Prejudice in Regency Society: An Impulsive Debutante / A Question of Impropriety. Michelle Styles
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and see if I can’t persuade you to invest. For days gone by. Please.’
Tristan regarded his cousin, with his face pleading. ‘I want no more of this deception. You will put matters right.’
‘If I must…’ Peter’s face showed signs of clear relief.
‘I positively insist. You will follow my lead. Do not attempt to cross me, Peter. The next time, I will forget that you are kin.’
‘Have you memorised the list I gave you, Lottie, so you will know which gentlemen to dance with?’ Her mother grabbed Lottie’s elbow as they descended the stairs at Shaw’s Hotel the next evening. ‘You must make sure that you speak very loudly to Lord Crawley. He is as deaf as a post. And Sir Geoffrey Lea…’
‘Mama, I have read the list and committed it to memory. You have asked me this twice already.’ Lottie fought the temptation to roll her eyes heavenwards.
‘I know how inattentive you can be, Carlotta. This is a serious campaign. I had expected you two days ago.’
‘Aunt Alice sends her apologies, but the packing took time.’
‘Not when I do it.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff and muttered something about the incompetence of sisters-in- law.
Several hours at Shaw’s Hotel and Lottie come to the conclusion that her options were limited. Nearly every person she had encountered was well past the age of fifty or appeared to be suffering from a weak chin and watery eyes. Or both. The only possible glimmer of an idea she had was to steer the men towards other women. If they all found wives, she would be free.
‘But Mama, the men here are more likely to want a nurse than a wife. I will make a very bad nurse.’
‘A young titled widow is always in demand, Lottie. You can marry for other things later.’ Her mother caught Lottie’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, twisting Lottie’s head to the left and right before releasing it. ‘Your looks should hold another five years at least. Plenty of time. You need to think towards the future. I would see you married well.’ Her mother went down the stairs with a determination that Wellington would have admired.
‘Are you sure this neckline is not a touch too low?’ Lottie asked Henry as they followed in her wake. ‘Mama appears to have forgotten the lace. Perhaps I ought to go back.’
‘You never bothered about such things before,’ Henry said. ‘I feel certain that Lord Thorngrafton will appreciate the…dress. Or one of the other gentlemen. I dare say Mama was correct. There are any number of titled widowers here.’
‘They are all about one hundred years old except for Lord Thorngrafton, and I warned you, Henry, about him.’
‘You appear to know a great deal about Lord Thorngrafton all of a sudden.’ Henry frowned. ‘And he has yet to make an appearance.’
‘We encountered each other last November. Martha Irons saved me from disaster with her timely swoon.’ Lottie demurely lowered her eyelashes. ‘But my lace, Henry. Is the neckline not a bit daring? The dress is two seasons old.’
‘It looks lovely from where I stand.’ The low rumble of a voice washed over her. Lottie froze as she felt a hot tide of red flush her face. He was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be safely in Haydon Bridge or wherever rakes went. Certainly not here.
‘Are we acquainted, sir?’ Henry’s voice had become frigid.
‘Tristan Dyvelston.’ Tristan’s voice was cool. ‘Perhaps, Peter, you would be so good to introduce us.’
‘My cousin, Henry, my cousin.’ Peter Dyvelston, Lord Thorngrafton, came forward and caught Henry by the arm. ‘It was my mistake. Tristan, I told you about Henry Charlton and his charming sister, Miss Charlton. Where is your delightful mother? I was looking forward to speaking with her again. We had such an amusing conversation the other night.’
Lottie stared at the impeccably dressed gentleman standing next to Lord Thorngrafton. Her pulse began to race and she struggled to remember how to breathe. She had told herself that she had been mistaken, that Tristan could not be that handsome. But her memory had lied.
He was far more.
The darkness of his frock coat contrasted with his face, and his cream trousers skimmed his figure. But what was he doing here and in the company of Lord Thorngrafton? He had given the impression the other day that he had very little to do with the man. Lottie tightened her grip on her fan and hoped that he would not make any untoward remarks about their last meeting.
‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie held out a gloved hand, prayed that his lips wouldn’t brush it, then prayed that they would.
Tristan regarded the trio in front of him. The mother and the brother were types he was used to, but Lottie Charlton in an evening gown was a piece of shimmering blue confection. The form-fitting bodice bowed out at her waist and her petticoats swirled about her ankles in a sea of white foam. Tristan wondered if his hands could span her waist or would there be a gap? Would her flesh feel as warm between his fingers as her wrist had felt against his mouth the other day?
Her ear bobs swayed gently and her blonde ringlets were artfully placed on the top of her head. No expense had been spared. She was obviously angling for a husband, but which one of the geriatrics did she want? And what would happen if she knew his title? Would she use their earlier meeting against him? A pulse of anger ran through him. He would not be so easily ensnared into marriage.
‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance at long last, Miss Charlton. I was confused as to your identity.’ Tristan bowed low over her hand. His breath touched the thin kid of her glove, though Lottie drew back before his lips encountered her palm. But he had seen the slight flaring of her nostrils. ‘I have heard a great deal about you from my cousin.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Lord Thorngrafton has taken a suite of rooms here and my cousin is permitting me to share them.’ Tristan watched the comprehension grow on Peter’s face. The masquerade would continue for tonight, until the precise nature of the situation was clear. It paid to be cautious.
‘How did you get here?’ Lottie asked in a furious undertone, pointedly ignoring his arm. ‘You were in Haydon Bridge looking after your parents’ graves and hopefully feeling remorse at the state you allowed them to get into.’
‘I could ask the same of you.’ His eyes stopped at her neckline and flicked up to her generous mouth. ‘What did you come in search of? A husband? Your gown is admirably suited for the hunt.’
The corners of her mouth turned down and her blue eyes took on a mulish expression. ‘You do take the strangest notions into your head, Mr Dyvelston. Do you always give lectures in this manner?’
‘My cousin is here but for a short while.’ Tristan gestured towards where Peter stood, rapidly expounding on the virtues of lead mining in the district to Lottie’s brother. An unforeseen complication, but one he intended to his advantage. If Lottie discovered his true status, would she tell her mother about the incident in the cemetery? Would the mother use it as an excuse to ensnare him? He refused to take the risk. Peter would keep silent, he was certain of that. ‘I do not feel that he would be good husband material.’
‘And is there anyone you recommend in his place?’ Her tone was light, but her eyes narrowed as she fluttered her fan.
‘I have not been here long enough to advise properly,’ Tristan said, allowing his eyes to dance.
‘You should not assume, then.’ Lottie snapped her fan shut. ‘I declined your cousin’s offer before