Home.
She said it with a familiarity he felt in his soul. For this had been her home. With Lily.
Suddenly he felt a flash of self-castigation for having judged the cottage so harshly, the way any arrogant earl would—one who had never known a life that did not consist of wealth. Even when he thought himself sorely without.
‘That was where Dina sat.’ Lottie indicated the seat opposite her. ‘She was always so kind to Lily in my absence. She moved to Hastings to be with her parents after...’ Lottie faltered, losing some of her zeal for a moment and clearing her throat. ‘And this is where Lily sat.’
Her fingers trailed over the table in front of the chair that sat between the other two. The gentle touch left streaks in the dust, but Lottie didn’t seem to notice.
‘Dina said when I was in London Lily would drag her chair to the window by the door to watch for me.’ Lottie looked at the window and smiled through the tears glittering in her eyes. ‘I tried to come as often as I could.’
‘She clearly enjoyed your company.’ Evander swept his thumb over her cheek, where one tear had escaped.
Lottie took him to the hearth next, and shared how they would sing songs before the fire as Lily prepared for bed.
On and on the stories went, their details filling Evander’s mind with the little girl he would never know.
What was more, they filled his heart.
They stopped near the far corner of the room, where a desktop had been secured to a frame, boxing the piece of furniture in on itself. Lottie hesitated in front of it for a long moment. Then, lips pressed together and back stiff, she undid the latch and slowly lowered the top of the writing desk. Inside there was a pile of paper.
‘Do you...?’ She drew in a shaking breath. ‘Do you want to see what she looked like?’
Lottie placed her hands on the stack with a reverence that caught at his chest.
‘More than anything,’ he answered with his whole heart.
She took another breath, long and deep, which she slowly let out. ‘I haven’t been able to paint her again since. I left them here because...because I couldn’t bring myself to look at them.’
Even as she spoke she averted her gaze and passed the stack to Evander. The pages crackled in his hand, the watercolour paint having left them stiff. Though he knew they weren’t as fragile as they felt, he used the greatest care as he turned each one over and froze.
There was a little girl with laughing blue eyes gazing up at him, her mouth in a smile that reminded him of Lottie, auburn curls blowing against her cheek on an unseen breeze.
All at once those stories Lottie had shared solidified in his mind. The child who had been blank now had a face. It was her sweet likeness singing songs she’d made up, begging to let a rabbit from the forest live with them, and sticking her tongue out with concentration as she organised flowers in the vase before dinner.
Suddenly it was real.
She was real.
They were no longer stories, no longer something he couldn’t imagine. Now there was depth. Heart.
That happy girl in the paintings had once been alive. She had been his daughter.
And she was gone for ever.
Emotion swelled in him with a force he couldn’t control. He set aside the papers swiftly, so they wouldn’t be damaged, and covered his eyes as the tears began to fall.
Lottie’s arms folded around him as he gave in to a grief he could not control. They held one another while he pulled at a strength buried deep and mustered his wits.
‘She was beautiful,’ he said hoarsely.
Lottie gave a sad, tender smile. ‘She was.’
‘I’d like to see the rest.’ He reached for the stack once more, but Lottie set her hand atop it.
‘I would like to look at them with you,’ she said slowly.
‘I’d like that too.’
She leaned back against his chest. Her head came to just beneath his chin, which worked for them now as she lifted the pages and together they studied the first image Evander had come across.
Lottie had always had an amazing talent, possessing the ability to bring anything to life with a pallet of watercolour paints, some ink and a few brushes. What she had captured of their daughter, he knew, would be as accurate as any portrait that could be commissioned.
One by one they looked through all the paintings Lottie had left tucked away in the protection of that little writing nook. She shared the inspiration behind each one with tales that had him smiling and laughing. In each one Lily’s likeness had been captured to perfection, from infancy until midway through her second year of life.
Getting to the bottom of the stack was like turning to the final page of a captivating book and wishing to have more. Evander wanted the paintings to go on for ever—to show their daughter meeting him upon his return from his arduous travels, then later having her coming out ball, and later still marrying the man who won her heart, having children of her own.
Lottie looked back towards the door near the table.
‘Was that her room?’ Evander asked.
‘Hers and mine.’ Lottie’s gaze didn’t move from the door. ‘The other room was where Dina slept.’
Evander gently set the pictures back on the desk and led the way. The floorboards creaked under their feet as they walked, and Lottie’s hand tightened on his.
He waited for her to turn the knob, but she shook her head. ‘You. Please.’
He put his hand on the cool metal latch and pushed the door into the bedchamber.
The odour of camphor hung in the air, too sharp a scent to be dulled completely even by time. A small trundle bed lay beside a larger one.
‘I wanted to be there for her.’
The pinch of Lottie brows showed the pain she felt being in that room. Such memories were perhaps best left in her heart, and he would not intrude. He pulled the door closed and Lottie released a long exhale as though she had been holding her breath.
‘There is one final thing I would like to see...’ He didn’t finish his request aloud, but there was a resignation in Lottie’s eyes that told him she knew.
She led him back towards the front door, but before she opened it he asked her to wait and retrieved the paintings she’d done of Lily.
He hesitated. ‘If I may?’
Lottie nodded, and he returned to her side with the most precious treasure he’d ever held cradled in his palms. He left those beautiful portraits in the carriage, tucked in a small drawer beneath his seat for safekeeping, and then Lottie guided him towards the woods.
They walked for several minutes in silence, their hands clasped together as the clicks and pops of nature mingled with the chirping song of various birds.
Evander considered Lottie as they walked, seeing her in a new light. Not only as a confident, sure woman who had done what was needed to survive in his absence, but as a mother—a woman who had gone through great sacrifice for the wellbeing of her child.
What was more, despite what he had subjected Lottie to, she did not hate him. Even now, even with everything she’d been through, her heart was so pure that she could not hate him.
Tears pricked his eyes and he was filled with revered awe at this woman Lottie had become, and at the beautiful little girl she had raised with love despite her dire circumstances.
The forest opened up into a small clearing with a stream flowing beside it. There, at the top of a small hill, was a statue of an angel, the words on the marker indistinguishable from their distance.
But Evander didn’t need to read them to know that the grave belonged to their Lily.
Chapter Twenty
Evander led the way to the marble statue. Initially he’d thought it a likeness of their daughter, but up close he saw that the angel was older, with longer hair. With proximity, he could make out the words on the marker.
Lily Rose Murray
January 19th 1811—June 16th 1813
Lottie clung to him—not only to his hand, but also his arm, as if he was all that kept her upright. They stayed there for a long while, not saying anything, each lost in their own thoughts for the child that had been ripped away from them. Lottie with her old memories and Evander with the memories she’d given him by way of her words and the pictures she’d painted.
Behind the grave, the sun began to set. It was a ball of glowing orange, sinking into a pillow of clouds and casting rays of purple, orange and pink through the sky.
‘I’ve never seen the statue before.’ Lottie looked up, studying the marble angel with obvious consideration.
‘You haven’t?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t bear to. I had Sarah come and oversee its placement.’ Her gaze lowered to grass. ‘I never said my farewells to Lily either.’
Evander put his arm around her shoulders again and her weight sagged against him.
‘I was here, yes. But I was...’ She shook her head, as though she couldn’t find the words she was looking for. ‘I... I was in such a state. My heart had been ripped from my chest and my mind stopped without its familiar beat. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t come here. Because if I didn’t face it, I didn’t have to accept it.’ Her voice caught.
Evander hugged Lottie to him, wishing he could go back to that day and be the one to help her through such grief.
‘Are you ready to say farewell now?’ Evander asked.
Lottie pulled in a deep breath and tears filled her eyes.
‘I want to thank you,’ Evander said. ‘You’ve given me the greatest gift today in letting me know Lily. You were both parents when she had only one.’
He pulled her into his arms, and she allowed herself to be folded in his embrace against him.
‘Thank you for coming here, for wanting to know her.’ Lottie looked up, her lashes spiked with tears. ‘She would have adored you. As I do.’
Evander stroked a hand down Lottie’s cheek. ‘I love you, Lottie. I always will.’
She pulled in a soft breath.
Something in his chest constricted as he recalled her fears about coming to the cottage: that she might relive all her anger and resentment towards him for having left her.
He would never fault her for such feelings. Most especially after learning about what had transpired in his absence.
‘I understand why you have been hesitant to trust me, why it’s so difficult for you to open your heart to me.’ He lowered his head to hers and spoke gently.
She sniffled and looked down at the grave.
‘I would give every last shilling I have to undo the past,’ he said. ‘To have been here with you.’
She returned her attention to him. ‘You didn’t know I was with child.’
‘My God, Lottie, I’m so sorry.’ His heart felt as though a fist were squeezing it, forcing out every drop of hurt. ‘You told me not to go and I did anyway. I left you alone to face all this with no one. I’m so, so sorry.’
Emotion choked off his apology. It didn’t matter. Words could never undo his horrible error of judgment.
She caught his hands in hers. ‘I forgive you for leaving. You left because you wanted me to have a good life. You didn’t know about Lily. You didn’t know what I was going through.’
‘I should have written more, ensured my letters got through—’
Lottie reached up and touched his cheek. ‘You couldn’t have known. This is not your fault.’ Her eyes searched his, clear and honest and filled with affection. ‘Evander, I forgive you. And I...’ She swallowed hard. ‘I love you.’
At the admission, she pressed herself against him in an embrace once more.
She loved him.
She forgave him.
Two magnanimous gifts he didn’t deserve. Yet those two things above all else were what he craved most in this world. He held her tight until a chill touched the air as the light of day began to fade.
Lottie shivered in his arms.
‘Shall we return to London?’ Evander asked.
Lottie nodded against his chest and allowed him to guide her in the opposite direction, towards the cottage. After only several steps, Lottie stopped and turned back.
This time when she approached the grave he held back, remaining where he stood for several minutes as Lottie knelt in the grass before the statue and bent towards it.
No doubt finally saying her farewells.
When she returned, tears shone on her cheeks. She brushed them away and took his arm to be led to the waiting carriage. They shared a bench the entire way back to London, taking comfort in the closeness of one another.
Finally, they arrived at her townhouse. She turned to him before the footman opened the door and parted her lips in preparation to speak. He hoped she might invite him inside, that the quiet peace of being with her didn’t have to come to an end.
The door opened and she twisted her hands—that old habit she’d never quite lost. She looked behind her at the rising townhouse, then back at him. ‘Good evening,’ she said softly, and gracefully exited the carriage.
He watched as she strode up the path to her home and thought of all the things that stretched between them. There was still so much left to say, to discuss, but the events at the cottage had been taxing on them both.
She loved him.
That affirmation at their daughter’s grave had been something of a balm on his wounded soul.
He waited until the carriage pulled away from her home before he slid the drawer under his seat open and withdrew the paintings. Though it was dark, light flickered in through the window from the gas lamps, allowing Evander to look again at the images of their daughter.
He ought to have married Lottie before he left on his quest to save the Westix estate. At the time he’d been too foolishly hung up on the notion that only a grand wedding in the opulence of St George’s would do. If only he’d known then what he did now.
Upon arrival at Westix Place, he removed himself from the carriage and trudged up the two short steps into his home, before wending his way to the study. He sank into the fine leather chair behind his desk and opened the bottom drawer, intending to put the paintings of Lily inside for safekeeping.
The small diamond chip ring Lottie had thrown at him at Comlongon sat there, atop the deeds to Huntly Manor. He’d purchased the property some time ago, fully intending to give it to her as a gift. Except there had never been an appropriate time to do so.
The same with the ring. He’d kept it with the hope of asking her to marry him again. He reached into the drawer and retrieved it. It was such a diminutive thing—hardly the sort of tribute an earl would give to his future Countess. And yet he knew Lottie better than anyone else. This would still be the ring she would want above all others.
Perhaps it was finally time to offer it to her once more.
* * *
A cold, empty house greeted Lottie upon her return. While she’d been at the cottage she had craved the familiarity of her townhouse and all the fine furnishings she’d used there, to try to fill the empty space Lily had left behind.
But seeing the comparison between the homes—feeling the comparison—made her realise how much more she had preferred that small cottage full of love to this townhouse full of wealth.
Her footsteps rang out on the tiles and echoed off the walls around her, and suddenly she missed Evander’s presence with a visceral pang.
When she had been at the cottage when Lily was alive Lottie had had to be a pillar of strength. There was no one strong to lend her support, no one like Evander.
She recalled how he had put his hands to her shoulders to brace her against the worst of the agony wrought upon her by seeing the cottage again. How he had fortified her as she leaned against him. Ev
en as he suffered.
A fire had been lit in the drawing room, and Lottie followed the warm glow like a beacon. The fire had clearly been lit some time ago, its logs now little more than crumbling embers awash in the grey powder of ash. She lifted another log from the ornamental metal bin by the hearth and set it atop the dwindling flames, sending glowing sparks scattering upward.
Heat blossomed from the hearth once more, and she held her hands to the invisible wall. Memories from the cottage overtook her exhausted mind. A little girl, giggling and pushing her cold toes towards the fire. Evander cradling Lottie’s hands between his own.
Evander.
She exhaled deeply and the fire licking over the fresh log wavered at the movement of air.
She recalled how he’d gently put aside Lily’s pictures before bowing his head into the large palm of his hand and weeping. For their daughter.
Her heart flinched.
He had never met Lily, yet he loved her. It had been evident not just in his tears, but in the flash of pain in his eyes when he opened the door to the room Lottie had shared with their daughter, with that terrible unmistakable odour of camphor.
It made her hurt for him to have understood fatherhood and loss on the same stark day. At least she’d had two and a half years to revel in the joy of parenthood before losing Lily.
Lottie’s initial fear of hating him again after their time at the cottage was unfounded. Rather, it had been quite the opposite. Seeing his love for their daughter only endeared him to Lottie more. Still, she should not have told him she loved him. Not the day before, when she mourned their daughter on the anniversary of her death, nor at her grave. Not after all this time of having been so successful at keeping him an arm’s length away.
Now he knew she loved him he would never stop his pursuit of her.
But she did love him. She always had. Even when she’d been enraged to find he had returned home, she had been relieved to see him alive after so long, fearing he might be dead.
No, she had never stopped caring for him.
And that was exactly why she could never be with him.
How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance Page 17
