Dare to be Wicked (Daring Daughters Book 1)

by Emma V Leech

  Ten days later and the doctor appeared pleased with Eliza’s progress. To their relief and delight, she had woken for brief intervals, only a few seconds at a time, but she had smiled at Lottie and squeezed her hand. It was enough to make Lottie sob with happiness.

  Later that same day, on making her way down the stairs, Lottie was irritated to discover a close neighbour to Holbrooke House, Miss Dudley, had come to call. The earl and his wife were not at home, but the butler informed her that her mama wished Lottie to join them at once. Lottie could well understand it.

  Miss Dudley was a lady of middling years and very kind. For this reason alone, Lottie knew she ought not be impatient with her, but she was an odd duck with romantic sensibilities and was prone to swooning fits over dead birds or a cat carrying a struggling mouse. An epic poem could see her bedridden for days. Lottie found the weeping and overblown sentimentality vexing and incomprehensible in a woman who’d lived her entire life in the countryside. How she would carry on over Eliza she could only imagine.

  “Oh, and here is Lottie,” her mama said as Lottie entered the parlour.

  She held her hand out to Lottie who went to her and took it, sitting down beside her. The duchess sent her a look full of apology, but it was clear she needed support, so Lottie pasted a smile to her face.

  Half an hour later and Lottie was contemplating crowning the lady with the elegant Limoges teapot. At least she had stopped crying now. No matter how often Lottie and her mother reminded the exasperating creature they had just received the news they had been praying for, and her sister was waking up, she kept maundering on as though Eliza was on the brink of death. Lottie wanted to scream, and she knew her mother was holding onto her temper by a thread.

  “And for her to be in such a romantic place when she fell, I did wonder, only…. No. You know I am no tattlemonger, so I should not say.”

  Lottie forced her attention back to the conversation. This much was at least true. Unlike some ladies—and gentlemen—of her ilk, Miss Dudley’s heart was in the right place. She might act as though every trifling affair was worthy of a Greek chorus, but she never had a bad word to say of anyone, nor would she spread gossip. It was for this reason the St Clairs always made time for the lady and welcomed her into their home, even when she tried everyone’s patience.

  “What did you wonder, Miss Dudley?” Mama asked, frowning, for none of them had understood how Eliza had come to fall.

  Lottie had been reckless enough to climb the walls in the past, but even she had never done it wearing a heavy riding habit, and certainly never alone.

  “Well, I saw her at Bayham Abbey, you see, perhaps two weeks before her accident. It was just before I went away to stay with my sister in the Lake District. Such a beautiful place. Have you ever been?”

  “Yes, it’s very lovely,” Lottie agreed, striving not to sound impatient. “But you said you saw Eliza at Bayham Abbey? I know she often rides out that way when we are at Holbrook, for she thinks it romantic and peaceful.”

  “Yes,” the lady said, lowering her eyes. “But….”

  “But?” Mama pressed.

  Miss Dudley bit her lip, her expression troubled. “Well, I should not like to cause dear Eliza any hurt or… or damage her reputation.”

  “Her reputation?” Lottie said, aghast. Her heart thudded behind her ribs. “My word, Miss Dudley, you cannot believe I would do or say anything—”

  “No, of course you wouldn’t. I never meant to suggest…” Miss Dudley sighed and shook her head. She shifted closer to Lottie and her mama and lowered her voice. “It is only that I saw her there… with a man.”

  Lottie’s jaw dropped. She looked to her mother to see she too was astonished.

  “Alone?” she squeaked, finding it incomprehensible that Eliza should do such a thing.

  “You must be mistaken,” Mama said briskly. “Eliza would never….”

  But Miss Dudley nodded, her tone firm now. “Yes, your grace. I know I am believed to be a silly, frivolous creature, but I am not so shatter-brained as all that. She was there, alone, with a man. Such a wickedly handsome fellow he was, too, just the kind to seduce an innocent girl. Oh, n-not that I am suggesting for one moment that he succeeded.”

  Miss Dudley turned a dull shade of red as her mother stared at the woman in outrage.

  “No. Of course not,” Lottie said, moving the conversation on quickly as she remembered the day Eliza had left their picnic and ridden off in a state of high agitation, and that she had not returned home until ages after Lottie. She had been in a strange mood, too, and… and she had not been the only one who’d left the picnic early.

  “What did the gentleman look like, Miss Dudley?” her mama asked, though Lottie wished she had not, as she had a fair idea.

  “Oh,” Miss Dudley said, her expression growing wistful. “A big, strong fellow with fierce features. Such shoulders he had, and so tall. Dark, too. Hair as black as a crow’s wing.”

  Lottie swallowed as Mama stiffened beside her.

  “Thank you, Miss Dudley,” she said, giving the woman a gracious nod and proceeded to lie through her teeth without batting an eyelid. Lottie was rather impressed. “I believe the gentleman is a friend of the family, so there was no impropriety. Indeed, I believe they just got ahead of the rest of the party. If you had stayed, the others would have arrived not long after. But we have taken enough of your time. Thank you for your visit. You’ve been very kind, and I know I can rely on your discretion….”

  Miss Dudley’s kind eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Ah, well. I remember what it was to be young, and I would never do or say anything to hurt such a lovely girl. It was only when I heard of her accident and thought how strange it was that she fell, and….”

  She trailed off and something cold and anxious wrapped about Lottie’s heart. Mama did not allow Miss Dudley to remain long after that, though, and herded her out with as much haste as she could politely manage.

  Once the lady was gone, Mama turned to Lottie.

  “Did you know?” she demanded.

  Lottie shook her head. “She wasn’t meeting him, Mama, I’m sure of it. It was just that one time, when Miss Dudley saw her, and I’m certain that was… well, accidental. Certainly it wasn’t planned. It couldn’t have been. She left the picnic early. It was after Cassius had told her they were not to be married and she rode off alone. She was terribly upset when she left.”

  “You think Mr Demarteau followed her?”

  Lottie swallowed. She was not about to break her sister’s confidence and tell Mama that Eliza was infatuated with the man, yet she did not want Mr Demarteau to be implicated in… in what? Could he have been there when Eliza fell? Could he have been responsible, or have left her injured? No. No, she would not believe that.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But Eliza returned safely and did not mention having seen him.”

  “And she tells you everything, does she not?”

  “Yes. Usually,” Lottie said, knowing that Eliza had certainly not told her everything, and she could hardly remonstrate as she had kept secrets from her Eliza, too.

  Yet Mama was exhausted with worry, and she could not bring her more anxiety by telling her that she feared there was more to it.

  “Well, Eliza will explain it to us when she is well, but I do not think she will see Mr Demarteau again. Your father has taken against his brother as it is and, in comparison, Louis César is almost respectable.”

  There was a look in her mother’s eyes Lottie well recognised, and she sighed. Papa was overprotective and Mama was stubborn, but then… so was Eliza.

  Chapter 20

  Dear Cassius,

  We are so delighted to hear Eliza is well again. What a splendid wedding gift for you and Lottie. Of course we will come to Holbrook for the ceremony. Nothing would keep us away.

  ―Excerpt of letter to Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley from Mr Ashton Anson—son of Lord Silas Cavendish and Lady Aashini Cavendish.

  20th Sept
ember 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

  “Oh, Lottie, you look like a fairy princess,” Eliza said, beaming at her.

  Lottie grinned and did a twirl as the proprietress of Maison Blanchet looked on with satisfaction. Madame Blanchet was a beautiful, elegant woman in her late thirties who was a fine advertisement for her own wares. The Marchioness of Montagu had discovered Maison Blanchet last season and secured the new Parisian fashion house’s future, as she was still a leading figure in the stylish world of the ton. If Matilda said something was fashionable, it was.

  Madame Blanchet gestured to the gown. “You see, my creation is a delicate blue grey satin that brings out the colour of Lady Charlotte’s eyes. There is a pattern of floral sprays and vines. The short sleeves are adorned with furbelows and lace trim, the wide boat neck with a blonde lace bertha, and we have created a deep waist point with three rows of piping. The skirt is full with two deep gauze flounces set in furbelows, lined in stiffened gauze, and the results….”

  Madame sighed happily as she looked at her creation with obvious pride.

  “It is perfection,” their mama said, wiping her eyes.

  “Mama, you are not crying?” Lottie said in astonishment, for their mother was a practical, no-nonsense woman who was not given to tears.

  “Oh, it’s the baby,” she said, patting her rounded belly and sniffling. “You know I turn into a wretched watering pot whenever I’m breeding.”

  “Mama,” Eliza murmured, shaking her head in despair at her mother. “One does not speak of breeding any longer.”

  Lottie sniggered.

  “Oh, lud,” the duchess said in disgust. “I cannot be doing with all this sensitivity. Why can we not just call the thing what it is without causing young women to fall into a swoon? I declare it was bad enough in my day, but this excess of propriety will become intolerable if we do not have a care.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Eliza said, her lips twitching as she caught Lottie’s eye.

  Lottie felt her heart lift to see her sister smile. She was still frail and horribly weak, with little energy. This trip to Maison Blanchet would likely send her to bed for the rest of the day, but she had been determined to come along for Lottie’s last fitting.

  “Well, Madame Blanchet, let us go over the list for the trousseau and ensure we have forgotten nothing,” Mama said, taking Madame Blanchet out of the fitting room with her.

  “I’m so happy for you, Lottie. It will be the perfect day,” Eliza said, her pleasure obvious and genuine.

  “It will,” Lottie agreed, turning back to the mirror for a moment to admire her gown. She smiled at her reflection and caught Eliza’s eye in the looking glass. “Now that you are well enough to be there it will, anyway.”

  Eliza beamed at her, and then her smile faltered.

  “I remembered,” she said. “What happened that day.”

  Lottie needed no explanation to deduce what day she was speaking of. By tacit agreement neither she nor Mama had pressed Eliza, or questioned her over Mr Demarteau. She was too easily upset and agitated, and her memory remained hazy in places. They did not wish to do or say anything to cause her anxiety.

  Lottie turned and hurried to her.

  “I climbed the walls,” she said, staring at Lottie in consternation. “Why would I do that? I was all alone, and my skirts were heavy. Why would I be so foolish?”

  Lottie shook her head. “I don’t know, love but… are you certain you were alone?”

  Eliza gave her a sharp glance. “Why would you think otherwise? Who would I be with?”

  “Mr Demarteau.”

  Eliza gasped, one hand going to her throat. “You think… you think I went there to meet him?”

  Lottie shrugged. “You told me you were infatuated with him and… well, it’s the kind of thing I would do, Eliza, if I were in love with a man.”

  “You would, wouldn’t you?” Eliza said, staring at Lottie with an expression she could not read. Then she gave a little huff of laughter. “Well, you may set your mind at ease. I never have been, nor ever will be as brave as you. I was alone. I was alone and clearly out of my senses. I have no explanation for it, except… except I remember feeling restless and wild, like I wanted to escape. It was as though the abbey walls represented the bars of a cage and…. Oh, what nonsense.”

  “Not nonsense,” Lottie said, understanding the sensation all too well. “And you will be strong enough soon to do just as you wish. You may be as bold and reckless as you please, only don’t go climbing any walls without me.”

  Eliza laughed. “Oh, I won’t. I promise.”

  Cassius stood back, staring at the painting. Pride and love and a swell of emotion that felt far too large to hold inside of him pushed at the confines of his chest. He swallowed hard and told himself to stop being such a silly blighter, but he knew Lottie would love it and he could not wait to show it to her. He had not returned to it until they were certain that Eliza would recover. The weeks had been hard on them both. He had felt guilt for his happiness in being with Lottie and he knew she felt it too. How could they be happy when Eliza was trapped in some sleeping world, neither alive nor dead but somehow suspended between the two? The relief when she had awoken that first time had been so overpowering that he’d wept. He had missed his friend badly, and he could not bear for Lottie to endure the loss of her sister any more than he could bear losing someone he had loved and relied upon since he was a small boy.

  But that was over. Eliza was still as weak as a kitten, but she was a determined young woman who hated being an invalid. She would recover and return to being the kind, generous friend and sister they knew and loved.

  Regretfully, he reached for the cloth to cover the painting of Lottie back up again and turned as the door to the summerhouse burst open.

  “Cassius!”

  Lottie’s voice filled the room, joyous and excited as she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck. Cassius staggered back a step and put his arms about her.

  “What is it?” he asked, uncertain whether or not to be alarmed, yet she was smiling and happy.

  “I love you!” she said, beaming at him. “And my dress is glorious, and we are getting married in two days!”

  He laughed, delighted by her, and then cursed as her eyes widened and she saw the painting.

  “Drat you, Lottie! That’s your wedding present. You weren’t supposed to see it yet.”

  “Oh,” she said, her mouth falling open and her big blue eyes becoming very bright. “Oh, Cass.”

  Cassius sighed and moved behind her, sliding his arms about her waist and pulling her back against him as she stared at her portrait. He couldn’t be cross with her for long, it was impossible, and he had been impatient for her to see it in any case.

  It was just as he’d envisaged it. She was beautiful, almost ethereal with the sunlight creating a nimbus of golden light about her blonde hair. The white gown only enhanced the feeling of purity and innocence, yet there was a twinkle in her eyes that was entirely Lottie and promised the viewer that this young woman was no idealised image of perfection. She was a real girl, with a mischievous soul, the sort of girl one could spend a lifetime loving and being surprised by. He had every intention of doing just that.

  She leaned back into him and sighed. “I thought you were supposed to paint the truth, warts and all? I’m quite sure I’m nothing like as beautiful as that.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I shall never tire of painting you. I shall paint you in Italy and Egypt and India, and here at home too, and I shall never grow bored. Not even when you are a very fat old lady, and your hair is white. I will paint you with our children, and our grandchildren and every time I shall think, Cassius, you lucky devil.”

  She turned and grinned at him. “I want a big family, like mine.”

  “Eight children?” Cassius said, quailing a little at the idea. “Ah, well. Whatever you like, love. You always get your own way in the end, after all
.”

  “Do I?” she asked, all innocence as she tilted her head back to look at him.

  “You do,” he replied, seeing the elegant curve of her neck as it met her shoulder, the delicate, not quite there scent of jasmine rising from her skin. Unable to resist, he ducked his head, pressed his mouth to that delicious curve, and groaned. “Oh, you smell so divine, Lottie. What is it? I know it’s jasmine, but there’s something else… something green….”

  A touch of colour tinged her cheeks which intrigued him. “I use jasmine as my scent, but my maid puts herbs in the drawers with my… my stockings and undergarments.”

  His mouth curved in a hopeless grin. “Is that so?”

  She giggled and pushed away from him, running to the other side of the studio.

  “Yes,” she said, putting her chin up. “But I can’t believe you can smell that. It’s very faint.”

  “Darling, it has been tormenting me for weeks.”

  “Has it?” she asked, tilting her head to regard him, that wicked glint in her eyes that he loved so well making his heart pick up speed.

  “What herbs does she use?” Cassius asked, praying she’d invite him to find out.

  Lottie turned away from him, sauntering towards the day bed. She paused to regard the explosion of paint that still stained the stone floor and sent him a delighted smile. “I can’t believe you left this here.”

  “It’s finally dry,” he said. “And I like it. It reminds me of you, of the way you burst into my life and filled it with colour and excitement.”

  “And made an almighty mess,” she added with a snort.

  She tiptoed around the paint, even though he’d told her it was dry, lifting her skirts rather higher than necessary to give him a lovely view of her pretty ankles. She sat on the day bed, looking demure and sweet for a moment, but that couldn’t last, thank heavens. Cassius swallowed as she extended one leg out in front of her, and slowly… so slowly, pulled her skirts up to her knee.