by Anne Herries
‘Middling.’ Sir Charles looked hesitantly at his daughter. ‘I understand you plan to give a ball to announce your engagement to…my daughter?’
‘You would have preferred to give it yourself?’
The scorn in Nicolas’s voice assaulted his own ears. He was being rude to a guest and, as his father would have told him, that was unforgivable. In his father’s day it would have resulted in a beating and no supper. He added hastily to cover up his bluntness, ‘I thought it would be easier here for I have a deuced many relatives, and I fear they will descend in droves once the announcement is made.’
‘Ah, yes, well…’ Sir Charles floundered unhappily.
‘I am sure it will be much better held here, sir,’ Lottie said and smiled as she removed her bonnet, revealing hair dressed in waves back from her face and drawn into a secure double knot at the nape. In Paris her hair had been loose, tumbling on to her shoulders, as if she had just risen from bed—which she had. ‘I know my aunt will be very happy to visit. I do hope you will not mind my inviting her for the ball? There is no one else I truly wish to invite.’
‘Indeed? You have no relatives?’
‘Mama had one sister, who is now a widow and has no children. Papa has no family at all.’
‘Well, there is Cousin Agatha, Lottie,’ Sir Charles said. ‘You know what a tongue she has on her. If I do not invite her, she will never stop complaining.’
‘I think that perhaps I would rather not ask Cousin Agatha,’ she replied. ‘You should really call me by my name, Papa. The marquis will think my pet name unsuitable for the lady he intends to make his wife.’
‘Lottie?’ Nicolas raised his brows. ‘Is that not more usually given to those with the name of Charlotte?’
‘Mama liked the name. It was hers and it is also one of my names—everyone at home calls me Lottie.’
‘Do they? I wonder why. I thought Clarice eminently suitable for the young woman I met in Paris. It has rather more sophistication, I think?’
‘Yes, I am certain it has,’ Lottie agreed. ‘I am perfectly happy for you to address me as you please, sir.’
‘Are you indeed? Thank you, Miss Stanton. I shall give the matter some thought.’ He turned as the housekeeper entered with another maid bearing silver trays. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Mann with your tea—and something stronger for you, Sir Charles. If you’ll excuse me I have some business to attend to. Mrs Mann will take you up to your rooms when you have refreshed yourselves. I shall see you this evening before dinner.’
‘Thank you, sir. We are much obliged,’ Sir Charles said and nodded to the housekeeper as she indicated the Madeira wine. ‘Yes, ma’am, that will do nicely, I thank you.’
‘Miss Stanton, you will excuse me.’ Nicolas nodded to her abruptly and left the room.
‘Sir.’ She bobbed a curtsy, but not before he had seen a flash of anger in her eyes. He felt a flicker of satisfaction; that was better, he was getting to the real Clarice now.
Nicolas frowned as he strode from the house. His business with his agent would have kept, but he was not sure he could have controlled his temper much longer. How dared the lady look as if butter would not melt in her mouth?
Her smile had reminded him sharply of Elizabeth when they first met. She had seemed charming and innocent—but when he offered her his heart, she had laughed and told him she was looking for more than he could offer.
Clarice—or Lottie, as she seemed to prefer—was not Elizabeth, but Nicolas was no longer a green youth. If Lottie imagined he had forgotten that scene in the bedroom in Paris, she would soon learn otherwise.
He would not be rude to her in front of her father, but when they were alone, he would ask her what game she was playing.
Clarice was so right! Lottie’s hands curled into tight balls at her sides. What a rude, arrogant, cold, beastly man he was! She would have liked to give him a set down, for he had no reason to be so insufferably condescending. Papa had, it was true, lost more money than he could afford, but Rothsay could have insisted on being paid. He had accepted Papa’s offer of his own free will. The least he could do was to treat both Papa and her with respect.
He deserved all he got. During the journey, Lottie’s conscience had pricked her for practising this deceit on the unsuspecting marquis. She had feared that he was in love with Clarice and would spot the difference immediately, but he clearly hadn’t. Indeed, apart from that scornful glance he had bestowed on her at the start, he had hardly seemed to notice her.
Lottie had hoped that the marquis might relent and release them from the outrageous contract he and her father had made between them. He was everything her sister had claimed and Lottie would not marry him.
Lottie’s indignation drained away almost as soon as it flared into being. With no offer of a withdrawal the contract would still stand; if she were to break the terms then it would be her family that suffered. It might not be so bad, she consoled herself, the marquis had a beautiful home and it would be pleasant to live here, especially if, as she suspected, her husband-to-be preferred London life. It was large enough for her aunt to stay on an almost permanent basis, for Lottie had no illusions about her papa’s promises of reform. He might be feeling chastened and sorry now, but within weeks he would become bored and once again the gaming tables would draw him like a moth to the flame.
It was a sickness, like Mama’s weak chest, which fortunately neither of her daughters had inherited. Lottie loved her family, even her selfish sister, and she knew that if she went through with this marriage she would probably be in a position to help them over the years. Her husband would have provided her with a small income in the marriage contract and she had a frugal nature.
She reasoned that if all the marquis required was an heir he would not wish to spend much time in her company. Perhaps she could bear to accept a certain amount of intimacy with him for the sake of her family—and she would like children of her own.
‘Shall I take you upstairs now, Miss Stanton?’
‘Oh…yes, thank you, Mrs Mann.’
Lottie recalled her wandering thoughts. She was here and there was no getting out of the bargain her father had made, so she might as well make the most of things and enjoy her surroundings.
‘I shall see you later,’ Sir Charles said as she prepared to follow the housekeeper. ‘Is everything all right, Lottie?’
‘Yes…’ Lottie raised her head. Her father was relying on her to solve his problems, as was her aunt. She could not let them down. If the marquis had not been such an arrogant brute, she might have felt bad about deceiving him, but he deserved no consideration from her. ‘Everything is perfectly all right, Papa. I shall not keep Mrs Mann waiting.’
Following the housekeeper from the small but elegant parlour, Lottie walked up the wide main staircase, marvelling at the spacious beauty of her surroundings, the ornate ceilings and exquisite furnishings. The family that had built and maintained this house must be vastly rich. It had an air of wealth and security, of being the home of important men, like its present owner.
Why would a man like Rothsay choose to take a bride as payment for a gambling debt? There must be any number of eligible young ladies who would be delighted to marry him—unless his rakish reputation had made him an outcast as far as the matchmaking mamas were concerned?
Lottie’s thoughts were confused, churning round in her mind and becoming no clearer. Had the marquis been a little warmer at their first meeting, she thought she might have liked the idea of her marriage very well.
Did she have a choice? What would happen if she changed her mind and withdrew at the last moment?
Oh, fiddlesticks! He was an impossible man and she was being torn two ways. A part of her wanted to run away while she still had the chance—yet in her head a small secret voice wanted to make a fight of it. Rothsay was rude and arrogant. It would give her some satisfaction to prick his pride if she could.
Lottie changed out of her travelling gown, which was fairly new, into one of the
more comfortable dresses she wore at home when walking to the village or the vicarage. She had decided to spend the afternoon walking round the gardens and what she reasonably could of the estate.
From her windows she had seen a large park, and in the distance a lake. Being fond of water and wildlife, she was torn between the park, which looked to consist of many beautiful old trees, and the lake, which was, she was sure, newer and man-made. As the sun was shining brightly, she thought the lake might be within distance and set out for it without reference to anyone.
It was a lovely day for walking; the peaceful surroundings soothed nerves that had become ruffled by her dilemma. She still did not know what she ought to do for the best. Being a sensible girl, she had made up her mind to take things as they came. If the chance presented itself, she might raise the question of a postponement or a cancellation of the contract, but if it did not, then she would simply have to marry him.
Enjoying the beauty of her surroundings, Lottie knew that being the wife of a man who took himself off to town for most of the time could not be a hardship for a girl such as herself. There were many young women who married for the sake of a comfortable home and a position in Society. Her marriage would be convenient to her in many ways, though the thought of how the heirs must be produced was a little daunting.
Could she really lie with a man as cold and arrogant as the marquis? A man she didn’t even love?
‘Oh, bother,’ she said aloud and sighed. ‘I shall not allow him to upset me.’
It was too nice a day for such anxious thoughts and staying at this wonderful place, even for a short time, was a treat.
Arriving at the lake, she stood admiring the excellence of the landscaping and how well the rock pools and greenery looked. A flock of black swans sailed majestically towards her, clearly expecting to be fed.
‘I am so sorry, my lords and ladies,’ Lottie said, feeling that royalty deserved the proper address. ‘Had I known you were in residence, I should have brought some food for you.’
‘They are magnificent, are they not? I’ve told Rothsay he is lucky to have found such specimens. We have the white variety, but the black species are something special.’
Lottie whirled round, startled by the man’s voice. She had had no idea that anyone else was near by.
‘Oh…I spoke aloud believing I was alone,’ Lottie said, staring at the young man who had come up on her unawares. ‘Yet they do command respect, do they not?’
‘I was enchanted,’ he said and offered his hand. ‘Bertie Fisher. I am a neighbour of Rothsay and came to see him on business. He said that his fiancée had arrived earlier. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Clarice Stanton?’
‘Yes…though my friends call me Lottie,’ she said and then blushed, for it was very forward of her to invite him to use her name. It was perhaps that he was attractive, his smile warm and friendly, and his manner not in the least arrogant. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Mr Fisher.’
‘It’s Sir Bertram or just plain Bertie to my friends,’ he replied and grinned as she offered her hand and he took it in a firm cool clasp. ‘I hope we shall be friends, Miss Lottie. As neighbours we are bound to see something of each other. I was just telling Rothsay that I shall be leaving for London at the end of the week. I shall naturally return for your engagement dance.’
‘Yes, I am certain we shall become friends,’ Lottie answered warmly, then wondered if she would be here many days. ‘I am looking forward to exploring the estate, and managed the walk to the lake, though I must return now or I may be late for tea.’
‘Will you allow me to walk with you, Miss Lottie? I have something I must tell Rothsay, and we may as well walk together.’
‘Yes, certainly,’ she said and took the arm he offered. Sir Bertie was certainly a pleasant gentleman and if his wife was of the same nature she would have a friend—should she stay long enough to make friends. ‘Have you known the marquis long?’
‘Oh, all my life. My grandfather bought the estate and my mother still lives here for some of the time, though Mama likes to travel abroad for the sun in the winter. Sometimes I accompany her, though I do enjoy shooting and hunting in the autumn, and she has her friends, you know.’
‘And your wife?’
‘I am unmarried as yet—though it has been in my mind to marry. I am a few years younger than Rothsay, of course.’
‘Yes…’
‘I have to say that you are a marvel, Miss Lottie. We had all given up on the idea of Rothsay settling down. I dare say you know his reputation, but they say reformed rakes make the best husbands. No doubt you will soon have him curled about your little finger.’
‘Why should Rothsay’s marriage be such a surprise?’
‘Oh, well, I suppose he has told you about Elizabeth. Everyone thought it was a match made in heaven. She was the toast of the Season, beautiful, clever and an heiress. Rothsay was head over heels; at least, we all thought so. An announcement of their engagement was expected but then he went off abroad and stayed in Paris for months.’
‘He gave no explanation for letting her down?’
‘It was all brushed under the carpet. She married a man several years older while Rothsay was in Paris, and now has three sons.’
Rothsay had clearly broken the beauty’s heart, which resulted in her marriage to an older man. It just showed what kind of a man he was, leading her on and then deserting her without making an offer. Lottie fumed inwardly. No wonder he hadn’t bothered to court Clarice. All he wanted was an heir and he had bought himself a wife for the price of a gambling debt. He must be a cold calculating devil and if Lottie’s father had not been so desperate she would tell him what he might do with his offer and go home immediately.
Lottie would have asked more questions of her obliging new acquaintance, but for the fact that she had seen the marquis coming to meet them. She stiffened, her hand tightening on her companion’s arm. He glanced at her, but made no comment, and Lottie lifted her head. Surely the marquis would not be rude to her in front of a neighbour.
‘I thought you had left, Bertie,’ he said, lifting his brows. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I was walking home past the lake and happened to discover Miss Lottie making friends with the swans. It was then that I recalled what I wanted to ask, Rothsay. I decided to walk back with Miss Lottie.’
‘And I was going to ask if you would like to stay for tea,’ Lottie said, noticing the way the marquis’s pupils took on a silver glow when he was intent. He was a very handsome man, she decided. He had a strong face with a square chin and a little cleft, which was rather appealing. His grey eyes could be very cold, but at the moment they seemed enquiring.
‘Well, Bertie, since my fiancée has asked, I think we should all take tea together, and afterwards we can repair to the study and you can tell me what was so important that you felt compelled to return.’
‘Certainly, my dear fellow,’ Bertie replied amiably. ‘It is nothing very much, you know—but it is a grand day for walking in the sunshine, especially in the company of a beautiful lady.’
‘I dare say,’ the marquis replied and glanced at Lottie, as if wondering whether his friend’s remark was justified. ‘It is, as you say, a glorious afternoon.’
‘Do you allow others to feed your swans?’ Lottie asked. His comment could be taken for silent consent that she was a beautiful lady, or a snub. She would ignore it for the moment. ‘I should have brought food had I known how tame they are.’
‘You should not be fooled by their docile appearance. They hoped to be fed, but swans can be vicious at times. One of my keepers had his arm broken by a male swan guarding its mate—and one of the pairs on the lake have young. However, if you insist on feeding them yourself, please give them the special pellets we use rather than bread. My bailiff will show you where the supply is stored—or one of the footmen will fetch it for you.’
‘Thank you. I shall be careful to do nothing to alar
m them,’ Lottie replied. She was still walking with her hand on Sir Bertie’s arm, but the marquis was at her right hand. ‘Do you have deer in the park, my lord?’
‘I believe there may be a few. I rarely visit Rothsay Manor, Lottie. I prefer to live in London for most of the year. Unlike Bertie, I do not enjoy either hunting or shooting, though my keepers encourage the pheasants and we have a regular supply for the table in season.’
‘There are certainly deer in my park,’ Sir Bertie told her. ‘Do you ride, Miss Lottie?’
‘I should—had I a suitable mount,’ Lottie replied, turning to look at him. ‘At home a neighbour sometimes takes pity on me. My father keeps only one hunter and his carriage horses.’
‘I should be happy to provide you with a suitable mount,’ Sir Bertie said. ‘My mother occasionally rides and I keep a horse for her—but I have another I believe might suit you. You can stable Heavenly here and then, should you wish, ride over to Greenacres with Rothsay or a groom.’
‘That is extremely generous of you, sir. It would depend on Lord Rothsay’s immediate plans, I imagine.’
‘I dare say we have a horse that may suit you,’ the marquis said, his tone sharp, causing her to turn her head and look at him once more. ‘Your offer was well intended, Bertie, but I assure you I shall see that my bride has all she needs. I dare say she may care to ride over with me in the carriage and meet your mama—perhaps for tea tomorrow?’
‘Certainly. Mama would be honoured.’
Lottie wondered if she imagined it, but she felt a slight squeeze of her arm and Sir Bertie’s eyelid flickered.
At that moment she let go of his arm, walking into the house in front of the gentlemen. She heard the murmur of their voices behind her, then Mrs Mann came forward to greet her.
‘Ah, Miss Stanton,’ she said. ‘Your father was anxious about you. I think he feared something might have happened to you. You were not in your room and no one knew where you had gone.’
