by Matilda Hart
Lottie…
The gods must hate her! Charlotte had never set her cap at any man, like her three younger sisters had done, and what had it gotten her? An arranged marriage to a man more than twice her age, and a title she could live without. But as the oldest and still unmarried daughter of Nigel Hawthorne, she had little choice in the matter. Still, what could be worse than marrying an older man to whom one is not in the least attracted? How about falling in love with his cousin and heir?
Prologue
How trite, Lottie Hawthorne thought, looking for all the world like a woman enthralled by the man kneeling before her. It was just like the Duke to make his proposal of marriage on Valentine’s Day. It was not as though there was anything approaching a romantic attachment between her and the gentleman in question, but he was a man of a certain age, who felt that such momentous events should proceed in traditionally acceptable ways, to be remembered in perpetuity by those before whom they were being played out. She, for her part, was a young woman approaching the age when society dictated that, in order to be looked after in her dotage, she must either take a lover and live a scandalous life, or take a husband and bear him copious amounts of offspring. Neither choice appealed to her, but she had learned very early that her wishes would never be consulted or considered. She therefore schooled her features to look interested in the proceedings, but she had as much interest in them as she had in felling trees. His Grace the Duke of Snowley had just proposed to her, in front of his house guests, among whom were numbered her grasping mother and father, and her suddenly envious sisters and their husbands...and she couldn’t have been more unmoved. Turning a brilliantly fake smile upon him, however, she inclined her head, and thanked her lucky stars that she had learned well the lessons of subterfuge at her mother’s knee.
“Your Grace,” she said prettily, “I am honored to accept your generous proposal.”
She offered him her left hand, upon which he immediately placed a large and gaudy ring of rubies and diamonds. It was a heavy beast on her slender finger, and she was determined to wear it as little as possible. However, her punishment for being the eldest and only unmarried daughter of two ambitious members of the growing middle class would be to wear the monstrosity for the duration of the evening, which was still only half over.
She suffered the fawning congratulatory speeches of the invited guests, and led the dancing with her new beau. Looking him over as they waltzed around the floor, she had to admit that he was still, despite his fifty and five years, a handsome man, his hair just beginning to grey at the temples. No doubt a woman closer to his own age might have found his looks more appealing, but he merely reminded her of her own father, a man of some fifty and two years, who had married her mother when she was a mere girl of twenty. Lottie supposed she ought to be grateful that her parents had waited five extra years before foisting her off on the first titled gentleman who offered them the right incentive.
The dance ended, and Lottie found herself sitting with the married women, as her situation had now significantly changed with the receiving of a jewel whose value could have fed and clothed the children in the hostelry in town for every month of the year. She cringed inwardly at the waste. She was not, by any means, a Puritan, and her girlish dreams had at one time included beautiful jewelry offered to her by handsome suitors. But this ring by which the Duke had claimed her was far too extravagant for her tastes, which ran rather along simpler lines.
“His Grace is certainly taken with you, Miss Hawthorne,” the lady to her left, a Countess she believed, murmured appreciatively, taking Lottie’s hand in order to ogle the obscene jewel.
“Why do you say so, ma’am?” she asked, recognizing her duty to carry on quiet, respectful conversations with the guests who had come to celebrate her great good fortune with her. She had little interest in the Countess’s opinions, but bent a sweet smile upon her as she listened to the woman’s response.
“Is it not obvious to you?” The older woman looked scandalized at Lottie’s lack of appreciation of the depth of the Duke’s feelings for her. “A man such as His Grace the Duke does not expend as much money as this is clearly worth on someone he does not hold in the highest esteem!” Her tone implied censure of Lottie’s ignorance and ingratitude.
Lottie did not know how to respond. What does one say to a woman old enough to be one’s mother whose ideas about love and marriage were woefully old-fashioned? She had to remain discreet in her speech, so as not to give away the true nature of her feelings on the matter of her marriage, and of her opinion of the bauble currently gracing her ring finger. She temporized instead, offering the Countess a placating smile in lieu of words.
“When are the nuptials to be held?” The woman seemed determined to engage Lottie in conversation.
Biting her tongue to refrain from making a sharp retort, Lottie said, “That has not yet been decided, my Lady.”
She refused to say she didn’t know, which she didn’t, because although she had no idea, she would not allow anyone else to know how little control she actually had over the events currently unfolding on her life. It was bad enough that she saw how pitiable her situation was. No one else needed to get even a whiff of that knowledge.
“I expect it will be a summer wedding,” the lady opined, “as I’m sure His Grace will not wish to wait longer to claim his prize!”
She gave Lottie an arch look, and batted her eyes like a besotted schoolgirl. Lottie shuddered...was the woman actually presuming to introduce a discussion of the Duke’s sexual desires into their conversation? How utterly vulgar! The very thought of giving her body over to a man old enough to be her father made her blood run cold, and Lottie fought to control the trembling that overtook her limbs at the thought. Drat the woman, she thought, thinking to rise and move to another part of the room. However, before she could, her attention was caught by movement at her side. She turned to see who it was, and found herself staring up into the coldest gray eyes she had ever seen. The man was a stranger to her, but as most people in the room were, the fact did not immediately distress her. She waited for him to speak.
“Good evening, Miss Hawthorne,” he said, his voice deep and hot, like the coals in the fireplace. “How does it feel to have singlehandedly deprived an heir of his birthright?”
Lottie felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Suddenly, she knew who this was...her earlier concern about how their first meeting would go was finally answered. Barrington Chapple, Marquess of Ryde, was her fiance’s heir, being the sole surviving male member of the family. And he saw his hopes of inheriting the Duke’s lands and titles as lost to her and the children she would bear his cousin. The depth of his resentment and rage washed over her like a freezing tide. She shivered, as though the temperature around her had fallen. Again she was rendered speechless, but this time, a smile did not seem to be an appropriate response. She gathered her wits about her, but could find nothing more to say than,
“Not as rewarding as you might be forgiven for supposing, Your Lordship.”
She managed to keep her voice cool. After all, he had been rather rude, they had not even been formally introduced, and she had nothing for which to apologize. He didn’t need to know that she was as vehemently against the marriage as he was. No one else needed to know how little control she had over her own existence.
His glare was like fire over her skin, and she shrank from its intensity.
“You expect me to believe you are unmoved by the title that marriage to my cousin will bestow upon you?” His tone was sneering.
Lottie bristled. There were many things that could be said, and probably were, about her character, but greed was not among them. She was a girl of simple pleasures, and did not so much envy the gentry as pity them. And now she was to be numbered among them, which raised only heavy sighs of resignation.
“I do not expect you to believe anything, your Lordship,” she snapped, uncaring suddenly whether or not he made a complaint to anyone. She would not be disrespec
ted by a perfect stranger. “Your opinions are of no consequence to me.”
She turned her head away from his furious stare with cool deliberation, and wished herself elsewhere. Somewhere far away, like Timbuktu, sounded remarkably appealing just at the moment. Her situation made it impossible for her to leave the room without calling unwelcome attention to herself, a circumstance that would undoubtedly raise the ire of her parents, and the eyebrows of most other guests. And to leave now would be to concede a victory to the odious man who had accosted her so viciously a moment ago.
Thankfully, the butler announced the arrival of the evening’s entertainers, and the assembled guests turned their attention to the trio waiting to play for them. Lottie breathed a deep sigh of relief when she turned again and found the Marquess had disappeared. She breathed a silent prayer of gratitude and gave her whole attention to the group, who turned out to be quite acceptable. She found herself hoping her marriage might find as happy a resolution as this evening.
Later, as the maid assigned to her brushed her long hair, Lottie wondered how she would handle the clear dislike that the Duke’s cousin had for her, and how she would respond to his presence in their home. He was the Duke’s heir, unless she bore the man a child. As such, he was more than welcome to the manor, and any slight from her would be in poor taste at best. She could not raise the issue with the Duke without causing trouble for the man, and though she was disposed to dislike him herself, she more than understood his reasons for his feelings, and did not wish to cause a rift between her husband-to-be and his only surviving male relative. She sighed, Clearly, marriage was not going to be an easy transition for her.
“Thank you, Alice,” she said to the maid. “I think I’ll lie down now. You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it.”
She smiled at the young woman, who replied, solemn-faced, “Yes, ma’am. What time shall I wake you in the morning?”
“In time that I will be ready for breakfast, I think,” Lottie replied. She would forego her usual morning walk for a lie-in...she was feeling rather tired, and truth be told, she did not wish to run the risk of meeting the Duke’s cousin about the grounds. Better to lie low.
“Very well, ma’am.”
The maid withdrew, closing the door quietly behind her, and Lottie climbed into bed, covering herself beneath the downy covers, glad of the fire in the grate. She wished, as she fell asleep, that she had something other than fear and desolation to keep her company, and to warm her heart.
Chapter 1 -- Charlotte
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Lottie heard Alice’s voice through a kind of fog, and pulled herself out of sleep with a wide yawn. The sun was high in the sky, and she groaned. Their guests were arriving later today, and she dreaded this first house party as the Duchess of Snowley. That other hurdle had yet to be completely overcome, but so far, her husband the Duke had not seemed interested in the physical side of their marriage. After their wedding night, three months earlier, when he had deflowered her in quite a spectacularly painful fashion, her tears must have frightened him away, even after a second, gentler coupling, as he had not returned to her bedchamber, nor invited her to his.
Lottie was no expert, but she could not imagine that what she had felt as her husband had taken his pleasure of her body was what she was supposed to feel. It galled her that she had no one in whom she could confide, or ask a question. And so she lived in fear of his return to her bed, and prayed that the next time would be less traumatic for her. If her sisters, who were empty-headed nitwits, could handle the physical side of married life, so could she. Still, her heart ached for something, she knew not what, to fill the void that being married and promoted to the rank of Duchess had yet to fill.
Shaking off the unhappy thoughts, Lottie slid her legs off the side of the bed and slipped her arms into the dressing gown that Alice had placed at the foot of the bed for her. She would spend as much time as she could in her rooms, and not emerge until the first of the guests was scheduled to arrive for the annual Michaelmas house party, hosted by the duke each year, beginning with the annual horse races at which the locals vied for prizes that included both coin and kind. Lottie had always loved the excitement of race day, and this year she would be participating as one of the peerage. She hoped the joy of it would remain.
“Alice, has His Grace already risen for the day?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He had breakfast in his study, and ordered that yours be sent up to you as soon as you were awake. Would you like to eat now, ma’am, or after your bath?”
“I’ll eat now, thank you, Alice. While I eat, we can decide what I shall wear to the races this afternoon.”
The rest of the morning proceeded apace, and by midday, Lottie was dressed and ready to meet her first guest. Her pea green walking gown was a beautiful complement to her hazel eyes, drawing everyone’s notice to the light green flecks that shone in them. Her face was very lightly made up, and she had her husband to thank for his generosity in allowing her to purchase the top quality powders and salves to dress her eyes, cheeks, and lips. That he seemed genuinely to admire her when she was so decked out was another on her list of things to like about him after all. He was far less stuffy than her father, and encouraged her to “make herself pretty” for every one of the formal occasions on which they had been seen together since their marriage.
She adjusted the gloves she wore as she walked down the wide staircase, and shortly after she had seated herself in her favorite chair in the drawing room with her husband in his armchair, the footman announced the arrival of …
“The Most Honorable, the Marquess of Ryde.”
Lottie fought to keep her color even. She had not seen her husband’s cousin after their first meeting at her engagement seven months earlier, except for the obligatory greeting and dance at her wedding, and she was loath to reacquaint herself with him, given his obvious dislike of her, and the inexplicable and unwelcome electricity that seemed to be generated between them at each meeting. However, he was now a member of her family, and she had to be polite at all costs. Straightening her spine, she turned to bestow a cool smile on the man who walked in, and was forced to look away momentarily, to avoid appearing slack-jawed.
He was the most stunning man she had ever laid eyes on, and she wondered faintly, as she extended her hand and received his greeting, how she had failed to notice that before. Thankfully, he released her fingers almost immediately, and although his smile held more meaning than she understood or wished to, he was at least pleasant to her. She watched him as he went to shake his cousin’s hand, and took note of the way he moved with lithe grace, like a stallion at the races. His limbs were long and she could tell they were well muscled from the way his pantaloons hugged them. His Hessian boots shone, and his whole attire bespoke affluence and attention to detail. He was a well-turned out gentleman.
“Ah, Ryde! How good of you to come!” The duke extended a hand, and invited his cousin to sit.
The Marquess took the chair next to her husband, and they immediately began to speak. Lottie listened with half an ear, preferring instead to take in the finer points of her new relation’s face. He had large, wide-set eyes, the coldest gray she had ever seen, like the ocean on a stormy day. His brows were thick and arched, his lashes long and dark. He was square-jawed, with high cheekbones. When he smiled, as he did now at something the duke said, dimples appeared in his cheeks, and his mouth curved sweetly. His lips were full, and Lottie found herself mesmerized by them, wishing suddenly that she could taste them.
The thought shocked her, and she looked down at her hands, fighting to keep her cheeks from flaming at the direction of her thoughts. The man was her enemy. How could she even imagine his lips on hers? How could she want them? The very idea flustered her so greatly that she wondered how she could meet his gaze. A man such as he, a man of the world, would surely know what she had been thinking just then were she to be unable to look him in the eye. Taking deep calming breaths, she managed
to compose herself, and was more than relieved when Bates, the butler, arrived with drinks.
She gratefully accepted a sherry, and wished, not for the first time, that she could be elsewhere, perhaps curled up with a book. She had found nothing of great interest to her in her husband’s library, aside from a fine collection of poetry which she had been slowly making her way through since her arrival. However, this weekend would see no time available for that simple pleasure. She sighed, and then started when her husband addressed her directly.
“Such a heavy sigh, my dear. What troubles you?”
Lottie raised her eyes to his face, deliberately avoiding the eyes of the man who sat next to him.
“Nothing troubles me, my Lord,” she replied demurely. “ I am just anxious for the afternoon’s entertainment to begin.”
John Pettygrove, Duke of Snowley, smiled warmly at his wife just as Bates returned to announce lunch. Lottie took his arm and went with him into the large dining room, where they were seated and fed delicate ham sandwiches, a buttery cake, fruits with cheese, and wine. Conversation was desultory, and Lottie was thankfully not expected to participate, so she enjoyed her lunch and when she was satisfied, patted her lips with her napkin. The men had an extra glass of wine, and then the Duke declared himself ready to proceed to the races.
