'Yes.' Lottie's mouth was touched with sudden melancholy. 'I don't wish to stay away any longer, Eliza. I have missed all of you so very much.'
'You were supposed to marry Lord Radnor,' Charles said, regarding her with round blue eyes. 'He was very angry that you wouldn't, and now he's going to-'
'Charles!' A woman's agitated voice came from the doorway. 'Hush and come away from the gate at once.'
'But it's Charlotte,' the boy protested.
'Yes, I'm aware of that. Come now, children, all of you. Tell the cookmaid to make you some toast with jam.'
The speaker was Lottie's mother, a breakably slender woman in her early forties, with an unusually narrow face and light blond hair. Nick recalled that her husband was of stocky build with full cheeks. Neither of the pair was particularly handsome, but by some trick of nature Lottie had inherited the best features of each.
'Mama,' Lottie said softly, gripping the top of the gate. The children promptly fled, eager for the promised treat.
Mrs. Howard regarded her daughter with a dull gaze, harsh lines scored between her nose and mouth, and across her forehead. 'Lord Radnor came not two days ago,' she said. The simple sentence contained both an accusation and indictment.
Bereft of words, Lottie looked back over her shoulder at Nick. He went into action immediately, joining her at the gate and unlatching it himself. 'May we come in, Mrs. Howard?' he asked. He ushered Lottie toward the house without waiting for permission. Some devil prompted him to add, 'Or shall I call you Mama?' He put a mocking emphasis on the last syllable of the word, as Lottie had.
For his effrontery, Lottie surreptitiously knocked an elbow into his ribs as they entered the house, and he grinned.
The interior of the house smelled musty. The drapes at the windows had been turned many times, until both sides were unevenly sun-bleached, while the aged carpets had been worn so thin that no regular pattern was discernable. Everything from the chipped porcelain figures on the mantel to the grimy paper on the walls contributed to the picture of decayed gentility. Mrs. Howard herself gave the same impression, moving with the weary grace and self-consciousness of someone who had once been accustomed to a far better life.
'Where is Father?' Lottie asked, standing in the center of the parlor, which was hardly bigger than a closet.
'Visiting your uncle, in town.'
The three of them stood in the center of the room, while awkward silence thickened the air. 'Why have you come, Charlotte?' her mother finally asked.
'I've missed you, I-' Lottie paused at the resolute blankness she saw on her mother's face. Nick sensed his wife's struggle between stubborn pride and remorse as she continued carefully. 'I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did.'
'I wish I could believe that,' Mrs. Howard replied crisply. 'However, I do not. You do not regret abandoning your responsibilities, nor are you sorry for placing your own needs above everyone else's.'
Nick made the discovery that it was not easy for him to listen to someone criticizing his wife-even if that person happened to be her own mother. For Lottie's sake, however, he concentrated on keeping his mouth shut. Clasping his hands behind his back, he focused on the indistinct design of the ancient carpet.
'I regret causing you so much pain and worry, Mama,' Lottie said. 'I am also sorry for the two years of silence that have passed between us.'
Finally Mrs. Howard displayed some sign of emotion, her voice edged with anger. 'That was your fault-not ours.'
'Of course,' her daughter acknowledged humbly. 'I would not presume to ask you to forgive me, but-'
'What's done is done,' Nick interrupted, unable to tolerate Lottie's chastened tone. He would be damned if he stood by while she was brought to her knees in contrition. He placed a hand at Lottie's neatly corseted waist in a possessive gesture. His cool, steady gaze caught Mrs. Howard's. 'There is nothing to be gained by talking about the past. We've come to discuss the future.'
'You have no involvement in our future, Mr. Gentry.' The woman's blue eyes were icy with contempt. 'I blame you for our situation fully as much as my daughter. I never would have talked with you, answered your questions, if I had known that your ultimate design was to take her for yourself.'
'It was not my plan.' Nick let his fingers nestle in the curve of Lottie's waist, remembering the delicious softness beneath the confining stays. 'I had no idea that I would want to marry Lottie until I met her. But it was obvious then-as it is now-that Lottie will be better served by a marriage to me than to Radnor.'
'You are very much mistaken,' Mrs. Howard snapped. 'Arrogant scoundrel! How dare you compare yourself to a peer of the realm?'
Feeling Lottie stiffen at his side, Nick squeezed her subtly in a silent message not to correct her mother on that point. He was damned if he would use his own title to compare himself in any way with Radnor.
'Lord Radnor is a man of great wealth and refinement,' Mrs. Howard continued. 'He is highly educated and honorable in every regard. And if it weren't for my daughter's selfishness and your interference, Charlotte would now be his wife.'
'You've omitted a few points,' Nick said. 'Including the fact that Radnor is thirty years older than Lottie and happens to be as mad as cobbler's punch.'
The color on Mrs. Howard's face condensed into two bright patches high on her cheeks. 'He is not mad!'
For Lottie's sake, Nick struggled to control his sudden fury. He imagined her as a small, defenseless child, being closed alone in a room with a predator like Radnor. And this woman had allowed it. He vowed silently that Lottie would never again go unprotected. He gave Mrs. Howard a hard stare. 'You saw nothing wrong in Radnor's obsessive attentions to an eight-year-old girl?' he asked softly.
'The nobility are allowed their foibles, Mr. Gentry. Their superior blood accommodates a few eccentricities. But of course, you would know nothing about that.'
'You might be surprised,' Nick said sardonically. 'Regardless, Lord Radnor is hardly a model for rational behavior. The social attachments he once enjoyed have withered because of his so-called foibles. He has withdrawn from society and spends most of his time in his mansion, hiding from the sunlight. His life is centered around the effort to mold a vulnerable girl into his version of the ideal woman-one who isn't allowed even to draw breath without his permission. Before you blame Lottie for running from that, answer this question in perfect honesty- would you want to marry such a man?'
Mrs. Howard was spared from having to reply by the sudden arrival of Lottie's younger sister Ellie, a pretty sixteen-year-old girl with a full-cheeked face and heavily lashed blue eyes. Her hair was much darker than Lottie's, light brown instead of blond, and her figure was far more generously endowed. Coming to a breathless halt in the doorway, Ellie beheld her prodigal sister with a crow of excitement. 'Lottie!' She rushed forward and seized her older sister in a tight embrace. 'Oh, Lottie, you're back! I missed you every day, and thought of you, and feared for you-'
'Ellie, I've missed you even more,' Lottie said with a choked laugh. 'I didn't dare write to you, but oh, how I wanted to. One could paper the walls with the letters I wished to send-'
'Ellie,' their mother interrupted. 'Return to your room.'
She was either unheard or ignored, as Ellie drew back to look at Lottie. 'How beautiful you are,' she exclaimed. 'I knew you would be. I knew...' Her voice trailed away as she caught sight of Nick standing nearby. 'Did you really marry him?' she whispered with a scandalized delight that made Nick grin.
Lottie glanced at him with a curious expression. Nick wondered if she disliked having to acknowledge him as her husband. She didn't seem disgruntled, but neither did she sound wildly enthusiastic. 'Mr. Gentry,' Lottie said, 'I believe you have met my sister?'
'Miss Ellie,' he murmured with a slight bow. 'A pleasure to see you again.'
The girl flushed and curtsied, and looked back at Lottie. 'Will you be living in London?' she asked. 'Will you have me there for a visit? I so long to-'
'Ellie,' Mrs. Howard said meaningfully. 'Go to your room now. That is quite enough nonsense.'
'Yes, Mama.' The girl threw her arms around Lottie for one last hug. She whispered something in her older sister's ear, a question that Lottie answered with a comforting murmur and a nod. Guessing that it had been
