“In plain terms, the man lives on credit. He rarely greets a morning sober or with the same female companion. In fact, I’d bet he wasn’t entirely sober when you met him.”
“You know this to be fact?” she challenged.
“His reputation speaks for itself, Lady Charlotte—”
“So does yours, my lord,” she snapped.
He winced. There was no defending that. “You deserve better.”
With a deliberate look, she perused him from the top of his head to his dirty boots, then back up to his eyes. “Yes, I do.”
Without waiting for him, she spurred her mount to a canter in the opposite direction, and moments later a groom passed Ethan, giving him a quizzical glance.
“Damn it.”
* * *
“You have a letter,” Agatha said.
Lottie looked up from her book. “I wonder if Father finally found a moment to write.” Yes, that busy schedule of drinking port and reading in his library.
Fine, that wasn’t fair. He’d been coming out of his decline these last few months, trying to do more with the estate—which was why she’d been ousted to London for a husband hunt.
Mr. Montague might be sending more poetry, but that was unlikely, since he was due any minute for a drive in the park. He’d visited every day since the picnic, but she’d managed to delay another outing until today. Perhaps he’d written to cancel their plans? Hope sprung eternal.
During yesterday’s call he’d mentioned being lucky to marry for love, and she’d nearly gagged. That made her decision easier. Lottie would tell him the engagement was off—not that it had ever been on—during their time today. Father wouldn’t be happy, but if Father liked the man so much, he could marry him.
Lord Amesbury had disappeared after their disastrous ride a week ago. Not that she’d looked for a light in his window every night since. It was merely an observation.
“It does not resemble the earl’s hand.” Agatha handed over the letter.
The precise handwriting was familiar. “This is from Rogers, the steward. I wonder if today’s post has a letter for Darling. That would make her happy.”
“Who would be writing your maid? One would think she would be a social outcast after her time as the town’s feather mattress.”
The term made Lottie grit her teeth. “That’s an awful turn of phrase, Godmother. To answer your question, she and Patrick have exchanged letters during his recovery. I think there may be a budding romance in our midst.”
“Do you encourage relationships between servants? It could make the workplace awkward. Considering that workplace is your home, I would discourage such a thing.”
“I think they’d be a good match,” Lottie mused. “After all, it’s been several years since Darling’s husband died.”
“Some might consider them an odd pairing. The former drunk with the former prostitute,” Agatha commented.
“‘Former’ being the most important word.” How lovely it would be to have her own household, where she could handle servant affairs the way she wanted to, without answering to anyone. Of course, Agatha would still have opinions, because she was Agatha. “Perhaps their history is common ground. Their pasts aren’t a secret.” It would be hard to hide Darling’s history, and everyone back home knew about the schoolteacher who used to teach while three sheets to the wind. “Despite their colorful pasts, they are wonderful people, with much to offer the right person.”
Agatha seemed content to let it go at that, so Lottie opened the letter. Rogers’s elegant script felt familiar, like a friend, although Rogers himself had never earned that designation. She read it through once, then again. “Father may have found a house for me. There’s a view of the sea and an established rose garden. Can you imagine a more lovely property?” It sounded perfect. Fertile land, a house with modern amenities, and a thriving nearby town—what could be better?
“This would be the property with which your father intends to entice you to marriage?” Agatha sipped her tea with a raised brow, staring over the teacup’s rim.
Lottie sagged in her chair. The house by the sea came with strings. Best not forget that, no matter how appealing it sounded.
“Not a subtle push, is it?” Agatha said.
No, her father’s lack of subtlety didn’t surprise her. Rogers would have written at her father’s direction. At least it meant Father was preparing to keep his side of their bargain. Now she had to keep hers—not an encouraging prospect when she lacked suitors other than Montague, whom she hoped to never see again after today, and possibly the absent Scotsman. Lottie neatly folded the letter back into its rectangular shape, creasing the edges with precise movements.
Dawson entered the room. “Mr. Montague is here to collect Lady Charlotte, madam. He’s awaiting her in his phaeton.”
“In my day, gentlemen came inside when they called. They did not wait on the street or expect a lady to come to them,” Agatha said in a what is the world coming to tone.
“Times change, Auntie.” She bent to kiss Agatha’s cheek. “I shan’t be long. When I return, I’ll take extra time dressing for this evening. I have to look my best if I’m to catch a husband.”
Hopping down from the high seat of the carriage, Mr. Montague swept a grand bow and kissed the inside of her wrist. “A vision, as always, Lady Charlotte.”
“You’re in a good mood today, Mr. Montague.” When he flashed that grin, Lottie couldn’t help softening toward him. After all, she had depressingly few friends in Town. The list of annoyances and doubts regarding him were bound to surface again when they parted ways, but the man could weave a charming spell when he wanted to. It was too bad their friendship would end after today.
“I had brilliant luck at the tables last night. Now I have the prettiest creature in London for company.” He helped her up into the seat, where she gripped the edge and tried not to look down. Goodness, these seats felt unstable.
Forcing a laugh through a suddenly parched
