‘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.
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