by Emma V Leech
Lottie shut up.
“Don’t push your luck,” her mother said, her tone dry. “The point remains that the temper tantrum and Cassius’s sudden proposal of marriage obviously have a connection, and I am not leaving this room until I know what it is. I assume that until recently you, Eliza, like the rest of us, were unaware of any romance between your sister and Cassius?”
“Until last night, yes.”
“And what happened last night that made you aware of the situation?”
The duchess looked around the room: at Cassius, who was studiously studying the empty grate as though it held the answers to the universe; to Eliza, who was approximately the colour of a ripe tomato; and then to Lottie, who knew she must be an identical shade of mortification and now edging towards puce. She squirmed under her mama’s enquiring gaze.
Her mother made a sound that Lottie was almost certain was a snort of laughter but that turned so swiftly to a cough she could not be sure.
“Cassius, fetch me a drink,” the duchess instructed, her voice somewhat strained.
Cassius leapt to do her bidding, reaching for the sherry.
“No, not that muck. The brandy, for heaven’s sake.”
Cassius fumbled the decanter, almost dropping the stopper, but poured out a generous measure. He handed their mother the brandy glass and took a deep breath.
“This is all my fault,” he said, his countenance pale and grave. “I’ve made a mess of everything. I truly believed I wanted to marry Eliza until I got closer to home. The closer I got, the more uncertain I was, and then… then when I got here and saw her, I realised how dear she was to me, and that I could not marry her because she was my dearest friend, and she deserved more than friendship from her husband. I am so sorry for the hurt that has been caused, and that I caused it makes my heart hurt, but she deserves to be loved, fully and unconditionally, by a man who can appreciate just how extraordinary she is.”
The duchess smiled. “Well said, Cassius. Eliza?”
Eliza looked up at her mother, her eyes very bright, and then she looked at Cassius, Lottie suspected for the first time since she’d entered the room. She nodded at him, in acceptance of his words, and of his apology.
“And what of Lottie?” asked mama.
Cassius gave a soft laugh.
“I wasn’t prepared,” he said. “It was like being hit by a locomotive. Any sense I considered I had deserted me, and… and I love her. I did not mean to, I certainly did not expect to, but I do.”
“Lottie?” Her mother gave her an expectant look.
Lottie nodded, her throat too thick to speak, though she knew she must. “Yes. I always have. I kept it secret all these years, for I knew I c-could not h-have him, but… yes.”
Eliza stared at her sister in outrage. “You loved him? You’ve always loved him and… and you never said?”
“How could I?” Lottie demanded. “He was yours, and I love you too. So much. I couldn’t bear to hurt you.”
Lottie jolted as if she’d been slapped at the scathing sound Eliza made.
“Eliza,” Cassius began, moving to intervene, but the duchess held him back, glaring at him to hold his tongue.
“When precisely did you decide you could bear it after all?”
Eliza’s voice was clipped and meticulous, her expression cold, and Lottie burned with shame, and with terror that her sister might never forgive her.
“I didn’t plan it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “But when I realised he… he felt the same, and once he had t-told you he wouldn’t marry you….”
“Was that when you took your clothes off for him?”
Lottie gasped, clutching her arms about herself, still stunned that Eliza of all people should betray her in front of their mother.
“Still think I’m trying to please the world, Mama?” Eliza demanded, though her expression was stricken, tears pouring down her face.
With that, she leapt to her feet and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.
There was a spectacular silence.
“Well,” the duchess said with a sigh. “That went rather better than I expected.”
Lottie stared out at the lake and wondered how many other people had come to the water’s edge with despair in their hearts. She ought to be overjoyed. Cassius had asked to marry her, and her parents had agreed, and that… that was everything she had ever dreamed of. How could she enjoy it, though, if it came at the expense of her sister’s happiness? She knew she was not stealing Cassius from Eliza, and she was certain Eliza did not view it that way either, but the way it had happened….
She groaned and prised up a small stone from the ground, lobbing it furiously into the water where it fell with a disconsolate plop, which was most unsatisfying. She wished she were a man and could go and hit something.
“Lady Charlotte?”
Lottie turned in shock, not having heard anyone approach and frustrated to discover someone had tracked her down as she wasn’t feeling the least bit sociable.
“Oh, good afternoon, Louis César. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m not very good company today. I should leave while you have the chance.”
He gave a soft laugh and shook his head. “I believe this is why Cassius has fallen head over ears for you. There is nothing but honesty in your heart, and it makes its way to your mouth with very little to moderate it.”
Lottie flushed, a little indignant, but Louis César held up a hand.
“That was a compliment, if you missed it. After all, you could have pretended to be pleased for my company and let me prattle on, which would have been mortifying. Your way is by far preferable.”
“Well, it is true, so you may do as you please, but I warn you I may well pick a quarrel with you, or even cry. So there.”
He arranged himself on the ground beside her and pulled out a handkerchief, placing it on his knee.
“I enjoy a good quarrel, and I always come prepared for such eventualities,” he said, gesturing gravely at the handkerchief.
Lottie snorted.
“Nic found the drawings,” he said, giving her an apologetic glance.
For a moment, after everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, Lottie did not realise what he was saying. Then understanding dawned and, for the second time that day, she felt herself grow hot and an unattractive shade of red.
“Oh!” she said, mortified. “Oh, my….”
Louis César shrugged. “I did not tell you to cause you discomfort, and you need not fret that either of us will ever breathe a word about it for we never shall, upon my honour. Only, I did not wish you think badly of my brother for what he did. He can be… difficult, but he never acts without reason, and he felt Cassius had not treated Lady Elizabeth with the respect she deserves. Nic did not know, of course, that Cassius was in love with you, or meant to marry you. I have now explained matters, and he knows he acted rashly—félicitations à vous deux, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Lottie replied, though she could barely meet his eyes.
When she did, she saw amusement there.
“We are French, my lady,” he said, a teasing note to his words. “I promise you we are not the least bit shocked. I am only impressed that you managed it under the eyes of so many chaperones.”
“They would never think I needed chaperoning with Cassius. They assumed he was like a brother to me. So did Eliza,” she added sadly.
To her surprise, Louis César reached over and patted her hand. “Do not fret, ma chère, your sister is not the kind to hold a grudge. I know she is hurt and angry, and perhaps her pride is wounded most of all, but she will forgive you. Lady Elizabeth is too good-hearted and kind not to.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Lottie said, her voice quavering, and she was uncertain if she was agreeing or asking a question. “Eliza is so kind, the very best sister in the world, and I… I couldn’t bear it if….”
Silently, Louis César handed her the handkerchief. Lottie buried her fac
e in it, laughing and crying at the same time.
“I hope she marries you,” she said, once she’d gathered herself again. “It was very nice of you to come and speak with me, to explain, and to bear my weeping. Many men would run a mile rather than endure that.”
Louis César pursed his lips, considering this. He gave a little laugh, which Lottie thought held a note of bitterness.
“Non, non. No, I do not think I am very nice, but then I am not so very bad, and I hope she marries me too.”
There was a twinkle in his eyes as he winked at her, and Lottie laughed as she was supposed to, but wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him.
“Come,” he said, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her. “It is unacceptable for a beautiful young lady to be alone in her sadness. I shall escort you back to the house and endeavour to lift your spirits. Perhaps I might help bring about a reconciliation between you and Lady Elizabeth.”
Lottie smiled and allowed him to help her up.
“I don’t know. For all her easy nature and mild manners, she can be remarkably stubborn when the mood takes her. Only she does it so prettily no one notices. Not that I can blame her,” she added quickly.
Louis César nodded. “She is a clever young woman, far more so than one might realise at first glance, but I think—for now, at least—she is not in the mood play nicely.”
“No,” Lottie said wryly. “I noticed that too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her lose her temper before. None of us have. We were never more shocked. As a child, I was the one who had temper fits and Eliza was a model of good behaviour.”
She took his arm and they walked back to the house together. As they entered through the main doors, Lottie took a breath, relieved by the cooler air inside the great house, and then paused as she saw Eliza watching them.
“Ah, there you are, Monsieur le Comte,” Eliza said. “I have been looking for you this age, as we have a guest awaiting you, and here you are… with Charlotte. How amusing.”
Lottie flushed at the irritation glinting in her sister’s eyes, aware of her implication. After all, Louis César was supposed to be courting Eliza now.
“Yes, a happy circumstance,” Louis César said smoothly. “I was walking down by the lake and found the poor child crying, so I thought I had best bring her directly to her sister for comfort.”
“Oh,” Eliza said, her cool expression faltering and her voice faint. “Oh, Lottie, I….”
She took a step closer, holding out her hands, but before she could say another word, a strident, heavily accented French voice cut through the great hall.
“Alors! Enfin, and why am I not surprised to discover I ’ave been kept waiting whilst you entertain a pretty young lady?”
Lottie turned in surprise towards the throaty voice to see a ravishing woman. She was exceptionally lovely, perhaps in her mid-thirties, with raven black hair that clustered in thick curls about her face. Her carriage gown was the height of fashion and made of a deep emerald green pou de soie. The sleeves bore an extravaganza of ruffles and puffs, and a lavish line of ruffles and bows flounced down the front of the gown and trembled with fury as the lady swept towards Louis César like an avenging angel.
Louis César stiffened and did not look the least bit pleased to see her.
“Madame Lafitte, I was unaware you had been invited to Holbrook House.”
She tsked at him and snapped open the black silk fan she carried, waving it furiously and putting up her chin. It dawned on Lottie that this lady was not entirely respectable, and she wondered at her temerity in chasing Louis César down at a private house party. Bold was not the word. Was she his mistress?
“Of course I ’ave not been invited, but this is what I am reduced to. Regardez-moi, chères dames,” she said, turning beseeching eyes upon Eliza and Lottie. “This is what a man can do. I am forced to follow this one and ’is wicked brother across the seas for the sake of my ’onour.”
Louis César made a choked sound and she glared at him.
“La manche, ma chère,” he said dryly. “The Channel is not quite the Atlantic Ocean and I fear you have wasted your time. My brother is not here, and he owes you nothing.”
“’E owes me everything,” she hissed. “And do not think I will not tell all your sordid stories if ’e does not do as ’onour demands.”
“Come, Eliza,” Lottie said, for once remembering her manners long before her sister, who was staring at Madame intently. Truly, it was better than the opera, though, so Lottie could hardly blame her. “We had best leave Louis César to speak to Madame in private.”
“But Madame abhors privacy,” Louis César said coldly. “She wishes for an audience, before which she may pour her vitriol to the maximum effect.”
“I do not comprehend this….” the lady said, feigning ignorance though her colour had risen enough for Lottie to deduce she’d understood plenty. Instead she turned her attention to Eliza and Lottie once more, her eyes narrowing. “My English it is not so good, but ’ere is a picture so pretty, so innocente, I wonder… Non, do not tell. I guess. Voila, c’est the lady Elizabet, n’est-ce pas?”
Lottie moved closer to Eliza as the woman drew towards her sister.
“Madame,” Louis César said, and he was moving too, addressing her angrily. “The ladies have no part in this. Leave them be. If you wish to discuss it—”
“But this child is too sweet for a man of your nature, Louis. She is not the type to please you,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “You would be a fool to marry ’er. You will find ’er dull, and you, ma jolie fille, ’e only wants you to make his dirty name all clean and pretty again.”
Eliza gasped at the bitterness in the woman’s voice, and Lottie clutched at her hand.
“What the devil is going on here?”
Lottie let out a sigh of relief as her father and Lord St Clair appeared, emerging from the earl’s study, clearly drawn by the woman’s forceful voice. Madame Lafitte took a step back, but did not quail in front of the duke, for which Lottie had to give her credit.
“Who are you, madam, to come in here and speak to my daughter so?” he demanded, drawing Eliza and Lottie behind him.
Madame Lafitte sank into a deep and lavish curtsey, lowering her lashes and glancing up shyly at their papa. Lottie knew he was still a handsome man and could hardly blame her for trying, but the lady was all about in her head if she thought any manner of coquetries would influence him.
“Monsieur le duc,” she murmured, putting a trembling hand to her forehead. “Forgive me. I am fatigued and I forget my manners, but this one… ’e and ’is brother, they treat me very bad, so cruel. I come only to warn la pauvre demoiselle, to ’ave a care for zhey are wicked and false.”
The earl looked at Louis César with a frown of consternation. Lottie was not surprised. The comte’s brother had already caused a scene with his son, and now this. She wished Cassius was here, for she felt sure he could smooth things over.
“Monsieur le Comte?” the earl said, his tone polite but clearly displeased. “Do you know this woman? Does she speak the truth?”
Louis turned a scathing look upon Madame Lafitte. “Yes, I know her, Lord St Clair, and I remain convinced that Madame would not know the truth if it sat in her lap, let alone understand the concept of honour. However, I fear I have caused a disagreeable scene and I have no desire to outstay my welcome. I will order my carriage. If you will be so good as to have my valet follow on with my belongings.”
“Of course,” the earl said, obviously relieved. “Madame Lafitte?”
Madame Lafitte shot Louis César a look of such volcanic fury Lottie half-expected it to singe his immaculate cravat, but he only met it with one of glacial coldness.
“You will regret this, Louis, and you may tell your brother your downfall will be on ’is conscience.”
With this, she swept out of the hallway in an angry swish of heavy skirts: a dramatic exit fit for any wronged heroine in an overblown theatrical.
“My word,” Lottie breathed, once the woman had disappeared and Louis César was hurrying up the stairs to ready himself to leave. Eliza watched him go, a little frown puckering the smooth skin between her eyebrows.
“Oh, Eliza, I am so sorry.”
Eliza waved this away. “It is of no matter. I refuse to listen to anything the dreadful creature has to say. Imagine, chasing a man to a private party and embarrassing him so dreadfully. No matter how angry one is, a lady never behaves in such a vulgar fashion.”
“That was no lady, my dear,” their father said, his anger apparent.
“No,” Eliza replied, her tone thoughtful. “That was done to cause the maximum damage to the comte and his brother. I shall set no store by it.”
“Still,” said the duke, his countenance hiding none of his displeasure at the unpleasant scene. “I shall make it my business to discover more about these brothers, and until then you are to stay well away from them. Is that clear?”
To her astonishment, rather than meekly agreeing with her father’s command, Eliza bristled.
“No, Papa. It is doubtful I shall see either of them again until the season, but I will not avoid them. The comte has been kind and charming, and most considerate, and I shall not repay that by listening to gossip and cutting his or his brother’s acquaintance, and if you thought about it above a moment, you would realise Mama should be very cross with you for suggesting it.”
She flounced away in a manner Madame Lafitte could not have bettered and left her astonished papa and Lottie gazing after her.
“Mercy,” her father muttered. “This more spirited version of your sister might please your mama, but I predict she’s going to be dashed uncomfortable to live with.”
“There, there, Papa,” Lottie soothed, taking his arm. “If you can handle Mama, I’m sure Eliza is nothing to trouble yourself about.”
“Hmph,” her father grumbled as she led him away to find her mother.
Chapter 17
Dear Phoebe,
I do not know if you have yet heard of all the drama of the past few days but I am about to enlighten you.