Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  ‘I do,’ Lottie replied. ‘And I’m still cross with you.’

  Sarah folded her arms over her chest in the stubborn way she exhibited from time to time. ‘Better you be cross with me and find happiness rather than be merely content and remain sad and lonely.’

  Lottie straightened and turned to look at the maid. ‘He wants to go to the cottage.’

  ‘Of course he does.’ Sarah gently shifted Lottie’s shoulders forward and dislodged the jewelled comb from Lottie’s hair. ‘He’s seeking a connection with Lily, and the cottage is the best way he can find it.’

  Lottie, of course, knew this already. She remained quiet in contemplation as Sarah slid free her hairpins and Lottie’s dark hair tumbled down over her shoulders.

  ‘Think of it this way.’ Slowly Sarah began to brush out Lottie’s long tresses. ‘If he had been there with Lily and you hadn’t, how would you feel?’

  Lottie pulled in breath.

  Sarah smirked. ‘Precisely.’

  ‘I fear returning will recall all my previous anger,’ Lottie said, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘If that rage should resurface, I don’t know that my heart could ever open again.’

  ‘You owe it to yourself to find out.’ Sarah swept the brush down the full length of Lottie’s hair. ‘And you owe it to him. That man has been loyal to you for six years. He has returned time and again, no matter how many times you push him away.’

  Lottie exhaled on a long, deep sigh. ‘You’re meddlesome—do you know that?’

  ‘You’re welcome, lovey.’ Sarah grinned at her in the mirror.

  Lottie glanced at her maid over her shoulder. ‘Please bring me some stationery.’

  Sarah set the brush down with a smidgen too much delight. ‘With pleasure.’

  Despite Sarah’s happiness at her decision, Lottie’s pen still hesitated over the parchment. Whatever happened at the cottage stood either to fully unite them or tear them apart for ever. There would be nothing in between.

  * * *

  The wealth in Evander’s accounts had grown exponentially. His investment with the mine had been sound.

  Granted, he shouldn’t care about money at this point. But that was the thing about having once been without a fortune—one was always in terrible fear of losing it again.

  The return gained from the mines, and all his other investments, was security. It would ensure his mother was always well cared for and that he would never have to leave Lottie again. Not that he would ever make such an error.

  Lily.

  The little name had become something of a chant in his mind, like a sorrowful cry, or even a prayer of sorts. He leaned back in his seat and sipped his brandy, though the liquor did scant good to ease the burden in his chest.

  Going to the cottage had been a recurring thought as well. He’d come to the conclusion that if Lottie would not accompany him, he would go alone. If nothing else, he owed it to Lily.

  He downed another swallow of brandy.

  ‘Evander, you wished to see me?’

  His mother entered the room, elegant in an emerald silk gown that made her eyes look as bright as the gem. Her hair, once gold and now more silver, was twisted back from her regal face. She was thinner, after having been ill, but just as strong as ever.

  Her gaze skimmed his open account book. ‘Am I correct in presuming you haven’t called me in here to discuss your investments?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Thank heavens.’ Using her gold-topped cane—a new device, following her ailment—she lowered herself to a chair.

  ‘Shall I send for some tea?’

  ‘I also presumed your refreshments would be limited to libations no woman ought to consume, and took the liberty of ordering myself a tray.’ A knock sounded at the door and she turned with a smile. ‘Ah, there it is now.’

  After they each had a cup of tea in front of them, his unadulterated and hers with two fat lumps of sugar, they could finally settle to the matter at hand.

  ‘When I returned home for Father’s funeral, did I mention my engagement to Lottie?’ He lifted the cup of piping hot liquid to his lips. That was how he liked it best—while it was only tolerably sippable.

  ‘You did not,’ Lady Westix said with certainty. ‘I know this because I was shocked when you mentioned it upon your return from travelling abroad.’

  He deflated somewhat, at this confirmation of how terribly he had fallen short on his commitment to Lottie...

  His mother took a sip of her tea, swallowed it and set the cup back in its saucer with a delicate clink. ‘Surely that was not all you wished to ask me?’

  This was the most difficult part. But he had to know that there wouldn’t have been any alternative available.

  He shifted in his seat. ‘If a woman of little means were to have come to you while I was away on my travels, stating that she was my fiancée and required assistance, would you have aided her?’

  ‘I would like to say that I would.’ Lady Westix stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘But, cold-hearted as it may be, I would more likely have turned her out.’

  ‘Even if...’ He hesitated. His mother did not need to know all of this.

  ‘Even if?’ She gave a soft sigh. ‘Truly, please stop treating me as though I’m some fragile, breakable thing. I’m far stronger than I seem.’

  Except she looked scarcely strong enough to withstand a stiff breeze.

  ‘Even if she’d had a child with her?’ Evander finished.

  Lady Westix straightened, her face lighting up.

  Evander shook his head swiftly and she wilted with understanding.

  Lady Westix looked down at her tea, her lips pursed. ‘I’m afraid I would have considered it a ruse to get at our assumed wealth. It wouldn’t be the first time fortune-hunters had set upon nobility. And during that time I was particularly shrewd.’

  Evander nodded in understanding. Lottie had known his own mother better than he.

  Lady Westix reached a hand across the desk towards Evander. ‘Losing a child is one of the hardest fates a woman can suffer.’

  He stretched towards her, taking it, her fingers cool and dry in his, blue veins evident beneath her translucent skin.

  ‘If what you say has merit, Evander,’ she said, ‘I too owe a debt to Lottie.’

  ‘You may well have the opportunity to make good on that debt. I mean to marry her, and most of the ton will not approve.’

  His mother’s hand tightened around his. ‘I’ve played by their rules long enough. I told you before—if you love her, you should not stop fighting for her. And I meant it. I stand by your side, son. I stand with Lottie.’

  Evander gave his mother a grateful smile.

  A knock sounded at the door. ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ said Edmonds. ‘But a missive has arrived for you.’

  ‘Enter.’ Evander released his mother’s hand and straightened.

  Edmonds crossed the room with a salver and extended it to Evander. He immediately recognised Lottie’s looping handwriting, which addressed the envelope to him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said to his mother, accepting the letter and cracking its seal.

  He unfolded it, revealing the single line that made his heart leap.

  I will accompany you to the cottage.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In the past, her carriage rides from London to the cottage had always seemed interminable. Today, however, Lottie found the trip from town passed with an alarming swiftness.

  Evander sat opposite her, his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed, appearing as anxious as she. And she was indeed dreading their arrival as she imagined the little house tucked in the woods.

  It had been three years since she had last been there. She’d purchased the building outright from the owner, who had rented it to her when Lily was still alive. The house was small, ye
s, but its proximity to London, while still remaining remote, could not be matched.

  Lottie had considered the possibility of bringing Lily to London, but with heavy smoke from the factories clogging the air, and the bustle and filth of so many people, it had not seemed prudent for her daughter’s health.

  Truth be told, Lottie wished now she had contacted the former owners and asked them to care for the cottage—perhaps find new tenants who would have cleared out her belongings or put them to a new purpose. If that were the case, they would not be able to enter, and all the memories contained within could be held at bay forever. Except she hadn’t contacted the former owners and now she had to face what was left of her previous life.

  The feeling of being watched pulled Lottie from her musing. Her gaze met Evander’s, which was fixed worriedly on her.

  Saying nothing, he reached for her hands and took them in his as the buildings of London sped away behind them and they turned on to the empty forest road that would eventually lead to the cottage.

  Lottie’s heart slammed hard against her ribs. Everything in her wanted to rear back in stubborn objection. She did not want to go. But even as her muscles tensed, and her mind prepared to voice her displeasure, the trees cleared away and revealed the lone cottage in the distance.

  Perhaps she ought to have looked away, to prevent the pain as much as was possible. But she couldn’t.

  She pulled her hands from Evander’s and shifted on the blue velvet bench, edging closer to the window. There it was, the thatched roof gone grey with age and lack of upkeep, the whitewashed walls, and the simple locked wooden door whose key sat like an anvil in her reticule.

  The fence surrounding the cottage had begun to sag, as if sighing towards the garden, which was in sore need of tending. Lily had always loved that garden, delighting at each new thing that began to grow. But at that time she’d been delighted at everything in life.

  Something stirred on the ground. For a brief moment Lottie’s heart leapt with the hope that it might be Lily, lying among the flowers as she once had, her fingers outstretched towards the sun as she sang a song she’d spun in her head.

  Lottie touched the glass. The chill of it against her fingertips surprised her, and pulled her to her senses once more. She blinked, and a fat brown rabbit hopped from the former flowerbed into the surrounding forest.

  Her shuddering exhale fogged the glass.

  ‘Lottie...?’ Evander said in a tender voice.

  She shook her head to brush him off. ‘This day is certain to be one of the most difficult I have endured.’

  ‘I understand.’ He shifted from his seat to hers and took her hand. ‘I am fully aware of how difficult today will be.’ His thumb ran over the back of her fingers. ‘Thank you for this.’

  ‘You have a right to know as much of her life as you can.’ She swallowed thickly, but it did little to clear the lump in her throat.

  When she looked out of the window again the cottage was directly in front of them and the carriage pulled to a stop. She didn’t want to exit the cabin, but could not stop her feet from moving down the single step and onto the dry, crackling grass underfoot.

  The familiar scent of damp, rich soil mingled with the sweet hay of the thatched roof and the perfume of the various flowers that had managed to survive among the weeds in their garden. The air held notes of a perfect summer’s day, with the sun shining down and bringing the earth’s aromas to life. It smelled like picnics and laughter and a beautiful little girl with auburn curls chasing butterflies while being cautioned not to over-exert herself.

  Lottie’s ribs constricted her heart and made breathing nearly impossible. This was where the laughter had stopped, where those gasping wheezes had gone quiet, where her Lily had died.

  The weight of it was too great.

  Lottie’s knees buckled. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be here, remembering these painful memories, subjecting herself to the greatest emotional agony of her life.

  A firm grip caught her shoulders, strong and true, comfort when she needed it most.

  ‘I’m here with you,’ Evander said in her ear.

  Lottie lifted her head to find him staring earnestly down at her, his face set with a fierce determination.

  ‘You are not alone, Lottie. Not this time. I’m here.’

  She nodded and withdrew the key from her reticule. Her fingers shook so badly she could not close the clasp. Evander took the bag from her, clicked it closed and handed it to his coachman.

  He held out his hand. ‘Would you like me to do it?’

  She considered his offer, but in the end declined. If she was to do this, she needed to maintain as much control as was possible.

  They made their way up the small front path, now overgrown with weeds that crawled over the stonework. From their new vantage point the fence was in even worse condition, bowing low enough to the ground at the far end that it actually lay on a ratty bed of snarled plants that had once grown peas and beans on slender wooden sticks. The flower garden was likewise a tangle of growth, some alive, most dead, with an errant bloom peeking through here and there.

  Lottie stopped in front of the door and slid the key into the thick metal lock.

  She stopped.

  On the other side of that door would be pain.

  Evander said nothing as she stood there, steeling herself to confront the power of those memories. He remained with his arm around her shoulders, his patience as solid as his strength, waiting for her.

  She drew in a hard breath and let it hiss out between her teeth. In a swift move, before she succumbed to her dwindling courage, she turned the key with a click and pushed at the heavy oak.

  The door groaned open on ungreased hinges and revealed the place that had once been home. The place where she had once been truly happy.

  She couldn’t move to cross the threshold. Her feet were rooted in place as she took it all in. The wooden kitchen table where Lily would ‘help’ shell peas. The slender glass vase still at its centre, filled with wilted wildflowers bent over at their slender necks, their stalks now dry, dusty husks.

  There were three chairs by the fireplace. One for Lottie and one for Dina, the kind woman who had cared for Lily in Lottie’s absence, and a small one for Lily. Lottie’s gaze fixed on the tiny chair, recalling how her daughter would always stretch her bare toes towards the fire on cold nights. Her feet were so tiny, soft and pink, not yet callused by life.

  She had been too young.

  Far too young.

  The room blurred and the arm around her shoulders squeezed her slightly. ‘Lottie? Do you need—?’

  She swallowed a sob and shook her head. ‘I can do this.’

  But could she?

  She strode forward on limbs that felt as old and rusty as the door’s hinges. The room inside was musty, with the sharp odour of dust and disuse. For that she was grateful. If it had smelled like life being lived, and the little girl she had loved, Lottie was certain she would have broken.

  Once inside, the rest of the room became visible. In the corner was the desk Lottie had used for correspondence and managing her meagre funds. It was incredible now to think she had made twenty pounds last a year.

  Evander remained at her side, silent and still, an awkward guest in a home where he hadn’t truly been welcomed. She swallowed around her dry throat, wishing for a bit of tea. ‘It’s small.’

  ‘I imagine it was perfect,’ Evander replied after a pause, as though he was filling the silence rather than speaking in earnest.

  ‘It was.’ Lottie nodded as she regarded the three-room cottage.

  The two bedchambers were still cut off by their closed doors. She would have to rebuild her courage to open them. Or at least the one on the left, where she and Lily had slept.

  Evander looked around with interest, but Lottie knew that to him the whole
of it was little more than a blank page. It would be up to her to paint upon it, to show him the scenes of her life so he could truly know Lily.

  She owed it to him to share her memories, so that through them he might know his daughter.

  And she owed it to Lily.

  * * *

  Evander kept his face impassive as he looked around the cottage. In truth, it was little more than a hut. Dust coated the surfaces, casting a dull finish over a home that no longer served its purpose. He could fit the entire cottage inside the ballroom at Westix Place, the space was so small.

  This was where Lottie had lived while he’d been travelling through the world imagining her dripping with diamonds and sleeping on satin.

  His chest squeezed.

  As destitute as he had thought his own estate, it would have afforded Lottie a life a hundred times better than life in the place where he now stood.

  Suddenly, he regretted having come. She was right. There was only pain to be had in these dingy walls. And even if she didn’t hate him as she feared she might, he was beginning to hate himself.

  What he had subjected her to—it was unforgivable.

  ‘Over here is the kitchen.’

  Lottie eased out from the hold he had on her shoulders and slid her hand into his. He let his fingers fold around hers, grateful for the connection as he was suddenly finding he needed comfort as much as she.

  She led him to the left side of the open room, where an old stove and a basin were set near the wall, with a few shelves that housed a teapot and some dusty teacups. A cupboard sat near the corner, with a porcelain ewer settled in a basin with a chipped rim.

  ‘Lily would set the table for every meal,’ Lottie said softly, her voice unsteady. ‘At least she pretended to. She took the self-assigned task very seriously, and would touch each of the napkins in turn after she’d set them.’

  They strode to the table next.

  ‘I always sat here when I was able to be at home.’ Lottie indicated the chair nearest the cupboard.

  Home.

  She said it with a familiarity he felt in his soul. For this had been her home. With Lily.