And why it could never happen again.

  ‘If we must keep up appearances, then I will.’

  She put her hand into Tristan’s, felt his other hand touch her waist. Immediately her head reeled. It was one thing to dance a very formal quadrille with him and quite another to dance an intimate dance like a waltz. The music rose up and surrounded them. All the air whooshed from her lungs and she struggled against her corset to take a deep enough breath to replace it. A coincidence, it had to be that.

  The orchestra were playing the same Strauss waltz that they had first waltzed to.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Tristan asked, and his body seemed tense.

  ‘It has a beautiful melody,’ Lottie replied carefully as the memories swamped her.

  ‘It has become one of my favourites.’ His hand tightened on her waist. ‘Since that evening at Shaw’s.’

  ‘Did you know they were going to play it?’

  ‘I was consulted.’ A faint smile touched his lips as he inclined his head.

  Her heart began to pound in her ears. He had been consulted and had chosen this waltz, a waltz that had recently become his favourite.

  What exactly was he doing? Was this another game? Another lesson she had to learn? She had finished her lessons.

  She wanted to hope that he cared something for her but she was too scared. How he had cynically treated her was too raw.

  Distantly she heard the sound of clapping hands as they circled around the dance floor. She forced her feet to keep moving, but it became harder and harder. Her head became light. When she thought she must fall down, the music stopped. And with it, she knew that she could not be in a loveless marriage. She could not participate in a sham. She had no use for games.

  She slipped out of his arms and fled, not caring about the shocked gasps that echoed after her.

  Out in the corridor, she pushed past people until she reached an empty room, one that would be used later for cards. She sank down on a chair and put her face in her hands. Everything was over. All her dreams were gone. She was never going to find love because the man she loved did not care about her. She allowed the tears to fall on to her gown, creating large red blotches.

  ‘Lottie?’ Tristan’s shadowed figure loomed in the doorway. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘I can’t go on.’ She raised a tear-stained face to his. ‘I have tried, Tristan, but I can’t. It is all pretend and make-believe out there. It has no meaning beyond the music and the twinkling lights of the chandelier.’

  ‘Many people enjoy such things.’

  ‘But I don’t…not anymore. It feels false. Everyone clapping and me pretending to be happy, when I am miserable, utterly miserable.’

  ‘You look pale, Lottie. Have something to drink.’ Tristan thrust a flask into her hand. ‘It will do you good. Restore your confidence. It was bridal nerves. When you are ready, we can go back.’

  ‘My head is spinning enough as it is.’ Lottie shook her head and waved the flask away. ‘You are being very kind.’

  ‘It is my job to take care of you. Let me.’

  He put an arm about her shoulder and Lottie indulged herself by leaning there, drawing strength from him. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend…then she discovered that she did not want to pretend anymore. She had to explain to Tristan her feelings for him.

  ‘Did the crowds give you a funny turn?’ He came forward and caught her hands in his. Warming them. ‘You could be breeding.’

  ‘It is far too soon to know such a thing.’ Lottie withdrew her hands. Ice encased her. He was looking after her because she might be bearing his child. An heir, and he was the last one. She should have thought. ‘I will let you know if I am. I understand how much you must want an heir.’

  ‘I am not my uncle, Lottie. The getting of an heir became an obsession with him. In the end, it destroyed him. I have no wish to follow in his footsteps. I intend on living my life, my way.’

  Lottie closed her eyes. She had to know. ‘What happens if I am pregnant?’

  ‘For my part, I hope you are not…not yet,’ he amended with a smile.

  He wanted to end everything. A quick break was probably best. ‘Have you found a way to end our marriage without a scandal?’

  He knelt beside her. ‘Lottie, very selfishly I want to have more time with you, to get to know you far better before we have children.’

  ‘But you wanted a sham of a marriage.’

  ‘It is you who wants that. I agreed because if that is the only way to have you, I will, but I want more than that. I will always be praying for more than that.’ Tristan paused and brushed her hair from her forehead, allowing his words to sink in. A small fluttering of hope built within her breast. Did he want more from the marriage? Did he actually care for her? ‘And I hoped tonight that I showed that I wanted anything but. Lottie, I need you in my life.’

  ‘You care for me?’

  ‘You are determined to have your pound of flesh.’ Tristan gathered her into his arms. He was vulnerable in a way she had never seen before. Naked with longing. ‘I love you, Lottie Dyvelston. I want you in my life as my wife in truth. I want you and not some reflection of you. I want you to be you and not try to twist yourself into someone you are not. You a
re my world and I need you to be with me to make me complete.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Lottie breathed, afraid that this might be some sort of cruel dream.

  ‘I was wrong, Lottie,’ Tristan said humbly. ‘Utterly and inexcusably wrong. I have come here to beg your forgiveness and to ask if we can begin again. If there is any hope for me. Can you care for me?’

  ‘Tristan…’ Lottie tried to let his words sink in but her heart was pounding far too loudly and her limbs were trembling. He was asking her to forgive him. Her! ‘But why? Why did you do this?’

  Tristan reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small oval object. He placed it in her hand. ‘This might help you to understand.’

  ‘My Claude glass? How did you…? When did you…?’ Lottie stared at it in astonishment. ‘Why are you giving it to me now?’

  ‘Because it is the only way I can explain.’

  ‘Explain about what?’

  ‘I found it that first day after you had gone from the graveyard.’ He curled her finger around it. ‘Lottie, I accused you of looking at life through a mirror and not really living it.’ He paused. ‘It was not you who was doing that, but me.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I had made sure that I was self-sufficient, that nothing and no one could hurt me again.’ Tristan stood and moved away from her. His eyes became shadowed, and Lottie could see the pain etched on his face. ‘I was wrong. It wasn’t really living. But I arrogantly thought it was. That I knew better than anyone else how my life should be lived. I was determined not to repeat my uncle’s mistakes. But without realising it, I was slowly becoming him—bitter and twisted, thinking of no one but myself.’

  ‘I think you are being too harsh on yourself. I know the sort of man I met that day in Haydon Bridge.’ Lottie moved over towards him, knowing that she had to go to him. She had to show him that she cared.

  ‘You think far too highly of me.’ His fingers touched her cheek. ‘I began living again when you became upset about the state of my parents’ graves.’