Lottie kept her back straight. She had to get through this somehow, and then she’d decide what she could do. Perhaps there was a way to hush the whole thing up. If only everyone would stop yelling at once.
‘He has ruined her, I say. I demand to know what he intends to do about it!’ Sir Geoffrey drew himself up to his full height. ‘I may be old, sir, but I am not without influence. I will have it known that you are debaucher of virgins, a man not to be trusted. What are you going to do? Are you totally devoid of honour?’
Tristan stared at the elderly man as the diatribe washed over him. He knew Sir Geoffrey was correct. Doors would be closed to him. He’d spent ten years in the wilderness. He did not intend to go there again. He glanced at Lottie Charlton. At first she had winced every time someone said something, but now she stood, straight, not moving a muscle. It would not just be he who was ruined, but also this woman.
He gave an ironic smile. He should have remembered his own advice—virgins were complicated. He should never have tasted her lips. He wanted to taste her skin again. He wanted her lips to softly yield under his again.
‘Marry her. I will marry Miss Charlton.’
The veranda went silent.
‘You are going to do what?’ Mrs Charlton squeaked and began to furiously wave her fan.
‘As I have ruined her, there is only one course open to me, I will take the responsibility and marry her. My honour demands it.’
‘I knew you had it in you, Dyvelston,’ Lottie’s brother said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘There, Mama, problem solved. Dyvelston will marry Lottie. We will have a quiet wedding and no one in the business community will turn their faces from us. While Dyvelston might not be what we would have wished, he will at least do the decent thing.’
‘I am so grateful you solved the problem, Sir Geoffrey.’ Mrs Charlton grabbed on to the elderly man’s arm. Her plump face was very close to his. ‘Eternally grateful.’
Sir Geoffrey patted her arm absentmindedly. ‘My pleasure.’
‘Where will the marriage take place?’ Henry Charlton’s eyes became crafty. ‘It is all well and good to agree a marriage, but does he have any intention of actually marrying her? I know how these rakes operate. When do you intend to marry my sister?’
Tristan rubbed his chin. He could see Mrs Charlton’s eyes gleaming. How much did she know? How much of this had been planned? ‘I don’t want banns. It might cause talk.’
‘Let it be a special.’ Mrs Charlton’s eyes lit up. ‘I always wanted my daughter to be married by special licence. So much more status than an ordinary license.’
‘Oh, yes, Mama, a special licence would be splendid.’ Lottie clapped her hands, like a child in a sweet shop. ‘What a wonderful idea. Can you arrange that, Mr Dyvelston?’
‘No special,’ Tristan said through gritted teeth.
‘What are you saying?’ Her bottom lip trembled like a child who had sweets taken away from her. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. ‘We are going to marry, aren’t we? An ordinary licence, then.’
Tristan looked at where Lottie stood. It would be easy to indulge her when she looked at him like that. He wanted her to go on looking at him like that for the rest of his life, but he was a realist. Lottie Charlton, through no fault of her own, had all the hallmarks of a spoilt child who would grow into a spoilt woman. He knew what sort of trouble a woman like that could cause, if left unchecked. He would marry her, but she needed to be taught a lesson. If he confessed now who he really was, he would always wonder.
Had tonight’s events been fabricated for her benefit? Did she really know who he was and was that the reason she had kissed him so passionately? And asked him to kiss her?
He needed to know; until he discovered the truth, he would keep his identity a secret.
‘Gretna Green is but a few miles from here.’
The entire crowd fell silent.
‘You mean to elope?’ Mrs Charlton’s shawls quivered. ‘You are proposing to elope with my daughter.’
‘It is the most sensible solution in the circumstances,’ Sir Geoffrey said, giving a decisive nod. ‘I will vouch for this man’s honour, madam.’
‘My sister is to elope? Married under Scottish law?’ Henry Charlton’s face expanded and he bore a distinct resemblance to a walrus. ‘Do you know what you are on about, man?’
‘I have agreed to do the decent thing and marry the woman, but it will be at Gretna Green, and not in some church wedding.’ Tristan straightened his cuffs. ‘It will save gossip.’
He took great pleasure in watching Henry Charlton’s mouth open, but have no sound come out. Three times he started to say something, but somehow the words would not appear. He tried jabbing with a finger. ‘You…you bounder. You will create a scandal if you marry her in that fashion.’
‘I have agreed to marry your sister. I am hardly a bounder. And there is already a scandal of sorts.’ Tristan gave a shrug. ‘I am sorry if the terms of my offer are not to your liking, but there they are. You must decide which is the greater scandal—your sister unwed but kissed, or your sister married at Gretna Green.’
‘But…’
‘You must decide. Or, better yet, let your sister decide. It is her life and reputation we are discussing.’
‘I suppose you do have a point.’ Henry Charlton gave a harrumph. ‘Carlotta?’
Tristan watched Lottie. What would she do? Would she risk it? A wild exultation grew within him. The risk. The gamble. What would she choose?
‘Thank you for allowing me to make the choice, Henry.’ Lottie came forward and tucked her hand into Tristan’s. He glanced down at her, impressed with her dignity in the face of her brother’s blustering and her mother’s shrieking. She appeared to have accepted her fate. ‘Mr Dyvelston is correct. Banns and the like will simply point to a harum-scarum marriage. I will make a runaway match. Far more romantic.’
‘Not the watercolours, Lottie. And only one satchel, you heard Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie’s mother hurried into the room where Lottie sat packing. ‘You will need a complete new wardrobe now that you are married. I dare say that he plans to buy it. It is the best way.’
Lottie tucked the watercolours and brushes into her bag. The first words her mother had said to her were a complaint. ‘I heard Mr Dyvelston the first time, Mama, and I intend to paint on my wedding trip. I am being practical.’
‘You have dashed all my hopes and plans for your future.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘And now all you can talk of is painting. Have you no consideration for my nerves? For what you have done to your brother? To me? You were supposed to wed a titled man. It was to be the culmination
