“Good evening, Theo,” Lottie said. “I believe that you and I have matters to discuss.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
November 1813
“EXCUSE ME, MA’AM,” Margery said. “There is a carriage drawing up outside. I do believe you may have visitors, ma’am. Are you At Home, ma’am? Shall I prepare to make tea?”
Lottie put aside the magazine that she had not been reading and smiled at the maid.
“How vastly exciting,” she said. “Who will it be today, I wonder? Yes, Margery, by all means put the kettle on.”
These days, Lottie thought, Margery had lost a great deal of her apprehension in dealing with the nobility, becoming almost as smooth as the best-trained butler. In part this was because the Marquess of Northesk had called several times in the past couple of months and was so gracious and courteous to Margery that she glowed with pleasure at each visit.
“I do believe that Margery is a little in love with you,” Lottie had teased Garrick Northesk on his most recent visit. “She does not make her rock buns for anyone else.”
Northesk had laughed. “I do tend to have that effect on maidservants,” he said.
It was Northesk who, in the dark days after Ethan had escaped, had persuaded the authorities to allow Lottie to stay at Priory Cottage. Theo had disappeared; no one knew where he was, but Lottie had the oddest feeling that he would reappear one day, for better or worse. In the meantime she had her friends—rather more friends than she might have expected under the circumstances—and the surprisingly stout support of the people of Wantage helped a very little to ease the pain of losing Ethan. It made it easier, she thought, that she was totally respectable these days. She had absolutely no desire to run off with the curate because not only was he prodigiously unattractive but there was a space in her heart that only Ethan could fill, and without him she wanted no one else.
The ladies of Wantage still asked her advice on fashion and sometimes, shyly, on matters of the heart. Mrs. Ormond visited, bringing Mary Belle with her, “for where the Marquess of Northesk sets the tone,” she announced grandly, “I am sure that I am not too high in the instep to follow.” Miss Cromarty, the retired schoolmistress, made Lottie gooseberry jelly laced with brandy to ward off the chills of approaching winter. Mrs. Fenstone, the doctor’s wife, knitted ugly shawls for her.
“I imagine,” Lottie said to Margery, “that she thinks that if she forces me into hideous clothing so that I look like a frump, she believes that there will be less likelihood of me running off with anyone’s husband.”
Northesk had called the previous day with news; he had had word at last of Ethan and had heard that he had got Arland on his way to safety in America.
“Don’t ask me how I know,” he had said, with a faint smile, “but you may take it that it is true.”
“Thank goodness,” Lottie had said, but it felt as though Ethan was a long, long way away. She had fidgeted with her teaspoon and had avoided Northesk’s gaze as she asked, “Was there any word of what Ethan plans to do next?”
She had spoken lightly, pretending not to care, afraid of showing the depth of her loss and longing. Ethan’s last letter, scrawled in haste, had been intimate, private, full of love and it had lain next to her in bed these two months past until it was now so crumpled it was illegible.
Northesk had tilted his head to one side—a gesture so like his half brother’s that Lottie’s heart had missed a beat.
“There are rumors that Ethan has been sighted in places as far afield as Paris and Edinburgh, Cornwall and Spain,” he had said gently, “but I believe them all to be false. It is not even known if he is still in England. With Ethan there are always rumors, stories and legends.”
“I know,” Lottie had said, sighing. “He is like a will-o’-the-wisp. Sometimes I wonder if he is real at all.”
“I think he is real enough,” Northesk had said, giving her a dry look, and Lottie had blushed.
Northesk had risen to leave then, but as he took her hand to bid her goodbye he said softly, “I believe that Ethan is coming for you. Now that Arland is safely away, he will not forget the promise he made. You must be ready.”
He had smiled, that heartbreaking smile so like his brother’s and was gone with a word of thanks to Margery on the deliciousness of the rock buns. Lottie had stood by the window, watching him walk away, and had wondered on the quirk of nature that had made Ethan and Garrick Northesk so similar in some ways, and yet she felt dizzy at the mere thought of seeing Ethan again, whilst Northesk, a fine man, a handsome man, left her entirely unmoved.
It would not have been so in the past, she knew. Once she might have invited Northesk to her bed, seeking from him the same comfort to ward off loneliness, the same elusive happiness that she had wanted from all her lovers. But now, having known Ethan, she could accept no counterfeit.
She shivered. Would she ever see Ethan again? Would he still want her? She knew what Northesk had said, but there were so many doubts and fears in her mind. They stalked her at night when it was dark and she was alone and the bed was cold and empty.
Bearing in mind that she now had other visitors, Lottie hurried to tidy up the little parlor, smoothing the covers on the chairs and pushing her latest piece of poor embroidery under a cushion.
“Lord and Lady Grant!” Margery announced from the doorway, and Lottie dropped the embroidery frame in shock and gave a cry.
“Lottie! Oh, Lottie!” Joanna Grant practically ran into the room and enfolded her friend in a vast hug. The first thing that Lottie noticed was that Joanna was hugely pregnant. Hugging her was like trying to get her arms around a barrel, but she tried her best, holding Joanna as tightly as she dared, which was not very tight in case the baby popped out. She felt the tears sting her eyes and block her throat, and she tried very hard to swallow them but they kept rising up again. In the end she gave in to them and then she realized that Joanna was crying, too.
“Jo, darling…” She tried an approximation of her previous, languid style, but it was impossible. “Oh, I am so happy to see you again!” she burst out. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“I didn’t know!” Joanna grabbed the handkerchief that her husband, Alex, was proffering and dabbed at her streaming eyes. “Oh, Lottie, we were in Mongolia and I didn’t get your letters, and I had not heard what had happened to you and when we got back I was so upset and worried for you that I made Alex come out here immediately—” She ran out of breath.
“You look marvelous!” Lottie said, smiling radiantly at her, holding her at arm’s length. She smiled at Alex. “I can see that your marriage is a vast success.”
Joanna laughed, grabbing Alex’s hand. Her eyes met Lottie’s, full of mischief.
“Who would have thought it?” she said.
“I am very happy for you,” Lottie said sincerely. Joanna, she thought, looked much as she always had, elegant and stylish in a striped blue silk gown with the most adorable little spencer over the top, but there was a softer glow to her now than Lottie remembered. It was as though Joanna had lost her brittleness, she thought. Happiness had banished her sharp edges. She had grown into the person she was always meant to be.
Alex had discreetly withdrawn to let them talk and had strolled over to the window, pretending an interest in the handkerchief-sized front garden. He was looking as handsome as ever, Lottie thought. It was embarrassing to recall that she had once tried to seduce him. Perhaps that was one memory that she would immediately expunge no matter how honest she was being these days about her past failings.
“How are you, Lottie?” Joanna said, an anxious little frown creasing her forehead.
“I survive,” Lottie said lightly. She looked from Joanna to Alex. “I suppose you both knew that I would one day come to this?” she said wryly.
Alex smiled at her. “I would never be so ungallant,” he said.
Joanna grabbed her hands again. “What can we do to help you, Lottie? Do you have enough food?” She looked Lottie up and
down. “Or clothes?” she said dubiously.
“I know I look a frump,” Lottie said. “These days I do not regard it.”
“Lottie!” Joanna sounded horrified. “Now I know you really must have suffered!”
“How did you find Mongolia?” Lottie enquired as she rang the bell for refreshment. “I hear it is very…empty.”
“Oh it was dire,” Joanna said, waving her hands about expressively. “But I am used to these places now.” She flashed Alex a smile to soften her words. “And they did have the most delightful textiles. We brought back some beautiful carpets and rugs, and a jacket made of silk and brocade that I am sure will be all the rage next Season—” She broke off.
“Pray do not worry about my sensibilities,” Lottie said. “I am sure I shall never be an arbiter of London fashion again. Although I do believe that I have made a great difference in Wantage,” she added. “They are now only two years behind the trend rather than ten. And the ladies are flatteringly quick to consult me on their wardrobes.”
She was amused to see that the arrival of Margery with tea and cakes clearly reassured Joanna, who could see now that although her clothes might no longer be from Bedford House, at least she was not starving.
“So will you continue to live here?” Alex asked. “It is a charming little cottage, and the town seems very pleasant.”
“Oh, it is delightful,” Lottie said. “The Pallisers are content to ignore me and they have been prevailed upon to give me sufficient of a pension to enable me to live quietly.” She smiled at them both. “And I really am quite reformed. I have lost my taste for scandal.”
“Well, I suppose it is something that your father’s family finally agreed to help you,” Joanna said, wrinkling up her nose in disgust. “But they could have acted long ago. What a bunch of mean-spirited hypocrites! Oh, if only I had been here for you!”
“You are here now,” Lottie said. “That means a very great deal to me.”
“But can we do anything to help?” Joanna pressed.
“You can come and visit me often,” Lottie said. “It may not be as exciting as traveling to Mongolia, but Wantage has its charms.”
“Of course we shall!” Joanna said. A small frown touched her forehead. “We had planned to stay a few days, at any rate. I understand, though, that the Marquess of Northesk calls….” She broke off.
“I am sorry,” Lottie said quickly. She was remembering the old scandals, and the link between Joanna’s family and the Dukes of Farne. “Northesk is a good man,” she said. “He is Ethan’s half brother and is the one who persuaded the Pallisers to pay me my pittance.”
“I know,” Joanna said. “I heard he had been very good to you.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I do not blame Northesk for my brother’s death, though I know Merryn still does. No…” She shook her head. “It is old history and I am only glad and grateful that he was here to help you when we were not.”
“How is Merryn?” Lottie asked. She glanced across at Alex. “And your cousin, Francesca? Did she enjoy Mongolia, too?”
“Oh, Chessie enjoyed the trip enormously,” Joanna said, laughing. “I think some of the Devlin spirit of adventure is in her blood! And Merryn is well. She has been staying with a bluestocking friend of hers whilst we have been away. They have been writing a history of the Welsh Marches from 1250 to 1350, so I hear.”
“Lud, how dull,” Lottie said, “though each to their own, I suppose.”
“You look blue-deviled, Lottie,” Joanna said, leaning forward to place a consoling hand on her knee. “Alex and I thought that we might go to the country fair at Uffington this afternoon. I hear it is marvelous fun. There is cheese rolling and even a balloon ascent! Why do you not come with us?”
“Why not?” Lottie said. It might be amusing to get out of the house for a little, she thought. It was a fine autumn day and perfect for a brisk walk up on the Downs. The days when she had considered a country fair beneath her interest were long gone. Really, she thought, she had once been the most unconscionable snob.
In the end the fair did prove to be rather fun. They all took a pony and trap from the livery stables and clattered up the track onto the Downs. The fair sprawled over several acres of Lord Craven’s land at Uffington and the air was thick with the scent of gingerbread and pipe smoke. There were acrobats, jugglers and a fiddler playing jigs and reels—and a contingent of soldiers from the Berkshire Volunteers to keep the peace as the drink flowed and the crowds became more raucous. There was a shooting gallery and a contest to climb a greasy pole.
“A pity that Gregory is not here,” Lottie observed to Joanna. “He would have won that one with ease.”
In the fortune-teller’s spangled tent she had her palm read by a gypsy woman who predicted that she would have many lovers, travel to distant lands and find a tall, dark foreigner whom she could not resist.
“I’ve already done all of those things,” Lottie sighed. “Are you sure you are not reading my past rather than my future?”
The balloon was tethered on the flat area at the top of the hill. Scarlet and gold, it rippled in the air, tugging on the ropes that bound it to earth. The men who had been attending it earlier were taking a short break at the pie seller’s tent before the balloonist, a famous aviator called Thomas Howard, was due to give an ascent as the highlight of the fair.
“You would not ever get me in that thing,” Lottie said, transfixed by a combination of fascination and terror. “I am afraid of heights.”
Alex started trying to explain to her how the balloon flew but she could make no sense of the science and after a moment she stopped trying and allowed his words to flow over her head. It was odd, she thought, how she could miss Ethan at such random moments. Sometimes hours went by when she did not think of him and then some small circumstance would remind her, perhaps finding something he had given her, a scribbled sketch or a piece of music. The most painful reminder was catching sight of someone who bore a passing resemblance to Ethan. For a heartbeat she would catch her breath and feel her heart surge, but already she would have seen it was not Ethan and the disappointment would flood back.
Now, for example, she had seen a man in the milling crowd about the balloon, a man dressed casually in jacket, breeches and boots, who had the height, bearing and coloring of Ethan, who looked so like him that she waited for the customary flare of hope and excitement and the fall straight after. It did not come. She stared, whilst her heart started to race and her fingers clenched Alex’s arm so tightly that he fell silent.
Ethan was coming toward them, cutting through the crowds, intent, purposeful, utterly single-minded, his gaze fixed on her. The roar of the crowd died to a whisper. Everyone was staring. Far away, as though in a trance, Lottie could hear the shouts of children and the high thin music of the violin.
Lottie grabbed Joanna’s hand to steady herself. “Jo…” Her voice was a thread. “Am I dreaming?” Then she realized that Joanna had never met Ethan and would not recognize him. But now he was close and she knew there could be no mistake.
“Of all the arrogant, dangerous, brazen exploits—” she began, but she was shaking so much that her voice faded away.
“So that is Ethan,” Joanna said. She laughed. “You have to go with him, Lottie. In the balloon.”
“I can’t!” Lottie gasped. She could not tear her gaze from Ethan as he covered the final few yards to her side.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Joanna was holding her tight and pushing her forward at the same time. “Do you remember when Alex came for me on the Sea Witch? You have to be brave.”
“I always wanted to be swept off my feet,” Lottie said. “I envied you so much.”
Joanna released her. There were tears in her eyes. “This is your chance, Lottie. Go!”
“Why did it have to be like this?” Lottie wailed.
“Because,” Joanna said, “this is Ethan Ryder and I hear he never does anything by halves.”
Ethan reached their side. “Take care of
her,” Joanna said fiercely. “I don’t care who you are, but if you hurt her I’ll find you.”
She pushed Lottie into Ethan’s arms, and he swept her up and swung her around and deposited her in the basket of the balloon before she could so much as squeak. Her heart was thundering against her ribs and she was shaking as she struggled to her feet.
“I have no luggage!” she shouted.
“I didn’t need any!” Joanna called back. “And neither will you!”
“Please look after Margery for me!” Lottie shouted. “And my canary!” She saw her friend nod.
Ethan was releasing one of the ropes, and after a moment Alex Grant sighed and went to help.
“Might as well be court-martialed again, I suppose,” Lottie heard him say, “for helping an enemy of the state escape this time.”
“Hurry!” Lottie cried. She could see the captain of the Berkshire Militia running toward them now, pistol in hand, shouting at them to stop. The two men who had been guarding the balloon emerged from the pie tent, rubbed the crumbs from their faces and also started to run in their direction. The crowd followed, as crowds do.
The ropes slackened suddenly and the balloon lurched. The basket rocked as Ethan put one hand on the side and leaped in. He put his arms around Lottie, and she clung to him, turning her face against his jacket, digging her fingers into his lapels as though that would steady her in this mad world.
“This could all go horribly wrong,” she said, her words muffled against his chest.
“It won’t,” Ethan said. He sounded so confident that against all sense, Lottie actually believed him.
“You came for me,” she said. She gripped his jacket and gave him a little shake. She could barely believe he was there. “Ethan,” she said again, “you came back for me.”
Ethan smiled, a smile of blazing triumph and tenderness that made Lottie’s heart swell with pure joy.
“I said I would come,” he said. “Don’t say that you doubted me.”
One Wicked Sin Page 28
