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Bartered Bride
Anne Herries
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesAnne is the daughter of a schoolteacher and a ladies hairdresser who, after leaving high school at 15, worked in her father's shop until she married.She ran her own hairdressing salon for a while, then gave it up to write and help her husband run his antique business. Her first success came in 1979 when, writing as Lynn Granville, she was accepted by Robert Hale. Success with Mills & Boon came soon after and Devil's Kin was published in 1981.Anne wrote 12 books for Mills & Boon before trying her hand at mainstream fiction. She has now written several books under her own name of Linda Sole and other pseudonyms. However, Mills & Boon remains one of her favorite publishers because of the friendly family atmosphere. She decided to write for them again while continuing her other work–it's a busy life, but fulfilling!Writing has always been a pleasure and is a dream come true for Anne. However, she is happily married and enjoys many other things in the company of her husband. Her main interests apart from writing are watching good films and reading other authors; also walking in the sun and swimming–mostly in Spain because it's warmer.Her main love, apart from her husband and writing, is for animals and birds. She loves feeding the squirrels that come regularly to her garden, as well as many varieties of birds–and even foxes during the recent bad weather. Anne says happiness comes from enjoying the good things around us.



“Release me from the contract and I will make certain Papa pays you every penny from the estate.”
“No. Jilt me and you will be ruined, your father and sister with you.”
“But why?” Lottie was puzzled.
“Because I need an heir. One woman is as good as another in the dark. Your father owes me and you chose to deceive me. You will keep your part of the bargain whether you wish it or not.”
Tears were stinging behind her eyes, but Lottie refused to let them fall.
“Have it your own way, sir. You hold all the cards it seems but you may come to regret this…” She walked past him and this time he let her go.

Bartered Bride
Harlequin
Historical #303—March 2011

ANNE HERRIES
Award-winning author Anne Herries lives in Cambridgeshire, England. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She invites readers to contact her on her website: www.lindasole.co.uk.

Bartered Bride
Anne Herries





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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a new miniseries from Anne Herries
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Praise for Anne Herries
“In An Innocent Debutante in Hanover Square, Anne Herries shows us how life was not always easy for the less fortunate in Regency England… These and other social issues combine with danger…making it a great read from beginning to end.”
—Cataromance

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Prologue
Nicolas, Marquis of Rothsay, nine and twenty, tall, strong, handsome, and known to most of society as a cold heartless rake, looked helplessly at the diminutive lady before him. Henrietta, Countess Selby, might reach no higher than his shoulder in her heels but she was the only person he would heed, the only person he truly cared for in the world—and, he sometimes thought, the only person who cared two hoots for him.
‘Marry to get an heir, dearest Henri?’ he murmured, looking at his godmother with a sceptical expression. ‘Who do you suppose would have me? The matchmaking mamas take one look and stay well clear of me for fear I may corrupt their little darlings.’
‘More fool them,’ Henrietta replied, a sparkle in her eye. ‘Besides, it is no such thing. You know very well that there are many young ladies who would be happy to become your wife.’
‘Why, for the sake of my fortune?’
His dark eyes smouldered, a mutinous, brooding expression on lips that could at certain moments be sensual and passionate, but were, these days, more often set in lines of disdain or disappointment. His memory strayed to a woman he had known some years previously, when he was first a green youth on the town.
‘The lady will give you an heir—or more than one to be safe. In return, you will keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Surely an heir is worth a little effort? You owe it to the family, Nicolas. Also, you should remember your father’s last request. He did not exactly make it a condition of his will, but it was his dying wish that you should provide the estate with an heir. You are in your thirtieth year, dearest, and while I would not suggest you are past your prime, I should hate you to leave things too late.’
‘Should you, dearest Henri?’ Only his beloved godmother would dare to say such a thing to him, and only she could make him smile at the idea that he might soon be past his prime. ‘I suppose Cousin Raymond might be called my heir?’
‘That nincompoop? He has no more brain than a pea-goose and thinks only of his appearance and what is the latest scandalous tale upon the town.’ Henrietta fixed him with a compelling stare. ‘If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for me. Had I to refer to Raymond as the head of the family, I should soon find myself in my grave.’
‘Poor Henri.’ Nicolas smiled affectionately, becoming in that moment a very different man than was known in the clubs and certain drawing rooms in London. ‘Has my cousin been lecturing you on my morals again? He tried to remind me of my duty to the family name recently. I fear I sent him about his business with his tail between his legs.’
‘Perfectly understandable. I should have done the same in your place. He has no right to tell you how to behave, Rothsay. Yet, do you not see, that makes it all the more important for you to set up your nursery? If Raymond begins to imagine himself your rightful heir, it will make him more conceited than ever—and perhaps resentful if at the last minute you produce an heir. Besides, the children of old men are often weaklings.’
‘Henrietta, I adore you.’ Nicolas swept his godmother from her feet, planting a kiss on her cheek. She gave him a mocking wrathful look and he set her down carefully. ‘Forgive me, but you tempt me so.’
‘Remember I am more than twice your age and to be treated with respect,’ Henrietta said, but there was a smile in her eyes. ‘Will you at least consider marriage, Nicolas?’
Nicolas caught the hint of tears in her eyes and realised that the matter of his heir was important to her. She had no children of her own and, although not precisely lonely, for she had many friends, she must wish for a child to dote on. He suspected that his godmother had not been truly well for a while now. She might be thinking of making her own will, and, while he knew himself her favourite, he believed she would leave her fortune to his son if he had one. She was forever telling him he had more money than was good for him.
In his heart Nicolas knew that her pleas made perfect sense. It was time he produced an heir for the family. His father had begged him to do so on his death bed and Nicolas had pushed the memory to the back of his mind, a little resentful that his father should make such a demand after the neglect of years.
The trouble was that he had become used to his life as it was and had no wish for a change. Love caused more trouble than it was worth and he would avoid it at all cost—but perhaps a marriage of convenience might suit him? It was, as Henrietta said, his duty. He was not yet in his dotage, but if his lack of a wife was causing his godmother distress, he must certainly give it some consideration.
‘For your sake I shall give the matter of an heir some thought—when I return from Paris.’
‘You intend to visit Paris?’
‘Yes, for a few weeks. The company grows stale in London. I need a change of air.’
‘What you need is a passionate adventure,’ Henrietta replied. ‘I do not mean your opera dancers and actresses, who oblige you for the sake of the money you lavish on them. No, Nicolas, you need to fall desperately in love and to be brought back to life. I fear you have no real interest in anything.’
‘Love is a myth,’ he replied, withdrawing from her, a look of disdain upon his mouth. ‘If I marry, it will be to a woman who understands that I must be free to live my own way. As you said, there need be no more than a token marriage on either side. She will give me an heir. I shall give her a home and jewels and there it ends—if I find anyone foolish enough to take me, that is.’
Even for Henri’s sake, he had no intention of surrendering his heart and soul to love. He had witnessed the way love destroyed a man, making him a shadow of his former self, and causing him to withdraw into a lonely place inside his head. Nicolas’s father had worshipped his mother; when she died, he had shut himself off from everyone, including his only child—leaving Nicolas to cope with the loss of both parents alone.
As a young man he had briefly believed himself in love but learned a sharp lesson when the young lady laughed at his offer of devotion. After Elizabeth, he had decided that he would never let another woman under his skin.
‘Believe me, I can do without a romantic attachment, Henri. Love is for fools.’
‘Well, I have said my piece. You must go your own way, Nicolas—and now I shall bid you good morning.’
‘Leaving already?’ The smile had come back to his dark eyes. ‘Stay and have nuncheon with me? It is rare enough that you honour me with a visit, Henri.’
‘If you visited Rothsay Manor occasionally, I dare say I should see more of you. London is too much of a racket for me these days.’
‘You are not truly unwell?’ For a moment real anxiety flashed into his eyes.
Henrietta smiled. The boy she had loved was still there beneath the cold aloof manner he had assumed these past years.
‘No, dearest, I am not unwell—and, yes, I shall stay and eat with you since you ask…’

Chapter One
‘What have you there?’ Lady Hoskins asked as Charlotte Stanton entered the parlour carrying a letter. ‘Is it from your father?’
‘From Clarice,’ Lottie answered with a smile. ‘She apologises for not having written before, but they have been too busy.’
‘Too busy!’ Aunt Beth gave a snort as she looked at her favourite niece. ‘Too busy to write to her own twin? Well, is that not typical of them both? They leave you here and go gallivanting off to Paris while you have the bother of an invalid.’
‘I did not wish to go to Paris with them,’ Lottie replied a little untruthfully. She might have wished to go had her aunt been in better health, or if Clarice had agreed to remain at home with her this time. ‘Besides, you were quite unwell, dearest Beth. I could not have been happy knowing you were here alone.’
‘Nonsense, I have Muffet and the maids,’ Lady Hoskins replied, but the tone of her voice told Beth that she would not have wished to be left alone to cope.
‘I would much rather be here in the country with you than racketing around all those hotels and gaming halls with Papa. Besides, someone had to give an eye to the estate, though Mr Jackson is a very good agent and does his best for us.’
‘Well, I certainly hope that your sister is not racketing around gambling clubs,’ her aunt said looking alarmed. ‘It would be quite improper for a young woman of her age. Your father is a confirmed gambler and will never change. It was the death of my poor sister, never knowing where the next penny would come from. That, my dearest Lottie, is what you get for marrying a rake and a gambler.’
‘Papa did break Mama’s heart,’ Lottie admitted, sadness in her eyes. ‘She had to follow him all over Europe, never knowing whether they would have enough money to pay for a roof over their heads or the next meal. It was fortunate that Papa was left this house. At least Mama was able to rest here in peace for a few years, though Papa did not stay long with her. He does have a small mortgage on the house, of course, but the bank will not lend him any more. That is just as well, otherwise, I fear we should not have a roof over our heads.’
Lottie looked round the charming room. Although the soft furnishings and curtains were faded and showing signs of wear, it was a comfortable place to sit in the afternoons. At this precise moment the sun was pouring in through the French windows, which they had opened to allow for some air. The furniture was for the most part old, some of it belonging to an age long gone, heavy carved Jacobean pieces that gave Lottie a feeling of permanence, of belonging. However, the previous owner had been an admirer of Mr Chippendale and there was a very handsome bookcase in the best parlour, as well as a set of good chairs in the dining room. Aunt Beth sat in a comfortable wing chair, her sewing table to hand and a book of poetry on the wine table at her side. Lottie, too, had been reading earlier, and her book lay on the small elegant sofa.
‘What else does your sister say?’ Aunt Beth enquired as Lottie sat down to read her letter.
‘She says that Papa lost a large sum of money to an English marquis playing piquet…’ Lottie turned the page, scanning some lines of rather indignant writing from her twin. ‘Oh dear…that is too bad of Papa. No, no, he really has gone too far this time. No wonder Clarice is angry.’
‘Why? Do not keep me in suspense a moment longer!’
Lottie handed the letter to her aunt, who frowned over it for some minutes before returning it to her.
‘That is both ridiculous and disgusting,’ Aunt Beth said. ‘How dare he?’
‘What, you mean how dare Papa accept—or how dare the marquis make such an outrageous request?’
‘Both,’ Aunt Beth said, looking affronted. ‘I have never heard of such a thing—to suggest that your father should give him Clarice in payment for a gambling debt—it is the outside of enough!’
‘The marquis has said he will marry her,’ Lottie said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose in a way it might be a good thing for Clarice. Besides, it could be worse—he might have demanded she become his mistress…’
‘How can you think so?’ Aunt Beth shook her head. ‘The marquis must be a rake. He is probably old enough to be her father—a lecherous old devil who will lead Clarice a hell of a life.’
‘If he is, she must not marry him.’ Lottie got to her feet. ‘We shall know soon enough—they are coming home in a few days. Clarice said the marquis provided the money for their return. Otherwise they might have been stuck in France until we could send more money.’
‘And where would we get that, pray? I have nothing left but my pearls—which are for you, Lottie, when you marry—and fifty pounds a year. Clarice had the garnets when she was engaged, and she did not return them when she broke off her engagement. What little I have is for you, my dear.’
‘Do not speak of such things,’ Lottie begged her. ‘I pray you will live for many years yet. Besides, I am not sure I shall marry.’
‘Why ever not? You are the equal of your sister in looks, and your character is superior. She has had chances enough—why should you not?’
Lottie sighed. ‘I should wish to marry for love, but then poor dear Mama married the man of her dreams—and they very soon turned to ashes.’
‘My sister was a silly little thing, though I loved her dearly,’ Aunt Beth said. ‘However, I married a man who had both background and money—and look where that got me.’
Lottie nodded. Her uncle had not gambled away his money at the tables, but on a series of bad investments—including being caught in a scandal that had been almost as calamitous as the South Seas Bubble, which had ruined so many people in 1720—and had left his widow with very little fortune. Aunt Beth had been forced to sell her home and come to live with her sister and nieces after her husband died in a riding accident. Then Aunt Beth had taken care of her and Clarice after their mother died, and Lottie at least had become very fond of her.
‘I suppose if one of us were to marry a rich man we might all be comfortable.’ Lottie frowned. ‘But Clarice sounds very angry. I do not think she will agree and if she does not…’
‘Do you think we might lose the house?’ A look of anxiety crossed Aunt Beth’s face. ‘Where should we go then, Lottie?’
Lottie had no idea. She had lain awake more than one night recently, worrying about what would happen if her father lost what little money he had at the tables. She had begged him not to go on this latest visit to Paris, but he could never rest in the country for more than a few weeks at a time, and Clarice had demanded to go with him. Now her father owed more than he could pay and both he and Clarice were on their way home.

Nicolas threw his gloves and hat on to the sideboard in the spacious hall of his London house. His boots clattered on the marble floor, the resulting sound echoing to the high ceilings. He was not in the best of tempers and it showed in the set of his mouth and the brooding expression in his eyes.
‘Did you have a good journey, my lord?’ his butler dared to ask.
‘No, damn it, I did not,’ Nicolas snapped. ‘Have Harris lay up some things for me. I shall be going into the country for a few days.’
‘Yes, my lord—certainly. Is there anything more, sir?’
‘No… Yes, you can wish me happy, Barret. I am to be married, and quite soon I think.’
‘My lord…’
Nicholas left his butler in shock as he took the stairs two at a time. He smiled grimly. The one consolation in the whole sorry business was that it would set the cat amongst the pigeons once the story got out. A reluctant smile touched his lips. At least he could still laugh at society and himself—but why the hell had he done it?
It was true that he had promised Henrietta he would consider the idea of marriage, but to ask for the hand of a woman—he would not call her a lady, for she was an adventuress—he had only just met was ridiculous.
Nicolas had at first refused when Sir Charles Stanton had offered him his daughter as payment for the gambling debt. However, after a night of reflection, he had decided that one woman was as good as another. His memory of being ridiculed by Elizabeth when he declared his love had made him determined never to offer his heart again. Therefore Sir Charles’s offer was a convenient way of solving his problem. Clarice had been brought up as a lady, of that he had no doubt—but he had not known when he’d agreed to the deal that her morals were those of an alley cat.
It was on the night after he had signed the contract Sir Charles had hastily had drawn up with their joint lawyers that Nicolas discovered his mistake. One of Nicolas’s friends had been visiting Paris and they had gone out to a gaming club together, both of them drinking more than usual. Ralph Thurlstone had been three sheets to the wind and Nicolas rather more drunk than was sensible when he discovered his friend in a back room of the club. Ralph was lying senseless on the bed while a very pretty young woman with long spun-gold curls emptied his pockets of what money he had left. From the look of her hair and crumpled gown, he suspected that she had been on the bed with Ralph prior to robbing him.
‘What the hell do you imagine you are doing?’ Nicolas enquired dangerously.
‘Taking what belongs to me,’ the woman replied, her green eyes flashing with temper. ‘He owes me and this is scarcely recompense for what he took.’
‘Are you telling me you were a virgin before this evening?’
‘Would you believe me?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall tell you nothing,’ the woman said and passed him, going out of the room.
Nicolas had let her go. In truth, he was still stunned by what he had seen. Returning to the main rooms a little later, he discovered Sir Charles at the tables, and standing at his back was the young woman he had seen going through Ralph’s pockets moments earlier. Nicolas had thought he must have been mistaken, but there was no mistake. Clarice Stanton, his bartered bride-to-be, had robbed his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor.
‘Ah, Rothsay,’ Sir Charles said, looking up. ‘Sit down and join us, won’t you? Clarice is bringing me luck tonight. I was down to my last guinea but she brought me ten more and I have won the pot of two hundred.’
Which he would no doubt lose before he rose from the tables, Nicolas thought.
Nicolas looked the young woman in the eyes and saw her flush. Until this evening, he had not met Stanton’s daughter, not bothering to propose to her but leaving it to the father to tell her of their arrangement. He supposed that he had intended to speak to her in his own good time. When he recklessly signed the marriage contract, he had been acting on impulse. He had heard on the rumour mill that Stanton’s daughter was pretty, but as he was engaged to her already, sight unseen, her looks were not his primary concern. He had thought only that she was available and would give him the heir everyone said he needed.
To his horror, he had contracted himself to marry a thief and a wanton. What a damned fool he had been!
Henrietta had begged him to marry for the sake of the family. He hardly dared to contemplate what she would say if she knew the truth.
He must find a way to withdraw—but how could it be done? Anger smouldered inside him as he saw the young woman continue to encourage her profligate father at the tables. When Stanton rose a winner of some two thousand pounds or more, she flashed him a look of triumph, as if daring him to expose her to the world.
Needless to say, Nicolas had kept his mouth closed. It would have exposed him to ridicule, as well as Ralph, whom he knew to be newly engaged to a respectable English girl. His friend had been feeling a little hedge-bound, because his mother-in-law to be was demanding he dance attention on her daughter the whole time. Ralph had escaped to Paris for a last fling, and would never know that he had not spent all his guineas at the tables. The loss was one he could afford, but Nicolas was affronted by the idea that he had agreed to marry a woman of such low morals.
Nicolas had left Paris the next day, sending his would-be father-in-law a sharp note dictating that he take his daughter back to England to await his further instructions.
As soon as he had set foot in town, Nicolas visited his family lawyer to discover if the contract was watertight, and apparently it was. Nicolas could of course withdraw and compensate the girl for breach of promise. He would no doubt have to pay through the nose to be free of her. His mouth drew into a thin line as he contemplated the scandal.
No, better that he find a way of forcing the woman to withdraw. He would be ridiculed in the clubs whichever way it went, but if Miss Stanton withdrew it could all be settled by a payment for her bruised pride—if she had any—and there would be less scandal.
It was his own fault for giving in to a wild impulse. He could not blame Henrietta, who would certainly not have advised such a reckless affair. Nicolas smiled wryly. The irony of it was that such a marriage would have suited him had the woman not been a thief and a cheat. She was certainly pretty enough, and, if compliant, might have had her own house and done much as she pleased once she had given him a couple of heirs.
So for now, it seemed that he must go through with the formal arrangements. Henrietta must be told of his impending marriage and in due course an announcement must be made in The Times. Yet he would hold back on the announcement for a while; there was still a chance he might be able to persuade the young woman to withdraw. He must post down to his country house and put some work in hand. Nicolas seldom bothered to pay more than a flying visit to his family home; it would certainly need some changes if his wife were to live there.
His wife… Nicolas felt as if a knife had struck at his heart. There had once been someone he hoped to make his wife, but Elizabeth had laughed in his face and married an older, richer man. For years he had allowed his hurt pride to eat away at him, but it was time to put it aside. When this fiasco was over, he must look for a suitable wife in earnest.

‘I shall not marry him. I told Papa in Paris that I would not. He refused to tell the marquis that the contract must be broken. I know there is a debt, but he won a little before we left Paris, after I wrote to you. I dare say if we sold this house he could pay the debt.’
Lottie looked at her sister’s flushed face and wondered how Clarice could be so selfish. Did her twin never give a thought to anyone else’s comfort but her own?
‘What about Aunt Beth and me?’ she asked. ‘Where should we go if the house were sold? Aunt Beth has little enough income as it is—and I have nothing at all.’
‘I will find a rich husband and rescue you both.’ Clarice flashed a beguiling smile at her sister.
‘Surely the marquis is rich enough? Papa said he was rolling in the blunt.’
‘Well, I dare say he is, but I do not like him. He is arrogant and cold—and I shall not marry him.’
Clarice took up Lottie’s hairbrush and began to brush her twin’s hair.
‘I hate him, Lottie. Papa is mean to say I must marry him. I would rather die—besides, there is someone I really like. I met him in Paris and I think he is in love with me.’
‘Oh, Clarice…’ Lottie sighed. ‘If the marquis is that horrible, I should not want you to marry him. Is he very old, dearest?’
‘Oh, middle-aged, I should say…thirty or more.’
‘That is not old.’ Lottie frowned at her. ‘Is he ugly?’
‘No, not ugly…stern, I suppose.’ Clarice put down the brush. ‘You must agree with me or Papa will make me marry him.’
‘If he is presentable and rich…’ Lottie looked thoughtful. ‘It would be the answer to Papa’s troubles, Clarice. Could you not marry him for his sake and ours?’
Clarice made a face at her in the mirror. ‘If you think he sounds presentable, you marry him. He would never know the difference…’ Clarice stared at her in the mirror and her expression became one of excitement. ‘Why not? Why do you not wed him in my place? You could be certain that Aunt Beth had a decent home and Papa could come to you whenever he was in trouble.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clarice.’ While it was true that they were almost identical in looks, apart from a mole on Lottie’s right breast that Clarice did not have, they were very different in character. ‘Surely he would know the difference? I know that many people cannot tell us apart but he must know you better than most.’
‘We have only met once—and he does not know me at all, though he may think he does.’
‘What does that mean?’
Clarice shrugged. ‘He is so arrogant. I suppose I cannot expect you to marry him, Lottie. Yet I shall not. I would rather run away.’
‘You will not change your mind?’
‘No, not for the world,’ Clarice declared. ‘I am sorry if the house must be sold, but I dare say Aunt Beth can find a little cottage to rent.’
‘Is that all you care—after she looked after us for so many years?’
‘Well, I should not like her to be homeless, but I refuse to marry him. If you are so concerned, Lottie, you may marry him yourself. I do think you could for it would be better than being stuck here in the country the whole time.’
‘Do not be so ridiculous. It is you he wants—how could I marry him?’
‘You could pretend to be me.’
‘No, no, that would be cheating him. It is a foolish idea, Clarice. I cannot consider it.’
‘Then Papa will have to tell him the wedding is off,’ Clarice said and looked mutinous. ‘I shall not marry him and that is an end to it.’

‘Have you seen your sister this morning?’ Aunt Beth asked when Lottie came back from her walk the next morning. ‘Your father wanted to speak to her, because the marquis has written to him, but she was not in her room. I knocked, but she did not answer’
‘I expect she is sulking,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll go up and speak to her at once.’
Taking off her pelisse and bonnet, Lottie went to her own room first. She was thoughtful as she walked along the hall to her sister’s room. She had been thinking about Clarice’s suggestion that she marry Rothsay in her place ever since their argument the previous day. It was a mad idea that they should change places, yet if Clarice truly dug her heels in, what was the alternative?
Lottie knew her sister well enough to be sure that Clarice would never marry to oblige her family. She must dislike the marquis very much, which meant that he was probably a most unpleasant man. Yet if Clarice refused, their father would lose everything.
Knocking at her sister’s door, Lottie waited for a moment, then opened it and went in. The room was empty; by the look of things, Clarice had left it in a hurry. She had clothes strewn everywhere, an odd shoe dropped on the floor—and all her silver combs, brushes and perfume bottles were missing from the dressing chest.
Feeling cold all over, Lottie went to investigate. Looking in the drawers of the tallboy, she saw that some of them were empty of all but Clarice’s oldest things.
As she glanced at the bed, she saw a letter lying on a pillow. It was addressed to her. Tearing it open, her worst fears were soon confirmed.
Clarice had run away.
Tell Papa not to try to find me. I shall never come back and he may as well sell the house because I do not wish to marry that awful man.
‘Oh, Clarice,’ Lottie sighed. ‘What have you done now?’
As a child Clarice had always been selfish and thoughtless, and, because most people could not tell them apart, she had formed a habit of making people think it was Lottie who had broken their vase or knocked over her milk or put a stone through a window.
Glancing at the letter again, Lottie saw the postscript.
Why not do as we discussed and marry him yourself, Lottie? He will never know the difference. He doesn’t care two hoots for me, so what harm can it do?
Lottie took the letter and went back downstairs. She met her father as he emerged from his study. He was looking tired and worried and her heart caught with pain.
‘Father—is something the matter?’
‘Your sister has informed me once again that she will not marry the marquis and I’m damned if I know what to do. I suppose I shall have no choice but to sell the house.’
‘Perhaps not…’
‘What do you mean? Has she changed her mind?’
‘You had better read this, Papa.’ Lottie handed him her twin’s letter. ‘I have no idea where she has gone, but she has taken most of her things—including the silver that belonged to Mama.’
Sir Charles read it through and cursed. ‘She is a thoughtless minx. Well, that settles it. I must sell—and if the marquis sues for breach of promise, I shall probably end up in the Fleet.’
‘Papa! He wouldn’t sue?’
‘He might,’ Sir Charles said. ‘Rothsay will not take this well.’
‘Supposing I did what Clarice suggested?’
He stared at her. ‘Take her place, you mean?’
‘Yes. She says the marquis doesn’t love her.’
‘They only met twice to my knowledge.’ Lottie’s father looked at her with dawning relief in his eyes. ‘You wouldn’t do it—would you?’
‘Yes, I shall,’ Lottie blurted unthinkingly, desperate not to see her father suffer any more distress. She almost denied it instantly, but the look of relief in her father’s eyes prevented her from turning back. ‘Clarice told me that all Rothsay wants from his wife is an heir—and that it was always to be more of a marriage of convenience.’
‘Yes, he was clear that was all he wanted.’ Sir Charles seemed to have shed ten years in an instant. ‘If you could bear it, Lottie—it would be an end to my problems.’
‘Yes, of course I can.’ Lottie forced a smile. ‘Most girls marry for money or position, so why shouldn’t I?’
What else could she do in the circumstances? If she did not take her sister’s place, Aunt Beth would be left homeless, her father might end in a debtor’s prison; though he had given the family nothing but trouble over the years, Lottie remained devoted to her father. No, she couldn’t bear for her family to suffer if there was something she could do to prevent it.

Chapter Two
‘Are you certain you wish to go through with this, Lottie?’ Her father reached for her hand, which was trembling slightly as the carriage horses began to slow to a steady walk. In another few minutes they would arrive at the marquis’s country house and it would be too late to run back. ‘I can tell him you are unwilling and ask him to give me time to pay.’
‘How can you pay, Papa?’ Lottie turned her lovely green eyes on him with a hint of reproach. ‘I have thought long and hard about my decision. Clarice will not marry him. She’s run away and we’ve none of us any idea where she is; besides, Aunt Beth is terrified of losing her home with you. How could she live on fifty pounds a year? I should have to find work to help support us both.’
‘I am ashamed to have brought you to this,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I know well that your sister is selfish,’ he added and looked rueful. ‘She takes after me, while you have your mother’s giving nature. I would not have minded that devil being married to Clarice, for I know she would have given as good as she got—but you may be hurt, Lottie.’
‘I am stronger than you imagine, and, as I’ve said, there is no choice.’ Lottie smiled at him. ‘Now, Papa, you must be careful when calling me Lottie.’
‘Rothsay knows nothing of you. He will merely think it a pet name, which of course it is, Charlotte.’
‘Well, we must be careful all the same.’ Lottie took his hand. ‘As I told you, Papa—I shall see if his lordship will release us from the debt without marriage, but if he will not I shall become his wife. It is perhaps my only chance of marriage and I know I should like to have children, so it will not be so very hard for me.’
‘Will it not, truly?’
Lottie dropped her eyes. She did not wish her father to know that it was the end of her naïve dreams of finding love and happiness. Clarice had told her the marquis was a terrible rake. Clearly, she could not expect to find happiness with her husband, but at least her aunt would have a home—and she might find content in her children.
‘No, Father. I believe I shall be quite content—unless the marquis is good enough to relent.’
‘I do not think he is likely to change his mind,’ her father said and sighed. ‘I fear you will just have to make up your mind to marry him.’
Lottie did not reply. The carriage had just now drawn to a halt before a grand and imposing house built at some time in the last century, and her heart was beating so fast that she could not have spoken if her life depended on it.

‘The gentleman and young lady have arrived, sir.’ Nicolas turned his head as his butler spoke. ‘I have shown them into the green drawing room, as you requested. Shall I ask Mrs Mann to take in some refreshment?’
‘Yes, you may bring it in ten minutes,’ Nicolas said. ‘I shall greet my guests.’
He was unsmiling as he walked briskly towards the green drawing room at the back of the house. He had waited for some protest, some inkling that the lady wished to withdraw, but none had been forthcoming. He could only hope that the young woman might give him some reason to request an end to this impossible arrangement.
‘Yes, Father, it is very beautiful,’ he heard the young woman’s clear voice as he stood outside the door. ‘I was just thinking how much Aunt Beth would love to live here. I wonder—’
The young woman broke off, turning to look at him with wide eyes as he entered, a faint flush in her cheeks. She was wearing a bonnet of chip straw tied with emerald ribbons, her carriage gown skilfully fashioned of velvet of a similar hue, and he was surprised. In Paris she had worn a gown that was, to say the least, bold, but this morning she looked a modest and very respectable young lady.
How dared she present herself as a demure country miss? Did she imagine he had such a short memory? His lips curled in scorn as his gaze swept over her. He thought the colour in her cheeks deepened. Was she remembering the night in Paris when he had caught her going through Ralph’s pockets?
‘Miss Stanton,’ he said and took two strides towards her, inclining his head. ‘Welcome to Rothsay Park. Sir Charles, how do you do, sir?’
‘Middling.’ Sir Charles looked hesitantly at his daughter. ‘I understand you plan to give a ball to announce your engagement to…my daughter?’
‘You would have preferred to give it yourself?’
The scorn in Nicolas’s voice assaulted his own ears. He was being rude to a guest and, as his father would have told him, that was unforgivable. In his father’s day it would have resulted in a beating and no supper. He added hastily to cover up his bluntness, ‘I thought it would be easier here for I have a deuced many relatives, and I fear they will descend in droves once the announcement is made.’
‘Ah, yes, well…’ Sir Charles floundered unhappily.
‘I am sure it will be much better held here, sir,’ Lottie said and smiled as she removed her bonnet, revealing hair dressed in waves back from her face and drawn into a secure double knot at the nape. In Paris her hair had been loose, tumbling on to her shoulders, as if she had just risen from bed—which she had. ‘I know my aunt will be very happy to visit. I do hope you will not mind my inviting her for the ball? There is no one else I truly wish to invite.’
‘Indeed? You have no relatives?’
‘Mama had one sister, who is now a widow and has no children. Papa has no family at all.’
‘Well, there is Cousin Agatha, Lottie,’ Sir Charles said. ‘You know what a tongue she has on her. If I do not invite her, she will never stop complaining.’
‘I think that perhaps I would rather not ask Cousin Agatha,’ she replied. ‘You should really call me by my name, Papa. The marquis will think my pet name unsuitable for the lady he intends to make his wife.’
‘Lottie?’ Nicolas raised his brows. ‘Is that not more usually given to those with the name of Charlotte?’
‘Mama liked the name. It was hers and it is also one of my names—everyone at home calls me Lottie.’
‘Do they? I wonder why. I thought Clarice eminently suitable for the young woman I met in Paris. It has rather more sophistication, I think?’
‘Yes, I am certain it has,’ Lottie agreed. ‘I am perfectly happy for you to address me as you please, sir.’
‘Are you indeed? Thank you, Miss Stanton. I shall give the matter some thought.’ He turned as the housekeeper entered with another maid bearing silver trays. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Mann with your tea—and something stronger for you, Sir Charles. If you’ll excuse me I have some business to attend to. Mrs Mann will take you up to your rooms when you have refreshed yourselves. I shall see you this evening before dinner.’
‘Thank you, sir. We are much obliged,’ Sir Charles said and nodded to the housekeeper as she indicated the Madeira wine. ‘Yes, ma’am, that will do nicely, I thank you.’
‘Miss Stanton, you will excuse me.’ Nicolas nodded to her abruptly and left the room.
‘Sir.’ She bobbed a curtsy, but not before he had seen a flash of anger in her eyes. He felt a flicker of satisfaction; that was better, he was getting to the real Clarice now.
Nicolas frowned as he strode from the house. His business with his agent would have kept, but he was not sure he could have controlled his temper much longer. How dared the lady look as if butter would not melt in her mouth?
Her smile had reminded him sharply of Elizabeth when they first met. She had seemed charming and innocent—but when he offered her his heart, she had laughed and told him she was looking for more than he could offer.
Clarice—or Lottie, as she seemed to prefer—was not Elizabeth, but Nicolas was no longer a green youth. If Lottie imagined he had forgotten that scene in the bedroom in Paris, she would soon learn otherwise.
He would not be rude to her in front of her father, but when they were alone, he would ask her what game she was playing.

Clarice was so right! Lottie’s hands curled into tight balls at her sides. What a rude, arrogant, cold, beastly man he was! She would have liked to give him a set down, for he had no reason to be so insufferably condescending. Papa had, it was true, lost more money than he could afford, but Rothsay could have insisted on being paid. He had accepted Papa’s offer of his own free will. The least he could do was to treat both Papa and her with respect.
He deserved all he got. During the journey, Lottie’s conscience had pricked her for practising this deceit on the unsuspecting marquis. She had feared that he was in love with Clarice and would spot the difference immediately, but he clearly hadn’t. Indeed, apart from that scornful glance he had bestowed on her at the start, he had hardly seemed to notice her.
Lottie had hoped that the marquis might relent and release them from the outrageous contract he and her father had made between them. He was everything her sister had claimed and Lottie would not marry him.
Lottie’s indignation drained away almost as soon as it flared into being. With no offer of a withdrawal the contract would still stand; if she were to break the terms then it would be her family that suffered. It might not be so bad, she consoled herself, the marquis had a beautiful home and it would be pleasant to live here, especially if, as she suspected, her husband-to-be preferred London life. It was large enough for her aunt to stay on an almost permanent basis, for Lottie had no illusions about her papa’s promises of reform. He might be feeling chastened and sorry now, but within weeks he would become bored and once again the gaming tables would draw him like a moth to the flame.
It was a sickness, like Mama’s weak chest, which fortunately neither of her daughters had inherited. Lottie loved her family, even her selfish sister, and she knew that if she went through with this marriage she would probably be in a position to help them over the years. Her husband would have provided her with a small income in the marriage contract and she had a frugal nature.
She reasoned that if all the marquis required was an heir he would not wish to spend much time in her company. Perhaps she could bear to accept a certain amount of intimacy with him for the sake of her family—and she would like children of her own.
‘Shall I take you upstairs now, Miss Stanton?’
‘Oh…yes, thank you, Mrs Mann.’
Lottie recalled her wandering thoughts. She was here and there was no getting out of the bargain her father had made, so she might as well make the most of things and enjoy her surroundings.
‘I shall see you later,’ Sir Charles said as she prepared to follow the housekeeper. ‘Is everything all right, Lottie?’
‘Yes…’ Lottie raised her head. Her father was relying on her to solve his problems, as was her aunt. She could not let them down. If the marquis had not been such an arrogant brute, she might have felt bad about deceiving him, but he deserved no consideration from her. ‘Everything is perfectly all right, Papa. I shall not keep Mrs Mann waiting.’
Following the housekeeper from the small but elegant parlour, Lottie walked up the wide main staircase, marvelling at the spacious beauty of her surroundings, the ornate ceilings and exquisite furnishings. The family that had built and maintained this house must be vastly rich. It had an air of wealth and security, of being the home of important men, like its present owner.
Why would a man like Rothsay choose to take a bride as payment for a gambling debt? There must be any number of eligible young ladies who would be delighted to marry him—unless his rakish reputation had made him an outcast as far as the matchmaking mamas were concerned?
Lottie’s thoughts were confused, churning round in her mind and becoming no clearer. Had the marquis been a little warmer at their first meeting, she thought she might have liked the idea of her marriage very well.
Did she have a choice? What would happen if she changed her mind and withdrew at the last moment?
Oh, fiddlesticks! He was an impossible man and she was being torn two ways. A part of her wanted to run away while she still had the chance—yet in her head a small secret voice wanted to make a fight of it. Rothsay was rude and arrogant. It would give her some satisfaction to prick his pride if she could.

Lottie changed out of her travelling gown, which was fairly new, into one of the more comfortable dresses she wore at home when walking to the village or the vicarage. She had decided to spend the afternoon walking round the gardens and what she reasonably could of the estate.
From her windows she had seen a large park, and in the distance a lake. Being fond of water and wildlife, she was torn between the park, which looked to consist of many beautiful old trees, and the lake, which was, she was sure, newer and man-made. As the sun was shining brightly, she thought the lake might be within distance and set out for it without reference to anyone.
It was a lovely day for walking; the peaceful surroundings soothed nerves that had become ruffled by her dilemma. She still did not know what she ought to do for the best. Being a sensible girl, she had made up her mind to take things as they came. If the chance presented itself, she might raise the question of a postponement or a cancellation of the contract, but if it did not, then she would simply have to marry him.
Enjoying the beauty of her surroundings, Lottie knew that being the wife of a man who took himself off to town for most of the time could not be a hardship for a girl such as herself. There were many young women who married for the sake of a comfortable home and a position in Society. Her marriage would be convenient to her in many ways, though the thought of how the heirs must be produced was a little daunting.
Could she really lie with a man as cold and arrogant as the marquis? A man she didn’t even love?
‘Oh, bother,’ she said aloud and sighed. ‘I shall not allow him to upset me.’
It was too nice a day for such anxious thoughts and staying at this wonderful place, even for a short time, was a treat.
Arriving at the lake, she stood admiring the excellence of the landscaping and how well the rock pools and greenery looked. A flock of black swans sailed majestically towards her, clearly expecting to be fed.
‘I am so sorry, my lords and ladies,’ Lottie said, feeling that royalty deserved the proper address. ‘Had I known you were in residence, I should have brought some food for you.’
‘They are magnificent, are they not? I’ve told Rothsay he is lucky to have found such specimens. We have the white variety, but the black species are something special.’
Lottie whirled round, startled by the man’s voice. She had had no idea that anyone else was near by.
‘Oh…I spoke aloud believing I was alone,’ Lottie said, staring at the young man who had come up on her unawares. ‘Yet they do command respect, do they not?’
‘I was enchanted,’ he said and offered his hand. ‘Bertie Fisher. I am a neighbour of Rothsay and came to see him on business. He said that his fiancée had arrived earlier. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Clarice Stanton?’
‘Yes…though my friends call me Lottie,’ she said and then blushed, for it was very forward of her to invite him to use her name. It was perhaps that he was attractive, his smile warm and friendly, and his manner not in the least arrogant. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Mr Fisher.’
‘It’s Sir Bertram or just plain Bertie to my friends,’ he replied and grinned as she offered her hand and he took it in a firm cool clasp. ‘I hope we shall be friends, Miss Lottie. As neighbours we are bound to see something of each other. I was just telling Rothsay that I shall be leaving for London at the end of the week. I shall naturally return for your engagement dance.’
‘Yes, I am certain we shall become friends,’ Lottie answered warmly, then wondered if she would be here many days. ‘I am looking forward to exploring the estate, and managed the walk to the lake, though I must return now or I may be late for tea.’
‘Will you allow me to walk with you, Miss Lottie? I have something I must tell Rothsay, and we may as well walk together.’
‘Yes, certainly,’ she said and took the arm he offered. Sir Bertie was certainly a pleasant gentleman and if his wife was of the same nature she would have a friend—should she stay long enough to make friends. ‘Have you known the marquis long?’
‘Oh, all my life. My grandfather bought the estate and my mother still lives here for some of the time, though Mama likes to travel abroad for the sun in the winter. Sometimes I accompany her, though I do enjoy shooting and hunting in the autumn, and she has her friends, you know.’
‘And your wife?’
‘I am unmarried as yet—though it has been in my mind to marry. I am a few years younger than Rothsay, of course.’
‘Yes…’
‘I have to say that you are a marvel, Miss Lottie. We had all given up on the idea of Rothsay settling down. I dare say you know his reputation, but they say reformed rakes make the best husbands. No doubt you will soon have him curled about your little finger.’
‘Why should Rothsay’s marriage be such a surprise?’
‘Oh, well, I suppose he has told you about Elizabeth. Everyone thought it was a match made in heaven. She was the toast of the Season, beautiful, clever and an heiress. Rothsay was head over heels; at least, we all thought so. An announcement of their engagement was expected but then he went off abroad and stayed in Paris for months.’
‘He gave no explanation for letting her down?’
‘It was all brushed under the carpet. She married a man several years older while Rothsay was in Paris, and now has three sons.’
Rothsay had clearly broken the beauty’s heart, which resulted in her marriage to an older man. It just showed what kind of a man he was, leading her on and then deserting her without making an offer. Lottie fumed inwardly. No wonder he hadn’t bothered to court Clarice. All he wanted was an heir and he had bought himself a wife for the price of a gambling debt. He must be a cold calculating devil and if Lottie’s father had not been so desperate she would tell him what he might do with his offer and go home immediately.
Lottie would have asked more questions of her obliging new acquaintance, but for the fact that she had seen the marquis coming to meet them. She stiffened, her hand tightening on her companion’s arm. He glanced at her, but made no comment, and Lottie lifted her head. Surely the marquis would not be rude to her in front of a neighbour.
‘I thought you had left, Bertie,’ he said, lifting his brows. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I was walking home past the lake and happened to discover Miss Lottie making friends with the swans. It was then that I recalled what I wanted to ask, Rothsay. I decided to walk back with Miss Lottie.’
‘And I was going to ask if you would like to stay for tea,’ Lottie said, noticing the way the marquis’s pupils took on a silver glow when he was intent. He was a very handsome man, she decided. He had a strong face with a square chin and a little cleft, which was rather appealing. His grey eyes could be very cold, but at the moment they seemed enquiring.
‘Well, Bertie, since my fiancée has asked, I think we should all take tea together, and afterwards we can repair to the study and you can tell me what was so important that you felt compelled to return.’
‘Certainly, my dear fellow,’ Bertie replied amiably. ‘It is nothing very much, you know—but it is a grand day for walking in the sunshine, especially in the company of a beautiful lady.’
‘I dare say,’ the marquis replied and glanced at Lottie, as if wondering whether his friend’s remark was justified. ‘It is, as you say, a glorious afternoon.’
‘Do you allow others to feed your swans?’ Lottie asked. His comment could be taken for silent consent that she was a beautiful lady, or a snub. She would ignore it for the moment. ‘I should have brought food had I known how tame they are.’
‘You should not be fooled by their docile appearance. They hoped to be fed, but swans can be vicious at times. One of my keepers had his arm broken by a male swan guarding its mate—and one of the pairs on the lake have young. However, if you insist on feeding them yourself, please give them the special pellets we use rather than bread. My bailiff will show you where the supply is stored—or one of the footmen will fetch it for you.’
‘Thank you. I shall be careful to do nothing to alarm them,’ Lottie replied. She was still walking with her hand on Sir Bertie’s arm, but the marquis was at her right hand. ‘Do you have deer in the park, my lord?’
‘I believe there may be a few. I rarely visit Rothsay Manor, Lottie. I prefer to live in London for most of the year. Unlike Bertie, I do not enjoy either hunting or shooting, though my keepers encourage the pheasants and we have a regular supply for the table in season.’
‘There are certainly deer in my park,’ Sir Bertie told her. ‘Do you ride, Miss Lottie?’
‘I should—had I a suitable mount,’ Lottie replied, turning to look at him. ‘At home a neighbour sometimes takes pity on me. My father keeps only one hunter and his carriage horses.’
‘I should be happy to provide you with a suitable mount,’ Sir Bertie said. ‘My mother occasionally rides and I keep a horse for her—but I have another I believe might suit you. You can stable Heavenly here and then, should you wish, ride over to Greenacres with Rothsay or a groom.’
‘That is extremely generous of you, sir. It would depend on Lord Rothsay’s immediate plans, I imagine.’
‘I dare say we have a horse that may suit you,’ the marquis said, his tone sharp, causing her to turn her head and look at him once more. ‘Your offer was well intended, Bertie, but I assure you I shall see that my bride has all she needs. I dare say she may care to ride over with me in the carriage and meet your mama—perhaps for tea tomorrow?’
‘Certainly. Mama would be honoured.’
Lottie wondered if she imagined it, but she felt a slight squeeze of her arm and Sir Bertie’s eyelid flickered.
At that moment she let go of his arm, walking into the house in front of the gentlemen. She heard the murmur of their voices behind her, then Mrs Mann came forward to greet her.
‘Ah, Miss Stanton,’ she said. ‘Your father was anxious about you. I think he feared something might have happened to you. You were not in your room and no one knew where you had gone.’
‘I went for a walk to the lake,’ Lottie replied with a little frown. ‘Forgive me if anyone was worried. I am not in the habit of informing anyone when I go out—though I do sometimes tell my aunt.’
‘When are we to expect your aunt, Miss Stanton?’ The marquis’s stern question caught Lottie by surprise.
‘I believe she will come for the ball,’ Lottie said. ‘I am certain she would have liked to come with us—but I was not sure…’
‘You must write to…I am not sure of the lady’s name?’
Lottie met the marquis’s eyes without a flicker of emotion. Two could play at this game!
‘Lady Hoskins. My Aunt Beth. She came to look after…me, when my mother died. I am very fond of her.’
‘You should have brought her with you. This is to be your home, Lottie. You must feel free to invite whomever you wish.’
‘You are kind, my lord—but there is only my aunt, and perhaps Cousin Agatha. I do not particularly wish to invite her, but she may come if she hears of our engagement…’
‘Indeed? A lady of some determination, then?’ For a moment a gleam of amusement showed in the marquis’s eyes and Lottie found herself smiling along with him, despite herself.
‘Yes, most certainly. Both Papa and…Aunt Beth go in fear of her tongue.’
‘You do not?’ His brows rose.
‘No, I have never feared her. She scolds me but I do not mind her. I am, you see, a very independent woman, my lord.’
‘Should I take that as a warning?’
‘Yes, I believe you should.’
Lottie preceded him into the drawing room that Mrs Mann had indicated. Her father was staring out of the window. He whirled round, relief in his eyes.
‘Lottie! I thought you had done a bunk—’ Seeing that the marquis and a stranger followed her, Sir Charles checked himself and his neck turned the colour of brick. ‘My daughter has a habit of wandering off alone for hours…’
Lottie was sure that neither of the gentlemen would believe his clumsy excuse. Sir Bertie would be imagining that she was being forced into an unwelcome marriage—and she had no idea what the marquis was thinking.
‘Papa, anyone would think I was still your little girl. I assure you I am much too content here to run off without a word to anyone—which would be extremely rude of me. Had I known it would alarm you, I should have told you that I intended to go for a walk.’
‘Well, you know how it is, a father will always be anxious for his daughters’s safety.’
‘Truly, Papa, you have no need to be anxious on my account. I am well accustomed to taking care of myself.’
‘Yes, I dare say…’ Sir Charles sat down, looking ill at ease as Lottie took a chair by the tea table. ‘No tea for me, thank you. I would not say no to some more of that excellent Madeira, Rothsay.’
‘I am certain it can be arranged,’ he replied and flicked his coat tails as he sat on a chair near the fireplace. The large grate was empty because the room was pleasantly warm, lit by the afternoon sun. ‘Bertie takes his tea with lemon, I believe—and I’ll have the same.’
‘Sir Bertie?’ Lottie asked, directing her smile at him. ‘Will you also take sugar?’
‘No, I thank you, just the lemon. Rothsay knows my tastes well, Miss Lottie. Mama always has cream and sugar, but I prefer the lemon.’
Lottie poured the tea, handing it to a maid who stood waiting to pass it to the gentlemen.
‘Would you care for anything more, Sir Bertie? Those almond comfits look tasty—or perhaps a sandwich? What do we have…I am not sure of your name?’ She glanced at the young maid, who blushed.
‘It is Rose, Miss Stanton. Rose Brown.’
‘What kind of sandwiches are they, Rose?’
‘Tomato and cucumber from our hothouses, Miss Stanton, also egg and cress…watercress, that is, from our own…’
‘That will do, Brown,’ Mrs Mann said after offering Sir Charles a glass of Madeira. ‘If you would prefer chicken or salmon, I can have Cook make some very quickly, Miss Stanton.’
‘I think I should like the cucumber,’ Lottie said. ‘What a treat. We seldom have it at home, for it is hardly ever to be found locally. You are very lucky to be able to grow your own, my lord.’
‘I dare say. I had not considered it.’
‘Rothsay takes everything for granted,’ Sir Bertie said and grinned at his friend. ‘He has been fed with a silver spoon since birth, Miss Lottie, and believes the world owes him the best of everything. It would do him the world of good to be denied something he truly wanted.’
‘And I suppose you have had to work the skin from your fingers?’ The marquis looked askance at his friend.
‘I shall not deny that I too have been lucky to inherit a sizeable amount—but I do not take it all for granted, as you do, Rothsay. I know myself to be a fortunate fellow.’ His gaze dwelled on Lottie. ‘Though not at this moment as fortunate as you…’
‘It is a long time since we held a ball here,’ the marquis said and frowned. ‘My people are well able to cope but I feel we need a hostess. I shall ask my godmother to come and stay, but I wondered if your mama would care to help Countess Selby and Lottie compile a list of people who should be invited?’
‘I imagine Mama would enjoy that very much—but you can ask her when you ride over for tea tomorrow. When exactly were you thinking of holding the ball?’
‘In another two weeks,’ the marquis replied, making Lottie catch her breath. ‘I see no point in delay—and it will give us time to invite everyone and order whatever is needed from London.’
She had only two weeks to persuade him that she was not a suitable bride or accept her fate and marry him!
Lottie’s hand trembled slightly as she sipped her tea. Everything seemed to be going so fast. The marquis had a note of decision in his voice when he gave the date of the ball. It was very strange, but Lottie had thought he might be regretting his decision to take her instead of the money her father owed him, but now she thought she detected a change.
There was, she believed, a gleam in his eyes that had not been there when they arrived.

Chapter Three
Sir Bertie and the marquis went off together after tea, leaving Lottie and her father together in the parlour.
‘Well, Lottie, what do you think now you’ve met him?’ Sir Charles asked in a low voice. ‘Can you bear it?’
‘Yes, I think so—unless the marquis were to relent and release you from the bargain and your debt, Papa.’
‘You will certainly have all the luxuries that money can buy, m’dear—but if you should hate the idea I can tell him it won’t do.’
‘I believe we must be realistic. I am two and twenty and I have no fortune whatsoever. This may be my only chance to marry well. After all, most young women marry to oblige their families, do they not?’
‘Your mother chose for herself,’ Sir Charles said heavily. ‘She made me promise that you and…’
‘Papa,’ Lottie warned with a glance over her shoulder, ‘please say no more. I do not see that we have a choice. Besides, I believe I should be foolish to turn down the chance of living in a house like this—and I have a fancy to be the Marchioness of Rothsay…’
Anyone who knew her would have guessed immediately that she was merely funning, but the marquis, who had returned from seeing his friend off, and stood outside the door heard only the last few words and thought the worst.
His ears were still ringing with the congratulations Bertie had heaped on him, and he had almost begun to think himself more than fortunate to have found such a lovely bride. However, catching the last few words and hearing father and daughter laugh together aroused his ire once more. The scoundrels! Did they imagine they had found a soft nest for the two of them? He would send them both packing and good riddance.
Nicolas was about to go in and have it out with the pair of them when he heard a squealing sound, a murmur of alarm and some very peculiar noises coming from inside the parlour.
‘Oh, you poor little thing. What a mess you have got into…’
Intrigued by the new note in her voice, Nicolas walked into the room and saw something that amazed him. The woman he had just decided was a scoundrel was clutching a very sooty and disreputable animal he thought might be a kitten. She was stroking it gently and he could see that the beast did indeed look to be in a sorry state. Glancing at the fireplace, he saw how much soot the kitten had brought down and made a mental note to have the chimneys swept before the winter.
‘How in the world did that get here?’
‘I imagine it must have gone up on the roof somehow and fallen down. It feels so thin,’ Lottie said and held the creature to her breast, stroking its filthy fur and getting soot all over her gown. ‘We have some milk left from tea…’ With one hand, she poured a little milk into one of the exquisite porcelain tea bowls. Still holding the kitten gently as she set both the bowl and the creature on the carpet, she allowed it to lap while supporting it with her hands. ‘Oh, look how hungry it is. Do you think Cook would spare a little fish of some kind?’
‘I imagine she might if you asked,’ Nicolas said. ‘You are, after all, to be the mistress here, are you not?’
‘If it suits you,’ Lottie replied without looking up. ‘For the moment I am simply a guest. The milk has all gone. I must take Kitty to the kitchens. She needs a little wash, but it must be done carefully so as not to harm her, and she will need to be fed small amounts regularly. I think I shall keep her in my room…’
‘She has already covered your gown and the carpet with soot.’ Nicolas glared at her for no particular reason.
‘Yes, I am sorry about your carpet, my lord. I know soot is difficult to get out. I will fetch a cloth later and see what I can do.’
‘One of the servants will see to it. Good grief,’ Nicolas said, feeling irritable without understanding what had changed his mood. ‘Ring the bell and Mrs Mann will come. One of the footmen can deal with the wretched thing.’
Lottie looked up, her green eyes sparking with anger. ‘It may be a wretched thing to you, my lord, but at the moment I believe it is to be pitied. I dare say it has been lost in your maze of chimneys for days, for I think it is near starving. I wish to care for it myself.’
He blinked and then lowered his gaze. ‘I did not mean the thing was undeserving of pity. Merely that it would do well enough with the servants. If you wish to care for it, that is your own affair.’
‘If you would kindly direct me to the kitchens.’
‘I shall ring for Mrs Mann. She will assist you…’ he said, but was saved the trouble by the arrival of the housekeeper and a maid to clear the tea things. ‘Mrs Mann—a kitten seems to have got stuck up the chimney…’
‘Yes, my lord. It is one of the kitchen cat’s brood. We did think one was missing. Rose will take it for you, Miss Stanton.’
‘Miss Stanton wishes to care for the kitten herself. If you will show her where she can clean it a little and also provide some food for the wretched beast.’
Mrs Mann glanced at him, but made no comment. She turned to Lottie with a smile.
‘Rose will show you the kitchen and scullery, miss—if you are sure you wish for the trouble?’
‘It won’t be a trouble to Lottie,’ Sir Charles put in. ‘She always had a soft spot for any creature she found in trouble. Clar…uh, that is, Clara used to scream when she found wounded birds in the garden, but Lottie did her best to heal them if she could.’
‘And who is Clara?’ Nicolas asked. ‘I thought your aunt was called Beth?’
‘Oh, Clara is a just a friend,’ Lottie replied, eyes wide and innocent. ‘Excuse me, my lord. I must attend to the kitten—I think she has just wet herself.’
‘And you, miss,’ the housekeeper said. ‘You will have to house train the beast if you mean to make a pet of it.’
‘Yes…’ Lottie smiled. ‘I shall have to teach her better manners, shall I not?’
Nicolas let his gaze follow her as she walked from the room. He had meant to send both her and her father packing. It would be simple enough to cancel the debt and pay a lump sum to ease the lady’s pride. Yet the incident with the kitten had made him curious. He could not quite work out in his mind what was going on, but something did not ring true. Lottie had made nothing of the soot on her pretty afternoon gown or the kitten wetting her. How did the girl he had seen robbing his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor equate with the demure and compassionate young lady now staying in his house? She was like two different women!
She must be a consummate actress. Nicolas scowled, for he did not like the way she had played on his sympathies. Miss Stanton was not the only one to care for animals in distress. As a young lad he had rescued enough of them himself… Now what had made him recall his childhood? It was years since he had given it a thought, perhaps because painful memories had superseded the happier times.
He had, he supposed, been fortunate to live in a house like this and to have parents who cared for him, even if they spared him little enough of their time. His tutor and some of the grooms had been his companions, as he roamed the estate, fished with a net for frogs and newts in the streams and ponds, rode his pony and climbed trees. It was a very good place to bring up a family. The pity was that his mother had been a little fragile after his birth, and when she died from a putrid fever, the house had been plunged into mourning, from which it had never quite recovered. Nicolas’s father had not remarried, spending most of his time away from the estate, working. Nicolas had been left alone with his grief.
Glancing around the parlour, Nicolas saw that although the furniture was good quality and made to the finest standards, the curtains and décor had become a trifle faded. He had spent only a few days at the house in the last years, and never in this particular parlour. If his wife intended to use it, he must have it refurbished for her.
His wife… Nicolas walked to the French windows and looked out. Was the reason he had been avoiding the subject of marriage down to his disappointment in love years before—or to the fear at the back of his mind that he might love too well, as his father had? Losing his mother at an early age had made Nicolas a little reserved and afraid of giving his affections. When the first woman he had believed himself in love with had also turned him down, he had put up a barrier to protect himself.
For a moment he thought about Elizabeth, the beautiful young lady who had been his first love. He had believed her nature as sweet as her face. The realisation that her gentle manner was false and covered a spiteful character had swept the illusion of love from his mind. He had thought her a woman he could trust, but her dismissal of his declaration had been deliberately cruel and meant to wound, destroying his trust in women and convincing him that love was for fools.
His father had been a fool for love. As a child, Nicolas had not truly understood why his father could not bear to be in the house after his wife died. Nicolas had imagined the fifth marquis was too busy to be interested in his only son, but as an adult he could guess that his father had simply shut himself off from everyone who mattered because it was too painful; because he was suffering from a broken heart. Perhaps he had grieved as much as Nicolas, but been unable to show it, which meant they might have been more alike than either of them had realised.
No woman was worth the pain love inflicted. Nicolas was determined that he would never again offer his heart to have it crushed beneath a woman’s dainty foot.
‘Foolish…’ he muttered and went out of the French windows. Love was a waste of time. A marriage of convenience was much safer. It was best to keep his mind on practical matters. He would walk down to the stables and speak to the head groom to discover if there was a suitable horse in their stables for a lady to ride.

‘Now you must be good, Kitty,’ Lottie said and stroked the kitten’s fur. It still felt a little spiky and rough but with good food and care she did not doubt it would recover in time. Now that that the soot had gone, she could see that the kitten was a pretty tortoiseshell in colour. ‘If you must wet, use the sand tray as I showed you.’
‘You talk to her just as if she can understand,’ Rose said and laughed. ‘She will learn to use the tray in time. My mother puts the cats out to teach them, but they still wet in the house until they get older. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take her down to the kitchen?’
‘I shall keep her here until she is better,’ Lottie said. ‘If you would pop in and look at her now and then…’
‘I’ll come before I help with the dishes, miss,’ Rose said. ‘Cats are loners, you know. I dare say she will wander off when you let her outside. My mother says dogs are the best companions for they give love in return, and cats don’t.’
‘My aunt has a large and fat tabby that she adores,’ Lottie said and laughed. She had taken to the young maid and was pleased that Rose was to look after her. ‘I must go down now for the gong sounded five minutes ago. I do not wish to keep the marquis waiting.’
She went out, leaving Rose to tidy up. It would take a little time to get used to the idea of a maid waiting on her. At home they had a cook and one maid of all work, also Muffet, who had come with Aunt Beth and would turn her hand to anything. This meant that Lottie was accustomed to doing dusting and kept her own room tidy. She often cleaned her aunt’s room, too. Living here with so many servants to care for just her and the marquis would seem strange—though of course they would probably entertain friends much of the time.
Lottie realised that she was beginning to rather like the idea of living in this wonderful house. She wrinkled her brow, because if she went through with this deception it would mean living a lie for the rest of her life.
Was she cheating the marquis?
She could not help feeling a little guilty. When she had taken Clarice’s place, Lottie had tried not to question her motives or admit that she was doing something underhand—and when the marquis first greeted her so arrogantly, he had made her angry and she had felt he deserved all he got. However, her conscience was beginning to nag her. Perhaps she ought to tell him the truth before things went too far?
She was wearing a gown of green silk that evening. It had a dipping neckline, but was not low enough to show the little mole just above her right breast. Lottie was very conscious of the fact that in the more revealing gowns that Clarice wore it would have been easy to see that she did not have such a blemish.
As she approached the bottom stair, she was aware that the marquis had come out of the room to the right of the hall and was gazing up at her.
‘I was about to send someone in search of you, Lottie.’
‘Oh…’ She blushed. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you waiting for your dinner. I was talking with Rose and forgot the time.’
‘Talking with Rose…you mean the parlour maid?’
‘She is looking after me. We were talking about cats and dogs. Rose’s mother prefers dogs, but Aunt Beth loves her cat—’ Lottie broke off and laughed. ‘You will think the subject obsesses me. I am sure you are used to far more stimulating conversation in London. I fear I do not know any amusing tales of the Regent to tell you. I have never mixed much in society…’ She realised that she had made a mistake. ‘Apart from the trip to Paris with Papa, of course.’
‘You seemed perfectly at home there.’ His brows met in the middle. ‘Tell me, Lottie—is this an act for my benefit? If so, you are wasting your time. I am not a fool and my memory works perfectly.’
‘I would never think you a fool, my lord…’ She sensed there was a deeper meaning behind his words and wondered whether he had seen through her disguise. Clarice had sworn she had met him only once and that he would not know the difference between them, but was there something her sister wasn’t telling her about her time with the marquis? She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I am not sure I understand you?’
‘No, then perhaps I should refresh—’ He turned his head as the butler came into the hall. ‘Yes, yes, Mann. We are coming now.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at Lottie once more. ‘We shall speak of this another time. Dinner is ready and Cook will not be best pleased if we keep her waiting.’
‘No, that would not do at all,’ Lottie said and laid her fingers tentatively on the arm he offered. ‘I think it would be best if we talked soon, my lord. I believe there is something I ought to—’
A loud knocking at the door interrupted Lottie. The footman opened it and a lady entered, accompanied by several servants and a small King Charles spaniel, which barked noisily and jumped from her arms to rush towards Nicolas. He bent down and stroked it behind the ears, looking at the new arrival with rueful amusement.
‘Henri! You can hardly have had my letter more than a day. I intended to invite you to stay, of course, but this is a surprise.’
‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ The diminutive lady laughed confidently up at him. ‘I decided this morning I would visit you and here I am—and this young lady must be your intended bride?’ The lady bustled towards Lottie, exuding lavender and a warmth that seemed to envelop all she touched. ‘You are Miss Stanton? I am delighted to meet you. I have waited for this day too long.’ She laughed and seized Lottie’s hand, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘You are wondering who the devil I am, of course. This wretched godson of mine has not thought to introduce us—Henrietta, Countess of Selby. You may call me Henrietta.’
‘Ma’am…’ Lottie made a slight curtsy. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’
‘And I you, though I really know very little about you my dear, not even your name?’
‘It’s Clarice, but everyone calls me Lottie.’
‘Well, it suits you, though I did not think your name was Charlotte?’
‘Clarice’s second name is Charlotte, which is why she often goes by Lottie. Anyway, enough chatter, Henri. We are late for dinner. Will you join us—or shall I have something sent up to you on a tray in half an hour or so?’
‘I shall rest this evening and will take a little soup in my room,’ she replied. ‘You may come in and see me for a few moments before you retire, Lottie—if it will be no trouble to you?’
‘No trouble at all, ma’am.’
‘Then I shall not keep you longer. Nicolas has a decent cook. You will not wish to lose her…’ She looked behind her, summoning a woman who looked as if she might be her companion. ‘Give me your arm, Millicent. That staircase looks daunting after a day spent travelling.’
‘You will become used to her,’ Nicolas said as his godmother began her colourful ascent of the stairs, her servants fluttering around her, the spaniel bounding ahead up the stairs. ‘Henri usually takes over the house when she arrives—though she has not stayed here often since…’ He shook his head. ‘Dinner awaits and we are now very late. We shall talk later.’
‘You must be very fond of her?’
‘I have many relations, but she is the only one I care for.’
‘I see…’ Lottie wondered what he had been going to say before his godmother arrived, but no doubt he would tell her later.

As it happened, Lottie did not learn what had been in the marquis’s mind that evening. Dinner had been served in what was more usually the breakfast room because, as he explained, there were so few of them.
‘Tomorrow evening I shall invite some of our neighbours,’ he said as they all rose at the end of the meal. ‘I had intended a period of quiet time for us to get to know one another, Lottie—but now that the countess has seen fit to join us we must entertain.’
‘Please do stay and enjoy some port,’ Lottie said. ‘You need not accompany me to the drawing room. I think I shall visit your godmother and then go to bed. If I want a drink, I am sure Mrs Mann will have a tray sent up.’
‘As you wish.’ Nicolas frowned. ‘I had thought we might talk?’
‘Tomorrow morning if you wish,’ Lottie said. ‘I am a little tired myself and would wish to retire after I have visited the countess.’
‘Very well,’ he replied, inclining his head.
Lottie sensed that he was not best pleased. She was not sure why she was putting off the evil moment, because she could surely not delay it much longer.
It would be embarrassing, but there was really no alternative. Lottie had been feeling guilty enough about deceiving the marquis himself, even though he did deserve it in a way, but to deceive the lady who had just arrived would be unforgivable.
She would simply go in for a few minutes and explain that she was too tired to talk this evening. It was clear that the countess expected an intimate heart to heart, but that could not happen. Not until Lottie had told the marquis the truth.
If he truly had no preference for her sister, he might be satisfied with her in Clarice’s place—but he must be given the choice.

Nicolas frowned over his brandy. He had offered to give Sir Charles a game of billiards but his future father-in-law had declined. They had talked in a desultory fashion of the King’s madness, which had resulted in the prince being called on to become the Regent once more, then discussed the price of corn and the weather. Then, after smoking a cigar, Sir Charles had excused himself and gone to his room.
Nicolas sat on alone in his library. He was not sure why his thoughts were so disordered. The day had not gone as he expected at all and he was still undecided what to do about the situation he had created.
He should, of course, have spoken to Sir Charles as soon as he realised what a fool he had been, made some settlement and withdrawn. It was clearly too late now. Bertie would have spread the news all over the neighbourhood—besides, Henrietta had rushed here as soon as she had his letter. The delight on her face when she saw his fiancée had struck him to the heart.
Lottie gave the appearance of being a modest charming woman, exactly the kind of person who would grace his home and make his relatives welcome. He knew that at heart she was a scheming adventuress, but for the moment she seemed determined to play the part of an innocent—why? What could she hope to gain?
His fingers drummed against the arm of his comfortable wing chair. What a dilemma! And he had only himself to blame. He frowned as he recalled the laughing words he had overheard outside the parlour—so she had a fancy to become the next marchioness, had she?
Well, would it be so bad? He had considered she would do before he had witnessed the theft of those guineas. It was that that rankled, he admitted—and the suspicion that she had been making love with—or at least been prepared to be seduced by—Ralph.
The thing was that he found he did not dislike Lottie. He was not sure he could trust her—and he would have to send her father packing after the wedding. Yet he did need a wife and if Henrietta liked her…he supposed she would do.
Nicolas groaned. He was such an idiot to have become embroiled with a pair of adventurers.
Why did he have the feeling that Lottie was playing a part? Had she decided to reform her ways now that she had a chance to move up in society?
Nicolas knew that he would not find it difficult to play his part in this strange marriage. It would be no hardship to make love to her—and her morals could be no worse than some of the ladies he had made his mistresses in the past. His last mistress had been grasping and selfish, which was why he had felt no remorse in finishing his arrangement with her. He would at least start his marriage without a clandestine attachment. He would certainly not tolerate being played false by his wife. If she imagined he would turn a blind eye to any future indiscretions, she would soon discover her mistake!
‘Damn it!’ he muttered and stood up. He would not find the answer in the bottom of a brandy bottle.
In the morning he would make it clear that, if they went through with this marriage, he would expect Lottie to be faithful—at least until she had given him a son or two.
Feeling unaccountably tired, he realised that for the first time in a while he would sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
It must be the country air.

Lottie rose early, as was her custom. She sat up and looked over at the kitten lying on her bed. She had left it in the basket that Rose had provided for her, but it seemed that Kitty had other ideas. Reaching out, she picked the tiny creature up and stroked it, kissed its head and then climbed out of bed and placed it back in the basket.
‘That is your place, little one. You must not form bad habits, for I might roll on you in the night and suffocate you.’
Lottie found some water left over from the previous evening and washed her face and hands. She would have a proper wash before breakfast, but she wanted to go for a walk first.
Going downstairs, she surprised a maid already hard at work polishing the furniture.
‘I beg your pardon, miss. We did not know you were awake. Do you wish for something?’
‘Not until I return. I am going for a walk. I shall be back in time to dress properly for breakfast.’
A sleepy footman opened the door as she approached. She flashed a smile at him and went out into the early morning air. The dew was still on the grass and silky cobwebs hung between the perennials in the mixed border.
Walking across the lawns in the direction of the park, Lottie felt a sense of peace. The marquis’s estate was a lovely place to stay and she would have liked to live here, but she had decided that she must tell him the truth this morning.
She entered the park, reflecting that some of the trees here must be very ancient. One particular oak tree had grown so large that she thought it must have stood here for well over a hundred years. Lost in thought, she was startled by the sound of a shot somewhere to her right. Whilst it had come nowhere near her, she was concerned—she was certain that the marquis had said he did not hunt or shoot. Who could be shooting on his lands?
Without consideration, she turned towards the sound and a moment or two later came upon an unpleasant scene. A man had been shot in the leg. He was clutching at his wound, and the blood was trickling through his fingers. He lay on the ground and looked up at the man with the gun standing over him.
‘What is going on here?’ Lottie asked, walking up to them. ‘Why has this man been shot?’
‘He was poaching on his lordship’s land,’ the man who she instantly realised was a gamekeeper said, and touched his hat. ‘We do not allow poaching here, miss.’
‘My wife is starving. I only wanted a rabbit for the pot…’ the poacher whined looking at her hopefully. ‘Tell him it ain’t right, miss. There’s more than enough game in these parts—and his lordship ain’t never ’ere to want it.’
‘Poaching is illegal and must be stopped,’ Lottie said. ‘For one thing it is cruel to trap things. You should have come to the house and asked for help. However…’ She fixed the gamekeeper with a reproachful look. ‘It was not necessary to shoot the poor man in the leg, sir. You will take him to the house, where I shall bind his leg—and then we shall give him some food for his family.’
‘I don’t know about that, miss. His lordship don’t hold with poachers.’
‘I dare say he does not, but I do not hold with what you have done, sir. If you will not help him, I shall do so myself.’ She looked down at the poacher. ‘Can you stand?’
‘If he gives me a hand up.’
‘I’ll carry him over me shoulder,’ the gamekeeper said grudgingly. ‘You had best take me gun, miss. It ain’t loaded now so it can’t hurt you.’
‘I should not fear it if it were loaded,’ Lottie replied. ‘My father shoots occasionally. I am used to guns in the house.’ She checked that it was indeed harmless and slung the strap over her shoulder, following the men up to the house, round the back to the kitchen. ‘Bring him into the scullery. Cook will not want him bleeding over her kitchen floor.’
‘Miss Stanton…’ Rose came out to them as they reached the scullery door. ‘What is going on?’
‘This poacher has been shot. He was stealing a rabbit because his wife is starving, or so he says. We shall give him some food to take home—but in future he must work for his wage. I dare say he can be found some kind of work on the estate?’
‘That’s Sam Blake,’ Rose said. ‘He has never done a decent day’s work in his life.’
‘Then it is time he started,’ Lottie told her. ‘He must obviously rest his leg for a while, but as soon as he can walk, he must be given a job cleaning out the stables.’
‘I’ll tell Mrs Mann you said to give him food, but you’ll have to ask his lordship about giving him a job,’ Rose said. ‘Sit him down on that stool, Jeb Larkin, and I’ll patch him up.’
‘I was going to cleanse and bind his wound, Rose.’
‘Best you let me, miss,’ Rose told her firmly. ‘He has a wound in his thigh and it wouldn’t do for you to tend him, miss. Besides, I’ll be sending your water up with one of the other maids. You’ll be wanting your breakfast.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps—but don’t forget to give him some food.’
‘I shan’t forget, miss.’
Lottie left the maid to bind up the injured man and went upstairs. She bit her lip as she reflected that perhaps she had been rash to bring the poacher to the house. His story had touched her, but if he was a rogue his wife’s plight might be his fault rather than anyone else’s.
She hurried upstairs. Her walk had made her hungry, though she would have gone further afield had she not chanced on the poacher.

Lottie was at the breakfast table alone when the ring of booted feet on tiles told her that someone was about to enter. Her hand trembled a little as she sipped her tea. The unpleasant incident had put the thought of her confession from her mind, but it must be made this morning without fail.
‘So you are here. What the hell do you mean by interfering in the way I run my estate? You are not mistress here yet.’
Lottie looked up and saw the anger in the marquis’s face. He was speaking of the wounded poacher, of course. She rose to her feet, feeling the nerves knot in her stomach.
‘Forgive me. The man was hurt. I thought your gamekeeper might have fired in the air as a warning.’
‘And so Larkin might had the rogue not been warned a hundred times before. Blake is a thief and a scoundrel. You may feel that taking what belongs to others is acceptable but I think you will discover that others do not. Far from giving him work in my stables, I have called the constable. Blake will see how he likes a few months in prison.’
‘That is harsh, is it not? His wife is starving…’
‘He has only himself to blame. Besides, his wife never sees any of the game; he sells what he steals to the inn in the village and gets a few drinks in return, I’ve no doubt. He will be lucky if he does not hang.’
‘Oh…I am sorry,’ Lottie clasped her hands in front of her. ‘And I do not condone stealing. I was just moved to pity for his wife.’
‘You do not condone stealing?’ He spluttered incredulously. His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Then pray tell me whether you think taking gold coins from a man’s pocket when he is in a drunken stupor is theft? Not to mention going to a bedroom alone with a man in that state.’
‘What..?’ Lottie felt the blood drain from her face. She was stunned, her mind reeling as she tried to take in what he was saying. ‘She… I would never… Where did this happen?’
‘You know full well where we were, at that gaming house in Paris. You were going through my friend’s pockets as he lay senseless.’ Nicolas stared at her intently. She looked so shocked and distressed that it suddenly dawned on him that it could not have been her. What an idiot he was! He should have seen it instantly. ‘Who the devil are you? You’re not her, are you? I thought from the start that something was different. You’ve been lying, trying to make a fool of me…’
‘No, it wasn’t to make a fool of you,’ Lottie hastened to reassure him. ‘I meant to tell you yesterday…to ask if you would let Papa repay the debt over a period of years. Clarice is my twin. She refused to marry you and—’
‘You thought you would take her place. How noble of you—or was it just a clever move to trick me into marriage, because you had a fancy to be the next marchioness yourself?’
‘No, of course not.’ Lottie’s cheeks were burning. ‘If you heard me say that to Papa, it was just in fun…to set his mind at rest. I was going to tell you the truth. I realised last night that I could not deceive the countess. She was so kind and—’
‘You would have deceived me happily enough, I suppose?’
‘At first I thought you deserved it. You have been exceedingly rude to Papa, to Clarice—and to me.’ Lottie raised her head, too angry now to care about what he thought.
‘Do you think you have deserved my concern?’
‘Mere politeness was all that was required. Well, you may set your mind at rest. I do not wish to marry you. Papa will just have to find the money to pay you what he owes. I dare say I shall find somewhere for Aunt Beth and I to live.’
‘So you will renege on the bargain you made?’
‘I made no bargain. And nor for that matter did Clarice. You made that deal with our father. Foolish Papa thought he could persuade Clarice to go along with your plans with the promise of wealth, but she dislikes you and—’ She broke off feeling embarrassed. ‘No, that is rude. I shall not be rude to you no matter what you have said to me.’
‘Your manners do you credit, Miss Charlotte,’ he sneered. ‘If only I could believe in that innocent outrage.’
‘Believe what you wish. Thank you for your hospitality, sir, but I am leaving.’
‘No, you are not.’ Nicolas grabbed her wrist as she would have passed him. ‘You will not make a fool of me in front of my neighbours and my godmother. Your father signed the contract. He owes me fifteen thousand pounds. If you refuse to marry me, I shall press for payment—and I shall tell the world that your sister is a thief.’
‘You would not…’ Lottie stared at him in horror. ‘How could you threaten to destroy my family? You are as cold and heartless as Clarice said you were. I do not know what happened in Paris, but she must have had good reason for what she did.’
‘Perhaps I am heartless,’ Nicolas said, his expression set in harsh lines. ‘However, when I make a bargain I stick to it—and you will oblige me by keeping your part.’
‘You are a devil! To think I felt guilty—almost liked you…’
‘Perhaps you may come to find my presence bearable,’ Nicolas said. ‘I shall endeavour to put my own disgust to one side and we shall muddle through.’
‘Why do you wish to continue? Surely you cannot wish to marry the sister of a woman you have named a thief? You clearly have no respect for Papa or me. Release me from the contract and I will make certain Papa pays you every penny from the estate.’
‘No. Jilt me and you will be ruined, your father and sister with you.’
‘But why?’ Lottie was puzzled.
‘Because I need an heir. One woman is as good as another in the dark. Your father owes me and you chose to deceive me. You will keep your part of the bargain whether you wish it or not.’
Tears were stinging behind her eyes, but Lottie refused to let them fall.
‘Very well, sir. You can compel me to honour my father’s bargain—but you will have no joy of your despicable behaviour.’ She raised her head, looking him in the eyes. ‘I shall be everything your bride ought to be in public. I will give you the heir you desire, but in my heart I shall always hate you.’
‘I never expected you to love me. Why should you? Love is a myth and ever was. I dare say you will be content in your role as my marchioness—and I need an heir or two, perhaps, just to be certain. Do your duty and we shall go along well enough.’
‘Have it your own way, sir. You hold all the cards, it seems, but you may come to regret this…’ She walked past him and this time he let her go.

Chapter Four
‘I was sorry not to spend more time with you last evening,’ Lottie said when Henrietta came down to nuncheon. ‘I felt a little tired, as I told you, but this morning I am much better.’
‘Are you, my dear?’ Henrietta looked at her speculatively. ‘Well, we shall have them put chairs for us beneath the shade of the chestnut trees after nuncheon. We may sit and enjoy the pleasant weather for an hour and talk as much as we like.’
‘You mean the stand of trees to the right of the house?’ Henrietta nodded. ‘I went for a walk in the park early this morning. A poacher had been shot. I fear Lord Rothsay was not best pleased because I had the keeper bring him back to the house to be patched up and gave him food for his family. He says that the man deserves to be in prison.’

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