Prejudice in Regency Society. Michelle Styles

‘Is there anyone of our acquaintance there?’

      ‘How did you find the bridge at Cruel Sykes burn?’ Lottie asked quickly. They had to get away from here before Mr Dyvelston appeared with a sardonic twist to his lips. When Frances was in one of her moods, everything would come out. Then she would never get back to Newcastle. ‘Was it easy to cross?’

      ‘Wet,’ Frances replied. ‘Very wet. Cold and slippery.’

      ‘Miss Frances fell in.’ Kent Shepard puffed himself up. ‘I had to rescue her.’

      Lottie did not miss the slight change of name. Some good had come of this afternoon after all. Her scheme showed definite positive signs.

      The golden portals of society and triumph beckoned. Tristan was wrong. She glanced behind her at the seemingly empty churchyard, biting her lip. As long as her little encounter went undiscovered. It had to go undiscovered. No one would believe that a notorious rake like Mr Dyvelston had gone to the churchyard of his own volition. He supped with the devil, according to Cousin Frances.

      Why was it that the attractive men were always among the most unsuitable?

      Lottie gave automatic answers as the conversation turned towards pleasantries about the weather. Her hand went to the place his lips had touched her wrist. She shivered involuntarily. She had had a lucky escape. Mr Dyvelston represented danger and she had best remember it. She would lead the sort of life that her mother and Henry wanted her to, if only she could return to civilisation. It was her destiny. She knew it.

      Tristan watched her go. He heard her bright laugh and artless explanation and then turned back to his parents’ graves. A small case winked up at him. He reached down and pocketed it.

      There was very little point in going after the woman now. Tristan closed his eyes. He had lied when he’d said that Lottie’s hair was ordinary. It was the colour of spun gold. He could see how men could have their heads turned. But there was something else about her. Something that called to him.

      ‘We will meet again, Lottie, you and I. And on my terms,’ he said, fingering the Claude glass and staring down at the village. ‘But first I need to determine who the false Thorngrafton is.’

       Chapter Two

      ‘I had expected my sister to be here.’ The sound of Henry’s pompous voice greeted Lottie as she entered Aunt Alice’s house. ‘You know, Aunt, what sort of mischief Lottie can get into when left to her own devices. It is precisely this sort of thing that I warned you about.’

      Her aunt’s soothing reply was muffled behind the door to the parlour.

      Typical, Lottie thought, the one time her brother decided to make the journey here, she was out, gallivanting across the country with an ungrateful Cousin Frances. It could have been worse. Frances could have spotted her with Mr Dyvelston. But Frances showed a singular lack of interest in her whereabouts or in the church. And nothing had happened, nothing at all.

      Lottie’s fingers explored the underside of her wrist. The imprint of his touch still burnt her flesh. What was it about that one particular man? Was it the danger he represented?

      ‘Do you have any idea of when she might return?’ Henry’s pompous voice brought her back to reality with a bump. ‘I have business to attend to and cannot wait around for ever. The train leaves for Gilsland in two hours. And there is not another one until morning.’

      ‘Henry, is that you? Are Lucy or Mama with you?’ Lottie called out as she removed her gloves and bonnet with trembling fingers. Why was her brother here? Had something happened? She would be brave.

      ‘Ah, Lottie, you make an appearance.’ Henry turned from her aunt and Lottie was surprised to see how fat he had grown. ‘Come and greet me. What do you have to say to your brother?’

      He had a well-fed look like a trained seal. If anything, the last five months had made him sleeker and fatter. She noticed he wore normal clothes and not mourning ones. Lottie gave a sigh of relief, thanking God for small mercies.

      ‘You should have sent word, and I would have been here.’

      ‘I had expected you would be here, doing your needlework or making another one of those pincushion mottos that you and my wife are enamoured with.’

      ‘Why?’ Lottie blinked rapidly and refused to let his cutting words hurt. She would have been here, sitting, doing needlework if only he had let her know. ‘We keep different hours in the country. I went for a stroll with my cousin. The fresh air is reputed to be good for most constitutions. You should try it some time.’

      Henry harrumphed. ‘I suppose there is no harm in a quiet walk.’

      ‘Now, tell me, Henry what is the news?’ Lottie came forwards and caught her brother’s hands. ‘How are Mama, Lucy and the children? They send letters, but it is not the same as hearing it. I do miss them so. Do say they are all well and that you are not here because of them.’

      ‘Lucy sends her regards. The children are well, or so Lucy tells me.’ Henry’s face softened. ‘Mama has gone to Gilsland Spa for the waters.’

      Lottie concentrated on her aunt’s patterned Turkey carpet. It could be that this was her best chance, far better than the marriage plans for Frances and Mr Shepard. She had to show that she had learnt from her exile. ‘Is my dear sister-in-law planning to come out to Haydon Bridge? There are some fine walks around here. I can tell her the legend of Cruel Sykes burn and she can look for the blood in the water.’

      ‘Yes, Carlotta and I went to the Cruel Sykes burn today.’ Frances nodded and her cheeks flamed to a bright pink. ‘It is quite a pleasant walk. I nearly fell in the burn, but Mr Shepard rescued me. Fished me out.’

      ‘I had no idea that Mr Shepard had accompanied you.’ Aunt Alice’s voice was chilling. ‘Who arranged this?’

      ‘He did not accompany us, exactly, Mama. We met him on the pathway and Carlotta suggested that he walk with us for a while.’

      ‘One can hardly be rude to one’s acquaintances, someone one has been formally introduced to.’ Lottie shifted uneasily. Perhaps she should have discovered Aunt Alice’s feelings towards Kent Shepard first, beyond noticing the warmth with which he was greeted at church.

      ‘Niece, are you going to explain further?’ Her aunt tapped her fan against the small table. ‘Is this some new scheme of yours? Why precisely did Mr Shepard join you and my daughter? Had he experienced difficulty with one of his cows? Goodness knows I have tried many topics with Mr Shepard but he always returns to his irksome cattle and their breeding.’

      ‘Our paths crossed,’ Lottie said, trying to forestall more of Frances’s confidences. From the thunderous look on Aunt Alice’s face, she was beginning to think that perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps Aunt Alice had not wanted the match for Frances. ‘And I…that is…we suggested that he might like to join us. He appeared quite willing to do so and in a jovial mood.’

      ‘Yes, yes, Carlotta made the suggestion. Mr Shepard is very good at rescuing, Mama.’

      ‘Ah, and did he rescue you from the burn as well, Carlotta?’ Her aunt gave her an icy stare, one that caused her to shift uneasily in her boots.

      Suddenly Lottie was very aware of the glaring and obvious flaws in her matchmaking scheme, fundamental flaws that she should have anticipated. She could not lie, but to tell the full truth would invite disaster. She had no wish to explain about Tristan Dyvelston, and the kiss on her wrist.

      ‘You might well ask that, but the truth is…’

      ‘Niece, none of your smoked gammon and pickles for me. You appeared to have outgrown the tendency once you