After walking another quarter of an hour, the streets held a greater cleanliness and beauty and she loosened her guard a little. Great George Street had a different feel from the narrow dank alleyways that sat in the shadows of Westminster Abbey and she was glad to have arrived there.
Jasper King’s sister was called Mrs Gibson, a woman she had met once a few years ago on a committee set up for the Betterment of Women at Risk. Lottie prayed she would remember their association and allow her entrance, but this was just another problem on a day of many. She sniffed and felt red-raw pain sear her throat. She had lost her handkerchief somewhere and had not thought to add a spare to the contents of her reticule.
Her nose was dripping.
Using the back of her hand so as not to stain her dress, she wiped away the moisture, looking up at the house she had finally reached just as the sun came out, its brightness reflecting upon the glass and sending a shaft of light down on the street before her.
Perhaps this was an omen? Perhaps right at this moment Millie was already being courted at the party in the country by a man for whom she could hold a tendre. Lottie frowned even as the thought of what she was doing here had her crossing her heart, such a deception probably the worst idea she had ever concocted.
Lady Alexandra’s parties had always been full of people for whom Lottie held little liking, with their penchant for the chitter-chatter of nonsense and shared gossip. It had been a relief when Mama had agreed to allow her to stay at home in the company of her maid until she was feeling a bit better.
Jasper King held the answer to all their prayers. He might also know where her brother Silas was, for although she hated to admit to worry, it was most definitely there. Seven months without correspondence was an inordinately long time, even for her adventurous sibling.
Two young women in front of her stopped to look around as she took the first step towards the front door. Dressed beautifully, they gave the impression of questioning her presence here, but Lottie was as easily at home with the rich as she was with the poor.
‘Good morning.’ Her voice was as friendly as she could make it. ‘My goodness, can you believe that it is only a few weeks until Christmas and so very much to do.’
‘That is exactly what we were just saying, wasn’t it, Rachael? The year just passes by so quickly and suddenly it is the Season of Hard Work again.’ The taller woman looked far more agreeable now, holding the door open for Lottie to follow them. Without an invitation in hand she hurried up behind them and continued the conversation, smiling at the stern-looking servant who stood back from the front door and was seeing to cloaks and hats.
‘Thank you.’ With relief, she accompanied the others into a salon to the right side of the entrance, accepting a glass of white wine from another servant who stood with a silver tray filled with drinks.
The wine fortified her and made her feel warm again, the alcohol bolstering up both courage and anticipation. She knew no one at all, the two women she had spoken to having disappeared off into the far corners of the large salon. Still, she did not falter, looking around with hope as she came inside the room. He had to be here somewhere—Mr King with his velvet eyes and his beautiful smile—but she could not see him, the chatter in the crowd growing with each passing moment as more people arrived. How much did a person change in eight years? She prayed that she would recognise him.
She should put her spectacles on, she knew that, but some sort of personal vanity stopped her from retrieving them from her reticule. ‘Best foot forward’ resounded in her brain and she smiled as yet another of Nanny Beth’s sayings was remembered.
Thank goodness for her new gown, she thought, and as a wave of missing her mother and sister assailed her she moved on into the back salon proper.
Here the crush was worse than in the front room and, spying a window seat to one side, she made for it and sat. This would be a good vantage point, slightly elevated and comfortable. Her nose had begun to run again and she wiped the end of it with her hand, turning the wet palm into her skirt after she had done so and smiling vapidly.
‘Act as if you were born to be a queen,’ Nanny Beth used to say when they were children making their annual sojourn to the country and to another Malverly party. If there was anyone with a life that had been more difficult or more broad than her surrogate grandmother’s, Lottie had yet to meet them and so any advice was always heeded.
Lifting her chin, she did not waver and when she caught her image in the glass to her left she thought even her normally wayward hair was obeying Nanny’s long-ago command. The day spiralled in on her and she closed her eyes for a moment to savour the success of her plan.
‘Please Lord, let this work. Please let Mr Jasper King be here among the melee and please let him listen.’
Jasper stood at the top of the landing and looked around. His sister was here somewhere; all the good works she was involved in culminating in this Christmas charity event. Even as he thought this he found Meghan chatting to this person and laughing with that one.
Civil engineering, the family company, King Enterprises, and the great pressure of work that came with it had made him too busy for all this. He couldn’t remember coming anywhere near the social scene much, even before injuring his leg, and he was pleased to see a footman conveying wine.
Good wine, he amended a moment later, and, returning his glass, procured another of the same ilk. Fortified, he could probably do a better job here and he knew his sister would spend a good hour with him afterwards dissecting all the conversations they’d had.
A voice from the past made him turn and there before him stood Miss Susan Seymour, a friend of Verity Chambers, the woman he’d imagined himself to be deeply in love with three years ago before his whole world had fallen to pieces.
‘My God, is it you? Mr King? Verity said you were back in London. You do know that she has been trying to get in touch with you, don’t you?’ Susan Seymour was cut from the same cloth as Verity Chambers, her alabaster skin flawless and her eyes blue. Both had been beautiful women and Susan still was. The light caught the blonde tints in her hair and her high-necked bodice was particularly flattering. ‘I cannot quite believe you are back in London in person. You always seemed so immured in the north.’
She moved closer. ‘You knew Verity married Mr Johnny Alworthy a month after she left you, but did you also know that he died just over a year ago in an accident?’
The news was unexpected. ‘I am sorry. I had not heard that.’
‘Oh, it was not the tragedy you might think it,’ Susan Seymour returned, her voice low and husky. ‘As soon as she was married I think she wished she wasn’t. She was always so eminently sensible, but her love affair with Alworthy dissipated all that in a moment and was something I could never understand. Personally, I do not think she can now, either.’
The shocking truth of that statement left him marooned, as did Susan Seymour’s hand resting on his arm. The wine quickly drunk was also doing its bit to make him feel dislocated and all he hoped for was that his sister might come looking for him and interrupt.
‘It was her mistake to say goodbye to you, of course, and God knows why she did so?’ She let that question slide as he failed to answer. ‘Verity has not been happy since, so I can only surmise that being young has its pitfalls and they were ones she just could not have possibly predicted.’ This was said with intensity as her fingers squeezed his arm. Her eyes were full of question.
Jasper refused to be drawn into explanation. ‘Well, now we are all older and much wiser. Thank God.’
‘Older, perhaps, but you’ve created quite a stir here today. I have been hearing your name right across the room.’
‘My