Prejudice in Regency Society. Michelle Styles

no blotches on the paper. They would never know her wedding was anything less than marvellous. The shame would be unbearable. With a shaking hand, she added a few more lines enquiring about Mama’s nerves, and her nieces and nephews. Then she sealed the letter and handed it to the serving girl.

      ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

      ‘Your assistance is no longer required.’ Lottie took the last few coins from her reticule. ‘You have been most helpful. This should pay for the stamp as well as a little extra for your trouble. I do appreciate your help with the dress.’

      The girl made another curtsy and left. Somewhere in the distance a door banged and loud footsteps sounded on the stairs. She hurried to the bed, dove in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

      ‘Where are you, Tristan? Why did you leave me alone?’ she whispered and willed the door to open and her husband to appear.

      Nothing.

      A second set of footsteps came up the stairs, and several drunken voices argued about how much money was left in their purse and whether or not one or two of the lovely ladies downstairs would care to warm their beds.

      Lottie clutched the sheet to her, and looked wildly about the room for a poker, for anything to defend her honour with. Her whole being longed for Tristan to appear and to cradle her. But when no one entered the room, she forced her hands to relax.

      Her last waking thought before sleep overtook was that Tristan had not bothered to return. He was not interested in her. She wiped away a few tears and refused to cry. Crying only turned her nose red.

      How everyone would laugh if they knew—the incomparable Lottie Charlton spending her wedding night alone in a filthy flea-infested coaching inn, fearful of drunken drovers and abandoned in favour of a card game by a husband who had married her out of duty. Married in a torn dress, a crushed bonnet and with an iron ring for a wedding band.

      This was not how her life was supposed to go—at all.

      Lottie slammed her fist into the pillow and resolved that, somehow, she would triumph. She would make this into a glorious match, if she could only figure out a way. She wanted a diffeent way. She deserved better. She would find that way.