Darling scanned the area. “What is it?”
“This is the route we often took on horseback. I suppose I’m following it out of habit.” Tears threatened. Utterly ridiculous feelings. She’d had a choice, and she’d made it. Granted, it hadn’t been a nice choice. Or an enjoyable choice. But given the circumstances, it was the wisest course of action. The logical, safe option. Ethan would need to rebuild whatever damage had been done, and for that he would need money. Money she wouldn’t have if she married him. In lieu of money, he’d need connections. She couldn’t even offer that. Father would disown her, which would leave her with no social influence of her own. Her peers laughed at her. Without a dowry, Lottie was a liability.
With this decision, she freed Ethan to focus on his responsibilities, even if that meant finding an heiress to marry. The thought brought a wave of bitter tears, so she didn’t allow it to linger. She was doing the right thing for him.
Besides, there was no undoing that letter at this point. Even if her father came around, she’d broken something with Ethan that couldn’t be repaired. To go from sleeping in his arms to ending things…there was no coming back from that.
“You’ll miss him,” Darling said.
Lottie blinked to clear her eyes, then turned back. “Everywhere I look, I see memories of him, and that will drive me mad eventually. We need to go home. I’ll tell Agatha when we return to the house. If we are out of London by the end of the week, that should suffice. Then I can take all the walks I wish, but do it in breeches, on my own estate. The one with the view of the sea. It will be lovely, you’ll see.” She wasn’t sure whom she was trying to convince—herself or Darling.
“I’ll go where you do, as long as we bring Patrick.” Darling tried to keep up with the rapid pace Lottie set as she scurried away from memories in the park.
“Without a doubt, if Patrick wishes to come, he’s welcome. I’ll need a coachman. Otherwise it would just be the two of us rattling around the property until we hire more staff. I don’t know, though. All that peace and quiet? There are worse futures.” Newgate Prison, for example. Or marriage to James Montague.
They were almost back to Berkeley Square. The steady clip-clop of hooves broke through Lottie’s thoughts. “Let’s move farther to the side. This carriage has been behind us for the last block. I fear we’ve been holding up traffic.”
“Most drivers would have passed and splashed muck onto our skirts,” Darling said.
“Ah, the rare considerate coachman. Here I believed your beau to be the only one of those in England.” The flush that crept over Darling’s face made Lottie grin. It felt good to smile amidst such hard days.
The coach drew alongside them, then stopped as the door swung open. Lottie barely registered surprise before a cudgel struck Darling’s head, and her beloved maid fell to the ground at her feet. The horrifying sight froze her as she tried to come to grips with the brutal violence of it.
A strong arm grabbed her from behind and pressed a foul-smelling rag over her face.
Then she knew no more.
* * *
This was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he’d ever done. When a woman gave you marching orders, you marched. It may have been a while since he’d enjoyed a woman in his life, but this one prickly lass was different. She’d managed to get under his skin and stay there. And damn it, he’d taken her to bed. Did that mean nothing? Ethan shrugged his caped coat closer around himself, wishing he’d paused long enough to dress properly. Begging a woman to explain herself might have a better success rate if he wore a cravat. Instead, he’d galloped away from Woodrest with only the bare essentials. If Lottie’s decision to comply with the earl’s refusal stemmed from doubts of his suitability, this wouldn’t help his case.
Late afternoon sun warmed his uncovered head, and the final colors of autumn crunched beneath filthy boots as Ethan thundered up the steps of Lady Agatha’s stately Berkeley Square residence. Obnoxious birds chirped their greeting from a tree beside the steps, inciting his glare. Today was not the time for timid brass knockers. In his current mood, he’d be tempted to rip the decorative bit of metal off its hinges, so pounding a fist on the massive door felt bloody brilliant.
Where was the butler? What was his name? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the name of Lady Agatha’s butler here in Berkeley Square. Dawson had stayed on with the rental house to serve the next tenant. Every now and then Ethan caught a glimpse of him going about his duties next door to Cal.
He pounded again, then tapped the knocker for good measure. Where was everyone? The footmen and maids? He raised a hand for a third time before someone finally answered the summons.
“Excellent, milord. Thank you for arriving so quickly. Lady Agatha is beside herself,” the butler said.
Wait, what? “You sent for me? Has something happened tae Lottie?”
“Did the messenger not find you?” the servant asked.
“Lottie sent a letter tae Woodrest today. Are you telling me she’s not here?”
“No, milord. That’s the problem. Lady Charlotte is gone. Her maid arrived home by herself not long ago. It seems they were attacked in the street.”
Already striding down the hall, Ethan called over his shoulder, “Lady Agatha is in her usual place, I assume? Is Darling with her?”
Trotting to keep up, the butler wheezed, “Yes, milord. Lord Carlyle only arrived a moment ago. We are organizing the travel now.”
The scene in the drawing room didn’t calm the worst-case scenarios whirling in his mind. Darling perched on a sofa, pressing a cold compress to her head, while Lady Agatha marched around the room, thumping a cadence with her cane, looking as
