Sophia James - Miss Lottie's Christmas Protector

Her head shook, the curls dripping like sodden rat tails where they fell beneath the hat she now wore.

‘I d-do n-not.’

She was shaking so hard she could barely get her words out, and the fury that he had felt when first seeing her trudging homewards doubled.

‘Get into my carriage. I shall take you home.’

She did as he ordered, sitting down primly and folding her cloak tighter in around her, though as he followed her in his damn leg gave way and he almost toppled into her lap, saving himself from doing so at the very last moment.

The talkative Miss Fairclough seemed to have disappeared altogether. This version was a far quieter one, watching him with those whisky eyes of hers in a careful and cautious manner.

‘The forecast is for heavier snow and the temperatures are plummeting. I doubt your brother would be pleased to see you traipsing in this part of London town alone and in such weather.’

The mention of Silas brought her glance to his. ‘You are right, Mr King. It was foolish.’

‘Surely someone should have accompanied you today. A maid? Your mother?’

‘My mother, Lilian, is in the country at a Christmas party of Lady Alexandra Malverly’s and my sister has journeyed with her.’

‘But you were not invited?’

The same slight blush he had noticed when talking with her before resurfaced.

‘I was sick.’

‘Which is even more of a reason to be warm indoors.’

The heat in the conveyance seemed to have aggravated her illness and he waited again for a moment until she stopped coughing, her hands winding into the material of her skirt and bunching it into tight folds. She looked like a small wet angel blown in by the winter chills, her hair all loose and her cheeks weather reddened. As he took in the curves of her body beneath the folds of her cloak, he glanced away. His right leg ached and his meeting with Susan Seymour sat firmly in his mind.

Miss Verity Chambers had broken off their engagement summarily after knowing the extent of an injury she could not abide. A note had arrived from her, the physician delivering it to his bedside along with the morphine. The shock had almost killed him.

God. He shifted his leg towards the carriage door, the altered angle helping ease the pain. He could walk again at least and the broken nerves did not jump into trauma with as much regularity as they had before.

But he was still a damaged man, inside and out—a man who could destroy Miss Charlotte Fairclough with all her joy and natural exuberance just by being who he was.

Leaning forward, he threaded his fingers together. He would drop her off at the Foundation and leave. He would also write to her brother and let him know the family circumstances for he could not believe that the honourable young man he had once known well would leave them all so very much in need. He also wondered if they would accept an interim loan in the meantime from him, but did not know quite how to phrase such an offer without it sounding like charity.

Glancing out of the window, Jasper took in a breath and tried not to be mesmerised by the scent of lavender and lemon that was not quite submerged under the heavier odour of soaking wet wool.

He was scowling again, the laughing man she had warmed to at the charity event completely swallowed up by this ill-tempered one admonishing her at every turn.

It was still a few minutes at least until they reached Howick Place and Lottie wished she might have refused this ride altogether.

The trouble was, there was something about him that she felt a connection to, a connection that she had understood eight years before sitting at the top of the stairs and spying upon him as he had come calling upon her sister.

He limped badly. She had noticed this as he had led her into the carriage a few moments before and once she was inside she saw his hand drop to his right thigh and rest there. For support? For balance? Lottie had thought he was going to fall for a second when he had first joined her in the conveyance, but he’d recovered his equilibrium just in time to sit, heavily, eyes flaring in pain and anger as he’d looked away.

His rigid control was worrying for he was a man so unlike the memory of her gentle and loving father that for a moment she felt bewildered by her notice of him.

‘I am sorry to have been a nuisance to you, Mr King.’

She wanted to also add that he could let her out now but, in the light of the worsening weather, did not quite feel up to plodding the rest of her way home.

The tears filling her eyes surprised her. She seldom cried. Perhaps it was a mixture of relief over the knowledge of her brother’s recent letter and of the day’s convoluted happenings. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to temper her reaction and ended up with another fit of coughing.

Goodness, was she really much sicker than she thought and could she be spreading it to him even as she sat there?

When he handed over a clean white handkerchief she was surprised.

‘Nothing is ever as bad as you might think it, Miss Fairclough.’

It was monogrammed with his initials and pressed into such starched precise folds she hardly dared unravel it.

‘Thank you.’

He nodded, waiting until she had blown her nose before speaking again.

‘This weather will improve tomorrow.’

She had the distinct feeling that he was filling in the awkward gaps and giving her time to recover. He certainly had not mentioned her tears and for that Lottie was relieved. She sought to find some conversational small talk of her own.

‘The blonde woman with her hand on your arm at the charity event looked very beautiful.’

He did not answer.

‘Your sister looks kind, too.’

‘She is.’

‘I seldom go to these large affairs in town because they are always rather daunting. Mama is the one who more usually attends them, but she cancelled her invitation because she was going to the Malverlys’ instead. She enjoys Lady Malverly’s happy disposition, I suppose, because it is a welcome change from all the never-ending problems at the Foundation.’

At that he frowned.

‘Is Mr Septimus Clarke still there as the General Manager? I remember him as a man who had been there for a very long time.’

‘No, he retired last year and Mr Jerome Edwards has taken over his position.’

‘A new employee, then?’

‘But one who comes well recommended. He will be pleased to hear of Silas’s return, no doubt, so if there was any chance of seeing my brother’s letter, Mr King, I would like to show it to him. It might set his mind to rest regarding the funds.’

‘Of course. I shall have the correspondence delivered to you, Miss Fairclough.’

So formal. The chill of distance was back. She wished Jasper might laugh again or at least smile, but mostly she wished he might touch her as he had when he’d helped her into the carriage.

There it was again, that ridiculous sense of notice of him which had no place at all in her life. He was rich, beautiful and well connected and he had numerous women clambering after him. He was also a man who, at this moment, looked at if he was desperate to escape the cloying closeness of the conveyance and her company in particular.

People found her odd. Lottie knew that they did. She was too rebellious and independent and did not have the charitable patience of Millie or the overreaching goodness of her mother. She’d do anything to protect the women they helped, but sometimes, like Silas, she wanted more.

More of a life and an opportunity to see other places and meet other people. More of a chance to read and discover and know things that she knew she now did not.