Prejudice in Regency Society: An Impulsive Debutante / A Question of Impropriety. Michelle Styles

looked at him like that. He wanted her to go on looking at him like that for the rest of his life, but he was a realist. Lottie Charlton, through no fault of her own, had all the hallmarks of a spoilt child who would grow into a spoilt woman. He knew what sort of trouble a woman like that could cause, if left unchecked. He would marry her, but she needed to be taught a lesson. If he confessed now who he really was, he would always wonder.

      Had tonight’s events been fabricated for her benefit? Did she really know who he was and was that the reason she had kissed him so passionately? And asked him to kiss her?

      He needed to know; until he discovered the truth, he would keep his identity a secret.

      ‘Gretna Green is but a few miles from here.’

      The entire crowd fell silent.

      ‘You mean to elope?’ Mrs Charlton’s shawls quivered. ‘You are proposing to elope with my daughter.’

      ‘It is the most sensible solution in the circumstances,’ Sir Geoffrey said, giving a decisive nod. ‘I will vouch for this man’s honour, madam.’

      ‘My sister is to elope? Married under Scottish law?’ Henry Charlton’s face expanded and he bore a distinct resemblance to a walrus. ‘Do you know what you are on about, man?’

      ‘I have agreed to do the decent thing and marry the woman, but it will be at Gretna Green, and not in some church wedding.’ Tristan straightened his cuffs. ‘It will save gossip.’

      He took great pleasure in watching Henry Charlton’s mouth open, but have no sound come out. Three times he started to say something, but somehow the words would not appear. He tried jabbing with a finger. ‘You…you bounder. You will create a scandal if you marry her in that fashion.’

      ‘I have agreed to marry your sister. I am hardly a bounder. And there is already a scandal of sorts.’ Tristan gave a shrug. ‘I am sorry if the terms of my offer are not to your liking, but there they are. You must decide which is the greater scandal—your sister unwed but kissed, or your sister married at Gretna Green.’

      ‘But…’

      ‘You must decide. Or, better yet, let your sister decide. It is her life and reputation we are discussing.’

      ‘I suppose you do have a point.’ Henry Charlton gave a harrumph. ‘Carlotta?’

      Tristan watched Lottie. What would she do? Would she risk it? A wild exultation grew within him. The risk. The gamble. What would she choose?

      ‘Thank you for allowing me to make the choice, Henry.’ Lottie came forward and tucked her hand into Tristan’s. He glanced down at her, impressed with her dignity in the face of her brother’s blustering and her mother’s shrieking. She appeared to have accepted her fate. ‘Mr Dyvelston is correct. Banns and the like will simply point to a harum-scarum marriage. I will make a runaway match. Far more romantic.’

       Chapter Four

      ‘Not the watercolours, Lottie. And only one satchel, you heard Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie’s mother hurried into the room where Lottie sat packing. ‘You will need a complete new wardrobe now that you are married. I dare say that he plans to buy it. It is the best way.’

      Lottie tucked the watercolours and brushes into her bag. The first words her mother had said to her were a complaint. ‘I heard Mr Dyvelston the first time, Mama, and I intend to paint on my wedding trip. I am being practical.’

      ‘You have dashed all my hopes and plans for your future.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘And now all you can talk of is painting. Have you no consideration for my nerves? For what you have done to your brother? To me? You were supposed to wed a titled man. It was to be the culmination of everything.’

      ‘I am getting married, Mama. He is connected to a title.’

      ‘Yes, but will anyone know? I should never have let Sir Geoffrey sway me. I should have insisted on a proper marriage.’ Her mother buried her face in a handkerchief. ‘Lucy warned me that you would come to a bad end with your tricks and you have. You are a lucky woman that Mr Dyvelston turned out to be a gentleman. Goodness knows what you were thinking…Sir Geoffrey had made an offer for you. How could you do this to me?’

      Lottie slammed another pair of stockings into the satchel. She refused to dignify her mother’s remark with a reply.

      ‘Well, Carlotta, what do you have to say for yourself? How can you explain away what you did? The man has no title, nothing to recommend him. Why did you kiss him?’

      ‘You were quite prepared to marry me off to Jack Stanton.’

      ‘Lottie, you ungrateful child!’ Her mother gave a sharp intake of breath, went white and she waved her hand in front of her face, choking. ‘My medicine, Lottie.’

      Lottie rushed to the washstand, picked up the small vial, pulled off the stopper and held the smelling salts under her mother’s nose. Her mother inhaled deeply; gradually, her colour returned to normal. Lottie breathed again. ‘Are you better, Mama? I did not intend to give you another attack. You should take more care.’

      ‘Me? You are the one who should have been cautious. I had everything arranged.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You threw it all away, you ungrateful spoilt child. Well, young lady—’

      ‘I am marrying Mr Dyvelston, Mama.’ Lottie fastened the satchel. She adjusted her pelisse and bonnet. It made a charming picture over her paisley silk afternoon dress. The cut was fashionable and Lottie had made sure the corset was laced extra tight in order to show off her waist. She wanted Tristan to look again at her with those smouldering eyes. ‘Neither of us planned it, but it will save me and the family from ruin. I cannot undo the past. And Tristan does have connections, Mama. He is Lord Thorngrafton’s cousin.’

      ‘Lottie, Lottie. I cannot help but worry. Though Sir Geoffrey says that this is the best way and I must trust him.’

      ‘And it saves the expense of a London Season. You might remind Henry of that, if he intends on huffing and puffing.’

      Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘Yes, I suppose Dyvelston is doing the decent thing. But I care about my daughter’s future. You were given every advantage.’

      ‘I believe in my case, if I fail to marry, the advantages will mean nothing. I will be ruined, Mama. And won’t I spend my life repenting that as well?’

      ‘Oh, you young creatures are all the same. You think you know everything.’ Her mother threw up her hands and Lottie wondered if she was going to have to retrieve the smelling salts again. She shifted uneasily, hating the disloyal thought, but she had seen how her mother had used the attacks before. ‘A man should respect his wife. If you keep giving in to your passion, it will be the road to ruin. Your poor papa and I had a good marriage based on mutual respect and duty.’

      And what about love? Or desire? Lottie stopped the words and allowed the remainder of her mother’s diatribe to flow over her. She did not love Tristan, but she knew that there had to be more to a marriage than respectability. And she certainly did not want a title if Sir Geoffrey Lea was offering it. She was not a pawn to be sacrificed for her mother and brother’s social ambition. She would lead her own life.

      ‘You are not attending, Carlotta.’

      ‘Mama, it is time to go.’ Lottie leant forward and kissed her mother’s cold cheek. ‘I am getting married today to a good man. I can sense it in him.’

      ‘Lottie, Lottie. There is more to being a good man than a pair of broad shoulders and a smooth dancing step.’ Her mother’s hands grasped Lottie’s upper arms and she made a clucking noise at the back of her throat. ‘You are such a child, Lottie. I blame myself. There is so much