He fought the inclination to shout hurrah! As he’d pointed out to Miss Danvers, it was only lunch.
She sat very demurely across the seat from him in his carriage, her hands placed delicately in her lap. Despite his assurances that he was a gentleman, she still looked a bit nervous and continued to lick her lips as she gazed out the window. Every time he saw that sweet little pink tongue run around her lips his cock hardened. He’d never been attracted to the sweet, demure, fragile type of woman before, but this one had him twisted in knots.
Even though she was all sweetness and light, he had a strong feeling that she was steel underneath. To make her own way from London to Bath, and support herself, showed bravado rarely seen in a young lady.
“I told my driver to take us to Sally Lunn’s House since you had no preference. I hope that meets with your approval?”
“I love Sally Lunn’s buns.” Lottie laughed. “I find the need to laugh every time I say that.”
Her joy was contagious. “Yes. I agree. It is quite musical. And the buns are wonderful.”
The carriage stopped in front of Sally Lunn’s House on North Parade Passage, across from The Parade Gardens. Carter stepped out of the coach and turned to help Miss Danvers down. His large hand swamped her small, delicate one. He looked up at her as she took his hand and their eyes met. Her chocolate brown expressive eyes and the touch of her hand did something very strange to his insides.
Carter had never really thought much about love at first sight, believing it was something found in silly romance novels, but it was beginning to appear that not only was there such a thing, but it had happened to him.
Either that or he was coming down with an ague.
Lottie shivered as she took Mr. Westbrooke’s hand in hers as he helped her from the carriage. He looked as startled as she felt, almost as if something unusual and rare had passed between them. She needed to stop this nonsense. Anything more than friendship between her and Mr. Westbrooke was doomed from the start.
She was who she was, and he was . . . a man. She’d sworn on her tearful trip from London over a year ago that for her men and marriage was a crushed dream. If not happy, she’d at least been content with that certainty. Until . . .
Chastising herself, she focused her attention on the lovely restaurant. She’d always loved Sally Lunn’s buns and enjoyed the history behind one of the oldest buildings in Bath. According to the current owners of the bakery and restaurant, the building was erected in 1482, and the famous Sally Lunn began baking her buns there in 1680.
They were seated in the main dining room which was a beautifully decorated space. The walls were painted a pale yellow, which along with the wide windows in the front of the building gave the space a great deal of light. In the decorating, they had kept the essence of the age of the building. Drawings and paintings along the walls of the original kitchen with Sally Lunn doing her baking were fascinating.
“I love this tea shop. If I could, I would have one of these buns every day, but I’m afraid in no time at all my dresses would no longer fit.” She smiled at Mr. Westbrooke as she picked up the menu the waiter had placed in front of them.
“I agree. This is one of my favorite spots, as well. It has so much history connected to it.”
“Are you fond of history, then, Mr. Westbrooke?”
He studied her over the top of the menu. “Indeed. It is my favorite subject. I excelled in it at school.”
Lottie stared at him open-mouthed. “How very odd. It was my favorite subject as well. I won awards every year for the school’s history essay contest.”
“Ah, yes. The private school for girls in France.”
She smiled, warmed by the memories of her school. “Yes, it was located in a small town outside of Paris.”
“Paris? I assume you are fluent in French?”
“Absolument! C’est presque ma langue maternelle.” She grinned.
“Bien joué.” He dipped his head and smiled back. “Tu m’as convaincu.”
Lottie hated the warmth that flowed through her at their bantering. They did truly have much in common. Their best friends were married to each other, they both loved history, and they both were fluent in French.
This is what she’d expected when she left France to take up what she thought would be a wonderful new life with Mama.
They studied the menu, then placed their order. Now that the preliminaries were out of the way, Lottie felt a bit more relaxed. Mr. Westbrooke possessed the skill and charm to make her feel at ease. Perhaps they could have a friendship of sorts after all since nothing more was possible.
“What made you move from London to Bath?” Mr. Westbrooke broke the silence with an awkward question.
She didn’t like the idea of lying to him, but she was certainly not going to tell him the true story. “I found when I returned to London from France, I was not comfortable there.” She shrugged. “So noisy, dirty, and smelly.”
He nodded. “Another thing we agree upon. I only visit London when I absolutely must. Like a few times a year when my mother expects the family to assemble for holidays and, of course, her birthday.” He studied her for a minute. “Do you miss your family?”
“I only have my mother.” She scrambled to think of more to say. When she’d met Addie and Pamela, they accepted her story that she and her mother had a break in their relationship, and she left London. Too ashamed of her background when she first made their acquaintance to add to the story, she told them no more. Since then they accepted her friendship without further questions.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Westbrooke said. “When did you lose your father?”
I never had him to lose. He was probably someone passing through the night.
“I never knew him.” There, the truth. Before he could continue with the questions, she jumped in, “And your family? Do you have siblings?”
The waiter placed dishes of shepherd’s pie in front of each of them, along with a platter of jellied eels and kippers in the center of the table. Lottie scrunched up her nose.
“You don’t care for eels?”
Lottie shook her head. “No. I definitely do not like jellied eels. Or kippers, either.”
Mr. Westbrooke shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap. He picked up his fork and said, “To answer your question, I have two brothers, no sisters.”
She always wanted a sister or even a brother. Just someone else she could share her childhood with who would always be in her life. “I am envious. I would have loved a sibling.”
He laughed. “There were times when I would have packed them up and sent them off to France.”
“Are you the eldest?” The shepherd’s pie was delicious, and she almost found herself groaning with pleasure.
He shook his head. “No. My brother, Charles, Viscount Hastings, is the eldest. Then comes my brother, Peter, and then me.” He continued to eat not realizing he just sucked all the air out of the room and turned her world completely upside down.
“Your brother is a viscount?” she said holding her fork between the plate and her mouth.
He shook his head. “In some ways. It is a courtesy title from my father, the Earl of Huntingdon.”
Lottie lowered her fork and fought the nausea rising in her stomach. “Your father is an earl?”
“Yes. But I am a lowly Mr. Westbrooke.” He shook his head and smiled. “Thank heavens. I would not want the responsibility and confinement of a title.”
A loud buzzing began in her ears and Lottie felt as though his voice came from a distance. This man was a member of the ton. One of the Upper Ten Thousand. He came from nobility. His blood was bluer than the ink she used for her correspondence. She pushed her food away.
“I say, Miss Danvers, are you all right? You seem to have gone quite pale.”
She used all the training she’d had over the years on how to conduct oneself in polite company and offered a smile. “I am quite well. It turns out I am not as hungry as I thought.”
&nb
sp; He continued to study her. “Perhaps it’s the sight of the eel and kippers. I can have the waiter remove them.” He turned and signaled for the man to approach their table.
“Will you please take the platter way?”
“Tea.” Lottie managed to get out. “I would like some tea. And I’m finished with my food.”
“And please remove my companion’s plate and bring tea.” Mr. Westbrooke turned to her once the waiter left with the dishes piled in his arms. “I am sorry you’ve lost your appetite. I do believe it was the eels and kippers that did you in.” He offered her a soft smile that made her want to cry.
He was such a nice man. So thoughtful and caring. Someone that she would have wanted to marry before her life changed forever. Although she didn’t expect to become involved with a man, she had the feeling if things were different, Mr. Westbrooke would be someone she could care for.
Or even love.
She would not weep.
Carter continued with his lunch but kept a close eye on Miss Danvers. Something had definitely upset her. The only thing he could think of was when he mentioned his brothers and father. Did she have some sort of dislike of the nobility? Had her heart been broken by a member of the ton? That would certainly explain why she left London to strike out on her own.
No matter what the reason was, the remainder of the lunch was stilted and uncomfortable. Miss Danvers didn’t eat any of the tarts or biscuits that were placed on the table with the tea but did down two cups of the brew. She responded to all his questions with one-word answers until he began to feel as though their time together was turning into the Spanish Inquisition.
Reluctantly, he called for their bill, paid it and assisted her outside back to his carriage. The sun had peeked through the clouds while they were in the restaurant, which should have cheered him since he loved the sunshine, but he still had the let-down feeling of having lost Miss Danvers.
They said very little on the way back to the store. He helped her from the carriage and escorted her to the door. She took a ring of keys from her reticule and slid one of them into the lock. Before she opened the door, she turned to him. “Thank you for lunch.”
“You are welcome, but I feel as though you really didn’t enjoy yourself.” He placed his knuckle under her chin and moved her head so he could look into her eyes. “What happened?”
She pulled back and began to fidget with her reticule. “Nothing. Everything was fine.” She smiled, but the effort didn’t reach her eyes. Her sad eyes.
“Then may I ask you to attend the Assembly with me this Saturday?”
She turned the knob and moved so quickly to enter the store that she almost fell over a small table with a display of books. He reached out and grabbed her and she quickly pulled away. “I am afraid I will be unable to attend.” Her face was flushed, and she looked about to cry.
It was time to withdraw. Whatever had upset her continued to bother her and he seemed to be making things worse. “Very well. I am sorry you will not be able to attend.”
When she said nothing in return, but looked away, waiting for him to leave, he gave her a short bow and said, “Thank you again for spending time with me, Miss Danvers. Have a pleasant day.”
She nodded and he left the store.
Carter went over in his mind the entire time they were together and concluded that the lunch was truly a surreal experience. No matter how many times he considered their brief conversation, the only thing that stood out in his mind was when he said his father was an earl and his brother held his courtesy title of viscount.
Even if she’d had a bad experience with someone from the ton, her reaction to knowing about his family was excessive. However, not the sort to give up easily on something that had become important to him, he decided not to take her actions today as final. When he wanted something, he did not give up until it looked hopeless.
It was far too soon in their acquaintance for him to assume Miss Danvers had no interest in him. He’d known enough women to sense when there was interest, and Miss Danvers was not immune to him. He would retreat, give her some time, then forge his battle again.
4
As impatient as he was, Carter still managed to wait several days before again visiting the bookstore. However, he was disappointed to find Lady Pamela in charge and Miss Danvers nowhere in sight.
“G-g-good afternoon, Mr. W-w-westbrooke.” Lady Pamela greeted him as he entered. He tried very hard not to show his disappointment since he didn’t want to insult Lady Pamela.
“Good afternoon to you as well, Lady Pamela. You are looking quite well.”
She blushed. “T-thank you.”
He glanced around the store, then casually asked, “The last time I was here, Miss Danvers was in charge. Do you take turns?” Hopefully that question wasn’t too blatant, but by the slight smile she offered him, he didn’t think he’d fooled her.
“Yes, we d-do take t-turns. Her d-day is t-t-tomorrow.” Although it was quite painful to listen to the poor girl, Carter allowed her to take her time to say what she wanted to say. Stuttering must be a very annoying affliction.
Trying to dispel the real reason for his visit, he nodded. “I will take a look around.”
He browsed for about fifteen minutes finding two books he would add to his library, when the door opened, and Miss Danvers entered. His heart sped up and he chided himself for his foolishness.
She didn’t see him at first, and to keep it that way, he moved behind a bookcase that blocked him from her view. She pulled off her gloves and having spotted Lady Pamela, moved toward her. “How is business?”
“Fine. We have been busy enough.”
Carter was amazed at how easily Lady Pamela had responded to Miss Danvers. Apparently, her stutter was less prevalent when she was speaking to a friend. He wasn’t overly familiar with the affliction, but that explanation made sense.
The two women put their heads together and Carter knew precisely when Lady Pamela told her he was in the store because Miss Danvers stiffened, and for a moment, he thought she would flee. Before she could do that, he stepped out from behind the bookcase. “Good afternoon, Miss Danvers.”
“Mr. Westbrooke.” she nodded at him. “Such a surprise.” Her smirk baffled him. Was she pleasantly surprised, or annoyed?
“I am afraid w-w-e are about t-t-to close the store for our t-t-tea break,” Lady Pamela said. He then noticed the store was empty except for the three of them. “W-w-would you c-c-care to join us f-for tea?”
Miss Danvers swung her eyes to Lady Pamela with an expression that should have set the poor woman’s clothes on fire. The polite thing to do was refuse since it was obvious Miss Danvers did not want him there, but he could not let this opportunity pass him by.
Instead, he bowed. “I would be delighted to have tea with such charming ladies. Thank you very much.”
Lottie wanted to shake Pamela. The last thing she wanted to do was sit down again with the earl’s son. That was how she’d thought of him since their ill-fated lunch when she learned he was a member of the ton. He must surely know her mother. Or at least know about her. As she tossed and turned in bed that night, she had the horrible thought that perhaps he’d even availed himself of her services.
It was that consideration which sent her to the water closet to bring up the little bit of food she’d eaten that day. Then she calmed herself with the thought that if he knew her mother that well, he would have noticed—and most likely commented on—the likeness between them.
She had been much happier living in Bath dealing with her young charges and her two friends before Mr. Westbrooke had entered her life. Why couldn’t he go away and leave her alone? Then she wouldn’t have to acknowledge this ridiculous pull she had toward him.
As they made their way to the back of the store, Lottie fought the beginning of a megrim. She glanced at Mr. Westbrooke as they all settled in the chairs surrounding the table that held their tea things. He was still studying her in a way that only put her m
ore on edge. He was such a wonderful man, she hated that he might think she didn’t care for him.
She did care for him. Probably much more than she should. But she could not change who she was or who he was. His family no doubt expected him to make an excellent match and that certainly did not mean a courtesan’s daughter. They would be appalled.
Pamela hopped up and retrieved another cup, saucer, and plate for their guest and began to pour the tea.
Lottie was afraid to even pick up her cup since she knew her hand was shaking like leaves clinging to the branches in a windstorm. If she were to get through this, she had to gain control of herself. She was a strong woman, and it was only tea.
She took a few breaths and looked Mr. Westbrooke in the eye. “I see you have two books there, Mr. Westbrooke. What have you selected today?” She congratulated herself. Despite the perspiration that had broken out on her upper lip and forehead, she managed to speak like a normal person.
She had actually put two sentences together and did not trip over her words or sound like a squeaking mouse. Nor had she dropped a biscuit in his lap, or dumped tea over his head.
The smile he bestowed on her alarmed her. It was apparent she’d made him happy by simply speaking with him.
Please, no. No, no, no.
He picked up the two books and looked at the covers. “Flatland by Edward Abbot Abbot.” He grinned. “I don’t know why he has two of the same names.” He placed that book back down on the table and read the other one. “A Little Tour of France by Henry James.”
“Oh, Mr. Westbrooke, d-d-did you know M-m-miss Danvers went to s-s-school in France?” Lady Pamela said.
“Yes. Miss Danvers shared that information with me.”
“How very odd that you chose that book,” Lottie said. It could have been a coincidence, but she didn’t think so. “Just as strange as you popping up in Lottie’s bookstore twice in the past week.”
The Courtesan’s Daughter and the Gentleman: The Merry Misfits of Bath ~ Book Two Page 4
