How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance

by Madeline Martin

  ‘I’d like to come to you tomorrow.’ Hidden by the bulk of his jacket, his hand slid into hers.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered.

  His heart fell. So they were back to that again.

  He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘I want to help—’

  She spun on him, ripping her hand from his. ‘You can never undo the past. No matter how much you wish to. I can’t do this, Evander.’

  Her carriage pulled up then, and the footman rushed to open the door. She climbed in, her frame small as she huddled beneath his jacket, appearing very much like the fragile woman Charles had claimed her to be the night of Evander’s birthday ball.

  Except Evander hadn’t listened to him. And, damn it, he still wouldn’t.

  He would go to her tomorrow, when she was in a better frame of mind. She might be faltering in her hope of their future together, but he had enough faith for both of them, and he would never, never lose hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following day did not work out as Evander had hoped. Lottie did not appear to be recovered and his footman was turned away from her door almost as soon as it had opened.

  The man came back, dejected, with the news that not only was he told to leave, but that the very austere butler had informed him no one was interested in hearing him plead Evander’s case.

  Evander was not so easily put off. He directed his coach to Aphrodite & Cupid, where Miss Flemming gave him a smile tinged with some confusion.

  ‘Isn’t it Wednesday?’ she asked. ‘I cannot say I’ve seen you here any other day of the week except Saturday.’

  ‘It is Wednesday,’ he confirmed. ‘And I need a new bouquet—perhaps the most exquisite you’ve ever done.’

  Her brows lifted, as though she was surprised by his request. ‘Not for Miss Rossington?’

  ‘Oh, yes, for Miss Rossington.’ His gaze passed over the flowers and settled on some brilliant purple blooms. ‘Irises.’

  ‘Hope?’

  He nodded. ‘And white tulips.’

  ‘Forgiveness?’

  ‘She’ll understand.’

  Or at least Evander hoped she would. His dream had felt so attainable up until the moment Devonington had propositioned her in the corner of a ballroom, the foul beast of a man.

  Deep down, he knew that if it wasn’t Devonington it might have been some other cad. And Evander was to blame for all of it. If he hadn’t gone—if he hadn’t left Lottie for so long—she would never have had to turn to such a profession to survive. It was Evander’s fault and they both knew it.

  ‘I’ll have the bouquet delivered this afternoon,’ Miss Flemming said with a smile, polite and courteous as always.

  Evander’s hand ached from punching that cur. He flexed and clenched his fingers now, so his bruised skin stretched over sore knuckles. ‘I’ll wait for it, please. I’d prefer to deliver them in person.’

  ‘Oh.’ Miss Flemming flushed, momentarily taken aback, but recovered with an over-bright smile. ‘I hope this means all is working in your favour? I’ve never seen a man so devoted.’ She flushed. ‘I’ll prepare these for you straight away.’

  True to her word, she had a magnificent bouquet put together in less than half an hour. Most likely her most beautiful one yet. The bundle was made up of irises, and peeking between the purple petals were strategically placed white tulips. She had bound it together with silver ribbons that formed a bow comprised of several intricate loops.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Evander said appreciatively.

  ‘Best of luck to you, my lord.’

  ‘I’ll need all the luck I can get,’ he muttered.

  Then he tipped his hat to her and departed the small shop, returning to Lottie’s with the weighty flowers clutched in his hand.

  This time he didn’t bother sending his footman up the path, but went himself instead. He marched up to the door and rapped the brass knocker.

  There was no answer.

  Surely she hadn’t dismissed her butler? Where the devil was the old man?

  Evander knocked again. And again. And again.

  A window next door opened and a scowling face glowered down at him. ‘Enough of that racket.’

  ‘I daresay I will continue to knock until this door opens,’ Evander said loudly.

  Over the past two years since they had been reunited Lottie had turned him away often. Time and time again he had given her the space she requested, waiting sometimes months before returning. But this was different. He’d never before been this close to a chance with her again, and he’d be damned if he lost it now.

  Truth be told, he was worried about her. And he wanted to console her after the way she’d been treated. No one deserved to be spoken to as Devonington had to her. Least of all Lottie, whose heart was as golden as they came.

  The repetitive metallic bang of the knocker echoed in his mind, pounding into his brain. His forefinger had begun to go numb, but still he continued. Suddenly the knocker was ripped out of his hand as the door flew open, revealing Lottie’s maid.

  Her gaze fell on him first, studied him, then went to the flowers in his hand.

  ‘Good God,’ he said, affronted. ‘Where is the butler? Has something happened?’

  ‘The servants have all been given the day off.’ She glanced to the carriage. ‘I imagine the butler would have told your footman as much, prior to leaving for the day.’

  The information had not been conveyed, apparently.

  Evander tried to glance past her into the empty hall, in the hope of seeing something that might offer a clue as to what was going on. ‘Lottie—’

  ‘She’s as well as can be expected.’ The woman spoke with a considerable amount of sympathy.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear she has been affected so badly.’

  The maid’s brow furrowed. ‘I imagine it would affect most.’

  ‘Last night was indeed upsetting. I swear, if I could have another five minutes alone with Devonington...’

  The older woman frowned and tilted her head, studying him. ‘Do you know what today is?’

  ‘It’s Wednesday.’

  She tsked softly.

  Taken aback, he went over the days in this head. Yes, he was correct. It was indeed Wednesday.

  ‘May I see her?’

  The maid hesitated. ‘She wouldn’t like that. Forgive me, my lord, but I must say no.’

  ‘Please.’ Desperation edged into his voice. ‘I’m worried about her.’

  The maid’s chin jutted outward in a stubborn fashion she had most likely implemented her entire life. ‘I’m worried about her too, truth be told. This may be the act that finally has me thrown out, but...’ She opened the door. ‘I believe Lottie needs you right now.’

  He didn’t bother to stop and question why her maid referred to her so informally, or to feel the incredulity that a servant had allowed him in when her mistress had clearly given instructions to be left alone. All he cared about was Lottie and the opportunity to see her once more.

  The maid led him swiftly up the stairs and rapped upon a door on the left.

  ‘Leave me be, Sarah,’ Lottie replied, her voice thick with tears.

  Evander’s heart crumpled in his chest at the sound. He was aching to do what he could to offer her comfort.

  ‘Forgive me, lovey...’ Sarah moved back from the door and allowed Evander to go in.

  He turned the handle, pushing aside the small voice in his head screaming at him that this was a bad idea.

  The curtains were drawn, shading the room in heavy shadows. Lottie stood off to one side of the room in a plain white muslin gown, her long, dark hair unbound. Her arm hovered in front of an easel; a brush was poised in her hand. A small candle flickered on the table beside her, illuminating the painting as well as part of her face.

  �
�What are you doing here?’ She stiffened. ‘Sarah.’

  ‘Forgive me, love, but I don’t think you’ve told him,’ the maid said. ‘And pardon my saying so, but you need to.’

  The door clicked closed behind Evander with the maid on the other side, leaving him alone with Lottie.

  Evander whispered her name and set the flowers aside on a small table near the door. His vision adjusted to the partial light as he approached her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy—further evidence she’d been crying.

  ‘Please leave.’

  ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘You’re worried about me?’ She gave a mirthless chuckle as she exhaled. ‘I told you I didn’t want to see you. Not today of all days.’

  ‘Because of what happened last night? Forgive me, but I couldn’t stand by and allow Lord Devonington to speak to you in such a way.’

  His blood simmered with rage even as he thought of it. Were the man in front of him now, Evander would punch him all over again. Except this time he wouldn’t stop.

  Her brow furrowed.

  ‘It isn’t that, is it?’ Evander asked slowly. ‘It’s something your maid mentioned...something that you need to tell me.’

  Lottie sagged backwards, her gaze distant and listless ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said sadly. ‘I asked you to leave me be.’

  ‘Whatever it is, however difficult you think it to be, I want to know so that we can face it together.’

  He glanced at the painting to find an image of a cottage with a cluster of trees behind it, and the beginnings of a small garden boxed in front with a simple fence.

  ‘This isn’t Binsey,’ he said. ‘Where is this?’

  ‘Evander.’ Her eyes sparkled with tears in the candlelight. She shook her head. ‘Please.’

  There were more paintings on the floor—all of that same small cottage from various different angles. Close-up views of a garden filled with pink geraniums and daffodils, another of vegetables climbing up stakes thrust into rich, dark soil, still others of a view of the forest from a window presumably inside the cottage.

  He bent and lifted one that appeared to have been painted from inside the home. ‘Where is this?’ A knot formed low in the pit of his stomach. ‘What are you not telling me?’

  She drew in a shuddering breath as a tear fell from her eye and left a wet trail glistening on her cheek in the candlelight. Her hand pressed to her heart and she began to sob. The sound was soft, as if she had previously exhausted herself of tears but her hurt was still just as intense.

  He went to her and put his arm over her shoulders. ‘Please, Lottie.’

  ‘That was the last place I was truly happy,’ she said, in a hoarse, tired voice.

  Truly happy? He frowned. ‘After I departed?’

  She nodded; her gaze fixed on the image of the cottage. ‘It’s located just outside London, close enough that I could visit as often as was possible.’

  Was this where she’d met one of her protectors, perhaps? ‘I don’t understand.’

  Lottie sucked in air hard, as if it hurt even to breathe. ‘That’s where she was born.’

  Evander’s heart caught in his chest. ‘Where who was born?’

  ‘Our daughter.’

  His arm fell away from Lottie as the shock of her words sank in.

  They had a daughter?

  Emotions slammed into him with enough force to make his knees go weak. Elation at the idea of having a child, guilt at having abandoned her for all those years, at having never met her, and anger at having never been told until this moment.

  Six years.

  She would be five.

  His little girl.

  ‘Good God, Lottie,’ he said in awed shock. ‘How could you have kept this from me? All this time I’ve been back I could have seen her, got to know her, let her see how much I love her.’

  He stepped back from Lottie as she began to cry harder.

  ‘We had a daughter.’ Lottie covered her face with her hands, her words muffled but not indistinguishable. ‘Three years ago she died.’

  * * *

  The ache splitting Lottie’s chest was great enough to make her wish for her own death as she spoke the words she had put off saying for far too long.

  Sarah, insubordinate though she may have been, was correct: Evander did need to know.

  ‘I don’t...’ He regarded his empty hands as if they might somehow hold the answers. ‘That is, I... When...?’ His face crumpled, mirroring the hurt radiating through her, and he shook his head. ‘Please. Tell me everything.’

  Lottie sank into the ladderback chair near her easel and he pulled over the silk padded stool from before her vanity, his actions loose with the effects of his shock. As he gathered the small seat she did what she could to collect herself. As much as she could, given the circumstances and the magnitude of such loss.

  But she had to do this.

  A light clatter sounded from outside the door. ‘I’ve brought tea, if you want it.’

  Tea. Lottie swallowed, not realising how parched she was until that moment.

  Evander lifted his brows in question and Lottie nodded. He stood swiftly, as though grateful to have purpose, and went to the door. He returned with a tray bearing tea, along with several rough sandwiches—clearly made by Sarah, as the cook had been given the day off with everyone else.

  Lottie thanked him as he prepared a cup of tea for her with hands that trembled. When he poured a second cup for himself, she took a sip, letting the wet heat of the tea soothe her dry throat.

  ‘I told you my father died soon after you left.’

  She set her cup into the saucer perched on her knee. It would be best to explain it all from the beginning. Not only so Evander could learn about Lily, but also so he would understand why Lottie had taken the path she did.

  ‘I didn’t realise I was with child at the time.’ She looked into her teacup and shook her head at her own youthful ignorance. ‘I was overcome with grief at my father’s death, and assumed that food being so disagreeable to me was due to my mourning. By the time the new vicar arrived, however, I had deduced the reality of my situation. I was with child.’

  Her free hand went to her stomach as she recalled the wonder of realising a baby was in her womb—Evander’s baby. That their love had created something so magnificent.

  ‘My father had always provided me with a comfortable life,’ she continued. ‘His death was so sudden there was little left for me to live on. Enough for a year or so.’

  ‘And you expected I would return home to you by then,’ Evander murmured.

  Lottie did not reply. He already knew the answer. Her confirmation would only shove the dagger of guilt deeper into his chest. This tale needed no further pain. It captured enough on its own.

  ‘I couldn’t stay in Binsey, of course.’ She tried to breathe around the ache in her chest. ‘I couldn’t sully my father’s memory with my delicate state any more than I could bring shame to the home of anyone who tried to help me. I found lodging near London, where jobs would be more plentiful. I left my new address at Huntly Manor for you and waited out my pregnancy at this cottage.’

  She indicated the painting with her eyes, and lingered on memories that tugged her back. ‘I could wear my ring there, since no one in that small village knew me as anything more than a wife in a delicate condition.’

  She smiled, recalling her pride at being referred to as ‘Mrs Murray’.

  ‘And when she was born...’ Lottie’s voice caught. The teacup rattled on its saucer, threatening to topple. She withdrew it from her knee and set it on the floor. ‘Oh, Evander. She was so lovely.’

  Tears welled afresh in Lottie’s eyes as the night of Lily’s birth pushed to the forefront of her thoughts. The hearty wail of a healthy baby girl. ‘She had a tuft of auburn hair, like her father. And
blue eyes.’

  Evander watched her as she spoke, transfixed as he drew in every detail. ‘Like her mother.’

  ‘She was equal parts both of us—a beautiful child conceived in such love.’ Lottie wiped at the tears on her cheek. ‘I was with her for nearly four months, before my money ran out, but they were some of the happiest days of my life. Every coo, hiccup, smile, I revelled in it all, in our incredible child.’

  ‘What did you call her?’ Evander asked.

  His voice was thick, and she realised then that he was barely containing his own sorrow.

  ‘Lily,’ she replied. ‘Lily Rose Murray. Our own little flower.’

  Emotion shimmered in his eyes.

  She swallowed and looked away from him. It would be hard to meet his gaze for the remainder of her tale.

  ‘I knew I had to work to support her, and was fortunate enough to find a woman willing to help in return for room and board until I had the means to pay her. It had been my intention to be a governess, as you know.’

  ‘You don’t need to explain yourself.’

  ‘I do.’ She gave him a hard look. ‘You have to understand why I—’ She squared her shoulders to steel herself for telling him this part of her past. ‘The clerk at the employment agency wouldn’t even consider me for the position of governess, as no wife would be willing to hire me without a reference. He suggested that with my ‘pretty face’ I would earn more coin working at the opera.’

  Lottie pressed her lips together. The day she’d gone to the opera house had been overcast, with drizzling rain and air so cold her breath fogged. She had remained outside the doors so long, until someone finally came out to her, to see what it was she required.

  She had been hired immediately.

  ‘The pay was inadequate at best.’ Lottie frowned at the memory of how the cost of her soul had yielded so little. She hadn’t known then how truly low she would fall. ‘But it allowed me to return to the cottage from time to time, to be with Lily. Those days were precious. She was such a good babe. She smiled with her whole body when she saw me, flapping her arms and squealing with delight.’ Lottie laughed at the recollection. ‘Then, as she grew, I saw her first teeth, watched as she learned to crawl. I was even there for her first steps.’ Lottie’s smile faded. ‘And when she first began to wheeze.’