Miss Lottie's Christmas Protector (Secrets 0f A Victorian Household Book 1)

by Sophia James

  ‘A coffee, please.’

  Charlotte asked for tea and so did his sister.

  ‘We have some news of Viscount Harcourt,’ Charlotte stated quietly, making sure her voice could not be overheard. ‘There was another woman in the dressmaker’s salon who is also to attend the Harcourt ball. She was adamant that the Viscount had retired to the country and would only be back in London for a little time. Perhaps he has taken Harriet there, to his estate?’

  Jasper had no idea in which county that would be, but as if sensing his perplexity his sister supplied the answer.

  ‘His estate is near Bromley, in Kent, Jasper, which is only forty minutes from London.’

  ‘Convenient.’

  ‘Very, though I imagine that the Viscount is in the city now as the function is tomorrow night.’

  He was grateful for the coffee that had materialised. A ball was the very last thing he needed given the recent agony of his leg, but he could not avoid it now.

  He wanted to ask Charlotte Fairclough to wear her hair down in exactly the style she was sporting at that moment, twists of wild curls escaping from their anchor at the back of her head. He hoped she might choose a dress, too, that would show off something of her body. But of course he said nothing. Meghan had always had an eye for what suited her and he could only pray that would translate into her choice for Charlotte.

  Besides, his sister’s wicked smile when she glanced across at him made him cagey.

  * * *

  Jasper looked pale today and wary. When Meghan had asked him of it he had bitten back quickly.

  Could his injury be worse than she imagined? Was there another problem that was underlying the accident’s repercussions?

  She was pleased to see him and she wished his sister might suddenly remember she had some important thing to do and leave them alone for at least a few moments. But of course she did not because there were rules that society adhered to and leaving an unmarried woman alone in the company of an unmarried man in a public place would have been shocking.

  ‘Did you send word to your mother about your brother’s letter, Miss Fairclough?’ He addressed her directly.

  ‘Not yet, Mr King. I felt it prudent to wait to see if there was any good news regarding Harriet. Then I could send both tidings together.’

  In truth, she had not wished to convey her thoughts to the country just yet in case her mother should see Harriet’s disappearance as a reason to cut short her visit and return to the Foundation. Lilian was always insistent on knowing any problems at all that occurred with the girls she helped and Lottie swallowed away guilt, but kept to her path.

  She wanted a few days without the interruption of her family in the company of Mr King and she longed to go to the ball. Like Cinderella, she thought, dressed in her finery.

  The gown that Jasper had paid for was stunning. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn and ever would wear. A mid-blue cloth spun from silk and wreathed in lace which had fitted her like a glove once it had been altered. Lottie wished Millie could have been there, too, getting fitted for a dress of her own. Another cloud of guilt settled, but tomorrow night she was going to a ball with the most handsome man in all of London and she was going to enjoy it.

  As a result of her thoughts she smiled at him and he smiled back, the dark in his eyes lightening a little and the mood brighter.

  She knew a few of the most popular dances. Would Jasper ask her to be his partner? She imagined a waltz and the closeness that was a part of it. Shocking. Scandalous. Appealing and enticing.

  As if he had read her thoughts he began to speak.

  ‘I am sure you will be the belle of the ball, Miss Fairclough. Do you dance?’

  She hated the blush that rose from his words and wondered for a second if they were not facetious, but he did not look like he teased and so she answered in the same vein.

  ‘A little. Mama taught Millie and me at home sometimes during the long winter nights. I doubt I have any finesse though and certainly I have no practice.’

  ‘I met Mr Nigel Payne in town yesterday and he asked to be remembered to you.’

  This time there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

  What could Nigel Payne have told him? He had courted her briefly and ardently a year or so ago, but she had never encouraged it.

  ‘He is to be married to the niece of Viscount Harcourt and he said he would introduce us to the man.’

  ‘Wasn’t Nigel Payne the man who—?’

  Jasper cut his sister off and shook his head.

  Secrets, thought Lottie. More and more of them. An awkward silence followed until Jasper dredged up a new topic.

  ‘Payne told me that he keeps a list of what he most wants in a wife. His bride-to-be fits each criterion.’

  ‘Such as what?’ Meghan was laughing now, her interest piqued, but her brother was not being drawn into the gossip.

  ‘I cannot remember, but I wish him well. He deserves some happiness.’

  Again the undercurrent played quietly beneath what was said. Had there been bad blood between Jasper King and Mr Payne? Lottie could not imagine Mr Payne to be deceitful or truly evil. If anything, he was lightweight and fairly shallow.

  He had pleaded for her hand in marriage until Lottie could bear it no more and told him that she felt nothing for him save a friendship. She should have been kinder, but by that point all she wanted was for him was to be gone. She remembered her mother saying that she worried no man would ever live up to the standards Lottie seemed to require, a barb that had hurt at the time. But she’d felt no sense of heat or excitement and her reading had led her to believe things like that were important.

  When the bells of a local church peeled out in the early afternoon Jasper King stood and replaced his hat.

  ‘I shall pick you both up tomorrow night at eight in my carriage. Will that give you enough time to get ready?’

  ‘It will.’ Meghan leaned across and kissed his cheek and Lottie smiled at such closeness between them, for Jasper King looked as if he needed a friend.

  A brief tip of the head and he was away, a tall and rangy man dressed today almost completely in black. She saw his carriage and horses standing waiting at the corner, a man of means and importance.

  ‘He used to be happier and I wish he would be so again.’ Meghan’s words drifted over, but Lottie did not ask how, reasoning that it was his business and he would not want her to pry.

  * * *

  It was the day of the ball and Jasper would already be on his way to take them to it.

  Lottie peered at herself in the long mirror in front of her. This upstairs chamber at Meghan Gibson’s house in Kensington was decorated in deep browns and sported a sofa that was the colour of emeralds. It was one of the prettiest rooms Lottie had ever been in.

  A maid had been dispatched to help her with her hair and tonight she had it loosely fastened at her nape, a series of curls sweeping across her shoulders and down her back. An artful style that suited the line of the dress.

  The bodice of mid-blue fell off her shoulders, a ruched band crossing at her breasts and falling to a low and pointed waist. Below that the bell-shaped skirt draped into thick folds and when she walked the silk swished in a way that felt foreign and fascinating. On her feet she wore embroidered slippers and the whole ensemble was to be protected from the weather by a high-collared thick woollen cloak.

  Jasper’s sister had made no demands of the dressmaker to save money, but had gone ahead in a flourish and picked out the most highly priced garments in the shop. Expensive and classical, for if there was one thing Lottie had discovered it was that Meghan Gibson held excellent taste in everything she chose.

  The maid who’d been fussing around her finally stood back, looking pleased. ‘The mistress always did have an eye for what suits people and this gown most certainly looks well on you, Miss
Charlotte.’

  Claire, in one corner folding away the bath things, also glanced over with a smile. She was far happier this evening, caught up with the excitement of getting ready and more than willing to learn the art of dressing a lady’s hair from the more experienced Gibson servant.

  Jasper’s sister looked stunning, her gown a deep green which suited the dark of her hair, the fabric falling across her body like watered silk. Lottie felt indebted to her for not only had she been helpful but she had also been very kind and nothing seemed too much trouble to ensure her chosen outfit was exactly the way Meghan imagined it. Lottie knew if the whole choice of what to wear had been left to her she would never have made such a fine job of it.

  Five moments later they were both standing downstairs in a room with a roaring fire, Meghan’s husband with them as they waited for Mr King to arrive.

  Mr Stephen Gibson was a thickset man, his hair balding and his height hardly imposing. He was not an easy man either, Lottie thought, his next words making her frown.

  ‘Don’t let Harcourt anywhere near you, Meghan, for there are some less-than-salubrious rumours about him.’

  ‘Rumours?’ Meghan sounded interested.

  ‘He hangs around with a fairly fast crowd, it is said. Personally, I shouldn’t want him as a friend.’

  As he spoke the door opened and Jasper came into the room. If Lottie had thought him beautiful before, then tonight he surpassed every expectation. He looked dark and dangerous, the deep tones of his clothing emphasising this, the only brightness apparent being a white shirt beneath his coat and waistcoat. Even his neck tie was sombre.

  ‘Ladies.’ He bowed quietly and then acknowledged Meghan’s husband before his glance came back to Charlotte, the scorching gaze taking in her blue gown and hairstyle.

  ‘Miss Fairclough, I see my sister has not failed in her quest to clothe you.’

  ‘She has been most generous, though I hope I do such a wonderful gown justice.’ Her words sounded squeezed and hollow. She could barely breathe under such a close and sensual perusal.

  ‘Rather more than that, I think. Could you keep one dance on your card for me? A slow one. Perhaps the waltz?’

  She’d hoped he might have asked for more than a single turn, but of course his leg restricted him.

  ‘I should be honoured, Mr King.’ Lottie imagined his arms around her and the distance between them closed. She wished that she had paid a little more attention to the detail of the dance steps Lilian had tried to instil into them, lessons where Millie had always been the star pupil while she could barely wait for them to end.

  It was what she did, Lottie thought, began things and then never finished them off quite properly, the next idea catching her attention and then the next.

  Mama despaired of her sometimes, she knew that she did, for she had once overheard her speaking to Nanny Beth.

  ‘Lottie will never stop searching. She is so like Henry sometimes, passionate and busy and impatient for change. It worries me this restlessness.’

  Nanny Beth had taken some time in answering, but Lottie had stood there, waiting to hear what she might say.

  ‘Given time and space Lottie will find her potential in one of the endless possibilities of life, Lilian. Stop worrying and just wait and see.’

  How she had loved that answer!

  Well, tonight was one of those endless possibilities of life. She had never had a dress quite like this one. She had never had her hair fashioned so expertly. She had never been squired to a social occasion by a man as magnificent as Jasper King. And on top of all that was the chance of finding Harriet. How she prayed that this might come true and that they could then just simply bundle her lost friend into the carriage and bring her back to safety.

  * * *

  Miss Charlotte Fairclough had transformed from a very pretty young woman into a breathtakingly beautiful one. Jasper could hardly take it in, the blue gown wrapped about her in a way that showed off her figure and caught at the golden lights in her hair. He could not believe that he had asked her to save a waltz for him. God, he never danced at these things and his leg was still smarting from another poor night’s sleep. He could see his sister’s surprise, too, at his offer of a dance and cursed his carelessness anew.

  Once he had enjoyed dancing, and running and walking for miles through the countryside. Such exercise had been an outlet for the stress of his busy job and a way to relax. But all that had changed in a second when the pin on the coupling had broken and the casing of the carriage had dragged across his thigh, leaving him sedentary and frustrated and reliant on a stick. At least he had finally got rid of that monstrosity, though he kept it still in his wardrobe, a silver-balled mahogany reminder of how far he had come.

  ‘Will it be crowded tonight, do you think, at the Harcourts?’ Meghan asked this as she took a glass of brandy handed to her by Stephen. Jasper was glad to receive his own to help quieten his astonished appreciation of Charlotte Fairclough.

  ‘Great wealth often brings out those who hope for a slice of the same, but it won’t hinder us. All we need are the contacts he keeps and the hope of a misplaced word or two. I am relying on the fact that he is a braggart.’

  ‘So you do not think Harriet will be there?’ Charlotte’s query held trepidation.

  ‘I hardly think a young girl who is his mistress would be welcome at a society event, but she could be somewhere in the house.’

  ‘He’s a known philanderer, Jasper, and the family have almost wiped their hands of him.’ Stephen said this. ‘Such antics might have been dismissed in a younger man, but Harcourt is coming up to forty and there are no heirs for the title.’

  ‘Which means two things. The first is that he needs to marry well and the second is that Harriet White will not be a likely candidate.’

  Jasper wished he could have stated that differently, but Charlotte was a woman who had seen the harsher sides of life in the Foundation and would understand the implications of ruin as few others her age would have been able to. Her next words emphasised this.

  ‘I am certain she would know that. She is not a stupid girl which is why I think she was in that carriage against her will. She would realise the dangers of throwing her lot in with a man who could offer her nothing and leaving a job at the laundry that was a secure one.’

  ‘Well then, let us truly hope we find out something useful tonight.’ Meghan finished her brandy and turned to her husband. ‘I doubt we will be very late.’

  Stephen shook his head. ‘Take your time for I have a meeting to attend in the city. I hope you enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I will, as it is not every day that my brother asks me to a ball.’

  Outside their carriage waited at the kerb and Jasper held out his hand to Charlotte. Seeing her slight hesitation, he waited.

  ‘It’s a high climb in all your finery, Miss Fairclough.’

  She placed her gloved hand in his and when her fingers curled across his own, a bolt of shock raced through him. He could not remember ever feeling this sort of reaction before with any woman and the surprise kept him wordless. He drew away his grasp as soon as she was safely in and deliberately did not look to see if she had felt what he had. Once Meghan was in he came up the steps to take a place beside his sister which meant that although he was not touching Charlotte he was directly opposite her. Her face was shadowed in the dusk and she sat very still, even her fingers clasped in her lap unmoving.

  The thought came next that he seldom saw the younger Miss Fairclough in such immobility as she was always bustling here and there. He hoped she was not nervous about finding Harriet White and he also hoped that she would not feel out of place at a society ball.

  She looked small and lost somehow, the finery emphasising her beauty, but taking away the spirit of her adventurousness. He wondered how much she could actually see without her pair of spectacles and he wished his si
ster had procured jewellery for her as her slender neck looked awfully bare.

  Her heart was racing so fast Lottie thought she might simply fall over and so she sat, drawing inward to try to find a calm that had fled when Jasper had taken her hand.

  Even through the fabric of her gloves she had known his warmth and his strength, the astonishment of his touch frightening. She was knocked off balance, all steadiness dissipated under the promise of what might come next and as they travelled she chanced a glance at him, his face in darkness illuminated momentarily by the gaslights in the street. He looked indifferent, aloof and unconcerned, all the things that she did not feel.

  She knew Meghan had seen her anguish because she was now smiling at her with worry in her eyes as she squeezed her hand.

  ‘It won’t be as daunting as you think, Charlotte. With the crush of the ball and the copious amounts of drink taken it’s more likely to be an entertainment that is a little distant. Like the theatre or a puppet show. When all else fails I find a smile covers every social situation whether it be a large or a small gathering.’

  Her brother gave the impression that he didn’t quite agree, but when Lottie caught his eyes he glanced away and did not look back.

  Let them think the ball was what had her upset. It was an easier truth than the one that beat inside of her.

  She would never fit into the world of Jasper King.

  No matter how much she might have wanted to.

  Her father was the impoverished fourth son of an earl and her mama had risen up through the working classes into the world of trade. The Faircloughs owned very little, for the currency they mostly dealt in was that of dreams. The dream of helping those down on their luck, the dream of tutorship and self-improvement. A dream of financial security for people who had never known it.

  Taking in a breath, she admonished herself for even considering the thought that there could be something between Mr King and herself. He was helping her find Harriet and after that he would be off again into the realm of his successful civil engineering company, establishing the railways. His family was far grander than hers had ever been and he moved in the higher circles of society with ease. Meghan had told her he owned a town house in Piccadilly and other property in Liverpool and by his own account he had plenty of resources at hand. Enough to buy her family out ten times over probably. Enough to find a wife who could bring the same largesse into a marriage should he desire it. The realisation reminded her that she had begun all of this in order to reintroduce him to her sister, but had hardly given that a thought today.