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

blame her for what happened. It was not what either of them had anticipated, but she would do her best. Surely being married to him would be pleasant. A great wave of tiredness washed over her. It seemed liked for ever since she had kissed Aunt Alice and Cousin Frances goodbye. What would Frances say when she learnt her cousin had married the notorious Tristan Dyvelston? She gave a small sleepy smile and settled her back more firmly against the seat. There was at least that.

      ‘I will close my eyes for a moment. It is really quite pleasant to be able to lean against someone. Comforting.’

      His arm came around her and held her. ‘It will work, Lottie. You must see that.’

      The sun had risen and the road teemed with carts, carriages and various livestock by the time the carriage reached the outskirts of Gretna Green. Tristan’s muscles ached from the journey and his arm had gone to sleep. However, Lottie had snuggled close. Her warm body touched his. He looked to where her red lips had parted, soft and inviting. Her lavender scent rose around like a perfumed cloud.

      It had taken a vast reserve of Tristan’s self-restraint not to pull her more firmly into his arms and make love to her in the carriage.

      He forced his body to wait, to remember that she was a virgin and unused to such things. He would have the rest of his life to get to know her.

      But first he had to be certain of why she had married him so quickly, why she had agreed to his suggestion. Did she know his true identity? Had she seen this as her only remaining chance to fulfil her mother’s expectations and marry a title? He was under no illusions how powerful an incentive such expectations could be, but he wanted to know that she had married for the man, not the status. He had to know.

      The carriage slowed down to a crawl and the noise of the town resounded in the enclosed space. They had arrived in Gretna Green and Tristan knew he had to act, he could no longer afford to sit and cradle his wife-to-be. He gently eased the sleeping Lottie from his shoulder and banged on the roof with his cane. Instantly the carriage halted. Tristan stepped out and closed the door behind him.

      ‘Market day, my lord,’ the coachman said, coming down to stand beside him. ‘There are drovers and farmers all along the road. I am thankful today is not a hiring fair as the town must heave then.’

      ‘I can see the carts and the cattle. The drover’s bellowing echoes off the carriage walls.’ Tristan stretched, trying to clear his mind. Today he needed all his wits about him.

      ‘Where are we headed for, my lord? The headless cross? A quick marriage and then back to London?’

      The coachman’s voice jerked Tristan fully awake. ‘Robinson, we had words earlier.’

      The burly coach driver’s cheek tinged pink. ‘That we did, sir. I had forgotten. I don’t understand the ways of the aristos, that I don’t.’

      ‘You are not paid to.’

      ‘But what do you want me to do now?’ Robinson rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Are you going to marry her, like? You can always send her home.’

      ‘Of course I am. I am going to marry the girl, and I am going to tame her.’ Tristan glanced over to where Lottie softly slumbered, her red mouth now pouting slightly and her golden curls tumbled about her face. He had to admire her irrepressible spirit. ‘I have to know, Robinson. I have seen too many women forced into marriages against their will. I have seen what it does to them, what it does to their husbands. She must want to marry me for me.’

      Robinson gave a long whistle. ‘It never did your uncle any good.’

      Tristan’s jaw tightened. ‘That marriage brought misery to everyone.’

      ‘What am I to do, sir? I mean, it is not right leaving you alone like this here. The London dockyards are refined compared to this place.’

      ‘You are to put us down, that inn will do.’ Tristan pointed towards the disreputable-looking coaching inn. ‘Then take the carriage back to London. Wait for my word. We will take the train to Hexham. I have sent word to Mrs Elton at the hall. There will be a cart for us at the station.’

      ‘As you say…sir.’ Robinson’s voice betrayed his uneasiness.

      ‘You need not worry. I am well used to looking after myself.’ Tristan reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out several notes and handed them to Robinson. ‘These will see you to London.’

      ‘And beyond.’ The man gave a soft whistle.

      ‘I want you to leave directly, Robinson. No hanging about.’ Tristan looked pointedly at Lottie. Lottie stirred slightly in her sleep and murmured something indistinct.

      Robinson ran his finger around his collar.

      ‘It is the part of the plan I am uneasy about, sir. The lady is Quality. You can see it from the cut of her clothes and the way she speaks. She could be in danger.’

      ‘Nothing is going to happen, Robinson. I promise that.’

      ‘It is not you that I am worried about. It is that lass. How will she react? Someone ought to watch over her, like.’ Robinson assumed a pious expression that was at odds with his former occupation as a boxer.

      ‘Hopefully, she will reject temptation and obey my instructions, but if not, her lessons in life and treating people properly begin now. The ride in the carriage convinced me of it.’

      ‘If that is what you want.’ Robinson resumed his place, grumbling about the swells and their peculiar ideas.

      Tristan stepped back into the carriage and smoothed a damp curl from her forehead as the wheels began turning again. ‘Time to wake up, Lottie. We are nearly there. See. It’s the headless cross.’

      She wrinkled her nose and pushed at his hand.

      ‘It is far too early for such things, Cousin Frances.’ Her eyes flew open and widened at the sight of her hand clutching his. Her cheeks took on an even rosier hue. And she rapidly dropped his hand. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

      She sat up and began to rearrange her dress and bonnet.

      ‘Did you have a pleasant slumber?’ Tristan asked.

      ‘I fear I fell asleep on you. Our limbs became entangled and I may have mussed up your shirtfront. You should have woken me. It was presumptuous of me.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Do say that you forgive me. Please do.’

      ‘We will be married today, Lottie. Man and wife. No one will say a word if you fall asleep on my shoulder.’

      ‘I suppose not.’ She bent her head so that all he could see was the crown of her straw bonnet and its elaborate blue ribbon. ‘I keep forgetting. It is all very sudden. It is the best thing. I know it is the best thing.’

      ‘Good.’ Tristan lifted her chin so he looked her in the face. For an instant he drank in her luminous beauty. Then he hardened his heart. He wanted her beauty to be more than skin deep. He wanted her to want him for more than a title and his worldly goods. He had to carry out his experiment. He had to show her that there was more to life than social calls and pincushions. Life was to be lived, and not reflected in a Claude glass. ‘I want you to stay here while I procure us a room.’

      ‘Here? In this carriage? On my own?’ The words came out as a squeak. Her eyes widened and she clutched her reticule to her chest. ‘I have never been left in a coaching yard on my own before.’

      ‘You will be quite safe in the coaching yard…as long as you remain there. No one will harm you. Your dress is of a certain quality.’ Tristan forced himself to walk away from her, not to take her by the arm and lead her to another inn. He had to do it, for the sake of their future.

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