Michelle Styles - An Impulsive Debutante

Peter winced and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. ‘You heard about that.’

‘Certain parties were keen to inform me of this development once I enquired. I am not without friends, Peter.’ Tristan regarded his cousin. ‘I warn you, Peter, the current Lord Thorngrafton will be above reproach, his name unblemished. I intend to restore the estate to its former glory, to undo the damage our uncle did.’

‘But…but scandal dogs your footsteps.’ Peter blinked. ‘It is why you went to the Continent. You killed a man.’

‘He failed to die.’

‘But you shot him.’

‘For cheating at cards. I had had too much to drink and my aim was less than true.’ Tristan gave a cold smile. ‘It has improved. Now your exploits are at an end.’

‘You remind me more and more of Uncle Jeremiah! He had the same aptitude for a chilling phrase. The same ice-cold eye.’

‘Shall I forget we are related?’ Tristan asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Please, Tristan, for old time’s sake, let me do this one thing. I have prospects. There are three youngish widows whose heads are turned at the thought of a title. Then there is this businessman, whose mother is impressed with titles, but if I can persuade him to invest in the old lead mine, it will return a thousandfold…’ Peter laid his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. ‘When we were young, we used to help each other out. I helped you escape to the Continent. You can’t deny it. You owe me, Tristan. I was the one who aided you and Suzanne. Made things possible.’

Tristan regarded his cousin. Peter’s body was already starting to run to fat and his face showed a certain thickening. Perhaps the widows and the businessmen deserved what they got. But neither was he ready to forgive Peter’s observation. He and his uncle did not share a temperament.

‘You did indeed. Perhaps I do owe you for that. I recall precisely why I was there as well.’

‘A simple misunderstanding.’ Peter held up his hands and began to speak very quickly as he dressed. ‘It is my best chance of getting the readies I need. I have spent time conversing with the businessman’s mother. She is here taking the waters. He is coming to visit and bringing his sister.’

‘His sister?’

‘She has a small fortune in funds… A week—that is all I want and then I shall never trouble you again.’ Peter’s eyes grew crafty.

‘Who exactly is this businessman?’

‘Henry Charlton. His sister is mad for titles.’ Peter gave a laugh. ‘I had thought to seduce her last November, but she slipped through my fingers. Then her mother appears here, an odious woman with aspirations, and informs me of her daughter’s fortune in funds.’

‘You tried to seduce a number of women last November.’

‘Yes, but they knew what they were on about.’

‘As long as you are sure. Virgins and the like can lead to unforeseen complications.’ Tristan paused. ‘We leave now.’

‘This very instant? But it will take me a time to pack and it is past checking out. I will have to pay for tonight’s room.’

‘That is your problem.’

Peter’s eyes grew crafty. ‘You will need a place to lay your head. Stay here tonight. One night and see if I can’t persuade you to invest. For days gone by. Please.’

Tristan regarded his cousin, with his face pleading. ‘I want no more of this deception. You will put matters right.’

‘If I must…’ Peter’s face showed signs of clear relief.

‘I positively insist. You will follow my lead. Do not attempt to cross me, Peter. The next time, I will forget that you are kin.’

‘Have you memorised the list I gave you, Lottie, so you will know which gentlemen to dance with?’ Her mother grabbed Lottie’s elbow as they descended the stairs at Shaw’s Hotel the next evening. ‘You must make sure that you speak very loudly to Lord Crawley. He is as deaf as a post. And Sir Geoffrey Lea…’

‘Mama, I have read the list and committed it to memory. You have asked me this twice already.’ Lottie fought the temptation to roll her eyes heavenwards.

‘I know how inattentive you can be, Carlotta. This is a serious campaign. I had expected you two days ago.’

‘Aunt Alice sends her apologies, but the packing took time.’

‘Not when I do it.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff and muttered something about the incompetence of sisters-in- law.

Several hours at Shaw’s Hotel and Lottie come to the conclusion that her options were limited. Nearly every person she had encountered was well past the age of fifty or appeared to be suffering from a weak chin and watery eyes. Or both. The only possible glimmer of an idea she had was to steer the men towards other women. If they all found wives, she would be free.

‘But Mama, the men here are more likely to want a nurse than a wife. I will make a very bad nurse.’

‘A young titled widow is always in demand, Lottie. You can marry for other things later.’ Her mother caught Lottie’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, twisting Lottie’s head to the left and right before releasing it. ‘Your looks should hold another five years at least. Plenty of time. You need to think towards the future. I would see you married well.’ Her mother went down the stairs with a determination that Wellington would have admired.

‘Are you sure this neckline is not a touch too low?’ Lottie asked Henry as they followed in her wake. ‘Mama appears to have forgotten the lace. Perhaps I ought to go back.’

‘You never bothered about such things before,’ Henry said. ‘I feel certain that Lord Thorngrafton will appreciate the…dress. Or one of the other gentlemen. I dare say Mama was correct. There are any number of titled widowers here.’

‘They are all about one hundred years old except for Lord Thorngrafton, and I warned you, Henry, about him.’

‘You appear to know a great deal about Lord Thorngrafton all of a sudden.’ Henry frowned. ‘And he has yet to make an appearance.’

‘We encountered each other last November. Martha Irons saved me from disaster with her timely swoon.’ Lottie demurely lowered her eyelashes. ‘But my lace, Henry. Is the neckline not a bit daring? The dress is two seasons old.’

‘It looks lovely from where I stand.’ The low rumble of a voice washed over her. Lottie froze as she felt a hot tide of red flush her face. He was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be safely in Haydon Bridge or wherever rakes went. Certainly not here.

‘Are we acquainted, sir?’ Henry’s voice had become frigid.

‘Tristan Dyvelston.’ Tristan’s voice was cool. ‘Perhaps, Peter, you would be so good to introduce us.’

‘My cousin, Henry, my cousin.’ Peter Dyvelston, Lord Thorngrafton, came forward and caught Henry by the arm. ‘It was my mistake. Tristan, I told you about Henry Charlton and his charming sister, Miss Charlton. Where is your delightful mother? I was looking forward to speaking with her again. We had such an amusing conversation the other night.’

Lottie stared at the impeccably dressed gentleman standing next to Lord Thorngrafton. Her pulse began to race and she struggled to remember how to breathe. She had told herself that she had been mistaken, that Tristan could not be that handsome. But her memory had lied.

He was far more.

The darkness of his frock coat contrasted with his face, and his cream trousers skimmed his figure. But what was he doing here and in the company of Lord Thorngrafton? He had given the impression the other day that he had very little to do with the man. Lottie tightened her grip on her fan and hoped that he would not make any untoward remarks about their last meeting.

‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie held out a gloved hand, prayed that his lips wouldn’t brush it, then prayed that they would.