An Impulsive Debutante

‘I believed Lord Thorngrafton’s attention was of a dis¬ honourable nature than honourable.’ Lottie settled on the horsehair sofa, crossing her ankles and arranging the folds of her gown. If she could turn Henry’s attention away from Lord Thorngrafton, she might be able to return to Newcastle after all. It was a matter of persuasion, applying the right sort of pressure. He would yield.

‘Our mother believes otherwise. She has had a conversation with the man in question and he remarked on your fine eyes and how much he admired them.’

‘Lord Thorngrafton spent most of last November speaking to my bosom. I do not believe that he once noticed my eyes.’

‘Carlotta!’ her aunt shrieked. ‘Unmentionables in front of Frances! Cover your ears, Daughter!’

‘I have done so, Mama.’

Lottie crossed her arms and glared at them. ‘It is true.’

‘Mama stated in her letter that he asked after you particularly.’ Henry’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do not play the sly puss with me, Carlotta. I have it on good authority that Lord Thorngrafton is possessed of a more than agreeable fortune. He saw the possibilities of railways, long before I. He is a business associate of Jack Stanton, a partner in some of his ventures. And you know how rich Stanton is. I have done some investigating.’

‘So rich that Mama would have happily forgone a title.’ Lottie made sure that her smile was sweet. ‘Letter or no, Lord Thorngrafton is up to no good. Why should a titled gentleman possessed of an agreeable fortune wish to ally himself with our family?’

Aunt Alice began to fan herself rapidly at the outburst as Henry’s face turned a sort of mottled purple.

‘Explain yourself!’

‘I simply feel there are other better places where I could go.’

‘You do, do you?’ Henry jabbed his finger at her. ‘Let me tell you this, Miss Butter Would Not Melt in Her Mouth! Should you fail to bring Lord Thorngrafton up to the mark, I will marry you off to the next person who asks. In fact, I am tempted to marry you off to the next person— Lord Thorngrafton or whomever—after this latest outburst. I have it on good authority that Mr Lynch is currently on the lookout for a wife, or should I say nursemaid, for his brood of seven children.’

Lottie stared at her brother in horror. He could not do that. Could he? She fought against the panic that swept over her, struggling to breathe against the confines of her corset.

‘Where is Mama? Let me speak to her. You cannot do that, Henry. I forbid it. Mama will be distraught when she learns of your unkind and uncharitable attitude.’

‘Mama is at Shaw’s Hotel, waiting for your arrival. And despite Lucy’s misgivings, I must conclude that it is the best place for you. You will catch a titled husband there, so help me God.’

‘Why are you doing this, Henry?’ Lottie asked in a small voice. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

‘My sister’s marriage is a matter of business. You have two weeks, Lottie. I am not an unkind man, but it is all the time I wish to be away from my family. You and our mother together…’

‘But…but…’

‘Perhaps we send for Mr Lynch now?’

Lottie stared at her brother. Once she had thought him a god, but now she knew he was a hard, unfeeling monster. He did not care for her future happiness, merely for what prestige or power her marriage could bring to him. What business opportunities might arise. Her value on the marriage market. Lottie refused to cry or give way to temper. That, she knew from bitter experience, would not help the situation. She had to be calm. Somehow, she would find a way.

‘I will go,’ she whispered.

‘Good.’ Henry turned his back on her. ‘Now, Aunt, may I have another of your esteemed muffins?’

‘Lottie, dry your eyes.’ Cousin Frances patted her shoulder. ‘Things like this are always happening in my Minerva Press novels and they turn out all right in the end.’

Lottie gave a small hiccup. Somehow, Cousin Frances’s sudden solicitude made everything worse.

‘Time to wake up, Lord Thorngrafton.’ Tristan strode across the darkened room, pulled apart the curtains and let the fresh air enter the wine-soaked room. ‘Or should I say, Cousin Peter? I had wondered who I might find at Shaw’s and had suspected that it might be you.’

The prone figure on the bed groaned, mumbled a few incoherent words before pulling the pillow over his head. ‘Go away. It is the middle of the night.’

‘Time to be up, Peter. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Play time has finished.’ Tristan controlled his fury at his first cousin. ‘Quit your shamming or you will have cause to regret it. Can you give me any reason why I should not summon the parish constable?’

At the mention of the parish constable, the man sat straight up. His florid complexion paled as Tristan regarded his first cousin with a dispassionate eye. There was a vague family resemblance, but nothing remarkable.

‘You…you…you are supposed to be on the Continent. Or, better yet, dead in some alleyway.’ Peter’s hand trembled as he passed it over his eyes. ‘I was sure you would never return to England. And Uncle swore it when I changed my name from Burford to Dyvelston.’

‘Changing a name and being acknowledged as his heir does not change the order of succession, Peter.’

‘I know that, but…’

‘I returned, Cousin, as I promised I would.’ Tristan stared at him. ‘I always keep my promises…unlike some.’

‘Allow me some moments to dress. This is quite a shock to me. You here. Alive.’

‘Not as big of a shock as it was to me to discover that Lord Thorngrafton had been responsible for a variety of actions. What amazes me is how brazen you have been about it.’

His cousin stood up and started to dress.

‘Don’t begrudge me, Tris,’ he said. ‘I thought you dead. I was sure you were dead. Uncle Jeremiah swore it as well. He told me that you were seriously ill in Florence… or was it Venice? Don’t matter, but I didn’t expect you to appear.’

‘Reports of my demise were premature.’ Tristan paused and brushed a speck off his frock coat. ‘And never call me Tris. It implies a familiarity that does not exist between us.’

‘But I am your heir. There ain’t no other and if you were dead…’ Peter ran his hand through his hair. ‘Be fair, Tristan. Uncle’s obituary, of course, made the papers and everyone naturally assumed that I would be the one… Who am I to dissuade them?’

‘And who are you charging all this to?’ Tristan made a sweep of his hand. ‘The best suite at Shaw’s is ruinously expensive.’

‘You need not worry. I only borrowed the title.’ Peter shook his head. ‘I am not that let in the pocket. And one has to speculate to accumulate.’

‘Good use?’

‘Exploring business opportunities…’ Peter gave a practised smile. ‘I have a plan about lead mining, and I just need a little capital. There is a piece of property.’

‘And it has nothing to do with the card game I heard about being arranged at Mumps ha’ not a mile from here. Or the two aged widows Lord Thorngrafton pursued without success last month.’

Peter winced and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. ‘You heard about that.’

‘Certain parties were keen to inform me of this development once I enquired. I am not without friends, Peter.’ Tristan regarded his cousin. ‘I warn you, Peter, the current Lord Thorngrafton will be above reproach, his name unblemished. I intend to restore the estate to its former glory, to undo the damage our uncle did.’

‘But…but scandal dogs your footsteps.’ Peter blinked. ‘It is why you went to the Continent. You killed a man.’

‘He failed to die.’

‘But you shot him.’

‘For cheating at cards. I had had too much to drink and my aim was less than true.’ Tristan gave a cold smile. ‘It has improved. Now your exploits are at an end.’

‘You remind me more and more of Uncle Jeremiah! He had the same aptitude for a chilling phrase. The same ice-cold eye.’

‘Shall I forget we are related?’ Tristan asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Please, Tristan, for old time’s sake, let me do this one thing. I have prospects. There are three youngish widows whose heads are turned at the thought of a title. Then there is this businessman, whose mother is impressed with titles, but if I can persuade him to invest in the old lead mine, it will return a thousandfold…’ Peter laid his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. ‘When we were young, we used to help each other out. I helped you escape to the Continent. You can’t deny it. You owe me, Tristan. I was the one who aided you and Suzanne. Made things possible.’

Tristan regarded his cousin. Peter’s body was already starting to run to fat and his face showed a certain thickening. Perhaps the widows and the businessmen deserved what they got. But neither was he ready to forgive Peter’s observation. He and his uncle did not share a temperament.

‘You did indeed. Perhaps I do owe you for that. I recall precisely why I was there as well.’

‘A simple misunderstanding.’ Peter held up his hands and began to speak very quickly as he dressed. ‘It is my best chance of getting the readies I need. I have spent time conversing with the businessman’s mother. She is here taking the waters. He is coming to visit and bringing his sister.’

‘His sister?’

‘She has a small fortune in funds… A week—that is all I want and then I shall never trouble you again.’ Peter’s eyes grew crafty.

‘Who exactly is this businessman?’

‘Henry Charlton. His sister is mad for titles.’ Peter gave a laugh. ‘I had thought to seduce her last November, but she slipped through my fingers. Then her mother appears here, an odious woman with aspirations, and informs me of her daughter’s fortune in funds.’

‘You tried to seduce a number of women last November.’

‘Yes, but they knew what they were on about.’

‘As long as you are sure. Virgins and the like can lead to unforeseen complications.’ Tristan paused. ‘We leave now.’

‘This very instant? But it will take me a time to pack and it is past checking out. I will have to pay for tonight’s room.’

‘That is your problem.’

Peter’s eyes grew crafty. ‘You will need a place to lay your head. Stay here tonight. One night 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.

Chapter Three

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 Christmas.’

‘So you did. I had forgotten.’

‘I am here because my brother brought me.’ Lottie risked a glance at Tristan’s unyielding profile. It irritated her that he thought her so blindingly obvious in her husband-hunting. And if he had made that assumption, how many of the other guests had also come to the same conclusion? Her mother could be terribly indiscreet. ‘My mother is taking the waters. She swears that they do her nerves a power of good. She enjoys the company.’

‘The sulphur water at Gilsland is renowned as is its matchmaking Popping Stone. I believe the numbers are about even.’

Lottie gritted her teeth. ‘My mother desired a bit of company. I shall not be following the footsteps of Sir Walter Scott.’

‘Did everything work out as you had planned for your cousin?’ he asked in an arch tone, seemingly amused rather than quelled by her remark. ‘Is your aunt pleased with your interference in matters matrimonial?’

Lottie examined the pattern of the carpet. He would have to bring that up. ‘I maintain hopes, but I misjudged the situation slightly. It was felt that perhaps I was better off departing as Mama was desirous of me arriving here. I am to be the belle of tonight’s ball, so I understand.’

‘Ah, you are here for the matchmaking.’

‘No, I am here to prove to my mother and brother that I can be trusted. I wish to make my mark in London.’

‘Do you think you will be able to? Many young ladies vie to become to the Incomparable, the Diamond of the Season. The vast majority are condemned to be wallflowers.’

She glanced up and noticed that his dark eyes were fringed with impossibly long lashes, the sort of lashes that were wasted on a man. But his gaze held no malice, only concern. A queer trembling overtook her. He, a near stranger, cared. ‘I think there are other places where I stand a better chance of achieving my goal.’

‘And the goal is…’

‘To make a brilliant match.’ She threw back her shoulders and made sure her eyes danced. ‘And you do not need to worry. I have no designs on your virtuous name. Mama is insistent on a title.’

‘That fact relieves me no end.’ He gave a short laugh.

‘I thought it would.’

‘Who are you hunting?’

‘Mama has made a list, but I fear she has not consulted Burke’s recently and is doomed to disappointment.’ Lottie rubbed her eye, relieved to be explaining the problems. Tristan Dyvelston, at least, was a sympathetic ear and he might have a solution to her problem. ‘I distinctly heard Lord Foster mention a wife and she has him down as a widower. I am not sure if she has been careless or if she simply made a mistake. These things can happen even in the best ordered of campaigns. But it doesn’t really matter as I have no intention of marrying, simply demonstrating to Mama that I can behave properly. There will be no scandals clinging to my skirts.’

‘Sometimes scandals happen whether one is trying to avoid them or not.’

‘What does it feel like to be on the outside of society, Mr Dyvelston?’ Lottie tilted her head to one side, making her smile sweet.

His eyes became a deep black as the barb hit home and he inclined his head. ‘It is a cold and bleak place, Miss Charlton. You would not care for it. And yet women are easily banished there. Too easily.’

Lottie grasped her fan tighter and struggled to breathe against the tightness of her corset.

‘No, I probably would not, but then it is unlikely I shall have to encounter it.’ She gave her ringlets a little toss. ‘I plan to be at the very heart of society. It is my natural place.’

‘Are you determined to marry a title, then? Against the odds?’

‘It is as easy to love a titled man as an untitled one.’ Lottie glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice. ‘One of Mama’s little sayings, and it does seem to mean so much to her. She has aspirations.’

‘So your sights are set on Thorngrafton, as much as you try to deny it. I will warn you for the last time, Miss Charlton, my cousin is not to be trusted. Please consider long and hard if he does make an offer.’

‘His title includes a baronetcy, one of the original ones purchased from Charles I, or so Henry says.’ Lottie tapped her fan against her mouth, suddenly aware that she had perhaps revealed too much. ‘It is an honourable title, but I hope to do better. I want to convince Mama that a London Season is what I need.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Because I have yet to convince my brother.’ Lottie held up her hand. ‘I know what you must think of me. Coldhearted, unemotional and obsessed with titles, Mr Dyvelston, but may I remind you that you are hardly a person to be sitting in judgement.’

‘I never judge my fellow human beings, Miss Charlton.’ A dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Particularly when the person in question is as refreshing about her intentions as you.’

Lottie’s breath caught in her throat. Why couldn’t Tristan Dyvelston have a title? It would make life much simpler. She would not have minded setting her cap for him, despite saying otherwise. He was exciting, different. He did not melt at a flutter of her eyelashes, and, more importantly, he did not treat her as an inanimate object or speak exclusively to her breasts. ‘I hardly see any point in pretence, Mr Dyvelston.’

‘Will you save a waltz for me?’

Lottie turned her face towards the corniced ceiling as she tried to resist the sudden quickening of her pulse. A waltz in his arms. ‘If you like…’

‘Lottie, do hurry up. Lottie!’ her mother called. ‘There are a number of people who are desirous of meeting you.’

‘One should always be careful about whom one meets in a hotel, Miss Charlton.’ His eyes held something hidden. ‘There can be no telling if they are the genuine article or not.’